Chelsea vs. Brighton And Hove Albion : 28 September 2024.

A three o’clock kick-off on a Saturday. It just seems right, doesn’t it?

This just seemed like a normal “back to life, back to reality” game of football. By 7.30am, I had picked up Paul and Parky and we were on our way up to London. Games against Brighton of late have been interesting affairs what with the number of players and personnel that have switched from one club to the other in recent seasons. This would be a tight game, not an easy one to predict, but the actual football was not dominating my mind as I drove East. On this day, there would be meet ups with two people from Nashville in Tennessee and two and a half people from the Czech Republic, and I was looking forward to that as much as the match that would follow.

This was a busy spell for us at Stamford Bridge; four home games in thirteen days, almost a thousand miles of driving for me, some early starts, some late finishes.

First, though, a trip back in time as I continue my retrospective of the events from the 1984/85 season. On Wednesday 26 September, I was newly-arrived in the city of Stoke-on-Trent, and was finding my feet at North Staffs Poly. On that particular day, there was administration stuff to be done, but I also showed up for trials for the college football team. I hadn’t played football of any type for a couple of years – I remember playing for the Lower Sixth at Frome College, but not the Upper Sixth, did 1982/83 totally drain my love of football? – and I remember being over-awed by the numbers that had shown up for the practice. From memory, I played OK, but soon decided that it would be a miracle to break into any of the teams, so I decided there and then to forget it. I was only nineteen, but hanging up my boots meant that I could concentrate on the love of my life, Chelsea Football Club.

That evening, way down in London, Chelsea played Millwall in the first leg of an early round of the League Cup. We won 3-1, with Kerry Dixon getting a brace and the former Chelsea defender Micky Nutton putting into his own net. The gate was only 19,912 but it wasn’t a bad figure for the time. I have no doubt that just as many would have been scared off with the threat of trouble as would have been enticed to the game for trouble. This match did not have the notoriety of the return leg. In fact, I am not sure if any off-the-pitch stuff took place at all on this night in deepest SW6.

I was parked up in deepest SW6 forty years later at around 10am. On the way to meet the lads, there was a points failure further south, so I had to walk the last mile from Parsons Green. At around 10.30am I walked into “The River Café” for the first time this season. A gaggle of Chelsea lads that I know were sat at one table. Behind, in the corner, was my Albion friend Mac, who partly resides in the Czech Republic and partly in Brighton. I first met Mac in a sports bar in Manhattan in 2013 and we have become good friends over the years. I loved hearing about Mac’s travels last season with Brighton in Europe, the club’s first-ever European campaign. I must admit that they had superb cities to visit; Marseille, Amsterdam, Athens in the group phase – two wins and a draw – and then Rome. You never forget your first time; in 1994/95, I had Jablonec via Prague, Vienna and Zaragoza. I devoured a Full English, and we then flitted around the corner to meet up with PD, Parky, Salisbury Steve, and my friends David and Nate from Nashville in “The Eight Bells.” 

I have met David before but this was the first time that I would see his son Nate. This was Nate’s second visit to Stamford Bridge; the first time coincided with Rafa Benitez’ first game in charge against Manchester City in 2012. Nate has suffered with a brain tumour for many years and the 2012 visit was arranged by the “Make A Wish Foundation” and he met Roman Abramovich and a few first-team players. There have been worrying relapses over the years, and so it was a real pleasure to finally meet him in person, and to welcome him to the pub. I remember seeing a video message that Levi Colwill sent Nate during the summer. The power of football to bring happiness should not be overlooked.

Our mate Dave – we would sit next to each other on The Benches as 1984/85 developed – showed up for a pint and a chat, and then Mac’s mate Barry arrived too. Barry had recently seen Billy Gilmour’s Napoli debut away to Cagliari. Mac told the lovely story about how he appeared as an extra, playing a footballer, in the 2001 film “Mean Machine” starring ex-Chelsea player Vinnie Jones. Both Brighton fans were a little unsure how their team would fare at Stamford Bridge. I think we all expected a tight one.

David and Nate got the call from someone at Chelsea to make their way to Stamford Bridge and I believe they were to meet the players as they arrived. I wished them well, and they bounced out with smiles on their faces.

Soon to arrive were brother and sister George and Anetta from Zlin in the Czech Republic. I first met George in Vienna for the Rapid friendly in 2016 and we have bumped into each other a few times over the years, the last time in Salzburg two years ago. Anetta is studying law at university in Bratislava, and this was her first visit to the UK, to England, to London, to a game at Chelsea.

