Tales From The Eight Bells And Three Points

Chelsea vs. Crystal Palace : 4 November 2018.

Another Sunday, another game.

I had dropped the lads off at West Kensington at around midday. The arranged “meet” on this sunny November Sunday was “The Eight Bells” at Putney Bridge. While I went off to park up, the lads – Glenn, PD, Parky – made their way down to the bottom end of the King’s Road by themselves. Once parked up just off Lillee Road, I walked over to West Brompton, crossing over the North End Road, amid many memories of previous Chelsea moments.

Drinks at “The Lillee Langtry” after beating United 3-0 to win the league in 2006. A triumphant drink in the very same boozer after the Champions League semi-final victory against Liverpool in 2008. A late night curry at the “Lily Tandoori” with friends from both coasts of the USA after a debilitating defeat to Inter in the Champions League in 2010. Calling in at “The Prince Of Wales” en route to Wembley with Parky for the 2012 FA Cup Final. Dropping in to “The Wee Imp” after a pizza at “Salvo’s” after a game with Leicester City in 2014 with a mate from Detroit, keen to show him the ultimate Chelsea post-game experience at the time.

And looming over everything was the towering mass of the Empress State Building, one of the iconic buildings that has coloured my Chelsea match-going experiences from 1974, and even before. Before I used to go to games, the triangular-shaped building was often spotted by myself in black and white action shots from Stamford Bridge. I would have spotted it in person away to my left from my seat in the West Stand Benches for the first time in real technicolour – suitably blue and white – at that first game. From The Shed, it looked massive, as did the huge mass of the Earls Court exhibition centre to its east. It was once the tallest building in London. I love it because it forms a constant link to my present-day Chelsea experience to those of my youth. It used to house M15 apparently. I always remembered that LBC used to broadcast from there. Now it is used by the Met Police. Maybe one of these days, we’ll get to experience a different pre-match vibe with a meal – and drinks – in the revolving restaurant at the top. That view must be sensational.

The huge Earls Court building – and Earl’s Court Two – is no more, bulldozed to make way for new residential and commercial buildings. I bloody loved the Art Deco façade of Earl’s Court. Such a shame it had to go. Of course, back in 2011, the club had fanciful ideas about us moving to a stadium on this site. So much for that idea.

The area opposite West Brompton tube has now been renamed West Brompton Crossing, the Prince Of Wales has closed and has been re-opened and a row of trendy shops have taken the place of more working class pubs, cafes, kebab shops and cab firms. Even “The Lily Langtree” was closed for a while. It has reopened again with a classier look and higher prices.

I caught the District Line train from West Brompton to Putney Bridge. It was a mighty odd feeling to be passing through Fulham Broadway without alighting. Putney Bridge is a lovely station – white tiles, green paint – and when I exited the train I looked back to the north and was still able to spot the Empress State Building. The stands at Stamford Bridge, annoyingly, were hidden by buildings.

I had visited Putney Bridge tube station on only one other occasion. I had come down to visit a mate in London in 1985 and we decided to watch a Fulham vs. Charlton Athletic game at Craven Cottage in the old Second Division. The gate was only about 6,000 from memory. It was a dire 0-0 draw. That served me right.

On all visits to Fulham since, I have driven my car and parked in Fulham or, usually, across the river in Putney itself.

I soon found the lads outside the Eight Bells, enjoying the beers and the craic. It is a super little pub. It has the feel of a pub on a village green, the centre of a little community, a local’s boozer. I am a big fan. Joining us were Kev and Rich from Edinburgh, Andy, Kim and Dan from Kent, plus Josh from Minneapolis and Dale from Chicago. It was a typically entertaining time. The pub was ridiculously busy, with Sunday roasts being served amid chatter and laughter. I had not met Dale before, but knew of mutual friends. We spoke momentarily how the future might pan out a few years down the line.

A management team of Frank Lampard and John Terry, anyone?

Best not get too giddy about that. Let’s enjoy the current regime. Let’s enjoy the moment. Whatever will be will be, as someone once said.

We called in for further bevvies at “The King’s Head.”

Alas, it was soon time to head off to the game.

“Bloody football. Getting in the way of a good time.”

We back-tracked to Putney Bridge tube and headed north to a more familiar station. We were soon at Fulham Broadway.

“Home.”

Inside the ground, Crystal Palace unsurprisingly had the standard three thousand. There were a couple of “CPFC” banners, which would mirror one of their chants. The team that manager Maurizio had chosen was the same eleven that walloped Burnley away last Sunday.

Arrizabalaga

Azpilicueta – Rudiger – Luiz – Alonso

Kante – Jorginho – Barkley

Willian – Morata – Pedro

Before the game, there was a minute of complete silence in memory of those who had perished in the Leicester City tragedy. Rarely have I seen, and heard – or not heard – Stamford Bridge so quiet on such an occasion. It was impeccably observed.

Crystal Palace were wearing a nod to their famous old kit of around forty years ago; the all-white with the red and blue sash across the shirts. I always think of Vince Hilaire when I see that kit. As Alan reminded me, in those days, following promotion in the 1978/1979 season, Crystal Palace were briefly known as “The Team Of The ‘Eighties.” Stop sniggering at the back. This epithet never ever looked like being a particularly prophetic description of Terry Venables’ team. In the following season – 1979/80 – Crystal Palace finished in thirteenth position. I would like to make some pithy comment about them still finishing one place about Tottenham that season, but as Chelsea were still toiling in the Second Division at the time I had best be quiet.

