At one point in the second half -- before he scored his 67th-minute winner, that is -- Diego Costa found himself being groped at by Liverpool left back Alberto Moreno, who had the back of his shirt in a firm grip. No matter. He'd try an overhead kick anyway, making weak contact and ensuring that said shirt was torn to shreds in the process. A shirt isn't much of a price to pay for the chance of a shot on goal.
Had Chelsea failed to win, perhaps, that incident might be pointed at as a major point of contention -- holding onto a centre forward's shirt so tightly that they end up in what amounts to a backless dress is obviously a penalty and a red card -- but Costa ignored it, played on, and scored shortly thereafter. There was no whining, no making a fuss. He got on with it and did the job.
All of which is exactly what we expect when it comes to our new line-leader. Costa's happy to wind up the opposition (see Skrtel, Martin), but when push comes to shove he's cool as it gets. And it seems like a whole new mythology is building itself up around him. Just check out this story from the Mirror:
Diego Costa walked into Chelsea’s training complex for the first time, summoned Oscar and instructed him to round up the three toughest players.
Dutifully, Oscar wandered off and returned with John Terry, Branislav Ivanovic and Gary Cahill.
Costa speaks little to no English but had decided to learn a line of introduction, parrot-fashion.
Slightly bemused, Terry, Cahill and Ivanovic looked on as Costa raised his fists towards them and growled: "I go into battle. You come with me."
Apocryphal? Perhaps. But it's the sort of story that sounds like it might be true, and it's the sort of story that I desperately want to be true. And even if it's not, fair play to whoever invented it for summarising Costa's spirit so very succintly.
If we have any photoshoppers about, you know what to do, right?