Tales From The Second City

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Aston Villa vs. Chelsea : 21 February 2009.

That was more like it.

The games are coming thick and fast now and I didn’t have too much time to dwell on the first game under the tutelage of Guus Hiddink. I think he is the nineteenth Chelsea manager in my lifetime. They come and go.

I left home in good time to collect Andy and Parky from their homes in Trowbridge by 8.45am. Not too much to say about Trowbridge. It’s the county town of Wiltshire, but is pretty bland. Hugh Cornwall of The Stranglers lives nearby and has recently written a song tacking the Mick out of it. There is a sizeable Chelsea support in the town though.

Loads of banter on the drive up the M5 yet again…I’ve lost count how many times I have driven along this route for an away game this season. Barring an inevitable CL semi at Anfield, this would be for the last time, though. Stopped at Strensham for a coffee…loads of Villa milling around. Villa’s support does reach down the M5 corridor towards Bristol. I was meeting up with Bob from Fremont in California, who had reached Birmingham in good time by train and was already in The Yew Tree at 10.30am. Every time I drive to Villa, I head past The Hawthorns and arrive from the north…I got trapped south of Villa Park after a game in 1994 and vowed “never again.” Villa Park nestles between Aston Park and the cloverleaf intersection of the M6 and the Aston Expressway which we Brits call “Spaghetti Junction”. Birmingham is our Motor City, the old heart of our ailing car industry…and I can’t stand the place to be honest. So – anyway, I was parked up just before 11am, and my quick getaway route all sorted.

Parky – on crutches still – was moaning about the long walk to the pub and so I told him to wind his neck in! We noted the blue skies above the terraced streets and industrial units of Whitton. I had a jacket on and, despite a breeze, the weather was surprisingly warm. Eventually, The Yew Tree emerged like a vision on the horizon. It was opposite a canal, of which there are many in Birmingham.

Parky and Andy got the beers in – their payment for my driving – and I located Bob nursing a pint of lager in a sunny room next to a conservatory. Cathy and Dog were outside. We only had an hour or so before we needed to move on to the stadium. One of my football passions has always been stadia design and history. The doyen of this is Simon Inglis, who first brought out his “bible” ( “The Football Grounds Of England And Wales” ) on the subject around 1985. I have the third edition, enlarged to include Scotland, which came out in 1996, plus three more books by him too. I knew Bob was keen to read up on Archibald Leitch ( yep, him again ) and so I lent him two of my four Inglis books to read while he is over here. Simon Inglis is a Villa fan too, so it seemed only right that I should hand over the books on this particular day. I remember Inglis lamenting the demise of the ornate Trinity Road stand in around 1996. Bob has been bitten badly by the Chelsea bug…his first game was in Palo Alto. I remember briefly chatting to him in the pub before that game in 2007, but he has since flown over to Europe four times since to see the team. We chatted about a range of things – including plans for the tour in the summer, plans for Juventus on Wednesday – and the beers went down well. It was soon time to leave for the game.

The Chelsea section was the northern end of the Doug Ellis stand. There was quite a line at the turnstiles. I spotted Dave Johnstone and had a quick chat. I said I’d try to get something to him for CFCUK about my own personal story of why the impeding trip to Torino means so much to me. He seemed pleased. This will be my CFCUK debut. Looking forward to it I must say.

Whereas Bob, Andy and Parky ( not to mention a few more mates ) were in the lower tier, Alan, Gary and myself were way up in the Gods. Three more people ( Roy, Ian and Kevin ) who were at the pub in Palo Alto were close by. Bob was actually two rows from the front and I was two from the back. I got to my seat just before kick-off.

Villa Park looked a picture, bathed in the winter sun. I took my jacket off – phew.

My thoughts the entire game were that we were still playing with Anelka wide in a standard 4-3-3, but I have since read Hiddink’s comments about us having an extra man in midfield ( presumably he meant Kalou ). I was convinced that Anelka was wide left the entire game…OK, apart from his goal. Did anyone else think we were playing 4-4-2? We certainly began well, lots of possession. The Chelsea support appeared to be invigorated too, with constant noise. I have to say I was disappointed by Villa’s support.

When Frank received the ball on 19 minutes, I was convinced that he would struggle to do much with the ball as he was hemmed in by two defenders. I should have relaxed – Frankie danced away from his markers with a superb shimmy and put through a slide-rule pass for “Doves” to dink in. That was a fantastic goal – another one for the boy Anelka. The players celebrated down below and I quickly grabbed my camera from my back to snap away. I have the roar from Ballack captured on film. I like our movement in the first-period with plenty of thrust provided by Bosingwa and Kalou down below me. Villa had a few chances of course. I captured Ashley Young’s free-kick on film, the ball just leaving his foot on a swerving trajectory towards the goal. It rattled the bar and thankfully our usual nemesis Heskey couldn’t convert. The game ebbed and flowed…it was a nice game of football.

I noted a few banners on the balcony at the Holte End…”AVFC Our Obsession” and “The Holte End – The 12th Man.” These are in a similar vain to out banners at Chelsea. A nice touch I think. You may not have seen it on TV, but there is a permanent message on the balcony at the North Stand…it details about twenty words uttered by the commentator when Tony Morley crossed for Peter Withe to score the winning goal in the 1982 European Cup Final. Again, a nice touch. At half-time, a platoon of soldiers, just back from Afghanistan, were welcomed onto the pitch and they walked the perimeter, shaking hands with fans from both sides. I expected them to get to our section and for the first one to ask “right – where’s Lovejoy?” Bob was about six seats away from Lovejoy and reported that he stayed awake all game.

Soon into the second-half, my good mate Alan pointed out past the North stand, to my right and said “blimey – looks like even the mascots have given up on the game.” The two Aston Villa mascots ( lions – no doubt called Rory and Leo I suspect ) were seen walking across the Villa car park…as bizarre a sight as I have seen for ages, like something from a Dom Joly TV show. I had to capture it on film – and once I get the photograph, I will run it as a caption competition. My submission is –

“Right, I’ll see you back home. Don’t forget the shopping – a tin of baked beans, some washing up liquid, a wildebeest and a couple of gazelles.”

Roars of laughter.

Villa had more of the game in the second-half and I had to note that on many occasions our central three of Mikel, Ballack and Lampard were too close to each other. We seemed unable to exploit space out wide. However, I thought Deco did OK when he came on. Villa had a few half-chances but their finishes were poor. JT had a great game alongside Alex, especially when they were faced with both Carew and Heskey.

Loads more photographs of the team celebrating together in front of the delirious away fans at the end of the game, too.

Well happy with the result. Fine singing from us, too.

I met up after with all my mates outside The Cap And Gown pub. Andy, Parky and myself were headed home, but the other members of The Bing ( Alan, Gary, Daryl, Simon, Milo, plus associate member Bob ) were off into the city centre for some beers. We will all meet again on Wednesday for the Juventus game. It was very warm on the trot back to the car – February for heavens sake! I overheard a few Villa fans grumbling to each other and inwardly smiled.

We were very happy to hear that the Goons had dropped points at home. The weather was beautiful as we raced south. What a nice day out. Just time for a solitary beer at The Black Horse in Trowbridge and we arrived just as United scored. We watched for half-an-hour, the pub full of plastic United fans. Parky looked like he was looking for an excuse to give a United fan some verbal, so I excused myself and left just before Ronaldo gave them the 2-1 win.

United will win the league this season, but I think we can push on and finish second.

I have waited thirty-four years to say this…”Juventus next.”

Tales From A Romantic Evening With 2,300 Close Friends

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Watford vs. Chelsea : 14 February 2009.

On the Friday night I went to the Bath Cider Festival. It was a good laugh, but I limited my intake to just three pints because it’s pretty lethal – and, of course, I didn’t particularly care to be hung over for the main event of the weekend, our game at Vicarage Road in the F.A. Cup fifth round.

The late kick-off allowed me to run a few errands in Frome. I bought a steak and stilton pasty and a Chelsea bun for my drive east and set off at about 12.30pm.

It felt pretty strange, I must say, to be heading towards London at such a late time. It didn’t feel right. I much prefer early starts on a match day. There’s just something about setting off as day breaks. I had planned to meet up with the usual crowd at a pub on Watford High Street. Alan was already on his way and offered these cryptic clues to his whereabouts between 12.45pm and 1.30pm.

Squeeze.

Che Sera Sera

David Elleray

Squeeze Part Two

As I drove past “Bunch Of Rocks” I replied to him. The drive was uneventful and pretty boring to be honest. Despite the hundreds of games in my locker, this was only my second ever visit to the delights of Watford. I don’t know, Watford never really appealed back in my youth. I used to cherry-pick other away games to be honest…I was never keen to travel down from Stoke to go to Watford. I suppose the finances came into play by the time I moved back home after my college years – I’d rather spend money on a trip to West Ham or Arsenal.

I listened to OMD and Depeche Mode on the drive up. As I headed north on the M25, I glanced across towards London and just happened to glance the Wembley Arch, some eight miles away. We were on the Wembley Trail and I wondered if this was a good sign.

