Leicester City vs. Chelsea : 1 February 2020.
We were parked up on Shakespeare Street, a red-bricked terrace street about half a mile from the King Power Stadium, at about 10.15am. I have been parking here for all the visits to Leicester City ever since my first visit to their new stadium in 2015. For many years, I never made it to Leicester. My first visit was during 1984/85 – more of that later – but for the next thirty years I didn’t make it, for various reasons. Before I was a season ticket holder, I was never sure of a ticket. Since I became a season ticket holder, I wasn’t always able to attend due to financial constraints, circumstances and then personal choice. I was on holiday in the US for our FA Cup game in 2004, I was trapped in my village after a sudden snowfall for our FA Cup game in 2018. For our League Cup game a few seasons back, I simply chose not to go.
But Shakespeare Street serves us well. It is to the south of King Power Stadium, so after the game it affords relatively quick access onto the city’s ring road and then further escape routes. I was tipped off about it by my friend Tim, who I have known – through work – since 2003. Tim and I had arranged to meet at “The Counting House” pub before the game and I quickly texted him to let him know I was already parked up.
We had set off from Frome at 7am. It was a fine trip up from the south-west of England. It was great to have Parky with us again. From Mells to Frome to collect PD, to Bradford-on-Avon, to Holt for Parky, through Melksham, past Chippenham, past Malmesbury, past Cirencester, past Bourton-on-the-Water, past Stow-on-the-Wold, through Moreton-in-Marsh, through Wellesbourne, past Warwick, past Coventry, to Hinckley.
A straight line.
Along the Fosse Way, the Roman road, to see Roman’s legions in the heart of England.
It is one of my favourite roads.
Under the familiar railway bridge, PD and Parky strode slowly on. The sun caught the iron of the bridge against the rich blue of the sky above. It was cold, but not bitterly so. We reached “The Counting House” at 10.45am and it was already open. It was packed, predominantly with Chelsea. We sat outside.
One single pint of lager apiece, not much time nor need for anything else.
Tim and his son Oliver soon arrived, last featured in these reports for the 2015 game. We chatted a little about football, a little about work, a little about football again.
Tim’s company has recently taken some office furniture for us down to Geneva which would eventually end up at the UEFA HQ in Nyon.
Oliver was trusted with taking the photographs.
“You’re not charging me are you? I know what your father is like.”
Another work acquaintance – a fellow P&O work colleague – Sally then arrived and it was lovely to see her once again. Sally covered me while I was on holiday to see Chelsea in the US in 2009 and although we have both left P&O we have kept in touch. I have not seen her since 2009. Where does the time go? And who could possibly have predicted that both of our teams would have become league champions in the ensuing years.
After Chelsea’s twin successes in 2004/5 and 2005/6, success was in no way guaranteed. That we have won the league on three further occasions is magical. For Leicester City to have won it in 2015/16 is beyond words.
I gave Sal a hug.
At just before midday, Tim, Oliver and I set off.
There was talk of the old ground, Filbert Street, just a few hundred yards to the north. In the 2015 match report, I mentioned the 1985 visit.
“I spotted the large electricity pylons and associated electricity sub-station that I had recognised from my visit to Filbert Street in February 1985. The station was just to the south of Filbert Street. It is just to the north of the King Power Stadium; the two sites are very close. I also spotted the new stand roof at Leicester’s Welford Road rugby union stadium too. I remember being escorted past that stadium, a very thin police escort at that, after the game at Filbert Street all those years ago.”
By some odd quirk, the game in 1985 was on Saturday 2 February. The two games almost exactly collided.
Yes, I have strong memories of that match in 1985. In fact, I always have vivid and intense memories of those first one-hundred Chelsea games that I attended.