We checked the team as it was announced at around 1.45pm.

Sanchez

Gusto – Fofana – Colwill – Cucarella

Caicedo – Enzo

Madueke – Palmer – Sancho

Jackson

Delayed by an extra round of drinks and crowds on a packed tube, I sadly arrived a minute or so after the game began.

Chelsea in blue, Albion in a rather nice “old school” all-yellow.

I quickly took off two layers of jackets. The weather was magnificent.

I sat alongside Clive and we found ourselves catching-up as the first few minutes of play took place down below us. All of a sudden, a turn of pace from Kaoru Mitoma caused concern. After a poor touch by Moises Caicedo put Levi Colwill under pressure to hack the ball away, the ball ballooned up into the air, and Robert Sanchez raced enthusiastically out to try to punch the ball away. However, a strong leap by Georginio Rutter ensured that it was his touch that counted. The ball was headed towards goal and in.

Marc Cucarella and the scorer lay prone in the box, and I suppose we hoped forlornly for a free-kick against our defender, but there was nothing. Only seven minutes had passed.

Chelsea 0 Brighton 1.

There was a song emanating out from the three-thousand away fans that sounded an awful lot like “There’s only one Morgan Stanley” but I think the heat had got to me. I know football is all about finance these days, but surely the away fans weren’t singing the praises of investment bankers.

There was a fine cross from Noni Madueke just after the Brighton goal but nobody was on hand to tuck the ball in. Then another run and cross from Jadon Sancho, on his home debut, that was easily gathered by the Brighton ‘keeper Bart Verbruggen. At the other end, a cross from Danny Welbeck was deflected at goal and Sanchez did well to save.

When Colwill went for a header, I had a Thiago Silva flashback. I mentioned his number 6 shirt to Clive, and Clive said that he had experienced a Thiago Silva flashback too. The sun really was getting to us.

On twenty minutes, a fine flowing move; Colwill to Enzo to Cole Palmer. He dragged the ball ahead of himself and advanced. He was one on one with the ‘keeper. He shot low, we were already up to celebrate, but the ball agonisingly hit the base of the right-hand post. Just after, Palmer tucked the ball in past Verbruggen but the flag was raised for an off-side – and although it looked offside, we celebrated that one too.

Drat.

Thankfully, on twenty-one minutes, Adam Webster lost possession and the ball was played unselfishly across the box by Nicolas Jackson to Palmer. The finish was perfect, with Palmer hardly moving a muscle to stroke the ball home in a way that Jimmy Greaves would have admired.

Now I celebrated.

Get in.

Chelsea 1 Brighton 1.

“Palmer again, ole, ole.”

Next, we plundered Brighton’s ridiculously high defensive line as the ball was pushed through by Enzo to Jackson to Madueke. He advanced and squared to Sancho, who finished with aplomb. Alas, a raised flag and VAR was called into action. We presumed Sancho, but it was Madueke who was offside by the smallest margin on the half-way line.

This was manic stuff.

And yet the noise around Stamford Bridge wasn’t boiling over.

On twenty-eight minutes, Palmer sent a high bomb over to Sancho, who drifted in from the left after a neat pass from Enzo and was bundled over in the box. It looked a clear penalty from one hundred yards away, cough, cough.

Cole Palmer, cool-hand Luke, the ball was knocked home.

Chelsea 2 Brighton 1.

Our noses were in front.

“Palmer again, ole, ole.”

Mac and Barry were watching from the front row of the away seats in The Shed and I un-knowingly caught their faces on film as the scorer wheeled away.

In the very next move, another high line was breached as Madueke raced away. He was clipped by Pervis Estupinan and a free-kick was rewarded, some thirty yards out.

We waited. Palmer placed the ball on the turf. I pulled my camera up, and waited some more. Palmer advanced and swung his boot at the ball. I followed the trajectory of the curve. It looked perfect. It was perfect.

Chelsea 3 Brighton 1.

“Palmer again, ole, ole.”

Usually in these circumstances I pump the air with my fist as a bare minimum, and occasionally jump up onto the plinth to my left, shouting wildly. This time I stayed completely still and completely silent. I was in awe. It was, undoubtedly, one of the finest free-kick strikes that I had ever seen live. The rest of Stamford Bridge celebrated wildly. I just smiled, blissful, contented. I had witnessed greatness.

