Antonio Conte v Jose Mourinho: Let’s get ready to rumble?

In the red corner, fighting out of Setubal, Portugal, it's Jose 'Amnesiac' Mourinho.

And in the blue corner, hailing from Lecce, Italy, is Antonio 'The Clown' Conte.

The Venue: Old Trafford on 25 February... “LET'S GET READY TO RRRRRR-UMBLE!”

The escalating war of words between Chelsea's former Special One and it's present reigning league champion has commandeered back pages ever since it kicked off again with renewed venom last Thursday.

Accusations and insults have flown up and down country. Back in the summer there was the sly dig about the hair. But the last few days have seen accusations of touchline circus acts, and then a barbed rebound about the failing memory of a senior citizen.

This seemed to get really personal when now-discredited rule-breaking claims were brought into the ding-dong, leading us to Saturday and the apparent setting up of that Manchester brawl.

“I am ready,” insisted Conte. “I don't think he is ready.”

Some insist that this is all an error on Conte's part, that he has fallen for the prank of the master troll Mourinho, and that it would have shown sounder judgement to stay schtum.

But this simmering row, which has gone on for longer than the 15 months since Conte rubbed Mourinho's nose in it over the 4-0 thrashing at Stamford Bridge, has reached new levels of late.

The reference to the Italian's ban - in Mourinho's language 'for match fixing', but in reality (as Conte was at pains to point out) for failing to blow the whistle on allegations of it – has well and truly upped the ante.

That Conte was also cleared on appeal of any wrongdoing was spelled out, methodically and calmly, by the present Chelsea boss post-match after the turgid 0-0 draw at Norwich in the FA Cup on Saturday.

But it was Conte's mention of his good friend Claudio Ranieri, during his latest aggressive volley, which showed how personal this has become.

The accusation that Mourinho was 'a fake', for first mocking Ranieri's lack of English and then wearing his name on his shirt once he had been fired by Leicester, is difficult for the Portuguese to dodge.

It is gratifying to indulge the flight of fancy that this is all some cynical stunt, aimed at renewing interest in what has become a dead title race.

Already the pieces have been penned about how this is the greatest managerial rivalry in Premier League history (in truth, it has a way to go to catch up with either Mourinho v Arsene Wenger or, the granddaddy of them all, Sir Alex Ferguson v Kevin Keegan).

Might someone leap out from behind the screens, to announce that the pair are to undertake six rounds of white collar combat, sponsored by a major bookmaker, and available only on pay per view - at just £9.99 for the bout?

(Should that happen, by the way, my cash is on Conte by TKO in the third).

But, no. Conte, calm as anything in putting the boot in, clearly feels he is fighting a fight not just for his own name - but for right, against a manager who repeatedly proves that he is unwilling to play by everybody else's rules.

So where will this all end? Will there be fisticuffs in February? Can we expect an assault in Salford?

Probably not.

It is a long way off, and already there is talk of some sort of mediation between the two alpha males.

And, besides, should Chelsea succeed in their imminent League Cup semi final against Arsenal, the pay-per-view schedulers will have to find themselves another date for the big bout.

Conte wants to be at Wembley on February 25, and Mourinho isn't invited.

- - -