Premier League diary: Chelsea are champions but something continues to irk a sleepless Jose Mourinho

Jose Mourinho arrives at the King Power Stadium

Jose Mourinho grimaced. All around him, Liverpool fans were dancing. Red flags were waving, voices were raised in song. "And now you're gonna believe us, and now you're gonna believe us, and now you're gonna believe us … We're gonna win the league."
Brendan Rodgers bounded towards him, a huge grin smeared over the bottom half of his face. Jose looked quickly for an exit, but too late: Rodgers was on him, shaking his hand, squeezing his elbow. "Hard luck, Jose. Hard luck. Thought your boys were outstanding today. Outstanding. But we've put together something special here …"
Jose smiled weakly and managed to pull his hand away. He felt the bile rise in his throat. His phone buzzed; he didn't need to check, he knew it would be Rafa.
He glanced back out to the pitch. Steven Gerrard was standing in the centre circle, basking in the adulation of his giddy fans. "We go to Crystal Palace!" As Jose looked, Liverpool's captain began to grow. Seven feet, eight feet, ten, twelve - soon Gerrard stood fifty feet tall in the middle of the Anfield pitch. His head blocked out the sun.

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Can't sleep: "Thought your boys were outstanding today. Outstanding."

Liverpool's captain bent down and reached for Jose, easily snatching him with his giant thumb and forefinger. He pulled Jose into the air; Jose kicked and squirmed, but he couldn't escape. A sea of Liverpool fans looked up at him, laughing and pointing and taking photographs as he thrashed uselessly. Gerrard's mouth opened wide and he raised Jose above his head, above his massive teeth, above his giant, muculent, quivering tongue. He let go. Jose fell...
…and Jose Mourinho woke up.
It was Sunday morning. It was just a dream; it had been just a dream every night for the last two years. He wasn't in Liverpool; he was in Chelsea. He hadn't lost; he'd won. This year, he'd won. He was a champion. Chelsea were the finest team in the land, and Liverpool were irrelevant again.
So why couldn't he sleep?

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Champions: Mourinho's Chelsea are back as title winners

He made his way to the stadium, his focus slowly returning. He'd given his team a few days off: partly because they'd earned it, partly because it would make any victory here that little bit funnier. For the same reason, he decided to bring in a couple of the kids. The season was over, after all, and nothing draws a sting out of an opponent's focus than the sense that while it might matter very much to them, it doesn't quite to you.
Why couldn't he sleep?
All through the game, it bugged him, even as he went through the motions on the touchline. A munificent smile at the guard of honour; a dismissive wave of the arms when Cesc Fabregas flew through Raheem Sterling; a smile and a fist-pump when John Terry nutted Chelsea into the lead past a slipping Gerrard; a scowl and a tut when Liverpool's captain nicked the equaliser. Always his mind elsewhere: back in bed, back at Anfield.
In pictures - Chelsea 1-1 Liverpool: