Chelsea (1) 2 Arsenal (1) 1

The Carnage Cup final on the shores of the Taff yesterday saw the England captain carried off, three Africans sent off, and plenty of multi-lingual mouthing off before west London finally saw off north London. Rarely can the League Cup have climaxed with such cosmopolitan pyrotechnics.

Arsenal, all feline grace and youthful ambition, were the better team, moving the ball around exquisitely at times, particularly when Theo Walcott swept them ahead. Chelsea, though, boasted the experience, the power and the expertise of three stalwart performers, Petr Cech, Ricardo Carvalho and Didier Drogba.

Cech was colossal in goal, making saves and catches in commanding fashion. Shielding him was the ball-nicking Carvalho, who looks like an Elizabethan dandy and tackles like a Cheapside pickpocket.

Carvalho's defensive cunning was especially important when John Terry took the full force of Abou Diaby's boot in his face, lost consciousness and was borne away to a nearby hospital before being given the all-clear.

This was a day when Chelsea needed leaders to quell the relentless surges of Arsene Wenger's terrific young players and Drogba certainly stood up to be counted, lifting his season's tally to an impressive 28 with a goal in each half. Philippe Senderos' sleep will once more be stalked by a muscular nightmare called Drogba; Chelsea's No 11 again bullied the Swiss international into submission, particularly with his winning header.
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If Drogba landed the key knockout punch, others were trying to exchange them. Three minutes into stoppage time, a thrilling drama dissolved into a Punch and Judy show. Here were professionals at their playground worst: John Obi Mikel pulled Kolo Toure's shirt and they tangled like tipsy teenagers.

Others joined in the fray, using the melee to settle old scores or open new wounds: Emmanuel Eboue and Emmanuel Adebayor launched into the unpopular Wayne Bridge, while Frank Lampard and Cesc Fabregas confirmed their loathing of each other with an undignified tussle.

For those who complain there is never a policeman around when you need one, Howard Webb stepped in to restore order with all the authority of someone who used to pound the beat in South Yorkshire. Webb, outstanding throughout, sent off Mikel (Nigeria), Toure (Ivory Coast) and Adebayor (Togo). Adebayor was so angered that he needed restraining by Arsenal's physio, Gary Lewin, and will surely receive an invitation to visit the beaks at Soho Square.

The late commotion should not be allowed to tarnish the memory of a compelling final. Arsenal had started like an express train, and fortunately not one of those London rattlers held up outside Newport, adding to the traffic misery that accounted for many empty seats. Arsenal looked a team in a hurry, guiding the ball around beautifully as Chelsea struggled to settle.

Fabregas tested Cech, Terry made a valuable clearance from the lively Julio Baptista, but Arsenal's exuberance could not be contained for long. When Baptista, all touch and muscle, came calling again, Cech required all his reflexes to deny the Brazilian.

Still the danger shimmered under the darkening Wales skies. Fabregas jogged across to take the corner, pausing only for the celery storm to abate, and then swerved in a ball that Drogba cleared. Chelsea thought they had repelled the danger but Walcott, in particular, had other ideas. Collecting possession 40 yards out, he darted towards Chelsea's box, exchanged passes with Diaby and then bent the ball around Cech. Marvellous. Walcott is such a likeable character, such a promising footballer as well, that it was a special moment for him and his many admirers.

Arsenal were in the mood: Diaby looked a coltish version of Patrick Vieira, while the 17-year-old Walcott scampered around as if worried the bell for double Latin was about to ring. Chelsea could have folded in the teeth of this teenage uprising but Carvalho and Terry stood firm, making some crucial tackles. Terry, clearly, was far from fit, turning awkwardly at times, but his leadership powers remained undimmed by an ankle's cloying pain.

The storm repelled, Chelsea hit back. Michael Ballack may be one-paced, but he can place a sweet pass when he desires. After 20 minutes, he delivered a gem to Drogba. In days gone by, when Tony Adams was organising the back line, Arsenal's offside trap would have ensnared Drogba and most of his family, but Senderos was fractionally deep, stirring doubt in the linesman's mind. The flag stayed down, Drogba ran on and struck his shot under Manuel Almunia and in.

Arsenal's response was marvellous to behold, Wenger's youngsters taking Drogba's equaliser as an affront, not a cause for surrender. They tore into Chelsea, Armand Traore embarking on an elegant run that took him halfway to the Gower. Fabregas, the rhythm section of the Wenger Youth Orchestra, readily took responsibility, chipping in a majestic cross that appeared destined for the head of the unmarked Baptista. Cech, the master of timing, sped from his line to catch the ball, leaving the Brazilian heading only thin air.

Still Arsenal came, urged on by their fans, riding the tackles in midfield and dodging the celery bombardment out wide. Carvalho manned the blue barricades, sliding in to extinguish fires fanned by Baptista and Jeremie Aliadiere.

Chelsea needed to set Arsenal some questions, to push them back. Jose Mourinho made one of his bold substitutions, removing the midfield enforcer that is Claude Makelele for the rapid-response unit called Arjen Robben. Mourinho soon introduced another player, Mikel arriving for the battered Terry.

A new spirit suffused Chelsea, the classic dressing-room reaction of "let's do it for JT'' as voiced by Lampard afterwards. Seizing the armband, ignoring ebbing energy levels induced by a lingering virus, Lampard almost drove Chelsea in front with a sensational 35-yader that crashed against the bar.

Robben was everywhere, and with six minutes remaining the Dutchman drilled a cross into Almunia's box. Before you could say deja vu, Drogba had muscled past Senderos to flick a powerful header home. One-nil down, 2-1 up: Chelsea had stolen a cherished Arsenal scoreline.

It was all over bar the shouting, shirt-pulling, punch-throwing and, most importantly, the lifting of the Carnage Cup by Lampard.

Telegraph.co.uk