Costa has given his version of what happened in Conte argument

Diego Costa has always been a bit of a livewire. However, after half a season without much disruption or hissy fits, the Chelsea frontman has clearly got a bit bored. So naturally, he thought he’d pick a fight worth £30million-a-year. As you do, then.

On Saturday, Costa was dropped by the Italian gaffer, Antonio Conte, following a training-ground bust-up over the Brazillian’s Spaniard’s fitness. It clearly made little difference as Chelsea stormed to a convincing 3-0 win over Leicester City. The prolific striker has since taken to throwing a strop in a private gym and pretending that everything is normal again.

💪🏽👊🏽🏃🏽!!!

A photo posted by Diego Costa (@diego.costa) on

Come on Chelsea!!!💙

A photo posted by Diego Costa (@diego.costa) on

It’s far from it, though. All anyone really knows right now is that Costa vs Conte is a grudge match between two colossal egos and could result in the former’s shipment off to China, with the rest of ’em, for a reported £570,000-a-week. Standard. Conte best play his cards right here, or else the lure of Yen-filled bath-tubs will have Costa on a jet to Shanghai quicker than Conte can say “back to training, chubs”.

But just how did this multi-million pound brawl begin? We spoke to Mr Costa over his weekend break to find out. Some of it is very meow indeed…

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The big Chelsea number 19 has been known to headbutt and dive, as well as employ every other trick in the footballing book to get one over on his opponents. So don’t imagine his words were too withheld for Conte, will you…

“It all started when I bought myself a ‘Diego is God’ mosaic for my newly decorated, gold-plated bathroom. The boys became interested and once they’d found out, the whole training ground knew. I was just minding my own business; starting fights with those plastic shapes that look like men in a wall when the gaffer came strolling over.”

“‘Oi, Diego, over here. Tell me about this mosaic, it better not be any bigger than mine’ he called. But I’d just nutted my sixth member of the wall and was feeling a touch dizzy, so I didn’t respond straight away.”

“‘Who do you think you’re ignoring’ he said. So I began to stagger in his direction, breathless and out of sorts. Those plastic fellas really pack a punch.”

“‘Christ, look at him. He can barely walk and it’s only halfway through training.’ The gaffer was getting less and less impressed with every erratic step. That’s when he shouted, ‘Yo, fatty, who ate all the pies?’ Then, I have to admit, the red mist descended. I felt like a Spanish bull, because I’m Spanish and play for Spain and always have, having a red flag being waved in front of me by that jammy sod, Conte.”

“But there were no more free-kick men around me by that point, I’d swiftly nutted them all to the ground. Textbook stuff. So, who was I supposed to take my frustration out upon? In therapy they tell me, ‘Diego, count to ten and think of the lambs and puppies playing in your happy place’. But my happy place is playing football and kick-bashing the living daylights out of someone and there weren’t any lambs or puppies in those places. And, worst of all, I can’t count beyond seven so I was bang in trouble.”

“I was storming over to the wig-wearing-Mario-wannabe and imagining all the ways in which I could stud him or bite him or RKO him or fly-kick him or anything else that I could think of to show the guy who’s the boss round here. ‘Little fatty’, ‘lardy boy’ and ‘Costa the cake chomper’ he kept jeering. I raised my fist and went closer to his smug, floppy-haired block; ready to knock it off.”

“But when I got within striking distance, he said ‘Diego, just wanted to ask about this mosaic of yours, are the China rumours getting to your head, son? Wanna talk about it?'”

“‘Crap’, I thought. By that point I knew it was too late. It was only banter, Diego. Just a bit of fun. He’s trying to help you, don’t do it.”

“But I was out of control and then it happened. I just saw my hands moving and didn’t know what was going on. It all went so fast.”

“I just did it. Knocked his wig off his bonce and called out ‘take that, wiggy boy. Who’s laughing now, eh?’ I then chirped the ‘skin-‘ead, skin-‘ead over there’ song for what must have been 20-odd minutes in a daze, unaware of what had happened. I knew that my therapist wouldn’t approve.”

“I felt so ashamed and that was it. I’m in disgrace and may well have to leave the country to get my head together and restore my honour. A holiday for rehab, I suppose. Hey, I heard that China’s nice this time of year…”

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Quite the bust-up, then. Astonishing scenes at Chelsea’s Cobham training ground. Will they ensure Costa’s permanent expulsion or will the ferocious forward make a comeback? Only time will tell. Keep your ears open for round two of Costa V Conte: rumble in the West London jungle.

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