FERGIE DROPS A BALLACK

A penalty. A German. A formality.

Whatever the situation, whatever the pressure, whatever the stakes.

I don't know what the translation of the name Ballack is — but you can bet it sounds remarkably similar.

Just change the vowels. Because Michael has them aplenty.

Cojones, the Latin contingent at Stamford Bridge might call it. As Fergie turned deep purple, Ballack remained ice blue.

But don't let the drama of the Chelsea midfielder's decisive late spot-kick, the tantrums of a Knight of the Realm who should know better or the predictable abandonment of the Respect campaign disguise the real issue here.

Ferguson — student of the odds that he is — took a calculated punt with his tactics and selection.

And he ended up with egg on his florid face.

Doctor

Sure, when Wayne Rooney negated Ballack's first-half header, the only thing changing the colour of his features was the early afternoon sun.

But barely half an hour later, Rooney was seeing the same doctor who had finally returned a concussed Nemanja Vidic to planet earth, Ferguson was churlishly stopping his players from shaking ref Alan Wiley's hand and Stamford Bridge was flooded with optimism.

Of course, United should still beat West Ham and Wigan and retain the title.

But there's no guarantee. Certainly no German-from-12-yards guarantee.

Even Didier Drogba did not try to take the responsibility from Ballack after the assistant referee spotted Michael Carrick dropping a sly hand on to Michael Essien's cross.

Drogba — presumably having exhausted the supply of opponents to fall out with — threw a hilarious hissy-fit as his team-mate suggested he might take a free-kick from just outside the penalty area.

To call it a playground row would be an insult to primary school kids the length and breadth of the country.

Right, team-mates done with, Drogba then turned on his assistant manager.

And as Steve Clarke's ears burned, Avram Grant fiddled.

But just maybe, he is that fabled lucky general. And up stepped Ballack from the spot after Carrick's indiscretion.

And if you think that was fortunate, try this.

Deep into injury-time, Darren Fletcher's header appears to have only one destination — a spot just inside the far post.

And who pops up on the line to clear away a season-ending conclusion to this fascinating game? Andriy Shevchenko.

Football, eh? Bloody hell!

The moment was typical of the game. Incident-packed without being quality-packed.

United had a couple of extremely good claims for penalties — none more so than when sub Cristiano Ronaldo was wrestled to the ground by Ballack — but Ferguson's teamsheet infected his players with an unusual air of caution.

With unfamiliar conservatism.

Apart from giving them no room for error at Old Trafford next Saturday and at the JJB Stadium on the final day of the season, United now go into their Champions League game against Barcelona on the back of a dispiriting and damaging match. And possibly without Rooney and Vidic.

Drogba's knee accidentally put one of the Serb's molars through his lip (and sent him into Amy Winehouse land), while Rooney appeared to damage a hip when he twisted early in the second half after a minor collision with Ricardo Carvalho.

At least he aggravated it in a good cause, skilfully accepting a gift from Paulo Ferreira and Carvalho early in the second half.

Inexplicably, the full-back took a quick free-kick to his unprepared countryman, who promptly flicked it into the path of Rooney.

The England striker — according to no less a judge than Fabio Capello — is not a natural finisher. He could have fooled me.

Darting on to his right foot, he then sent a sweet strike that gave a passing kiss to the inside of the post before putting United level.

In the process, his problem was exacerbated, although the hopeful prognosis was that it was just a sore side. I assume that referred to the individual rather than the collective.

In truth, Rooney had given his team ill-deserved equality.

With Ronaldo supplementing his tan on the bench alongisde Carlos Tevez, United had meandered through the first half with no intentions of introducing themselves to Petr Cech.

Joe Cole — give him options and he is confused, give him none and he is lethal — hit a post and a selection of Chelsea players wanted just one touch too many when it really mattered.

But their dominance was finally reflected on the neon scoreboard when Drogba's wonderful cross (just in case you get the wrong impression, he is actually a splendid player when you can see through the theatrical fog) was coolly headed in by Ballack, exposing the vulnerability of makeshift defender Owen Hargreaves.

Gesture

Shirt off, a nice gesture to remember Pat Lampard, a yellow card from Wiley. Do I need to make a comment? Of course not.

And Chelsea, you thought, would cruise it against a strangely unambitious United — until the Portuguese pair performed their party trick.

But Carrick and Ballack came to Grant's rescue and, not surprisingly, he was in talkative mood after Wiley had called a halt to proceedings.

Grant knows that the odds are still stacked in United's favour.

But this was a win against a major rival that the Israeli will use as a plank in his argument to keep the job.

And as for his opposite number...unusually, the backside squeaking loudest was on a coach heading north last night.

GAMES TO GO – CHELSEA: May 5 Newcastle (a), May 11 Bolton (h).

MAN UTD: May 3 W Ham (h), May 11 Wigan (a).