Chelsea begin to look invincible

The sound of popping champagne corks in the visitors' dressing room at Old Trafford, the thought of Roman Abramovich being soaked in the stuff and the earlier sight of one seemingly never-ending embrace on the pitch between Mourinho and Terry . . . here were the true snapshots of an evening when, in a grand red fortress, the future really did look royal blue.

Sure, Chelsea might have won nothing and this was only the Carling Cup yet it was possible to sense a watershed night for the club and the entire English game. It wasn't just that commandments were broken - thou shalt not beat Sir Alex Ferguson in semi-finals, Man United shalt not lose domestic Cup matches at home, thou shalt not resist United's fightbacks - but the almost inevitable manner in which they were consigned to history.

For though it was a close and utterly absorbing contest, over both legs there could ultimately be no real argument about Chelsea being the more accomplished outfit. Even when pegged back by a goal of genius from Ryan Giggs, you sensed they would find a higher gear and become even more resilient. They soaked up pressure, regrouped and then attacked again. Opponents don't often do this at Old Trafford. Who can be surprised any more by their mastery?

"We can win four, we can lose four," shrugged Mourinho, offering an eminently sensible response to the growing clamour surrounding the prospect of a grand slam of trophies, which you would have to fancy is unachievable even for a general of his gifts.

Each time he enhances his aura of near-infallibility like this - you have to bow to someone who Alex Ferguson claims to actually like even though he hasn't beaten him in five goes - and then still teases us that "anything is possible", he keeps us wondering. By the time Chelsea have met Liverpool in the final in Cardiff at the end of next month, it would take a brave soul to bet against them having advanced at least half-way towards the impossible target.

For this wasn't just a big victory, reckoned Mourinho, it was a mission statement. "The way we played . . . the mentality, the strength we showed here, was a message to the Premiership. That is, we are really strong and the boys are magnificent." In other words, if a clearly desperate-United, with all their big guns firing, couldn't make a dent in Chelsea's serenity, who else could now realistically be expected to halt their charge to the title?

Mourinho was right; his team exuded a kind of magnificence. All the traits - teamwork, tactical organisation, sheer workaholism, unquenchable self-belief and spirit - which have served them so admirably all season were never better highlighted. As for sheer quality, there may not have seemed much difference between the two sides, but there was enough. Take Petr Cech v Tim Howard, Dider Drogba v Louis Saha, and Arjen Robben v Christiano Ronaldo for starters.

Again, there were no weak links.

Cech, maybe the world's best keeper now, still alert enough to make a match-winning save from Ronaldo in the dying seconds; a terror like Duff doing sterling full-back duty before going up the other end and slinging over the exquisite 50-yard free kick which froze the United defence and curled apologetically into the net.

Everyone contributed, from Wayne Bridge, with his 88th minute goalline clearance to Robben, whose strength, speed and skill made him again appear quite freakish again, to a superlative defence which could only be breached by something as sublime as Giggs's equaliser, a volleyed flick which he caressed over Cech's head from Gary Neville's touchline punt.

Then there was Lampard, the best player on the island at the moment, whose consistent excellence was encapsulated by his starting and finishing of the first half move, interspersed by his searing run down half the length of the pitch, which displayed Chelsea at their clinical counter-attacking best.

Ultimately, even though Mourinho reckoned that this wasn't a 42nd "birthday gift" for him but a present for Abramovich, the fans and the players, it still marked another wonderful personal victory for him over Ferguson. He played his strongest side while Ferguson didn't bring on Wayne Rooney until near the hour mark, which felt even more like a grievous error when the kid immediately began discomfiting Chelsea's defence rather more than Saha or Quinton Fortune had all match.

Blimey, Mourinho can even afford to be positively humble in victory these days. Asked about whether giving Fergie a £240 bottle of Portugese vintage was a fair swap for claiming his proud 18-year-old unbeaten semifinal record, Mourinho insisted graciously: "I would love to lose my records at his age for his records are absolutely magnificent.

"I would be very pleased if I kept winning and winning and winning and then I lose a semi-final in 20 years." Funny that, just because for the moment, you could almost convince yourself his Chelsea might be ready to lose a big game some time around 2025.