It's London derby day, and Sky Sports begin by alternating their coverage between badly photo-shopped Terminator imagery and what appears to be some kind of D-Day commemorative style coverage, before Richard "Wolfman" Keyes builds the game up to an unreachable level of expectation.
The gist of it is that a win for Chelsea would put them 8 points clear, victory for Arsenal allows them to close the gap to 2.
More importantly Chelsea Manager Jose Mourinho (The front runner in Londonist's Londoner of the year), moving away from his grey woolen over coat to a brown leather trench, continues to give great pre-match interview with his now trademark "I'm not arrogant but..." approach, and makes a firm commitment that Chelsea aren't looking for the draw but are definitely out to win it.
Arsenal strike early with a lovely piece of skill from Henry to bring the ball down and shoot, cancelled out 15 mins later by John Terry with a headed corner after some dubious marking by Sol Campbell. Henry scores again, this time from a debatable free kick (did Graham Poll, the referee, step away far enough?) however the debate rages only until the first minute of the second half when a more attacking Chelsea side come out to gift Gudjohnsen a deftly headed goal.
Arsenal have the better of second half but it's a much more scrappy affair with Henry missing what for him would constitute a tap-in, and Chelsea's normally assured passing is nowhere to be seen. Arsenal can't turn their increasing possession into a goal and while both sides have several more chances it ends 2-2.
Jose believes "the result is acceptable" but as for Henry's second goal: "If I have to speak about it I may have to visit the F.A., stay in the stands for a couple of weeks, spend some money that I could spend on Christmas gifts so it's best I don't speak about it."
So Chelsea remain 5 points clear of Arsenal with Everton closing the gap to four after a one nil win over Liverpool yesterday and Londonist confirms at least two things: Pires is still a serial diver and Lampard (with his elbows seemingly fixed at his waist) runs like a girl.