Chelsea vs. Noah : 7 November 2024.

Our third match in this season’s UEFA Europa Conference would be a home game against Armenian side Noah. Ever since the draw took place a couple of months ago, I had been flinching at all of the puny puns emanating from everyone concerning the team’s name, but I also knew that it would be remarkable should I not join in at some stage.

I stumbled across a reference that my good friend Alan might appreciate. The day before the game, late on, I messaged him about the imminent game.

“It’s All But An Ark Lark.”

He replied with an emoji of a wide grin.

“It’s All But An Ark Lark” is a Cocteau Twins song from their “Lullabies” EP from October 1982.

You all knew that, right?

On the day of the match, the Thursday, I worked an early shift, finishing at 2pm, and my thoughts centred on Noah being, quite possibly, the worst team that the full Chelsea side might ever play. The 21-0 aggregate score line against Jeunesse Hautcharage in the ECWC in 1971 drifted into my mind a few times too. The scores were 8-0 away and then 13-0 at home and I wondered about comparisons. One of that Luxembourg team wore glasses apparently although there is no truth in the urban myth that one of his team mates only had one arm.

Just as I left the office, I could not resist. I turned to my work colleague Stu and said that Noah’s formation later in the day would be 2-2-2-2-2 and I heard a hollow laugh inside me.

Fackinell.

I collected PD and Parky and we were away.

A couple of days before the game, however, there had been a double strike of sad news.

On the Tuesday, we all heard that Doreen Bruce had passed away. I first met Doreen, a proud wee Scot, out in Kiev in 2019, and our paths crossed on many occasions over the recent past. Doreen was big friends with Aroha and Luke, and they were always seen together. I remember spending some time with Doreen in that square in Porto ahead of the CL Final in 2021. She loved Chelsea and she loved Scotland just as much. I always enjoyed seeing her patriotic posts from Hampden Park and elsewhere. She was a real character, full of bubby energy, and will certainly be missed.

RIP Doreen.

On the Wednesday, we learned that John Dempsey passed away at the age of seventy-eight. He was an old stalwart from our early ‘seventies golden era, was one of Chopper’s “assassins” and was a respected defender. I saw John play in three of the first five Chelsea games that I ever attended, in 1974 and 1975. I remember him winding up some Arsenal fans at half-time in a game at Stamford Bridge a few years back. I also remember him playing alongside Peter Osgood at Philadelphia Fury in the late ‘seventies. I believe he worked for many years with underprivileged children.

RIP John.

The drive up to London was uneventful. While I waited for a pizza at “Koka” on the North End Road, I smiled when I heard “Kiss Of Life” by Sade being played. From Rio de Janeiro in July, to West Ham away in September, to the North End Road in November, this singer is haunting me this season.

I trotted down to “Simmons” and met up with PD, Parky, Salisbury Steve, Luke, Alex from Houston – again – and also my mate Leggo from Bedford, but also from The Benches in 1984.

Ah, 1984.

Just a very quick mention of our next game in that 1984/85 season. On Tuesday 6 November 1984, Chelsea beat Walsall 3-0 in a League Cup Third Round Replay in front of a pretty reasonable 19,502. Keith Jones followed up his brace against Cov with one goal, while David Speedie and Kerry Dixon scored too.

We were joined by some friends from the US; Jesus, Austin, Tim, Hooman, Detroit Bob.

Everyone together. Everyone tacking the Mick. Tons of laughs.

Football, eh?

I loved to hear that Doreen had bequeathed her season ticket to Luke’s little three-year-old son Archie – as featured last season – and Luke had spent a large part of the Wednesday sorting that out. I also loved the fact that Archie has a ticket for the trip to Heidenheim in a few weeks.

We saw the team that Enzo Maresca had chosen. It looked remarkably attack-minded.

Jorgensen

Disasi – Tosin – Badiashile – Veiga

Enzo

George – Nkunku – Joao Felix – Mudryk

Guiu

Although I was inside with a fair few minutes to go before kick-off, it seemed that we had missed a minute of applause in memory of John Dempsey. The teams appeared as the pre-game rituals began in earnest. I could not help but think that the Europa Conference anthem sounded like something that Baltimora may have recorded in around 1985.

The teams stood in silence in memory of those who had perished in the floods in Valencia.

I was pretty impressed with the Armenians’ support; maybe a thousand or so. There were a few multi-coloured Armenian flags dotted around.

The over-eager PA announcer was shouting at his mic for us to “make some noise.”

Oh do shut up, you twat.

The game began with Chelsea attacking The Shed.

However, it was the unfancied visitors who dominated the very early moments of the game. A rapid counter-attack resulted in an effort on goal that Filip Jorgensen did well to save. They followed this up with a couple of corners.

