Chelsea vs. AFC Wimbledon : 30 August 2023.

A Winning Weekend.

Last Friday’s 3-0 win at home to Luton Town was the first of four wins out of four over the Bank Holiday Weekend. It was followed by a narrow 1-0 away win for Frome Town at Yate Town on Saturday afternoon and a decent 2-0 home win against Larkhall Athletic on Monday afternoon in another local derby for my home-town team. I really enjoyed both games.

Sandwiched in between the two Frome games, I made an appearance at the Royal United Hospital in Bath on Sunday afternoon. Back in June, I had experienced an odd tenderness in my stomach, that thankfully only lasted around three weeks, but in the various tests that had followed, it was decided that a colonoscopy was required. This obviously brought a certain degree of worry. I think it was seeing the words “suspected bowel cancer” on a letter than brought it all home. There was one in early August that turned out to be inconclusive, but I was overjoyed to hear that the second one had found no abnormalities at all.

I was clear.

Suffice to say, I was a lot more relaxed at the Frome Town home game on Monday than I had been at the away game forty-eight hours earlier.

So, four wins out of four.

Peroni don’t do weekends, but if they did…

Different Club, Same Name.

Playing in the early round of the League Cup is a rare thing at Chelsea. As always, most people I know were looking for a new away ground to visit in the “Southern Section” (is that a new thing? I guess we had just never been exposed to it before) so there was a certain degree of being underwhelmed at the prospect of a home game, albeit against AFC Wimbledon. The rise of this new club through the football pyramid since the original team were moved lock, stock and barrel to Milton Keynes is surely one of the greatest stories of the past few decades. The tie would represent the two team’s first-ever fixture.

The original Wimbledon Football Club came into my recognition back in 1974/75 during their FA Cup run. They won away at Burnley, becoming the first non-league team in over a century to defeat a First Division team in an away tie. In the next round, they drew 0-0 at Elland Road against champions Leeds United before narrowly losing the replay at Plough Lane. They joined the Football League in 1977. The club rose steadily through the divisions and joined Chelsea in the First Division in 1986/87.

Existing on small crowds, the club were favourites to be relegated. But in that first season at the highest level, despite an average attendance of around 8,000, they finished in a ridiculously high sixth position, way ahead of us in fourteenth place. They even beat us in the two league meetings; 4-0 at Stamford Bridge in December and 2-1 at Plough Lane in May.

They would often hand us heavy defeats at Stamford Bridge. There was a 5-2 win in December 1989 and a 4-2 win in October 1996.

We might well have had the last laugh in 1996/97 though, beating the Dons 3-0 in the FA Cup semi-final at Highbury. It was only when the club ground-shared at Selhurst Park from 1991/92 that gates increased, topping off with an average of 18,000 in 1998/99. Away fans often boosted crowds at these Wimbledon home games.

I watched from a distance as the club fell apart and were moved to Milton Keynes. It was the saddest thing. For this reason, MK Dons remain hated throughout most of our football landscape.

A side story. It is rumoured that Wimbledon’s move from south-west London to Buckinghamshire in 2004 was as big a shift as Arsenal’s move across London in 1913. The time it took supporters to physically travel from Wimbledon to Milton Keynes on a match day was virtually the same as the time it took supporters of Woolwich Arsenal to travel from Plumstead to Highbury using the transport available at the time. Think on that, Arsenal fans. It’s no wonder Tottenham dislike them so much, the original franchise team.

There is no place for franchise football in the UK.

Farewell My Friend.

Over the weekend, I heard some horrible news. My friend Russ, who used to sit a few rows in front of me in The Sleepy Hollow from 1997 to 2011, had sadly lost a long battle with cancer on Saturday evening. Russ was a lovely man, and Chelsea mad like all of us. On many occasions, I would leave my car at his house in Shepperton and he would drop me off at various terminals at Heathrow as I travelled to see Chelsea in far off locations. He did this for me from 2009 – Chelsea in Baltimore and Arlington – to 2019 – Chelsea in Baku – and I used to love chatting to him on those drives. I last spoke to him on the ‘phone just after Thomas Tuchel took over in 2021 and we were chatting on WhatsApp earlier this summer. He faced his battle bravely. He leaves his wife Kim and daughter Emily.