I reached Watford after 115 miles on the road. I parked up, paid the £3 fee and headed towards the town centre. Watford is a pretty nondescript place, just inside the M25, not really far enough away from London’s inter-war sprawl to be regarded as a town in its own right. It’s a bit like the North London version of Croydon. The High Street is a pedestrianised strip of about 600 yards and hosts all the big players in the Super Pub category of licensed premises which have evolved in the past ten years. In close proximity, there is a Wetherspoons, an Oneils, a Walkabout, a Chicago Rock and a Yates Wine Lodge. Build ‘em big, get the punters in.

At 3pm, I joined up with Daryl, Ed, Rob, Bradley, Gary and Alan. They were sat infront of a large screen showing a rugby game from Rome, which we dutifully ignored. They had just eaten, but Gary had just arrived from a Saturday morning at work. He was a picture of concentration as he solemnly examined the bar menu for what seemed like ages. He went for the scampi. I slowly sipped on two pints of Kronenburg. I had a text message from Burger, who was drinking a few hundred yards away. All eyes were on the other TV screen, behind my shoulder, as the scores were coming in. Good to see Leeds losing, a draw at Swansea. We were joined by Andy, Jonesey and Jocka, three lads from Nuneaton, near Coventry. We made a few comments to each other about getting Cov away in the next round – they were winning 2-1 at Ewood. That would be nice…I suppose we should always want a home draw, but my mates are always desperate for a new ground to visit on such occasions.

There was the usual banter. I had a nice chat with Rob and then Alan about the trip to Turin in March. However, the arrival of Andy signalled the need for us to address the main talking point of the week. On Monday, a few of us had spent around three hours discussing the “Scolari problem” by email. We were all of mixed opinions. However, at 4.22pm on Monday, whatever we thought didn’t matter. The club had acted and another phase in the history of our club lurched into action. So, we spoke at length about this – and other linked subjects close to our hearts. We weren’t euphoric at Scolari’s demise. We were respectful. We just want the best for the club at the end of the day. We talked about how the inherent nature of our club has changed over the past ten years. We discussed its identity and how our relationship to it has changed. In some ways, we longed for the joyous football of the Gullit era, where our successes were pure fun and there wasn’t the possible taint of other fans sniping away with “you’ve bought your success” comments. We agreed we wanted our Chelsea back – the phenomenal away support, the closeness with the players, the noise, the sense of belonging – but we did note that should “our Chelsea” ( borne in adversity ) take precedence over the Chelsea of a fan of 12 years, who has known nothing but success? We acknowledged this dilemma.

It was a great discussion, heartfelt and interesting. I love my Chelsea mates – the inner circle – and when one of us makes a comment and it is met with nods of approval, it’s a great feeling.

It is this shared experience that makes supporting my club so rewarding.

As kick-off approached, coats were put on, collars were pulled up close to faces, beers sunk. We sauntered out of The Walkabout with the swagger that football fans who cut their teeth in the ‘eighties can only really understand. Ten lads in white trainers, wearing jeans and jackets, tottering through enemy territory on match day. You can’t beat it.

My lads walked on as I stayed to meet up with Burger, who was with Mark and Mick. I joked that there were about 15 OB outside the Wetherspoons – had they heard about Burger’s problems in Seville? The last two hundred yards of the approach to Vicarage Street is a junk food addicts’ dream. The roads are absolutely festooned with chippies, kebab shops, Indians, Chinese restaurants and burger bars. Cathy and Dog walked past. A tout tried to sell us a ticket – we contacted Lee, who was still ticketless.

Got inside the ground at about 5.10pm – it had only been a 15 minute walk from the pub. I was halfway back, to the left of the goal as I saw it. I noted that the TV cameras had switched sides and were now positioned in the middle of the three derelict stands, now unused under the Safety Of Sports Act.

Our away support was good, plenty of noise, plenty of variety. The two versions of The Bouncy got us going. I was sat by myself, but Burger was ten seats to my left, Andy six seats to my right. It’s lovely how we still honour former players through song. At Watford, we honoured Peter Osgood with a lovely rendition of “Born Is the King” and also songs in honour of Dennis Wise and Wayne Bridge. Long may it continue.

Of course, Michael Mancienne made his first team debut. I noted his squad number…number 42 and it made me smart. As a baseball fan, number 42 represents Jackie Robinson ( and – OK – Mariano Rivera until he retires ), the first black player in baseball. Let us all hope Mancienne goes on to an as rich and as storied career as Robinson.

It was a strange back-four to be honest. Mancienne began well. He seems confident going forward. We worked out a few openings in the first period but only Anelka really troubled the Watford ‘keeper. I noted that we were still operating a 4-3-3 and that Anelka and Drogba were taking it in turns to play the wide right role. At least they were passing to each other on a few occasions. We had most of the half, of course, but that succession of Watford free-kicks late on scared me. Lampard was full of honest endeavour. Contrast this with Ballack’s performance.

I was stood ( we all were, that’s more like it! ) next to two strangers, but we had a good old chat throughout the game. Good points well made by all three of us. It reconfirmed my faith in our support. We’re not all gobby youths or moaning minnies.

Off for a toilet break at half time…my God, 400 of us had the same idea…ridiculous. I saw that Lee had made it in. A few smokers were lighting up in the cramped gents…cough, cough.

More Chelsea pressure in the second-half, but no end result. The Ballack chance made me comment to the bloke to my right “It’s not going to be one of those games is it?” I turned around in pain, but was dismayed to see supporters right behind me laughing at Ballack’s miss.

I stared at them – what, one wonders, were they laughing at? I was stern, teeth gritted, agonising over every missed chance. It made me wonder for a few seconds, but I resumed my support of the team.

“Matthew Harding’s Blue And White Army – We Hate Tottenham.”

Of course, our World caved in with that one Watford move, which had followed a sustained amount of Chelsea pressure.

On 69, up the other end and we were licked. Well, I guess it was Valentine’s Day.

The groans inside the Chelsea end were soon replaced by songs of support, but deep down, I feared the worse. The ball which had lead to the goal seemed to be offside and yet, here we were, facing F.A. Cup defeat by a Championship struggler for the second year in a row. I looked across at Burger…he had been at the Barnsley game too. I wondered what he was thinking.

We serenaded Stoch and he came on. He looked keen.

Thank heavens for Anelka’s fine flick which lead to our equaliser. Within a few seconds, he had headed a second and we were transformed into a bubbling mass of humanity. Brilliant. Of course, soon after, a great block by Cech kept us ahead and then, as the game appeared to have run its course, Anelka’s fine turn and shot gave us a third. Fantastic.

“That’s a great goal” I said to the chap next to me.

So – Anelka…the perfect hat-trick, one with his left, a header and one with his right. For the record, the best ever hat-trick I have seen at Chelsea was Hasselbaink’s perfect three against Tottenham in 2005. That was phenomenal.

Stoch impressed me. Our support for him was very gratifying. All that young lad has to do is look to go past defenders and he will have 40,000 people singing his name every week. He is a real threat, a real winger. Malouda doesn’t compare. I think Stoch and Mancienne are going to be great players for us.

“Che Sera Sera, Whatever Will Be Will Be, We’re Going To Wembley, Che Sera Sera.”

I waited for Burger and Mick to leave. We walked back to the town centre, our steps quick and joyous, lots of laughter.

“See you in April, mate.”

On walking back to the car, in the deserted High Street, I heard three lads singing “We hate Chelsea.” It surprised me…Watford’s support had been quiet all afternoon. As they passed me, I heard them talk to each other…in a Scouse accent. That explained it.

Great – if we are able to upset fans of Liverpool when we aren’t even playing them, job done!

I texted Andy, Daryl and Alan – “Cov away next?”

I pulled out of Watford at 7.45pm. I stopped at Fleet Services for a well-earned KFC meal and was home by 10.10pm. The highlights on ITV began at 10.15pm and we were the first game on.

Perfect.

Tales From The Ice Road

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Hull City : 7 February 2009.

I live in a small village in rural Somerset, nestled in a valley to the east of The Mendip Hills. Like most of the UK, the village has been hit with a couple of heavy ( for us ) snowfalls the past week. On the local news on Friday, the weatherman advised “if you don’t have to travel on Saturday morning, please don’t.” Icy roads were to be expected.

So – a bit of a dilemma for me? No, of course not. Chelsea were at home and I was going.

I woke up at 6.45am and peeked outside. The snow was still thick on the front lawn and the fields, but the roads just looked icy with no fresh snow. I had to park the car on the road on Friday night because the driveway was too slippery, or rather, too steep. Got my things together ( wallet, camera, coat ) and defrosted the car. I didn’t like the look of the roads. I set off for Frome at 7.30am and tentatively edged my way down through the village, the road completely covered in a sheet of ice. Apart from a spell at college and a ten month stint in North America, I have lived all of my life in Mells ( claims to fame…the home of Little Jack Horner, the final resting place of WW2 poet Siegfried Sassoon and the home of TV presenter Kirsty Young)…as I crept past the village pub and church, which date from the fifteenth century, I thought back to my first ever game, March 1974…and here I was, doing the same trip, thirty-five years on.