Alongside me, Alan was getting confused.

“This lot only took about fifty to The New Saints.”

“Nah, that was Astana.”

This new-fangled format is succeeding in confusing all of us. I said to Alan that we seem to be remotely connected to teams that our opponents play, but we don’t. On the same night, Heidenheim were at Hearts, yet we won’t play Hearts, nor TNS for that matter.

It’s like some bizarre inter-related family tree, with off-shoots appearing in the unlikeliest of places.

“A Family Tree Of Bastards.”

The visitors threatened again. They definitely had the best of the early attacks.

But Chelsea soon responded, with Joao Felix getting a sniff from Tyrique George on the right.

As is a superstition at European home games, Alan shared out some wine gums.

“Want some Pearly-Dewdrops’ Drops, mate?”

As the game developed, we grew stronger.

On twelve minutes, Enzo sent over a firm corner from Parkyville and Tosin was able to steer the ball in with a well-timed header. I was lucky enough to get that one on film.

While we were up and celebrating, the game restarted. I was looking at Alan, expecting him to soon launch our “THTCAUN / COMLD” routine.

I had to prompt him.

“What’s that, Al?”

But in no time at all, I looked up to see that Guiu had intercepted a terrible square pass from one Noah defender to another and he had calmly slotted the ball home to make it 2-0.

Fackinell.

Those goals had to be the quickest back-to-back goals in our history surely?

Five minutes later, Enzo again swung in a corner and it was Disasi who smashed it over the line in a virtual carbon copy of our first goal. This was getting silly.

Three minutes later, on just twenty-one minutes, Guiu robbed the ball off a visitor and the ball fell to Enzo, who picked out Joao Felix. He advanced and clipped the ball over the hapless ‘keeper Ognjen Chancharevich.

Blimey.

By now, Alan and I were relaxing and just enjoying the night, with plenty of humorous anecdotes keeping us happy. What a nice time.

Just after the half-hour mark, Mykhailo Mudryk took a pot-shot that was so high and wide of the target that it came down to Earth near the West Stand corner flag, and still stayed on the pitch.

His next effort was much more pleasing. He picked up the ball outside the penalty area, touched the ball forward to set himself, and then unleashed a perfect curler into the top right-hand corner of the goal. I took a photo just as it flew off his boot. What a cracker.

By now, a few folk around me were referencing the 13-0 win over Hautcharage in 1971.

Two minutes later, a counter-attack and the ball was fed to Joao Felix, who picked his way through and slotted home off the leg of a covering white-shirted defender.

I pointed at Lee a few seats away.

“It’s gonna happen. It’s gonna happen.”

We were 6-0 up at half-time, with the away team hopefully weakening in the second-half, when would the goals stop?

In both Hautcharage games in 1971, we were 6-0 up at half-time too.

At half-time, what was everyone thinking?

10-0?

13-0?

14-0?

I said to a few friends that it was a shame that we weren’t playing them over two legs. That 21-0 aggregate score would be in trouble. I am sure it is still the highest aggregate score in UEFA history.

As the second-half began, some substitutions.

Kiernan Dewsbury-Hall for Guiu.

Cesare Casadei for Enzo.

What did that mean? I wasn’t sure.

The pace slackened in the second-half, but we still dominated the chances. Benoit Badiashile soon volleyed over a cross. The Noah ‘keeper Chancharevich twice foiled Felix, who – along with Mudryk – were the two players that took my eye.

Christopher Nkunku slammed a shot at goal but it clipped the top of the crossbar.

Carney Chukwuemeka for George.

On the sixty-ninth minute, fancy footwork from Felix released Nkunku. His first shot was blocked by the unlucky ‘keeper but the ball came back out for Nkunku to poke home at an angle between defender and post. The blue balloon stayed in his sock. It was no time to take the Mick.

On seventy-six minutes, a rather soft penalty was awarded after Dewsbury-Hall was fouled inside the six-yard box. Nkunku drilled it home.

Chelsea 8 Noah 0.

Well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well.

I wondered if we were already promoted from this league.

A rare Noah corner elicited some high-pitched shrieks and much flag-waving from the Armenians in the far corner.

On seventy-nine minutes, debutant Samuel Rak-Sakyi replaced Nkunku.

A few late chances were spurned and so the elusive double figures were not reached. They stay as an elusive target. Were Noah the worst team that I had ever seen us play? Yes, I think so, and I have seen us play Tottenham a few times too, mind.

What a fun night though. I loved it.

It had, indeed, been an Ark Lark.

Dedicated to the memory of John Dempsey who scored against Real Madrid in Athens in 1971 and to the memory of Doreen Bruce who was with us against Manchester City in Porto in 2021, fifty years later.

Donna, Rachel, Charlotte, Doreen, Aroha.