On the last few miles of our trip to London for the AFC Wimbledon game, for some reason I spotted a grey van as it slowly moved along a tree-lined avenue as I flew past on the M4. I have no reason as to why I paid attention to it. Imagine my reaction when I spotted that the van belonged to the same small firm of freight forwarders that Russ worked for.

Russ Kemp. Love you mate. Rest In Peace.

Chelsea Is A Club, Not A Team.

The build up to the game was dominated by the news that Chelsea Football Club, despite promising a full period of consultation with supporter groups, had unilaterally decided to abandon the away travel subsidy this season. This dismayed many supporters and hinted at a bleak future of poor fan-related decisions under the new regime. In reality, this only affected a few hundred supporters per away game – maybe between three and five coaches – and indeed not all away games were serviced by the coaches, but this news cut deep. Originally, from my memory, Chelsea used to subsidise some coaches – and trains – at £10, and then after a large TV deal, the Premier League asked for some of the monies to be used by clubs to take away the sting of away travel. As everyone with half a brain knows, away fans are the lifeblood of our game in this country. Without a loyal band of vociferous away supporters at every game, noise levels would decrease and “the product” would be more difficult to sell to TV companies and, with it, advertisers.

The game needs away support.

And those coaches have been a Godsend to many. I know many have used them over the past ten years or so. My fellow companions Alan, Gary and John always use them for tough away games in the Midlands and the North. Not everyone can afford car travel, nor standard train fares. Many users of the club travel are physically disabled. I know that the club has continued to take at least one fan that I know to away games in a specially designed van with wheelchair access. It is a disgrace that this service will be stopped. It is especially galling when the board has spent over one billion pounds on largely unproven players in just over a year.

It would appear that the platitudes that are issued by Clearlake regarding our support are indeed empty.

The new regime must realise that Chelsea is a club – a club that includes its supporters as the main ingredient, the main focus, the heart – rather than just a team. We might moan about players, but there is so much more to Chelsea than the players alone. It’s all about our combined ability to carry on and continue our support of those players in an environment where we are respected, not in a mollycoddled way, but where our voices are heard and where we feel we belong.

If I ever lose that feeling of being part of the club, I will be out.

Simmons.

I sidled into “Simmons” at around 5.30pm after wolfing down the worst cheeseburger – with onions – that I have ever had from “Delish” on the Fulham Road. As I waited for friends to arrive, the music blared and the scene began to be set.

The Killers, The Undertones, Franz Ferdinand, The Housemartins, The Fratellis.

JR and his wife Erin joined me, but there were few others in that I recognised; only the two Marks and Mr. Pink on a nearside table. It had been a really good drive in from Wiltshire; virtually bang on two hours, my best yet for a midweek game. JR had watched AFC Wimbledon on Saturday against Forest Green Rovers and had enjoyed it. Erin had flown in from Detroit on Monday; her first trip to Europe, her first trip to England, her first trip to London, her first visit to Stamford Bridge, her first sighting of Lord Parky.

Parky joined us at 7pm, but it was soon time to get to the game.

New Faces.

In a period of change on the pitch, this was always going to be a night of fresh faces. As I took my seat alongside Alan and PD, I prepared for a night of acclimatisation. In The Shed, Wimbledon – can I call them that? – were backed by around 4,000. It meant that Parky was somewhere in the MHU too, but we never did spot him. Mauricio Pochettino named these players and it took me most of the first-half for them to settle in my consciousness, but the fluid formation took all game for me to suss.

Sanchez

Humphreys – Disasi – Colwill – Cucarella

Gallagher – Uguchukwu

Madueke – Maatsen – Moreira

Burstow

With Manchester United absurdly sniffing around Flopsy And Mopsey, the Cucarella twins, it was a surprise that he got a start. We had seen Bash at City in the Cup, but this was a home debut.

One of the Chukle Brothers was paired alongside Conor, the night’s captain.

The M and M and M Boys in support of the lone striker and a first look at Moreira, and a full debut for Maaatsen.

Up front, Mason – let’s have a proper look at him, eh?

SW6 Versus SW17.

Chelsea dominated the early exchanges to the point of absurdity. The visitors from SW17 were firmly encamped in their own half, in front of their noisy supporters in The Shed, and we hoped that a goal would soon come. It was slightly off-putting to hear “Wimbledon” being sung to the same tune as “Li-ver-pool” but the away fans were giving it their all. The home areas, which included Erin and JR right below us in the MHL, were quiet.