Up Wadbury Hill, made it…nice one… and down through Great Elm. Here, I was faced with a real dilemna, whether or not to go straight on to Mutry and chance a dodgy hill, or head through a country lane which was probably less risky. I took option B and drove slowly over packed ice. I made it to Buckland Dinham, home of my maternal grandmother, and gave a little “woop” of congratulations to myself. From there, down through Lower Street, past the homes of my two aunts, and out onto the clear A361. I had made it. Phew.

I collected Glenn at 7.50am although the roads on his estate were pretty bad… then PD and Dave at 8am. Karen was missing this one and Tuna The Fishy Boy was using her ticket. To be honest, the road from Frome to Warminster was surprisingly bad. I felt my wheels slide as I made my way through Corsley. We noted that some skiers and snowboarders had been busy on the slopes of Cley Hill, just opposite the gate to the Longleat estate. To be honest, the fields were a picture. Once onto the Warminster by-pass, down the clear A36 and then past Stonehenge on the old 303, the roads were fine. They had been gritted and caused no problems. I relaxed and could now enjoy the drive.

Burger had been in touch. The clans were gathering. I stopped at Fleet for a coffee, but was parked-up at Chelsea by 10.30am. Three hours of driving and I breathed a deep sigh.

“Made it.”

As always, our first port of call was The Yadana Café and their breakfast hit the spot. Glenn and myself walked down past the markets stalls on the North End Road and reached a sunny, yet cold, Stamford Bridge at 11.15am. Burger and Julie were spotted taking photos by the Chelsea mural. It was great to see them again – I have a feeling the last time our paths crossed was the debacle at Barnsley last season. They were visiting with Julie’s sister and her bloke. The ubiquitous Mr. Coden was there too. Trouble was – where was The Fishy Boy? Was he making his way inland from The Thames, flipping away madly? Where was he? He eventually emerged from The So Bar and we were all together for the first time since LA.

That sounds terribly jet-set doesn’t it?

We made a bee line for the hotel where I had hoped that Tuna and Burger could meet up with Mr Chelsea himself, Ron Harris. Thankfully, he was sat in a quiet booth with his brother Alan and Barry Bridges, both team mates from the ‘sixties. The legendary Mick was nearby too and Burger met him to discuss plans for Spain vs. England in Seville on Wednesday. Ron was his usual relaxed and charming self and posed for snaps. Luckily, Peter Bonetti soon arrived too and so more snaps. As Tuna stood with Peter Bonetti, both Burger and myself made a quip at the same time about “The Cat eating Tuna.” I could sense that they were both very happy to be able to meet these great Chelsea personalities. Job done and we headed off for a beer at The So Bar.

I was just about to suggest a team photo outside the megastore, when I heard someone shout “Chris” and of course it was Jordan, who was also in town. Good job he recognised me…he was in London with his girlfriend Christine and was looking forward to his first ever Chelsea match, although they had already been on the stadium tour. While the others headed for some beer, we went back to the hotel foyer. Unfortunately, Ron had disappeared, but Peter Bonetti was joined by top-scorer Bobby Tambling. Jordan and Christine were in luck and I was able to get them to pose for photos with Peter and Bobby. I also managed to mug Mick for a classy black and white photograph of Peter Bonetti so he could sign it for Jordan. I had a quick little chat with Bobby and his wife, who remembered me from the CPO event in November. A lovely time – the Chelsea Family, all together, smiling and laughing.

We dipped into The So Bar, which was stating to come to life. Had a little chat with Jon for the first time in a while. Things were a bit tight at his place of work and so I wished him well. Glenn was chatting with Tuna and I noted they were on the Guinness. Tuna, Glenn, Jordan, Christine and myself then walked back to The Goose, which was already heaving. In our little area, tucked next to the back section of the bar, there was over thirty people that I knew, all chatting away, drinking, partially-watching the City versus ‘Boro game on Sky. It was pretty manic and there was nowhere to move. Burger’s party soon joined us and the drinking continued apace…well, apart from me…of course I was driving. I explained to Jordan that The Goose was the cheapest boozer in SW6 by far. My home area was well represented, with eleven fans from Frome, Westbury, Trowbridge and Melksham…the others had travelled up by train. Wimps!

Parky was amongst the Trowbridge lot and we spoke about going to the Chelsea Old Boys game at nearby Swindon on Wednesday evening. Watch this space.

Jordan and Christine left early to make sure they could see the pre-match. They had seats in the Shed Lower. I went around to chat with Burgs and Julie, but there were conversations flying around everywhere. As is so often the case, the pre-match was the best part of the entire day.

Tuna and myself made our way to our seats in the Shed Upper and we bumped into CFC Cathy by the CFCUK stall. Perfect timing. Thank heavens, unlike the season opener versus Pompey, there were no queues at the turnstiles. We reached our seats just as the “Chelsea – Pride Of London” flag was wending its way along the Matthew Harding lower. It was a magnificent sight actually. We were pleased to see Ricardo Quaresma starting…but I am sure Glenn wasn’t. He was having trouble pronouncing his surname and I am sure I heard five different versions, ranging from Querro to Quasimodo during the day.

We began brightly and of course JT should have scored within the first few minutes. Quaresma looked lively, but we all found it bizarre he chose to cross using the outside of his boot on four separate occasions. The first-half was quite promising and I was enjoying being close to the action in the Shed Upper. It does afford great views. However, as the game progressed, I kept looking at the clock and couldn’t believe how quick the time was passing…a bit like the school holidays when the first two weeks are spent frittering away time and the rest is spent thinking how soon the end would be in sight. We frittered away too many chances in that first-half and later paid for it.

I phoned Andy so that Tuna could say a few words just as a “Zigger Zagger” began…this was probably the highlight of the entire game.

We were all dismayed that Q was taken off to be honest. He looked a threat. There was no change in tempo throughout the game. The midfield three didn’t dominate. Ballack drifted. Our defence, too, seemed to be disjointed and Hull so easily could have won it. Tuna was bellowing his disgust, but the atmosphere was again morgue-like. I felt for our guests from North America. At least Lovejoy stayed awake.

The post mortem?

I am going to find it terribly difficult to remain buoyant and positive about this. I am neither a champion of Scolari but neither a great critic of him. At this moment in time, it is obvious that things are not right within the club. However, I sincerely hope that we do not become a “slash and burn” club, with hirings and firings taking place every year. Of course, I am not convinced that Scolari has the stomach nor the skill-set to manage Chelsea in this league. However, at the moment, I feel we need to give him the full season. I loathe the idea of managers being fired ( Ince and now Adams ) after four or five months. If he goes, who can we get to replace him? No, let’s work through this. Supporting Chelsea was never easy and these things are tough, but let’s stay with it. Again, I think the entire club’s support has been spoilt since 2003 and the spectre of Mourinho looms large. I personally think United will walk it this season. Is coming second a reason to sack the manager? I don’t know…I really don’t know.

Set off from London at 5.30pm and – thankfully – no more snow. Infact, the weather had been quite sunny and a lot of the ice on the roads close to home had turned to brown slush. My three passengers slept for most of the drive home. I listened to England capitulate to 51 all out in the West Indies and Liverpool edge a win at Pompey with two late late games. It was one of those days.

Eventually home at 8.30pm after six hours of tiring driving. I must be mad.

Tales From The Passenger Seat

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Liverpool vs. Chelsea : 1 February 2009.

I feel unsurprisingly deflated, so this one might be a bit on the brief side.

This is how my fourteenth trip to Anfield with Chelsea panned out.

The trip up to Liverpool was a bit different to usual. My friend Buller had contacted me during the week and had asked if I fancied going up in his car. I didn’t need much persuading as it meant I could relax a bit and even have a few beers before the game. He used to live in the next town, but has moved down to Christchurch on the coast the past year. He was staying with his friends Becky and Chris in Warminster and so I drove over to Warminster Services for 7.45am.

Becky and Chris are Liverpool fans and go to a few games at Anfield.

It seemed strange sitting in the passenger’s seat on that familiar road north. Alan and Gary were on the official Chelsea coach and pulled out of Stamford Bridge at 8am, although Al had to catch a night bus at 5.30am in order to get up to Chelsea in time. His was to be a long day – more of that later. We stopped at Keele Services and the weather was bitter. A coffee apiece soon warmed us up. There was a slight hint of blue skies as we approached Liverpool but we expected a grey day. I had my thermal socks on, plus four layers of clothes. I had come prepared.

Buller had to meet some friends at The Marriott Hotel just opposite Lime Street Station and we were parked up in good time at about 11.30am or so. I used to travel up to Liverpool from my college town of Stoke for the Liverpool v. Chelsea games in 1985, 1986 and 1987. I was once chased by a pack of scallies from Liverpool Lime Street around the corner to the National Express Coach Station after a game in 1987. In those days, they used to keep the away fans penned-in for thirty minutes. All well and good, you might think, but of course it just gave the locals time to regroup and plan on picking off loose stragglers on the walk down Everton Valley, along the famous Scottie Road and down into the bear pit of Lime Street on match day. That wasn’t particularly pleasant.