I travelled alone, by train, from Stoke to Derby and then a change of trains to Leicester. A solitary walk to Filbert Street and its gorgeously lopsided stands; two huge, two miniscule. I had plenty of time on my hands. I circumnavigated the ground, nestled alongside terraced streets. I met Glenn inside, in the seats alongside the pitch; he had travelled up from Frome with a Crystal Palace fan, though in the subsequent years neither of us can remember his name. We had loads there. It kicked-off in the top tier of the double-decker behind the goal. There were pockets of Chelsea inside the home areas, no doubt intending to “mix it.” Chelsea in the yellow Le Coq Sportif. Eddie Niedzwiecki in a red jersey. We drew 1-1, an early Gary Lineker goal but David Speedie equalised with a penalty. After the game, there was indeed a minimal police escort, but a lot of Chelsea kept peeling off to front up with mobs of locals. Those narrow terraced streets, like at so many old grounds, were so difficult to police. Passing a park, now Nelson Mandela Park, I looked back to see fights breaking out everywhere. I remember standing on a platform at the station, saying “goodbye” to Glenn as he headed back to Frome, while I waited for a train back to Derby. The atmosphere in the train station was still feral a good hour after the game. There was still a huge malevolent buzz in the air.
A different era.
Outside the King Power, I bumped into the two Neils from Nuneaton. Thoughts of the 1984/85 era came to our minds again. On the previous day, I was stunned and saddened to hear that Dale Jasper – a Chelsea player in 1983/84 and 1984/85 – had passed away at the early age of just fifty-six.
It was a shocking piece of news.
Because Dale Jasper only played a few games, around fifteen, and because he was so young at the time, he will always remain encapsulated in my memory as “young Dale Jasper”, even though he was eighteen months older than me.
A few close friends were choked when we heard the news on Friday.
One of the 1983/84 team – my dream team, my dream season, my favourite ever year – was no longer with us. And it seemed impossible that young Dale Jasper was the first of the gang to die.
There was a lovely eulogy to Dale Jasper by Pat Nevin on the official CFC website. Pat, like me, likened him to Glenn Hoddle. In an era of rough and tumble, the lithe Jasper could certainly control a ball and “ping” a pass. I saw his debut, the iconic and infamous 3-3 at Ninian Park in 1984, and he was also present at the equally iconic and equally infamous game at Highbury later that year. He played in the “Canoville” game at Hillsborough, the 4-4, in 1985, but also gave away two penalties in the League Cup semi-final at Roker Park in the same League Cup campaign.
Dale Jasper certainly packed a lot into his short Chelsea career.
He later played for Brighton & Hove Albion and Crewe Alexandra.
He was on the same Facebook group as myself. I occasionally “liked” one or two of his comments, though we were not Facebook friends. I just wanted to share the love for a player that I admired, albeit briefly.
The two Neils and I spoke about Dale Jasper.
These photos from inside and outside Filbert Street show the double-decker, shared between home and away fans, and Wee Pat racing over to sign an autograph for some lucky Chelsea fan.
In 2015, I sat away from the rest of the Chelsea support.
“Due to the club’s cock-eyed decision to let tickets for this potentially key fixture to be sold with no loyalty points system in operation, Parky unfortunately missed out. I therefore needed to ask for a favour from Tim for an extra ticket. Within ten minutes of my call, Tim sorted me out a ticket in the home stand. On the basis that I could trust myself among the home fans rather than Parky, we agreed that it would be circumspect for him to have my ticket alongside Alan and Gary in the away corner. And I was in Tim’s seat, incognito. Everyone was happy.”
That was a great game – remembered for an incredible sunset – and I was, fortuitously at the right end to capture celebrations of our three second-half goals. It was a fantastic night. That fifth title was within touching distance.
Back to 2020, I made it inside the stadium – no more than fifteen yards away from my seat in May, but behind the corner flag this time – with about fifteen minutes to go.
I approached Alan and Gary.
“Alright lads? Been a tough week.”
For not only had the Chelsea family lost Dale Jasper on Friday, we also lost Chris Vassallo on Wednesday. I only knew Chris over the past five years; I seem to remember chatting to him in Tel Aviv in 2015 for the very first time. But every time we brushed past each other, he would offer his hand and say “alright, Chris” and I would do the same. He seemed a lovely bloke. Always there. As kick-off approached, I looked hard to see if I could spot his close friends Ali and Nick. I spotted them, quite a few rows back, and patted my chest.
The teams arrived.
I took a photo and posted it on “Facebook.”
“Remembering Chris and Dale. Let’s go to work, Chelsea.”