Noni Madueke immediately shone out like a beacon, full of intent, full of running, full of flicks and tricks. I did however hope that there was an end product too.

Wimbledon – in a reverse of our kit – had hardly passed the half-way line but from a free-kick down below us, I caught on film the moment that Robert Sanchez crashed into Harry Pell and a penalty was signalled. James Tilley smacked it home.

SW6 0 SW17 1.

Would we struggle to get out of this round? Last season our involvement in the same competition lasted just one game. I wondered if this might follow similar lines. It’s an odd competition this. I explained it’s importance to a mate at work :

“We attend the first games with not much interest in the hope we get to visit a new ground. We only get excited if we draw Tottenham. We sometimes get to the final. It’s a good day out, but it has lost its appeal really.”

We continued our stranglehold on the game. However, after half an hour, I only remember two deflected shots that missed the goal frame with ease. Madueke continued to dance and Gallagher was chasing every ball down with a fervour. But others were struggling somewhat. Both Burstow and Moreira were spectators. Maatsen looked a little lost too.

But we acknowledged the fat that this time had not played together before and that in a season of new faces, this game was the epitome of it. Our expectation levels were tempered accordingly.

For some bizarre reason, the “Willian Song” was sung by the MHL.

Why?

There had been just two Wimbledon attacks the entire half. But our chances seemed to be equally rare.

Cucarella had been worse than shite. We hoped United weren’t watching.

Just as I was fearing boos from the knobheads at the break, Noni danced and wriggled once more and Alex Pearce poleaxed him. Madueke, the star thus far, took the penalty.

Goal.

SW6 1 SW17 1.

Phew.

For the second-half, Pochettino replaced Moreira with Nicholas Jackson. He received a fine reaction. We love a trier at Chelsea.

The second-half was much better. Jackson soon shot on sight, and drew a save from the latest incarnation of Dickie Guy.

Then a shot from Gallagher.

Wimbledon created a little more in the second-half but we were never tested.

“Wim-ble-don, Wim-ble-don. Wim-ble-don, Wim-ble-don.”

A break from Wimbledon got me all edgy but thankfully a perfectly-timed toe-poke from Colwill cut out the danger.

Enzo Fernandez came on for Burstow with twenty minutes to go. This reminded me so much of years past when first teamers were rested in these home League Cup games, but with the game tied – or worse – the manager would throw on Frank Lampard. At the same time, Malo Gusto replaced Colwill.

Our current number eight soon looked involved and drew a very fine save from their ‘keeper from distance.

A Super Blue Moon rose behind The Shed.

On seventy-two minutes, Maatsen chased down a ball and the ‘keeper failed to clear. The ball bounced off Maatsen into the path of Enzo who steered the ball in to the empty net from the edge of the box.

SW6 2 SW17 1.

Phew. Again.

A new song.

“OHHH, ENZO FERNANDEZ. OHHH ENZO FERNANDEZ.”

For all of our spending (note : I am still not convinced, far from it), I am sure we have a very fine player here, this young maestro from Buenos Aires.

Moises Caicedo replaced Madueke.

More shots rained in on their ‘keeper, we were all over them now. In a similar instance to our goal, the Wimbledon ‘keeper again made a mess of things as he wandered too far from home, but Enzo, on this occasion, planted his shot just wide of the far post. It could have been a game of two penalties and two open goal hits.

It stayed 2-1. It was a decent enough game.

Exeter City Away Please.

Nah, we got lumbered with another tedious home game. We reconvene against Brighton in around a month.

Just The Ticket.

I returned to my car to see that my earlier super-human performance in getting from Portal Road in Melksham to Mulgrave Road in Fulham had been rewarded with a £65 parking ticket.

Fackinell.

It was a silly mistake really. We rarely get to London before 5pm – the cut-off time –  on weekdays, and if we do, we have been lucky not to get ticketed. On this occasion, I arrived at around 4.15pm, and I was ticketed at 4.32pm. It spoiled a decent night, but after the worry about “Sunday’s win” last weekend, I honestly did not care one iota.

Next Up.

The twice European Cup winners Nottingham Forest are at Stamford Bridge at 3pm on Saturday. I will see you there.