The visitors from South London have been something of a bogey team to us over the last few seasons. In our past five away games at Selhurst Park, we have lost two games. In that same period, we have lost two games to Palace at Stamford Bridge too. But, that said, we all expected a home win. No doubts. Surely our class would tell.

However, we were rather slow getting off the blocks. In the first quarter of an hour or so, the visitors arguably enjoyed most of the better attacking play. Of course, all eyes were on Wilfrid Zaha, and his pace was upsetting our defenders with a few trademark runs. Once in the box however, he tended to take a few extra over-indulgent touches. In one moment of play, his feet were chopping up and down on the ball like a dressage pony. The Palace fans, suitably impressed with their bright opening, then made fools of themselves.

“We’re just too good for you.”

Oh my aching sides.

A free-shot from Meyer ballooned over from the edge of our box. Soon after, David Luiz made a fantastic block inside our penalty area. Thankfully, I noted that the pacey Zaha was not being ably supported by his team mates. Throughout the game, I felt that their forwards were often ploughing lone furrows. Their play would not often mesh together. But we were being tested alright. We needed to up our game.

We began to get into the match. A couple of Antonio Rudiger cross-field passes out to the left-wing were inch perfect and were illustrative of our growing confidence. But there had been a few wayward passes too. The away fans were making some noise, but the home areas were pretty still and pretty quiet. On thirty minutes, the ball was worked in towards Pedro – who had already swapped wings with Willian on a couple of occasions – who had a couple of stabs at getting the ball into a good position. Alvaro Morata was the willing recipient and his neat turn resulted in the ball being poked home.

At last some noise. His joyful run…a hop, a skip, a jump…took him towards Parkyville

I was dead happy that the much-maligned Morata had scored another. I hoped that his resurgence would continue.

Not long after, a Willian goal was disallowed for offside. Morata then headed over. We had edged ahead and at half-time, despite not overpowering the visitors at any stage, all looked rosy. With Liverpool drawing at Arsenal, but with Manchester beating Southampton 6-1, we could at least secure a healthy second-place.

With the evening getting duskier and darker, the second-half began. Sadly, our defensive frailties were evident when Palace exploited a very high defensive line with a couple of quick passes.  Andros Townsend was able to run free, and his low shot easily beat Kepa in the Chelsea goal.

“Like a knife through butter.”

“Bollocks.”

At least I was stirred that following the equaliser, the Chelsea fans let out a very loud and defiant “CAREFREE.”

We toiled away for a further ten minutes, but needed the impetus provided by a couple of substitutions to fully get into the game. We had spotted Eden Hazard, especially, warming up in front of the East Stand, and it was with a smile that we saw Sarri talking to him and asking him to take his trackie top off.

It turned out to be a double substitution.

Alan and I had the briefest of discussions about the changes. We don’t always get it right, but this time we were spot on.

Mateo Kovacic for a slightly subdued Ross Barkley.

Eden Hazard for Willian.

Eden’s first real involvement lead to panic in the Palace penalty area. His free-kick from the Chelsea right avoided everyone, and Morata was able to control the ball as he waited – surprisingly free – at the far post. His low left-footed strike flew into the net. And how he celebrated. Hugs all around. Smiles for everyone. It was magical to see the Chelsea players celebrating down below us. Morata and Hazard then came together, and Eden excitedly shook his head like a child, with Alvaro embracing him, sharing his joy. What a gorgeous moment. There is something childlike, not childish, about our Eden. He simply loves playing football, and – my goodness – he is certainly flourishing under our new manager.

For a while, it was all about Eden. Almost immediately bringing others in to the game, Eden made such an impact. His ridiculously broad shoulders were proving to be broad enough to carry his underperforming team mates once more. A touch here, a shimmy there, a pass here, a run there. He immediately attracted extra attention, which in turn freed up important spaces elsewhere.

Not long after, a rapid move down our left resulted in a low cross from Marcos Alonso being slammed into the box. It flew past Hazard and was slightly behind Morata, but Pedro was on hand to whip the ball home. The game was surely safe now. The players raced over to our corner once more – how lucky we are – and the smiles were shared by players and fans alike. Pedro’s toothy green lit up the evening. He was beaming. A few hand gestures, a lick of his thumb – answers on a postcard – and a wave to the cheering gallery. Top man.

Cesc Fabregas replaced Jorginho – Alan and I got that one right too, three out of three – in the eightieth minute.

In the last minute of the game, the ball was won deep in the Palace half and was released early. Morata found himself in on goal. We waited for him to shoot, or to probably go left or right and prod home a la Fernando Torres in Catalonia in 2012. Instead, the striker chose to chip Hennessey, but the ‘keeper had read the signs. Morata groaned and so did we. The hat-trick would have to wait.

Chelsea 3 Crystal Palace 1.

This turned out to be an easy win.

I bloody hope that there are many more to come this season.

Safe travels to all those heading over to Belarus. My next game is the Everton match on Sunday.

I will see some of you there.

5 thoughts on “Tales From The Eight Bells And Three Points

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