I spent about two hours or so in the cosy bar of the hotel, getting stuck into a few pints of Staropramen. There were a couple of Chelsea fans there, but mainly red-shirted Liverpool fans. We couldn’t believe the room prices – £170 for a standard double. I joked that for Everton home games, the prices were probably £50! Of the two clubs, Everton always appear to have more locals attending games. The foyer was full of Liverpool fans from Scandinavia and Northern Ireland. I waited for Ohio John ( mgoblu06 ) to arrive. He had travelled up to Merseyside on the Friday and was making his way in to town from Studentland out near Edge Hill. He showed up and we had a couple of pints and a review of Wednesday’s game at The Bridge and we also looked ahead to the Juve game in March. John is certainly making the most of his time in Europe.

At about 2.30pm we caught a cab from Lime Street up to the ground where we were to meet three of John’s mates. As it happened, we headed for King Harry’s, tucked away by Stanley Park, which was the same boozer that myself and NYC Mike popped into before the game in April at Goodison. I hoped it would be a lucky omen. I called Mike to tell him – he was on his way to Nevada Smiths. There were a few other Chelsea in King Harry’s. It was jammed. John and myself popped outside to wait for the arrival of the three Liverpool fans…perfect timing, it began snowing! Anyway, the Scousers arrived – I said enough to be polite – and we exited at about 3.30pm. We walked along a back alley, the garden walls with barbed-wire and glass to deter break-ins. The cladding of The Kop loomed in the distance.

I wanted John to take it all in…the busy match day scene on the Walton Breck Road, The Kop, the takeaways, the colour, the buzz. OK – the area around Anfield is not pleasant, but it’s certainly vibrant. I took a photo of him underneath the Shankly statue. One last photo of us together outside the Centenary Stand ( where John watched the game from ) and I then walked around the corner to take my seat in the away section.

All the familiar faces. Had a quick chat with Cathy and Dog. Having had nothing to eat since 7.15am, I was quite, how shall we say, light-headed. I had plum seats, row 11, right behind the goal and level with the cross-bar. Oh, and about four seats away from the plastic mesh separating Us from Them. I had pre-warned John about the noise from The Kop at the start of the game when they do a rousing rendition of “YNWA.” Well, I thought the noise from The Koppites at the start was pretty awful. There just wasn’t the gung-ho fervour of the European nights which I had been part of in 2005, 2007 and 2008. No whistling, no “Ring Of Fire.”

Whether or not it was because of the biting cold, the atmosphere was poor the whole game really. Maybe both sets of fans were of the same opinion – that this would be Manchester United’s title. This game was not as special as the media were portraying it.

Well, what a poor game. I didn’t take many photographs in the first-half as I was grimly hanging on to the notion of plenty of Chelsea attacks in the second period, plenty of close-ups of goalmouth scrambles. I couldn’t be more wrong. Both teams were guilty of misplaced passes, over-hit through balls and a generally lacklustre game of football. The silence from the 43,000 at times was deafening.

Of course, the Frank Lampard incident was the turning point. I wasn’t particularly well sighted, but it didn’t appear to be a bad challenge. The subsequent barrage of text messages, from Chelsea and Liverpool fans alike, bore witness to that opinion. One from a co-worker, Del, a Liverpool fan –

“Poor poor decision.”

There were obvious grumbles around the 3,000 away fans. If we could nick a point, this would be a tremendous achievement. Although we created very little – was it just one shot in the second period? – I got the impression that Liverpool appeared to be a team low on confidence too.

I noted orange and yellow snow clouds over The Kop roof.

Of course, as we all know, two late Torres goals gifted Liverpool the three points. Suddenly Anfield came to life. The noise was sickening. I patronisingly conducted the nearby Liverpool fans, their faces suddenly joyous. Received a few “Liverpool” texts. The final whistle came and we were put out of our misery. As I used the gents before exiting the stadium, Morrissey’s new single was played on the stadium PA. A native of Manchester piling on the gloom in Liverpool. The irony was not lost on me, nor Alan, who muttered

…”Christ, as if I wasn’t depressed enough.”

I met up with Buller, Becky and Chris outside the Hillsborough Memorial. The snow was now falling again. We set off on a route march down to the city centre, alongside the locals. I had my jacket up around my ears, I just walked and walked, heads down, let’s get out of here. At least this time, unlike in the ‘eighties, we were relatively safe…I looked up at the tower blocks and recounted the oft-told story of locals taking pot shots at the away fans with air rifles. Thank God those days are behind us, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

I texted a few close friends…

“Just lost, it’s snowing, I’m in Liverpool, 200 miles from home…CAREFREE ”

Oh that gallows humour.

We had a post mortem in the hotel bar – time for one more pint of Staropramen – and on the long drive south. Liverpool weren’t great were they? However, we showed all our usual tendencies of late and simply didn’t deserve it. Buller, who played a bit when he was younger, thought Ballack and Malouda were woeful. I had to agree.

What would become of our season? We mulled this over as we ate up the miles.

Home at midnight. It had been a grim day out alright. My record now stood at one win out of fourteen at Anfield. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Ho hum.

( Alan texted me this morning to say that he got back to Chelsea late in the night, got as far as South Kensington, but due to the snow, all night buses were not working. He had to walk to Victoria and book into a fleapit hotel…from 5.30am on Sunday to 10am on Monday and he still wasn’t home. )

Tales From Slumberland

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Middlesbrough : 28 January 2009.

As is so often the case, the pre-match was better than the actual game, but we dug out an important victory against The Smoggies.

So often we talk of a “must-win” game, but after Aston Villa and United’s wins on Tuesday, nothing less than three points would do. We needed to have a solid base from which to feel confident for our summit meeting at Anfield on Sunday.

Work is quiet at the moment and I was able to release myself from the daily grind earlier than usual at 3.30pm. Parky had been dropped off at The Pheasant by his better-half at 2.30pm and was well on the way, three pints to the good.

It was a murky, horrible drive up to London…a few stretches of fog. Not enjoyable driving. But Parky, the lager working nicely, was full of chat. Heaven knows what we talked about – the usual load of blokey tripe, no doubt. I had agreed to meet John ( mgoblue06 ) and Chris ( captdf ) in The Goose at about 5.30pm. We were parked up and made our way into the steamy interior of The Goose at just after half-five…Parky went off to get the lagers in while I located Chris, his wife Abbey and their mate Keith. They had all been in London for about a week, but were obviously saving the best to last. Introductions over ( I vaguely remember Chris from LA 2007 ), I headed over to the rear of the bar to sup my beer and say “hello chaps” to the cluster of mates already present. It was a pretty good turnout. The towns of Frome, Westbury and Trowbridge were represented by Frank, Parky, Mark, Andy and myself. Nice to see some familiar faces from home.

Soon after I received a call from John who was on his way up the North End Road from the tube station. It was good to see him again. He was with fellow Reading student Lisa, who was going to be seeing The Mighty Blues for the first time. It would be Keith’s first game too. Great stuff. I’m a lucky chap to be able to share the excitement of others’ first games. I hoped they were in for a good time. I introduced John and Chris to each other – I joked with Abbey “hi, my name is Chris and I am your host tonight.”

We had a nice time in The Goose, chatting about all sorts of nonsense. John’s new mate Lovejoy was in attendance, flitting around, smoking cigarettes in the beer garden, talking on his moby, sipping a few glasses of Rose. I inwardly cringed when I saw John introduce him to Lisa. To say Loveloy has a reputation would be an understatement. I spoke to Keith about Chelsea and what it all means to all of my mates. He was keen to learn about the club and it was a pleasure explaining a few things to him. As is always the case, the time in the pub went by all too quickly and it was soon time to leave.

There was slight drizzle as we fastened our coats and headed south down the North End Road. Chris spoke to me about the circumstances which lead to his first ever game at Chelsea, way back in 1998 and I promised to try to send him some photos from that game, a 3-1 over Coventry City. Mark Nicholls scored apparently – whatever happened to him? This would be his fourth game at HQ, I believe. We stopped for a group photo outside The So Bar, the mammoth West Stand in the background. Programmes were purchased and we went our separate ways – Chris, Abbey and Keith had seats in The Shed Upper, Lisa, John and myself were headed for the Matthew Harding Upper.

We weren’t expecting a great turnout from The Smoggies and I suppose they brought about 300 or so. Pitiful really. I had picked up PD’s spare ticket so I wasn’t sat in my usual berth. I was further towards the North goal, but only one row further back. It’s a good seat and I was able to lean on the barrier in classical “concerned sports fan” style. Frank, Andy and Mark were three seats down. Chris and Lisa were sat next to Alan in The Sleepy Hollow. All of us within a few yards of each other.

Well, it wasn’t a great first-half at all. In fact, we were rubbish. We had tons of possession, but had no real clean cut chances. The whole crowd appeared to be docile too…maybe the rain had dampened their spirits…what an under-whelming experience for poor Lisa and Keith. Of course, there are 40,000 experts at every home game and I am no different. I usually try to give the players the benefit of the doubt, though. But on this occasion I was getting as frustrated as the next man.