Thankfully for Mac and Barry, Palmer chose to celebrate in Parkyville.

“You’re not singing anymore” bellowed the home support.

At the other end, Jack Hinshelwood went close.

On thirty-four minutes, while I was vigorously tapping some “in game” notes onto my ‘phone, I looked up to see Sanchez play a suicidal pass out to Caicedo, and Carlos Baleba intercepted and struck.

Chelsea 3 Brighton 2.

Bizarrely, the away fans sang “you’re not singing anymore”, even though they were losing. Oh well, it made a change from investment banks.

This was frantic and manic.

Although a different type of game completely, the first-half reminded me a little of the Everton game under Conte in the autumn of 2016, one of the greatest first-halves of all time.

There were chances for both teams. Sanchez saved well from Baleba, another high bomb from Palmer – intuitive, natural – set up Madueke who raced through but hit the side netting.

All of a sudden, the hype about this team seemed centered on fact and not fantasy. Maybe this would be the game that I would fall in love properly with Chelsea again after a few years of worry and concern as the club seemed to drift inexplicably away from me.

Clive and I spoke about Palmer being a real throwback, a ‘seventies maverick, in the guise of Stan Bowles, Alan Hudson, Tony Currie, Rodney Marsh. The lad is so loose-limbed, so relaxed, on a different planet, a different pitch, a different level, a different time-zone. Just as we were talking about a couple of other ‘seventies players, Verbruggen copied Sanchez and loosely played a ball out of defence. Enzo capitalised, pushed the ball to Sancho, who rolled in Palmer. As easy as you like, with virtually no back-lift, the ball was dispatched into the net ‘twixt post and ‘keeper.

Chelsea 4 Brighton 2.

“Palmer again, ole, ole.”

Late on in a ridiculously entertaining half, Sanchez got down well to save from Welbeck.

PD : “It could end up 6-6.”

At half-time, there was a ludicrous feeling of “I don’t believe it” in the seats around me. Admit it, we all wanted a few more goals, right?

The second-half continued with a similar theme. Palmer played a ball in to Jackson who shot at Verbruggen from an angle. Then, another crazy first-time bomb, so high, from Palmer was played perfectly into the path of Jackson, who brought the ball down faultlessly. He rounded Verbruggen but his shot on goal was too central and Adam Webster cleared off the line.

A volley from Palmer flew over.

Palmer set up Madueke, but his low cross was cleared.

More goalkeeping hari-kari, another Verbruggen faux-pas, and the ball fell for Palmer. He settled himself, I prepared to celebrate once again, but the shot rolled past the far post.

What?

Palmer set up Jackson once again – a slide-rule pass into acres of space – but a last minute challenge by Lewis Dunk robbed the striker of a shot on goal.

A headed goal by Cucarella – who had displayed no end of resolute defending all game – was ruled offside.

A substitution.

Pedro Neto for Madueke.

Neto found himself in acres of space in the right and set up Jackson, who again failed.

More substitutions.

Renato Veiga for Cucarella.

Mykhailo Mudryk for Sancho.

Christopher Nkunku for Jackson.

Sadly, the game declined in quality as it continued. However, Brighton never really threatened too much in the second-half but some of our defensive decisions were poor, and there was this lingering doubt about us conceding a third.

At the final whistle, relief, but lots of joy too.

Anetta had loved her first game alongside George, watching in the Matthew Harding Lower. And we were to learn that Nate met up with Levi Colwill at the end of the game, and the defender presented him with his match-worn shirt.

As we drove home, the bright sun ahead, we were very content with the team’s progress. Sadly, Arsenal had dug out a late win, and Liverpool had triumphed too, but Manchester City dropped points.

Whisper it, but we are in the mix.

Next up, KAA Gent at home on Thursday.

See you there.

Chelsea and Brighton & Hove Albion.

Chelsea vs. Brighton & Hove Albion.

RIP Lee Marskell

Dedicated to the memory of Lee, who lost his brave fight on the day of this game. Back in the days of the Chelsea In America bulletin board in around 2006 to 2008, when I first penned ad hoc match reports as VINCI PER NOI, there were a few other English supporters who shared opinions too. Mark Coden, Jon Doyle – “Jon In Slough”- and “mad lee” always brought vivid tales to the party.

I last saw Lee at Tottenham last November. We stood together as our beloved team won 4-1. It is a memory I will always treasure.