Win tonight and Liverpool will never have to hear of Bruno Cheyrou again
TWO things are certain if Liverpool score tonight; only one team can go through to the Champions' League Final on away goals; and you'll never hear of Bruno Cheyrou again.
Unless you've been holding your head in your hands ever since John Arne Riise decided to scratch his nose on the Anfield turf at the exact moment a cross curled its way into the six-yard box, you can't fail to be aware that it was the effete Frenchman who was the last Liverpool player to score at Stamford Bridge, just over four years and eight games ago.
Until last week resting in deserved obscurity in Rennes, Cheyrou has found himself catapulted back to fame by Riise's last-minute aberration, an unfortunate side-effect surely unforeseen by our Norwegian left-back.
Dubbed the 'new Zidane' by Gerard Houllier on his arrival from Lille in 2002, he played in fact like an old sedan, often carried by at least two other team-mates.
Along with those double diamonds, Diouf and Diao, his purchase proved the beginning of the end for Houllier as ÃÂ£20million smackers went south.
So who better then to pass an opinion on the likelihood of his amazing feat being repeated? Tracked down and disturbed from his slumber in Brittany, Bruno declared his pride in being the last Liverpool player to score at the Bridge, and advised his former club to 'keep believing'.
After all, if he can do it, anyone can, right?
This clever piece of motivational psychology, reducing the size of the task in hand while incentivising the players to send St Bruno up in smoke, might just be what is needed to take the team's mind off the horrors that seem to afflict them whenever venturing into SW6.
I've long since given up on going down the Bridge for any other reason than blind loyalty, having witnessed too many capitulations over the last 30 years or so.
With just the odd beam of light escaping the black hole (Kenny clinching the League in '86; a 5-2 win in 1989 watched with the demeanour of a Trappist Monk, surrounded by Chelsea fans) by and large it's been an unremitting catalogue of disasters.
But not tonight. Tonight, Matthew/Davina/Cat, we're going to be... Champions League finalists.
Thoughts of negativity must be cast from the mind, banished to the darkness of the Emirates trophy cabinet.
Whether it's by a straight win, a high-scoring draw or a penalty shoot-out, we must prevail.
This is OUR competition, we're part of its history, and no nouveau riche upstarts can keep us from our destiny.
How to achieve this apparently daunting task, given our appalling record at this particular venue?
Throw caution to the wind, attack from the off, the devil take the hindmost?
Or sit tight for an hour, frustrate the opposition, then strike like a cobra?
Thankfully this decision rests in Rafa's capable hands, not mine - they're starting to tremble already, so it's for the best.
All I'm sure about is that Gerrard must be firmly at the heart of the action, not pushed out to either wing to accommodate a second forward or other tactical switch.
This is a night to turn him loose, let him go where he pleases, take the corners, take the free-kicks, even the goal-kicks if necessary.
For this is his stage, and we can wake up tomorrow morning to more tales of his derring-do, achieving the seemingly impossible.
And dear Bruno can resume his otherwise undisturbed retreat in the middle of Ligue 1.