The big news was that Kepa was no longer our ‘keeper. In came Willy Caballero. I was quite surprised that Tammy Abraham had been declared to be match-fit. Pedro retained his place ahead of Willian. Another slight surprise.
James – Rudiger – Christensen – Azpilicueta
Kante – Mount
Pedo – Abraham – Hudson-Odoi
What a fine first-half. In fact, very soon into it, I commented to Alan “much better than last season’s game” which was truly, truly horrific.
The low winter sun was causing Kasper Schmeichel a few problems as Chelsea dominated the game from the off. We passed well, and used the flanks. The away crowd were right in to the game from the off, with plenty of noise booming around the north-east corner. There was the usual expected “bants” between both sets of fans, though the geezer in the adjacent Leicester section with the drum needed to be constantly reminded of his “hobbies”.
Frustratingly, there was an “air shot” from Callum Hudson-Odoi and this drew moans and groans from all. This seemed to affect his confidence a little, and his play was a little within himself. A cross from our left from Dave then just evaded Tammy Abraham. More groans. But then, lovely, an immediate chant of support.
“Oh Tammy Tammy. Tammy, Tammy, Tammy Abraham.”
Despite Callum’s troubles on our right, Reece James took up the gauntlet. He was soon attacking at will down that flank after being released by various team mates. One sumptuous cross into the danger area was just perfection but Tammy read it slightly late.
A ball was played in, by Pedro I think, and Tammy twisted inside the box. There was a slight hint of a trip. He was certainly sprawled on the turf.
After a while, the Chelsea crowd – not Alan, not Gary, not me, not Parky – screamed.
“VAR. VAR. VAR. VAR.”
Give me strength.
After the usual lengthy delay, the call did not go our way.
The Chelsea crowd changed their tune.
“FUCK VAR. FUCK VAR. FUCK VAR. FUCK VAR. FUCK VAR.”
Alan looked at me and I looked at Alan.
“They can’t have it both ways, Al.”
“Fuck me, how do these morons find their way to work in the mornings?”
I can only hope that these people, if they voted on the European Union referendum in 2016, voted with a little more conviction and a little less fickleness than with which they now vote for VAR.
Midway through the half, the Chelsea noise diminished slightly, there was a classic Leicester City chance for Jamie Vardy but Caballero saved brilliantly well. It was their sole chance thus far. Pedro was involved often in this period, and one halting run ended up with a subtle lob towards goal, but Schmeichel back-peddled well and tipped over. Callum was trying to get into the groove. But one step forward, two steps back. The diagonal from Rudiger, and from others, to Reece and Callum was a common occurrence.
There was a hint of rain, but mainly the sun shone.
We kept driving at the Leicester defence. Reece James was solid, he had focus, and he was our finest player of the half. Another cross from Reece, right on the money, and another whisker away from Tammy. A rushed shot from Callum ballooned over the bar. More groans.
But the home team were now coming into the game. Efforts from them caused a little worry for our defence.
There was a classic chance for Vardy just before the break.
“Here we go.”
Amazingly, he fluffed his lines.
Just after, a Leicester City corner was met by a strong unchallenged leap by Hamza Choudury, but his equally strong header was down but wide.
In the first minute of the second-half, a corner to Chelsea from the same side of the ground as the Leicester effort before the break. Mason Mount hit it deep, and the ball fell at virtually the same place as the Leicester cross. Rudiger rose, repeated the Choudhury downward header, but this time the ball ended up in the goal.
Alan : “Thay’ll ‘ave ta come at us nah.”
Chris : “Come on my little diamonds.”
There was a magical reflex save from close in by Caballero from Ben Chilwell – arms and legs at all angles – but Leicester were back in this game.
As Harvey Barnes l approached, I yelled.
“Don’t let him come inside ya.”
With that, he did. The shot took a deflection and it curled and spun past the dive of Oor Wullie.
Barnes’ little pirouette in front of us made me ill.
I turned to Al.
“Game of two halves.”
We were letting our hold slip in this half and our attacking play quickly slowed.
On 56 minutes, Dale Jasper’s age, I hoped for a chant in his honour.
There was nothing, nothing at all. There had been nothing all game.