A quick synopsis of our first-half woes coming up.

Pass, pass, pass – to the point of distraction. And so slow. Everyone knows that I am not Ballack’s biggest fan, but he frustrated me more than anyone. How often does he receive the ball and choose to play the simple ball – giving the onus to somebody else? How often do you see him get the ball under control and look up, ears perked, salivating at the chance to make a quick, killer ball? I think you all know the answer. The man is too languid for me. If we had pace elsewhere in the team, I could accommodate him, but he just adds to our problems. I can accept Mikel being pedestrian, but not two of our three midfielders. To be fair, Mikel did OK. Frank was buzzing about as per normal, always involved, but unable to break down the defence. Of course, it can’t be easy against ten men behind the ball. But – I don’t know…where is the movement, the drive, the pace, the commitment to work for each other? We lack pace upfront and it hurts. Anelka looked disinterested in the first period. I know he doesn’t thrive on the early ball, but we never hit him with a quick release from the back once. Malouda and Kalou were unable to shrug off their markers. The whole thing was so laboured. Add to this Frank’s woeful one-paced chipped corners and Cech’s pitiful clearances and you get a frustrating performance. The team seemed to lack confidence in each other. Deeply worrying.

Only one thing gave me a smile. I looked over towards the ‘Boro bench and there was Lovejoy in his front row seat, head bowed, sleeping. Both Alan and John had noticed too. He had slept through the entire first-period. Perhaps he knew something that we didn’t. Wise choice.

Behind the seats at half-time, next to the tea bar in the MHU a familiar face ( name unknown ) was “going into one”, effing and blinding, Scolari this, Scolari that. It was quite a spectacle. One bloke in the queue for the gents said “don’t worry, he was like that when we won the league.”

I walked over to chat with Alan and John. Oh dear – what a dab spectacle. We hoped for some goals in the second period.

To be fair to the team, the performance was better. And after a while, the crowd awoke from their slumbers. Well, everyone but the Joy Of Love, who resolutely refused to be awoken throughout the half-time period. What a star.

Everyone knows, too, that since Moscow ( and maybe, if I am honest, well before ) I am not Didier’s biggest fan. But – credit where credit is due, he ruffled a few feathers when he came on for Malouda ad genuinely looked motivated, with points to prove. More of the same please, Drogba. But the formation still stayed as 4-3-3, with Anelka out on the right for the most part.

After a Kalou header which, somehow, was flicked over from three yards, our luck changed.

Thank heavens for the two Frank Lampard corners and for the two close range Salomon Kalou goals. Much relief all round. Once the first one went in, I glanced over to John and we both roared and punched the air. Alan and myself have this little routine every time we score, which I may have mentioned before. In a Chelsea video from around 1991, there is a sequence featuring Tommy Docherty, high up in the old East Stand gantry, on film, just after Chelsea have scored. He looks at the camera and says “Come on my little diamonds. They’ll have to open up now.”

Of course, we misquote this, but every time we go ahead, Alan says to me “They’ll have to come at us now” and I say to him “come on my little diamonds.” We even text “THTCAUN” and “COMLD” to each other from different parts of Europe. After Kalou’s first, he raced over, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“They’ll have to come at us now.”

“Come on my little diamonds.”

The goal woke Lovejoy up too!

I captured both Frank’s corner, down below me, and Kalou’s header on film. Keep a look out for those. We then heard that Wigan had equalised at home to Liverpool. Fantastic. A medley of Liverpool songs followed. That’s more like it – a bit more of an atmosphere for my American friends.

Stoch came on – way too late, but looked keen. Let’s play him for the full game at Watford.

After the game, we all reassembled outside the entrance to the Chelsea Hotel. One last treat…I had again arranged for Ron Harris to meet Chris, Abbey, Keith, John and Lisa. He was up in the bar area with his son Mark, a former Chelsea youth player. He happily posed for a team photo.

From both ends of the spectrum…Ron Harris 795 games, Lisa and Keith 1 game.

We said our goodbyes to Chris, Abbey and Keith – they are soon headed back to Orange County. I dropped John and Lisa back at their digs in Reading, then Parky fell asleep as I drove back West.

I would be meeting up with John in Liverpool on Sunday. Perfect – we had just edged above them at the top end of the table.

Got home, knackered, at 1.30am…altogether now…”Awesome.”

Tales From Route 66

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Ipswich Town : 24 January 2009.

No complaints.

I was a lone soldier for this one. Glenn was returning from Austria, while PD, Dave and Karen had decided to give the game a swerve. I had decided to make a “day of it” and so left Somerset much earlier than usual at 7.15am. I stepped back and looked at the city of London as a huge blank canvas…what would I choose to do before I made my way to The Bridge? I was tempted by The Tate, by the banks of The Thames…maybe. I would contemplate my options on the drive up.

Our usual route eastwards takes us over Salisbury Plain, onto the A303 and then the M3.

However, for a change, I decided to take our old route up to HQ – the one which my father always favoured whenever he took me up to Chelsea in the 1974 to 1990 period. It would bring back some nice memories and that’s the way I like it…driving along, on a sea of consciousness, remembering various events from Chelsea trips past. I have over 700 to choose from.

Dawn was breaking and the countryside was delicately covered in a frost. I headed past Trowbridge towards Devizes on the A4, the pre-curser to the M4. My goodness, how excited I used to be back in the ‘seventies each time we were on this road, headed for a game at Chelsea. I don’t think I could wish for a better way to spend a day. And here I am, thirty years on, still ploughing the same furrow. I really enjoy the stretch of the A4 from Devizes towards Beckhampton. I always think that the scenery resembles a lunar landscape, the undulating plains devoid of trees and hedges. It’s one of my favourite pieces of road. At Beckhampton, I drove past the thatched Wagon And Horses pub. My Dad was stationed at RAF Yatesbury in around 1942 and his training would often include a quick nip into the pub for refreshments. From there, Silbury Hill ( the largest man-made hill in Europe ) appears – very spooky. The stone ring at Avebury is close by. The majestic market town of Marlborough next, then Savernake Forest before hitting the M4 at Hungerford. Whereas I am enchanted by place names such as Tuscaloosa and Chatanooga, maybe Devizes and Savernake are just as beguiling.

This route – my Route 66 – is very pleasurable for me and there are many roadside features which I find iconic. The Devizes duck pond ( where, legend has it, the locals tried to “rake the moon” ), Silbury Hill, The Roebuck pub at Marlborough…they remind me of my childhood, more so than any other road.

I was loving the drive. If you can distil my life, then this would be it – on the road, travelling to Chelsea, thoughts of friendships and games. All worries of work ( of which there are more than usual at the moment ) put to one side.

As my friend Glenn says…”Chelsea? It’s what we do.”

I joined the M4 and put Portishead’s third album on the CD. I was making good time. I flew past Heathrow and was soon up and over Hammersmith flyover. I turned right onto North End Road ( for any film buffs, this junction is featured in “Trainspotting” – the flat above the shop on the corner is the one the heroes attempt to sell…)

I had the usual Super Breakfast at the café and dealt with a few phone-calls. Glenn had asked me to try and shift his ticket for ‘Boro and John ( mgoblue06 ) was happy to take it off our hands. Job done.

I walked to Earls Court and hopped on a tube to Knightsbridge. I had decided to forego culture at The Tate in favour of some retail therapy instead. “Harrods” was having its last day of sales but – aftershave apart – I didn’t indulge. Bought a very nice half-price pullover a few doors down, though. Very nice. I then departed on a leisurely walk down the Fulham Road. The air was crisp and not too cold.

How different this approach to Stamford Bridge is compared to our usual one. The twin boroughs of Hammersmith & Fulham and Kensington & Chelsea abut each other right behind the East Stand. Of course, The Bridge is on the Hammersmith & Fulham side. Only until the last few hundred yards, did I get any evidence of a game taking place. I mused on the fact that it seemed that Chelsea Football Club had turned is back on the borough bearing its name. The two boroughs are quite different in fact. The Royal Borough of Kensington & Chelsea is very up-market, very expensive…although Hammersmith & Fulham has been gentrified since the ‘eighties, it is still more working class. The estates north of The Goose certainly bear witness to this.

Maybe Chelsea Football Club has a split-personality…firmly based in Fulham, wishing it was in Chelsea. There’s a topic for discussion!

Picked up the new copy of CFCUK ( Cathy on good form…) and headed past the old tube station which has been tastefully refitted as a “TGI Fridays.” Another film reference…one of the opening scenes in “Sliding Doors” is shot in the red brick old station. For any Old School Chelsea out there, it’s a nice memory of how the old station used to look. The booking hall – with train signs and fittings – is still part of the restaurant. It’s worth a look.

I spent just an hour in The Goose. Happy to hear that Andy and three mates are booked onto the same flight for Turin as me in March. The more the merrier. Being a reduced price game, there were quite a few Chelsea kids in the pub. This reminded me of a game about three years ago when Reg was having trouble with the kids and so they were banished to the beer garden. At about 2.30pm, I glanced out to see the beer garden full of about twenty Chelsea / Adidas / Samsung clad children of the damned running amok while their fathers were inside chugging beer. It made me laugh anyway.

