Now Carlo Ancelotti's titans can concentrate on Europe

What a vibrant, thrilling, oddly open game this was. And what a sensational display from Chelsea, whose coach Carlo Ancelotti even found time to give us his Benny from Crossroads impression by wearing an imbecilic bobble hat against the rain.

Arsenal weren't half bad themselves, but that isn't nearly enough to beat Chelsea in this imperious mood. For that they needed preposterous luck, a referee reincarnated from Bertie Mee, and a sniper in the stands to pick off Didier Drogba.

What explains Chelsea's vast domestic supremacy - and sorry if this is too technical - is that they are best at pretty much everything.

They have the best shot-stopping goalkeeper, defence, defensive midfield and attacking pair. Their one flaw is in creative midfield, so God spare their rivals once Joe Cole regains his most inventive form.

In work rate, too, Chelsea are the guv'nors and it was their capacity to get eight men behind the ball - in perfect formation and in the blink of an eye - and pressure the man in possession that primarily did for Arsenal. That, and an unending sequence of sublime last-ditch tackles close to and inside the box.

So it was that, despite hogging the ball, the Gunners fired blanks. Every time Cesc Fabregas and Andrey Arshavin were poised to deliver the lethal final ball, they found themselves either crowded out by a team which, more than any other, defend absolutely as a team; or stymied by a superbly executed late challenge.

Arsenal started the better but Chelsea were more than content to play rope a dope before staggering the Gunners with a gorgeous sucker punch shortly before half time. Released on the left by Frank Lampard, Ashley Cole jinked this way and that before curling an exquisite low cross towards Drogba, who instinctively steered the ball home off the congruence of post and bar with a balletic flick of his right instep. Like Stendhal Syndrome sufferers in Florence (and do feel free to send this to Pseud's Corner), you could have fainted at the beauty.

Two minutes later, history repeated in neo-Marxist manner, with what had first been perfection resurfacing as farce when Thomas Vermaelen swept an identical Ashley Cole cross into his own net off the same square inch of woodwork.

To their great credit, Arsenal emerged for the second half, with substitute Theo Walcott quadrupling their menace, as if they believed the match was redeemable. Had Eduardo not wasted an opening with a clumping first touch, and Andre Marriner not harshly disallowed the Ashavin strike that ended another riotous round of goalmouth pinball, perhaps they would have gone on to equalise.

I doubt it, though, because the Chelsea juggernaut looked to have at least one gear in reserve. Who needs overdrive with Nicolas Anelka consistently brilliant and Drogba unleashing one of the performances of even his stellar career?

Apart from that wondrous opener and the glorious free-kick that finished the scoring, not to mention a general display of monumental strength and flawless touch, Drogba did something truly unthinkable.

Clattered from behind after 70 minutes, he fell to the turf and bounced straight back up to his feet. Again you could have fainted, albeit this time from shock rather than aesthetic overload.

Chelsea could have scored more as Arsenal lost heart and shape late on, but there is nothing wrong with magnanimity in victory. There wasn't much wrong with Arsenal either, apart from the curious tactical misapprehension that they could break through the centre of Chelsea's defence without an armoured tank.

Mischievously recalling Arsene Wengers's pre-match claim that his babes have grown up, some may style the game as boys against men, but that is clumsy. This was men against titans, and no side in Europe will cope happily with Chelsea's uncanny well-balanced amalgam of defensive discipline and attacking power.

With the title in the bag - if any Blues fans are worried about losing Drogba, Essien, etc, to January's African Cup of Nations, take a glance at the fixtures they will miss - Benny and the Jets can now concentrate on making Miss Diane really proud by winning the Champions League.

Chelsea have twice come to the crossroads there in the last two years, and through little fault of their own become lost. This time, you have to believe, it will require rather more than a missed John Terry penalty or a sightless Norwegian to separate this fearsome, fantastic team from the most lustrous trophy of them all.