Tales From A Doubler

Chelsea vs. Manchester United : 18 April 2026.

Here was another fortuitous moment. With Chelsea’s home match with Manchester United kicking off at 8pm, it meant that I could squeeze in Frome Town’s match at local rivals Melksham Town at 3pm. When I first thought about this as an option, I was slightly wary of having to explain to PD and Parky that they would have to get up to London under their own steam, via train – though not steam train – since nothing gets in the way of them and a pre-match bevy. Thankfully, they half-expected this and had already discussed going up from Frome to Paddington between themselves.

A Melksham Town vs. Frome Town derby is a very local affair; the two football clubs are just sixteen miles apart.

Before the game began, I met up with my usual match-going mates and chatted to others that had travelled over the county border from Somerset to Wiltshire. There were also two work colleagues – my place of work is just half-a-mile away – who I had a quick chat with. They were both supporting the home team. This was a bigger match for them than for Frome. If we beat them, and fellow strugglers Willand Rovers won, Melksham Town would be relegated.

One of the Frome lads shouted over to me.

“Doubler?”

I nodded.

The Oakfield Stadium at Melksham is new – it opened up in 2017 – but I am not a fan. Despite a big block that houses bar facilities, and a measly number of seats, it has the appearance of an open prison. This block backs on to a rugby pitch; it therefore serves both rugby and football. Elsewhere, there are covered stands on only two of the remaining three sides. It’s an anaemic ground with little character. They have enjoyed large attendances since the club relocated, though, and sit second behind Frome in the attendance table of our division.

The Frome faithful took position under the small stand roof at the western edge of the stadium as the game began and soon began taunting the home support about relegation.

However, the home team took hold of the game and scored via Levi Irving after just six minutes. Frome toiled but found it difficult to penetrate a resolute Melksham back-line that included former Frome players Mark Cooper and Alex Hallett. Frome chances were rare. I changed location for the second half and squeezed into the back row of the main stand. Again, more toil from Frome, but few clear-cut chances. With twenty minutes remaining, Joel Smedley turned in a second goal for the home team and that was that. Just after, Frome captain Sam Teale was dismissed for a reckless challenge. With approaching five minutes to go, I said my goodbyes and headed off to London. This was Frome’s third loss in forty-one league games this season, and the first loss that I had witnessed in the competition in person.

I left Melksham Town’s car park at 4.45pm. The route to London took me up the A4, the old Roman road, and I joined the M4 at Hungerford at 5.30pm. The traffic was light, the weather was perfect, and I was parked on a small driveway on Brecon Road bang on 7pm, when my “JustPark” booking started.

I hot-footed it to Stamford Bridge – there was no signs of the protest against BlueCo – and just outside the stadium on the Fulham Road I heard that Brighton had tied it 2-2 with a ninety-sixth minute equaliser at Tottenham.

Beautiful.

I was inside The Sleepy Hollow just after 7.30pm.

There were chats with the chaps – I like the photo of Clive, PD, Daryl, Gary and Ed – and I then settled into my seat in preparation for the day’s main event. This would be my forty-sixth Chelsea match against Manchester United at Stamford Bridge, second only to fifty-one against Liverpool.

Before the pre-match noise and nonsense, former director Colin Hutchinson was remembered. He recently passed away aged eighty-six. He was a key board member under Ken Bates, navigating many pitfalls to acquire top players and help steer the club forward. He was a key figure in the history of our club.

RIP Colin Hutchinson

With injured players unavailable, Liam Rosenior chose this team.

Robert Sanchez

Malo Gusto – Wesley Fofana – Jorrel Hato – Marc Cucurella

Moises Caicedo – Enzo Fernandez

Estevao Willian – Cole Palmer – Pedro Neto

Liam Delap

Over in the far corner were the United fans, and with flags from Failsworth, Rossendale and St. Helens. I sometimes wonder if flags from further south are banished for United away games. It’s noticeable that all the permanent banners on display at Old Trafford honour players, managers and games. At Manchester City, Chelsea and Arsenal – among others – banners featuring supporters from all over the world are festooned everywhere. It’s almost as if United are trying to downplay their global reach whereas others are looking to celebrate it.

I scanned the United players and turned to Clive :

“That little scrote Mount isn’t playing, is he?”

He wasn’t.

At 8pm the game kicked off.

I found myself praising Delap as he chased a lost cause in front of The Shed and forced a corner, but it came to nothing. I spotted Enzo playing very deep, starting moves behind Caicedo.

Very soon into the game, everything was taking shape and it wasn’t pleasant. The movement of the ball and the movement off the ball was painfully slow, and Clive and I were bemoaning the robotic nature of everything. Players were hustling each other to get into positions so their AI orchestrated moves could begin.

