Afternoon:
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After a game that defied all logic and precedent to a degree that at times seemed to verge on madness, the time has surely come for Jose Mourinho, that Bonnie Prince Ghastly of the Premier League, to fall silent about coveting a Restoration.
The Portuguese egomaniac may desire a second crack at managing Chelsea and unnamed senior players may share that dream. But the primary lesson of last night's glorious mayhem at Anfield is that somehow - however tricky the ensuing ructions with the Russians, or however long the wait for his return - Guus Hiddink must somehow be kept at Stamford Bridge for years to come.
If it taught us anything else, it's never to take a blind bit of notice of dunces like me because I cannot remember a match that ridiculed expectations like this one. The pundits had predicted that this first leg of this perennial Champions League clash between the clubs would, like all those that preceded it, be a staid and cautious affair. And under Mourinho, who created such a potent if charmless juggernaut but was outfoxed by Rafael Benitez at every turn, so it would have been.
Conditioned by all those taut no- and low-scoring games, we tuned to Sky for the traditional first-leg sparring between powerful but cagey heavyweights. What we saw, astonishingly, was Hagler v Hearns a brutal slugfest in which the combatants went for each other with such unrelenting ferocity that it almost took the breath away.
Almost from the kick-off, it was clear that one of them would end up splayed over the canvas, blinking in bemusement and gasping for air. Within a minute of Fernando Torres giving Liverpool an early lead, Didier Drogba missed a more facile chance to level.
Barely 90 seconds after Branislav Ivanovic's equaliser, courtesy of Benitez's curious deployment of zonal marking at set-pieces, Dirk Kuyt should have restored the Scousers' lead. The thunderous attacks and counter-attacks came so fast that the game melded into one crazy, gorgeous blur. The Scousers were complicit in their own demise because whereas leaving Ivanovic unmarked at a corner once might be considered carelessness, doing so twice looked like suicide.
Even so, Chelsea were magnificent once they'd resisted the early second-half onslaught and could have doubled their margin of victory. The third goal with which Drogba effectively ended the tie was a masterpiece of fast and clinical counter-attacking but by then he should have had a hat-trick of his own.
No one will be too perturbed about that right now but Chelsea cannot afford such wastefulness from the Ivorian narcissist again - not at least until after the formality of Tuesday's second leg at the Bridge, when he can blaze over from eight yards as often as he likes.
Barcelona also booked their semi-final berth last night with a first-half demolition of Bayern Munich and Chelsea's chances of reaching another final will rely heavily on Drogba repairing that wonky radar.
They will enter that tie as underdogs, rightly so given the obscene range of stellar talent at Barca's disposal. Essien may have entirely snuffed out Stevie G but he won't be able to neutralise the peerless Lionel Messi.
On this scintillating form, however, Chelsea are entitled to fancy themselves to upset the odds. Hiddink (below, with Drogba) is such a sublime tactician, and has instilled such belief and cohesion in the befuddled squad he inherited, that nothing looks beyond them, other perhaps than the Premier League title. Had he arrived a couple of month's earlier, they might be close to clinching that. If he came too late, on no account must he be allowed to leave too soon. Hiddink keeps insisting he will return to Moscow in the summer. If so, someone must be found to keep his seat warm until after the World Cup or preferably until Russia lose their play-off in November.
Last night, in sending out his team not to stifle but to crush the leading Champions League club of recent years at their own mighty citadel, Hiddink did something more than confirm my belief that there is no finer football coach alive today.