So – what about 1983-1984? I am tempted to repeat my 1984 diary entry – my match report is quite detailed. However, let’s keep it brief.

Twenty-five years ago, Chelsea played the then-leaders Sheffield Wednesday, the last of our home games against the big three fellow promotion chasers. This would be my sixth game of the season. During the previous season, our average gate had been around 13,000. For this game, over 35,000 were at The Bridge. My diary tells me that this was second only to the 40,000 at Old Trafford on January 21st January 1984. We got out of the traps early and new signing Mickey Thomas nabbed a brace in the first-half. Wee Pat scored a third, but the gloss was taken off the win when Wednesday scored two late goals and we squeaked a 3-2 victory. After the euphoria of our 4-0 win over Newcastle in November, this was more of a hard-earned win. My diary tells me that, for the first time in a while, The Shed was full and so an overflow section in the north stand was used. Back in those days, there were four pens on the north terrace and the away fans were usually allocated the middle two. They were a good measure to see which teams brought the numbers – always an important topic amongst us. Each pen held about 2,500. So far that season, Newcastle brought 5,000, Portsmouth 3,000, Manchester City a paltry 1,000 and Wednesday about 4,000.

Back to 2009.

I noted a new banner to my left – “SUPER FRANKIE LAMPARD” – in the same style as the JT one. The Ipswich fans released a few balloons pre-mach. They had one large banner which stated “Anti Modern Football.”

A guy from Kazakhstan was sat next to Alan.

“Blimey – he’s got a long bus ride home.”

We began freshly and carved open a few nice chances. I lifted up my camera just in time to take a few photos of the celebrations following Der Kaiser’s opener. I was aware that the game wasn’t on TV in the US, so I texted the “gathering” in Orange County a few items of news.

I couldn’t believe an advertisement on the match programme for an estate agents – the ones who are selling the apartments at Highbury. A picture as well. Shocking!

Malouda seemed to be involved but was it his annoying best. Our chances dried up as we seemed to sit back. We paid the price when an excellent free-kick was drilled into the heart of our defence…I feared danger…and Ipswich scored. What a surprise. Our defending from set pieces again at fault.

Two great free-kicks from Ballack and SFL gave us the win and I think we deserved it. Ipswich gave us a good game though – they were narrowly wide with a few efforts in the second half and never gave up. Despite Ballack’s brace, I thought he was pretty woeful. I was lucky enough to capture both free-kicks on film – just before the moment of impact. After Frank’s, I kept snapping away and I have a nice series of seven shots…the strike, the point heavenwards, the beating of the chest, the embraces.

Watford – you are next.

Tales From The Bottom Of The Ninth

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Stoke City : 17 January 2009.

For one Chelsea In America regular, at least, a day to remember!

John from Ohio ( mgoblue06 ) is over studying at Reading University and his first ever game was planned for Anfield. However, he contacted me on Friday to enquire about doing a Stadium Tour. I told him that no tours take place on match days. As he was keen to come into London anyway, I soon talked him into going to the game. He didn’t need much persuasion of course. The only stumbling block was a match ticket – but I assured him that we would get him a ticket, by hook or by crook.

Let me say here and now – as long as anyone in America is a True Blue member, I will help them out as best I can. But you people will need to make that initial commitment. It’s only fair.

Glenn was off skiing in Kitzbuhel and his place in the Frome car was ably taken by Brian, whose last game was the season opener against Portsmouth. We set off from Frome at 9am and the banter flying between Brian, PD and myself was ruthless…we were rolling with laughter. It was a great start to the day. My good friend Andy called to confirm that Woody had failed to show up and so – thankfully – we had a spare for John. He was already on his way into Paddington and was dead chuffed when I texted him –

East Stand Lower Front Row £30

Karen produced a top performance behind the wheel and we were in the café on Lillee Road at 11am. A Super Breakfast always hits the mark. I was soon walking down the North End Road, full of Saturday shoppers, and met up with John outside the Megastore at 11.45am. I relayed the story of myself back in 1984…my first weekend away at college in Stoke-On-Trent…I hadn’t planned to go to Chelsea on the Saturday but after a typically less-than-successful attempt at wooing a girl at the Fresher’s Ball on the Friday, I decided, while walking home in the small hours, to head down to Chelsea a few hours later. “In case of trouble revert to type!” And here was John – his first weekend in the UK and going to Chelsea…brilliant. In the words of a famous film character – “What else you gonna do on a Saturday?”

John had already purchased a few things in the Megastore. I had a little surprise for him. I took him up to the hotel foyer and there was Ron Harris, along with his brother Alan and Peter Bonetti. I introduced John to them all – Peter Bonetti made a lot of John’s accent. I explained that this was his first game and John posed for a photo with the three former players. We listened while Ron spoke about Craig Bellamy refusing to train at West Ham. I think it is safe to say Ron was bemused to say the least. Who else should be there but Mick ( the autograph king ) who very kindly gave John two 8 by 10 prints for Ron to sign. It was a nice start to John’s first ever game. I did the usual Tour Guide bit and took John into the Fox And Pheasant just over the bridge. John kindly bought me a pint, but I made the toast

“Friendship and Football.”

I received a text from New York Blue Mike and he popped in to the pub too. The Fox and Pheasant is a lovely little pub, down a side road by the Black Bull. It has a great garden in the rear. We finished our drinks and headed down past the ground. We dipped into the So Bar, hoping to bump into Mad Mark and Lab Rat. There they were – on the stage, pints in hand. It was the first time Mike had seen Mark since Moscow. A few words with Mark Worrall on the stall – he kindly passed on free copies of CFCUK to the two visitors from The States. Things were going well. I forget how many times John used the word “awesome” during the day!

We walked back up the North End Road and reached The Goose just a few minutes before 1pm. My goodness – the place was rammed. My usual drinking companions were standing in a large group…loads of faces, loads of chat. The Preston vs. Burnley game was on the TV. Mike got the beers in and I introduced John to just a few of my mates, but everyone was involved in their own chats…it was hectic. I thanked Daryl for his unexpected Southend match report. He handed over my ticket to The Specials in April. Mike and John decided to get some fresh air and headed out to the beer garden. We were joined, at various stages, by a few more people. Firstly, Mike’s friend Henry – who I had met in NYC in June. He was now back home in London and it was good to see him again. Lovejoy popped out for a few smokes – it was his spare ticket that John would be using. Ever the character, he was full of stories and jokes. He knows Turin well and we had a little chat about the city. I look forward to seeing him out there. Dutch Mick popped out for a few words with Mick…it really seemed like the clans had gathered…in a tight little circle we had John ( Reading via Ohio ), Mike ( Brooklyn via London ), Mick ( Holland via London ), Henry ( London via New York ) and Lovejoy ( Coventry via Planet Lovejoy.)

We set off for the ground in good time, but we typically lost touch with Lovejoy who still had John’s ticket. We dipped into La Reserve – introduced John to Cathy – and eventually stumbled across Lovejoy outside. I wished John an enjoyable time and went my way.

It had been a great pre-match.

I took my seat alongside Brian and Alan. I looked over the East Lower and saw that John was in. I wondered what was going through his mind. There was a minute’s applause in appreciation of the life of Chic Thompson, one of the two ‘keepers used by Chelsea in our 1955 Championship season. He had sadly passed away ten days earlier. He had been one of the special guests at the CPO lunch that I had attended with Beth in November. I remember him sincerely thanking the club for effectively paying for some hospital treatment. The audience were visibly moved by his kind words. It was very touching.

Rest In Peace.

Stoke only brought 1,500, but I guess the economic climate is tough for us all these days. Their last league game at The Bridge was in May 1989, back in the old second division. I remember being impressed with their flying winger Peter Beagrie.

Their team included Amdy Faye and Abdoulaye Faye and I noted that their sister Dunaway Faye was on the bench. Of course, this was Frank’s Lampard’s 400th Chelsea game and the match programme highlighted other members of our 400 club.

Ron Harris 795
Peter Bonetti 729
John Hollins 592
Dennis Wise 445
Steve Clarke 421
Kerry Dixon 420
Eddie McCreadie 410
John Bumstead 409
Ken Armstrong 402

Lamps ought to be up to position number 5 by May. I have seen all of these payers apart from Eddie Mac and 1955 team member Ken Armstrong. And to think that John had just met numbers 1 and 2 in the hotel. Awesome.

Also in the programme was an article about former Chelsea and Stoke player Mark Stein, who played for us in the 1994 Cup Final.

I think I read somewhere that the total shot count was something like Chelsea 27 and Stoke City 3. That seemed about right. To be fair – Stoke, despite having to make two substitutions in the first thirty minutes, chased and harried us at every opportunity. We watched through our fingers every time Delap hoisted the ball into the box.