“No bastard spoke about ‘patterns of play’ in the ‘nineties, Clive.”

There was a penalty shout that was dismissed, and then on eleven minutes, Estevao cut inside onto his left foot and struck a shot at goal. It breezed just past the far post and may have touched the post.

Just after, there was a fortuitous breakaway, but Estevao could only meekly shoot at the United ‘keeper Senne Lammens, whoever he is.

Unfortunately, the young winger took a knock and was replaced by Alejandro Garnacho, and the United fans were stirred into a frenzy.

The game then diminished in quality.

By the half hour, it was dull as hell.

Cole Palmer was fouled just outside the box. He took the free-kick, but it was wasted.

On thirty-two minutes, Garnacho played the ball in to Enzo in the United box, who shimmied past a defender and then did well to win the ball back. He steadied himself and we watched as the ball just missed the goal frame, missing the far post by a whisper.

On thirty-seven minutes, there was a frenzied attack and a save from Lammens from Enzo. Palmer won the loose ball, played in Delap, who fired home.

Alas, we saw the flag was raised. Offside.

Throughout all this, United had offered little. With a minute to half-time, a break down our left found Bruno Fernandes and was given too much space by both Garnacho and a recovering Cucurella. His pull back was slammed in by Matheus Cunha. At the time, we were down to ten men; Wesley Fofana was receiving treatment after clashing with Sanchez when he came to superbly punch away a free kick.

There were strong words from everyone at half-time. Despite occasional half-chances from us, and very little in the way of a threat from United, we were far from happy. Our play was dull and slow. It was so tedious to watch.

What would happen in the second half? Considering we never seem to play the same for an entire game, at least there was hope.

First, there was an attack from the visitors, and a shot from distance from Fernandes that drifted wide. The United fans, typically, had been singing all evening and the buggers were still singing about John Terry, eighteen years after that miserable wet night in Moscow.

I was pleased that we soon managed to get behind the team with a rousing “Amazing Grace” which came out of nowhere and surprised me.

On fifty-one minutes, an effort from Caicedo was deflected wide for a corner. Enzo came over to take it, down below me. For all of his foibles, he remains a favourite of mine and the crowd. We urged him to send over a decent delivery.

No, the ball didn’t clear the first man. In fact, the defender chested it away. Shocking corner. Must do better.

Sadly, not long after, the same player, the same near post, the same terrible corner, this one headed away.

A clipped cross from Pedro Neto found the leap of Delap, but his glanced header hit the crossbar. We squealed in agony. A

We had reached the hour mark, and for short bursts the noise created inside Stamford Bridge was excellent.

Well, to be precise, not 1986 excellent, not 1996 excellent, not 2006 excellent, not 2016 excellent, but for 2026 it was good as we can expect.

A snapshot from Palmer from a Malo Gusto cross was guided wide, and I felt that eventually one of these chances would go in.

On sixty-four minutes, though, a United break, and a shot from Fernandes looped up after hitting Fofana. However, Sanchez scrambled across to steer the ball around the post; a fine save.

At our end, a fine bit of wing play, eventually, from Neto who placed a fine cross towards the six-yard box. The resulting Fofana header was deflected onto the crossbar.

Ugh.

However, the noise boomed again around Stamford Bridge.

On seventy-five minutes, Gusto did well, after a long chase, to drag the ball back and a succession of acrobatic kicks followed, but the United goal lived a charmed life.

A strong Bryan Mbeumo run was halted by a strong, and splendid, tackle by Jorrel Hato, who had played well all game, and was my man of the match.

Throughout this second-half we had played better, no doubt. But it was still difficult to watch Garnacho who, apart from one rare moment when he sauntered past two markers, always chose to run, shuffle, stop and pass back to a teammate. It was also odd to see the other winger, Neto, advance, cut back onto his left peg, then pass to Gusto, our right-back, to swing over a cross.

Inverted wingers, my arse.

On eighty-one minutes, Rosenior made some changes.

Trevoh Chalobah for Fofana.

Josh Acheampong for Gusto.

Defensive changes. When we need a goal. Fackinell.

Mason Mount, the little twerp, appeared and strutted around.

Just after, a low blooter from Caicedo, and this went narrowly wide of the far post.

One last change.

A voice behind me.

“Guiu surely.”

Romeo Lavia for Enzo.

Needless to say, United held on for the three points. Back at the car, we agreed that despite our issues with our manager, some of our players and most of our tactics, we deserved a point.

Alas, my doubler had returned no points, and I didn’t get home until 1.45am.

It was one of those days.

On Tuesday, a trip to Sussex by the Sea awaits.

See you there.

GAME 1 : MELKSHAM TOWN VS. FROME TOWN