Ten minutes later, a cross from the Leicester City rose high, and I watched Caballero react to it. He watched the ball fall and he raced, unsure of himself, towards it, but it fell way in front of him. I watched as he raced back. The ball was recycled – is that the buzz word these days? – and it fell at Ben Chilwell’s feet. He slammed it home. Caballero was close to it, but not close enough. I am, if I am honest, not sure if he had not carried out his wild sortie he would still have saved it.
I certainly felt sorry for Willy, who until then had been more than fine.
But I did turn to Alan and say :
“I am sure Kepa would have stayed in his six-yard box.”
And I absolutely felt sorry for Frank, his gamble – which is what it certainly was – had backfired.
Oh these defensive lapses, Chelsea.
There was another fine Caballero save. This drew some praise.
[Inside my head] : “We seem to have run out of ideas. Maybe we need to lump it to Rudi again.”
Seven minutes after we went behind, Dave was fouled on our left. Mason Mount floated it in. This was another long, deep cross, and Toni Rudiger rose again. Unlike the first goal, a sudden downward stab, this was a lofted floating lob that dropped wonderfully into the yawning goal, with Schmiechel nowhere.
We celebrated that one truly, madly, deeply.
Frank Lampard rang some changes.
Kovacic for Jorginho.
Willian for Pedro.
Then, very oddly.
Barkley for Abraham.
Well, answers on a postcard.
Gary and I quickly discussed false nines and we didn’t like it.
“Regardless of the formation, every team still needs a goal scorer.”
Then, I felt dirty for even thinking it…
[Inside my head] : “Surely this isn’t a Mourinho-esque swipe by Frank at the board for not backing him in his search for an elastoplast striker in the January window?”
Our play ran out of ideas. Willian did well at first then dipped. Barkley struggled. In the last few minutes, the home team were gifted two golden chances.
A Johnny Evans header, wide.
A shot from Harvey Barnes, wide.
Then, the ball was played in to our box and Rudiger seemed to turn and flick his hand towards the ball. Everyone around me feared the absolute worst, we honestly did.
At the final whistle, some positives surely.
A good game, a point apiece was a fair result. Leicester City are no mugs, a fine team. Drawing at the team in third place is absolutely alright.
On the way out, I chatted to a few mates. Our first-ever Winter break is upon us. Mark is off to Las Vegas, Scott is off to Australia. I am not honestly sure where Chelsea are ending up – a place in the sun surely? – but I am off too.
I am off to Buenos Aires on Tuesday for some sun and some football.
We reconvene in over two weeks for the visit of Manchester United.
See you there.
Postscript : 1985 / 2015 / 2020 Updated.
1985 – 15,657.
2015 – 32,021.
2020 – 32, 186.
1985 – 29,000.
2015 – 32,500.
2020 – 32,312.
1985 – 4,000.
2015 – 3,000.
2020 – 3,000.
1985 – £4.50 on day of game.
2015 – £40 in advance.
2020 – £30 in advance.
1985 – English.
2015 – Thai and Russian.
2020 – Thai and Russian.
The Chelsea Players.
1985 – English, Welsh, Scottish.
2015 – Czech, Serbian, Spanish, English, Belgian, Brazilian and Ivorian.
2020 – Argentinian, English, Danish, German, Spanish, French and Italian.
1985 – Dixon, Speedie, Nevin.
2015 – Hazard, Terry, Diego Costa.
2020 – Kante and two others to be decided upon on a weekly basis.
1985 – all yellow.
2015 – all yellow.
2020 – black and orange.
1985 – “You’re gonna get your fucking heads kicked in.”
2015 – “Champions of England, you’ll never sing that.”
2020 – “Champions of Europe, you’ll never sing that.”
After The Game.
1985 – Police escort, scuffles everywhere.
2015 – Normality.
2020 – Normality and a cheeseburger with onions.
Parky, Gary, Alan and myself featured after our first goal.
That was fuckin brilliant! I was there and I really enjoyed your version of events, especially as I couldn’t really see down the other end( where Rudy scored)
Also found the statistics fascinating.. cheers mate
Thanks as always for the bringing us along on your travels. Enjoy the matches in South America.
Muchos gracias capitano.