TV VIEW:With everyone having a sneaky feeling for Chelsea, we just knew it'd be Barcelona's day, writes MARY HANNIGAN

DID YOU get that text yesterday?

"For sale: 57,000 Arsenal flags. Good as new. Only waved for seven minutes."Uncalled for, and cruel beyond description. Almost as cruel as the prospect of Chelsea beating Barcelona last night, like a paint-by-numbers doodle outmuscling a Picasso.

Mind you, Picassos snappily titled ‘The Daughter Of The Artist At Two-and-a-half Years With A Boat’ failed to sell at Sotheby’s in New York earlier this week, when it had been expected to fetch just the €18 million. We took that as a dodgy omen, like it wasn’t going to be a good week for creative genius.

“The artists and the artisans,” as Bill O’Herlihy described the pairing, although he thought that was a bit unkind. We assumed he meant unkind on artisans, but he was actually talking about Chelsea.

“The Hollywood final would be Manchester United v Barcelona,” said Richard Keys over on Sky, Chelsea reaching Rome, he hinted, likely to give the occasion an Eastenders v Coronation Street feel, Dot Cotton (Hiddink) v Rita from the Kabin (Ferguson).

“Will it be brawn or brains,” he added, further alienating Sky’s subscribers in west London. His panel wasn’t sure, but Graeme Souness said he had a “sneaky feeling for Chelsea”. So did Ruud Gullit. And Jamie Redknapp. Which meant our chances of a heated exchange, along the lines of say . . .

Jamie: “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Graeme: “Where did you manage?”

Jamie: “I didn’t manage anywhere, I managed to stay alive for 34 and a half years, baby.”

. . . were ruled out. So we went back to RTÉ.

We arrived just in time to hear Eamon Dunphy compliment Ronaldo, so we saw pigs fly. (You know the joke doing the rounds – pigs might fly . . . well swine flu). “Obviously he’s on his way, he wants to leave on a high note,” he added, which might (or might not) come as news to Alex Ferguson.

Back on Sky, they were timing Ronaldo’s run for United’s third goal the night before. “He ran 50 metres in 5.7 seconds, so that’s 11.4 for 100 metres,” said Richard. “And Usain Bolt’s world record is 9.69, so.”

“But Usain Bolt couldn’t score a goal at the end of his run,” said Jamie. “No,” agreed Richard. Ruud just looked confused.

Graeme, we’re certain, half considered saying: “Lads, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Anyway, back to the matter in hand. “I want to have a feeling that after the game I can say I was here,” said Ruud. Jamie looked marginally more confused than Ruud had felt when the Usain Bolt chat was at its peak. (“But you woz ‘ere, you’re sitting beside me,” he almost said).

“Who will go through to meet United,” asked Richard. “Remember,” he said, “the only place to watch the final is with us.”

“Ahem,” said Bill back on RTÉ.

Match time. All Barcelona. Relentless. Lovely. Dominan . . . Michael Essien. Good. God. Almighty.

So then, advantage to the artisans. And Ronnie Whelan had a sneaky feeling that’s the way it would remain. “They don’t like it up ‘em, Barcelona,” he told Bill, who suspected that was probably true.

There had, we noted, been more than a handful of penalty claims, Didier Drogba at the centre of a few of them. Reputations, eh?

Still, as we marched ever onwards to the final whistle, Picasso was struggling, not helped when he was reduced to just the 10 brushes when the Abidal lad was asked to leave the canvas, if you know what we mean.

Game over?

“GOODNESS, GOODNESS ME,” as Andy Gray put it when Iniesta scored.

“UNBELIEEEEEEVABLE. UNBELIEEEEEEVABLE,” he said, a bit disbelievingly.

Naturally enough, Chelsea weren’t best pleased. Drogba had a chat with the ref at full-time, perhaps suggesting he might have done a little better, and then stuck his face in our camera and declared: “It’s a ****ing disgrace.”

Ronnie was brave enough to answer back. “Who’s the disgrace,” he asked. “He’s the disgrace.” “He’s a clown,” Gilesie disagreed.

“Well, I have to say: I am DELIGHTED with the result,” said Bill, swinging violently in his chair, and all the lads agreed.

A Hollywood final, between artists and artists, brains and brains, they reckoned.

“Between two football superclubs,” Bill purred, which is probably a guarantee it’ll finish 0-0 and go to penalties. But sure, we’ll take the chance.

So. For sale: 42,000 Chelsea flags. Slightly worn, waved for 93 minutes.