I kept an eye on John – I remember Ballack came over to take a throw right next to where he was sat. What was that like John? But I also noticed that the copious amounts of rose that our friend Lovejoy had quaffed pre-match had an unfortunate effect. He appeared to be asleep for almost the entire first-half. Legend! However, this is nothing – once at a game in May 1999, Brian had slept through the entire game. He is still getting stick for that. We presented him with a shirt which said “No Sleep Till Kick-Off.”

It was the usual story of tons of possession – it resembled a chess game – and pretty woeful finishing. I wasn’t happy with Malouda’s performance. He never ceases to amaze me with his lack of “nous” about off-the-ball movement. Hey ho. I met up with Mike at half-time, who was watching for the first time ever in the MHU, and we moaned away.

The moaning was intensified when that man Delap sprang a surprise on our sleeping defence to give Stoke an undeserved lead. Oh hell. Our World caved in. I lost count of the number of shots which spun past the Stoke goal…that wayward Ballack header too. As the game reached the latter stages, Chelsea fans were seen heading for the exits. The frustration mounted. Our support was painfully quiet…I had really wanted us to put on a show for John. I felt for him.

Di Santo was playing wide, but wasn’t convincing…play him upfront with Anelka! Nice to see Miro come on, but he hardly touched the ball. However, we all know how it ended. A Kalou cross deep to the far post, a Di Santo knock-down and Belletti headed in at the far post…get in! William Gallas used to score goals like this for fun. We were just so relieved. Phew. At least a point – we deserved it.

Then the news that we had an extra four minutes and the crowd at last responded.

“COME ON CHELS!”

Miro had a great chance…blocked. Hateful. He then put in a great cross…Stoke couldn’t clear, the ball fell to Anelka…blocked…the ball fell to Lamps, who laced it into the net, through the packed penalty area. It was one of those occasions when my head just exploded – I was transported to “another place.” I scrambled up and over my seat to the walkway behind…I climbed up onto the barrier behind and kissed the two ladies “of a certain age” behind me…YEEEESSS! Hugs with everyone close by – high fives with Rousey. The stadium, dormant for so long, had erupted to life.

Just perfect.

“One Step Beyond” came on the PA. It was an amazing finish. In over 450 games at Stamford Bridge I can’t ever remember such two late goals.

This was definitely “bottom of the ninth, 1-0 down, 3-2 count…he swings…it’s outta here!”

A nice feeling as I walked back to the car, but what a shame United eked out a narrow 1-0 win at The Reebok.

I exchanged texts with John, who was still buzzing.

Perfect.

Tales From Mancunia

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Manchester United vs. Chelsea : 11 January 2009.

Groan.

I haven’t read any posts about the game yet – and I am currently in the middle of an email discussion with several mates – but I shall try to remain as positive as I can.

This will be a tough one.

As so often happens prior to an away game, I often dip into a few books the night before ( Simon Inglis’ “The Football Grounds Of Britain” is a good starting point ) just to refresh my memories of what each particular stadium has to offer. I wanted to make the most of my day in Manchester.

To be honest, I do enjoy visiting the city and I think this has developed since I found out that my Axon surname originates in the Manchester area ( in particular, the south and west portions…yes, you’ve guessed it, United territory.) Over the past few years, I have visited the Salford Lads Club ( there – that’s the obligatory Smiths reference out of the way ) and the Lowry Art Gallery prior to games at Old Trafford. Unlike the dark days of the eighties, it’s a pretty vibrant city to be honest…more so than Liverpool. I know a fair bit about most major grounds in the UK – possibly to the point of being called an “enthusiast.” I have, what Simon Inglis calls, “stadiumitis.” So – yes – the planned developments of Old Trafford are well known to me…more so than any other stadium, United have had the requisite space required for this. Old Trafford stands on the eastern boundary of the massive Trafford Park trading estate, one of the biggest warehousing estates in Europe. My company has an office there. And it’s just to the south of Salford Quays, formerly the home to the busy docks served by the Manchester Ship Canal. I have a vivid image in my mind of the immediate area around Old Trafford, in the grimy post war years teaming with factories, warehouses, workers…clocking off on a Saturday lunchtime and walking the short distance to Old Trafford.

United’s former home was in Clayton out in the eastern part of the city, now housing Manchester Ciy’s new place, who themselves were always a south Manchester side. Confused?

This would be my twelfth trip up to Old Trafford to see a Manchester United vs. Chelsea game. I have also visited OT for the two FA Cup semis in 2006 and 2007…plus I saw Morrissey ( reference number two ) at the Old Trafford cricket ground in 2004. So – unlike a lot of United fans who I know – this is an area I know very well. Old Trafford is second only to my thirteen visits I have made to Anfield on my travels. All those games – vivid memories from them all. Two games stick out.

April 1986 was my first ever visit to Old Trafford. I got a lift up on the Yeovil coach which called in to Stoke especially. We parked up at the cricket ground, got in just before kick-off and saw Chelsea win 2-1…the winner coming from a late Kerry Dixon strike right in front of us in the Scoreboard End. The 3,000 of us were wedged in like sardines that night. I was euphoric. A brilliant night. My mate Daryl – who I didn’t know at the time – was chased back to his car and managed to escape by the seat of his pants. Meanwhile, the Somerset coach was given a police escort all of the way back to the M56. Sweet.

May 2005 and I traveled up with Glenn from Frome. We had just won the league and United were in a somber mood. We put out a second team and still won 3-1. As perfect a night out supporting my team as I can ever remember. Driving back home that night was as good as it gets.

Sadly – another date. Saturday 17th. April 1993.

My father, bless him, passed away in the small hours and United beat us 3-0 later that day.

Enough of the history.

I set off for The North at 8am. It was a dry day, but typically overcast. I had bought an “Eighties” compilation CD on Saturday and this would be my companion for the entire day. As I pulled out of my drive, Men At Work were singing about life ‘Down Under.’ I didn’t race on my trip up the M5 and M6. As I zipped past Tewkesbury, Haircut 100 were on about a ‘Perfect Day.’ I wasn’t so sure.

As always Alan was texting me with his progress.

Alan – “Dionne” ( Warwick )

Chris – “Sauce” ( Worcester )

Chris – “Cripps” ( Stafford )

I decided to head over to the Trafford Centre, opposite both United and City’s training centres at Carrington. I parked up at midday and spent an hour at this huge shopping centre. It was a first-time visit for me. I couldn’t resist a Lacoste button-down shirt. Old habits die hard. Spotted a few United fans in full replikit garb. Even spotted a Liverpool fan – either brave or stupid.

Shopping done, I retraced my steps a few exits down the M60 and was parked up near the cricket ground at 1.15pm. Lead grey skies ( reference number three ). There aren’t too many pubs near the stadium. There was a massive line to get into ‘The Bishop Blaize’ – I always hear singing coming from this boozer. Pretty sure it is where United songsmith Pete Boyle hangs out and airs his newest creations. United have had the best songs for ages. A lot of United stand outside the row of takeaways by Sir Matt Busby Way – funny, as I walk across the road towards them, I always sense that they know I am Chelsea.

Rather than a programme ( full of commercials for ‘Brand Man You’ ), I bought the United fanzine ‘United We Stand.’ I’ll read it and then pass it on to Judy’s boy James.

Five minutes later I was on the forecourt, scene of much ‘naughtyness’ in days of yore. The new ‘United Trinity’ statue of Best / Law / Charlton was the new focal point. It’s a splendid statue actually, facing the one of Matt Busby, beneath the Manchester United sign on the East Stand. As I took a couple of photos, I noted one middle-aged bloke say ‘who is the bald one?’ I had great pleasure in answering him. We laugh, but how many JCLs at Chelsea would recognize Ron Harris?

Lots of Irish, lots of Americans amongst the United support. Lots of foreign accents to be honest. A few Chelsea fans dotted around.

Chelsea always get the corner section at OT, but since the latest ground enlargements, away fans usually get offered a little section of around 500 seats in the main stand too. This is where we were located this time. Now, a bit more history. This stand was bombed by the Luftwaffe in 1941 – remember Manchester City’s German striker Uwe Rossler and the ‘Uwe’s Dad Bombed Old Trafford’ T Shirts of a few years back? We had our own little bar area, segregated from the United section. A couple of beers. Chat with a few faces – Gill from Kent, Big John. Good people. The vibes weren’t good. We were praying for a draw.

Into the stadium and we found our seats. Legend Ron Harris was with a few friends a few rows from the top. We were almost in line with the goal-line…by the corner flag. We had heard that Spurs had lost to a last-minute Wigan goal. We were clutching at good signs for the game ahead.

Of course, the World and his dog had heard that Mourinho was attending the game and a phalanx of cameras were pointed towards him before the game…a very similar scenario, infact, to the ones pointed at Roman, post-Mourinho, at Old Trafford last season. I joked with Gill that it would be comically wonderful if Jose ran out from his seat and ran down the touchline should we score. Yeah – that’ll happen, right? I was pleasantly surprised there were no ‘Jose Mourinho’ chants from us…time to move on. I saw Cathy and Dog arrive – I’m surprised the cameramen didn’t get the message ‘Cathy’s in – cameras!’

‘United Road’ was blasted out on the PA. The pitch was still getting watered. The teams entered the field.

I noted that 90% of the United support in the Stretford End – Upper were stood. Haven’t seen that in a top tier before. Didn’t think they made a great deal of noise, though. They did give JT some stick though.

I think it is a mark of how bad we thought that we would be that the ‘reasonable’ amount of possession we enjoyed in the first-half was met with great pleasure by Alan, Gary and me. In hindsight, despite all of the triangles, the touches and the possession, how much did we create? Not a lot. United weren’t great, but their attacks always had end results. We were praying for the half-time whistle. We weren’t really sure why the corner kick was taken again, but Giggs whipped in a great cross. When Vidic forced it home, the look on Giggs’ face, his arms pumped in celebration, will live with me for a long time. Hell – what an unfortunate time to concede a goal. It felt like a kick in the balls.

The Chelsea vicar, Martin, was sat ( well, I say sat, but all 3,000 Chelsea stood the entire game ) next to Alan. On returning to his place after the break, he said…’don’t worry – I’ve had a word, 3-1.’

‘Hallelujah’ I replied.

Alas not. We lost interest after the Rooney goal went in. Only Mikel performed OK to be honest. We need to nurture him. Get him to play deep, behind Frank and Essien. Ballack and Deco are not up to the task. But – Drogba…what a lazy performance. With Jose in the stands, I would’ve expected much more of a robust performance. He just didn’t look interested. What Mourinho made of it all, I just can’t imagine. JT looked out of sorts too. We seem to be losing confidence game by game.

I leaned forward and whispered to Gill – and this is a message for anyone who is getting stick today from the vast legion of United fans – ‘just ask them this…’

With a puzzled, curious expression, ask them –

‘So – how come you support the World’s biggest club, then?’

For the first time since the Old Trafford game last season, I left early – and for the first time since maybe Swindon in 1988, I missed a goal. I trudged back to the car. I had overestimated how cold it would be and I was boiling, my thick jumper beneath my new coat. I departed at just after 6pm and my early departure had worked dividends. I was on the M6 at 6.30pm.

I couldn’t face ‘606’ so I was left alone with my thoughts on the three hour drive home…alone with my thoughts, along with The Blow Monkeys, The Cars, Aztec Camera and The Lotus Eaters.

I try to be as pragmatic and philosophical in such circumstances. It had been a bad day at the office.

It was, in fact, our worst defeat at the home of Manchester United since Saturday 17th. April 1993. And just a few seconds spent reflecting on that most bleak of days, helped me put things into some sort of perspective.

Tales From The East Upper

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Southend United : 3 January 2009.

So – we are getting into an annoying habit here – another poor performance at home.

Although it is difficult to find any positives from the actual performance, I personally had a very enjoyable time at HQ.

The Frome contingent consisted of just Glenn and myself – he picked me up at 9am and gallantly drove up to Chelsea, as payback for my jaunt to Goodison. Yet another crystal clear winter day…not a cloud in the sky, just perfect. Heavens, it was bloody freezing, though. Straight into The Caff on Lillee Road and a fry-up hit the spot. I had lost my match ticket and so had to get myself down to the box office ( populated by mainly South Africans – we call it the Boks’ Office ) to get a reprint sorted. This unfortunately cost me an extra fiver. Where else, apart from at football, would customers be treated with such contempt? Had a very quick word with Ron Harris as he walked past.

Bumped into Mad Mark outside The So Bar…someone who shall remain nameless forgot to get tickets, so Mark was on the scrounge…Gumby was on his way and he would be needing a ticket too. Did it all work out OK lads?

By the time I had reached The Goose, it was 12.30pm and was filling up nicely. Glenn’s distant relative ( through marriage ) Bob had travelled in with Daryl and Ed from Southend. Bob has been living in Randolph, NJ, since 1995 and was back visiting relatives for Christmas. He was made up when his Southend got drawn against us and so was on cloud nine. In order for Bob and Glenn to sit together, I had agreed to watch from the East Upper, alongside Gary. Had a few pints of Carling and had a lovely chat with Bob…in addition to the usual football chatter, we touched on a few other topics…OK, mainly baseball, the Mets and the Yankees, but also Bob’s trips to see the NY Giants. He has been lucky enough to see a Yankee World Series game and was also present at Jeter’s “The Catch” game a few years ago. Lots to talk about. He told of the shocking story of some friends who have had Giants season tickets for forty years, only to be priced out of seats at the new stadium, currently being built at the Meadowlands. A familiar story the world over – corporate slime taking the place of normal sports fans. Where will it end?

Due to the long lines to get into the East Stand, I departed early at 2.15pm…the Southend fans, with their navy blue scarves, were visible as we made our way past the Fulham Town Hall and all of the busy match day stalls. I noted some Chelsea / Southend scarves…had to laugh. I would imagine not many CFC fans would purchase these.

It was great to watch a game from a different position within Stamford Bridge. Due to various circumstances, I have watched about five games alongside Gary. His seat is very close to the wraparound by the Matthew Harding. Thankfully, I had warmed up in time for the kick-off. I looked over and saw Glenn, Alan and Bob arrive, high above the corner flag on the other side of the penalty box. The winter sun was slowly disappearing behind the towering West Stand.

Dave, who sits alongside Gary, took his seat and we renewed acquaintances…I had last seen him at the Schalke away game last season. A couple of familiar Chelsea faces nearby.

I looked over at the third tier of seats in the West Stand. These house the so-called Milleneum Suites…where Roman has a box. Yet again, around 80% of the 1,000 seats in this section were completely empty. What sort of a football club are we that our marketing department can be so inept as to continually fail to sell these premium seats? Ever since this stand was opened in 2001, thousands upon thousands of seats have not been used. I find this particularly galling in that these seats should be raking in untold revenues every game. I would imagine each seat should be sold for around £5K to £10K per season – all that potential revenue going to waste each season…all that potential revenue not able to subsidise the seat prices of the rest of us.

Truly shocking.

Southend had the usual 6,000 away fans in The Shed…a few yellow balloons bounced around as the teams came onto the pitch. A few flags were draped over the balcony – one England flag said “Bucket And Spade FC.” I have to be honest – and a few of us agreed – Southend’s fans were pretty quiet…by far the quietest of any of the lower level teams who have been given the Shed since 2001. Huddersfield, Burnley and Gillingham made a lot more noise.

As we continually said throughout the match, Gary and myself both thought that Chelsea were playing well below our capacity. The easy Kalou header on 31 minutes should have been the stating point of a dominant and polished performance. We did play a nice few moves, but our play was yet again so slow and laboured. At times we seemed to be running in quicksand, so slow was our speed of attack. Mikel looked good, Carvalho covered a lot of ground but what of the rest? Nobody shone. Joe was quiet, Kalou too. I made the point to both Gary and Dave that at any point in a attack, there is a critical point when a “killer ball” needs to be played – the time when we have a numerical advantage or when the defence is stretched. Too bloody often we go past that point – more intent on keeping possession – and it drives me to distraction. Too often that ball is not played, either because there is pitiful movement off the ball or the man in possession does not spot the ball to play. Our play is so slow. How we miss Essien – at least he drives on. We really need to address our pace of attack, but also our movement. All I can say is that Ballack doesn’t help – he seems happy to play balls square after the obligatory three touches, rather than pass and move.

The East Upper is quiet. Really quiet. Gary and myself kept yelling encouragement – “Come On Chels” – and every time we did this, I noted four young boys, each in a separate row in front, look around with a look of astonishment and / or envy. It was obviously not what they had expected. How times change. I almost expected their fathers to tell us to keep the noise down. I did note that when we scored, three chaps directly in front of me didn’t even stand up. Unbelievable.

A few grumbles at half-time, but Southend were pretty quiet to be fair. Surely a few more Chelsea goals were on the agenda. At half-time, ex-Chelsea and Southend striker Bill Garner was paraded on the pitch. He dates from the 1972-1977 era. I’d forgotten how tall he was. He now coaches Southend’s U-18 team.

How we never scored one, two or three in the second period escapes me. We were so dominant – BUT…never looked likely to score. Lampard’s final ball was often lacking…a pass rather than a shot, or a shot rather than a pass. Why on Earth was Drogba keen to take the corners?

“Get in the fucking box, Drogba!”

Blame Scolari if you must, but blame the players too…their lack of invention at times is painful.

Southend’s goal was a bitter pill. The throw-in, Riccy’s misplaced flick-on, the player unmarked. Oh God. Then the Di Santo chance right at the death…a game which came down to two Chelsea headers really…Riccy’s flick and Franco’s at the keeper. A matter of inches made all of the difference.

Southend were dead lucky, but we only had ourselves to blame.

The crowd, so quiet during the game, came to life on the walk out to the Fulham Road, everyone full of opinions, fingers pointing at Scolari, the players too.

As I waited outside the Black Bull, the crowd jostled past me…two youngsters were trying their best to sell copies of Dave’s fanzine.

“The Chelsea fanzine – only a pound – hurry up.”

The Chelsea / Southend half and half scarves were going for a quid. A little group of Southend fans marched past.

“We hate Orient, we hate Orient, we hate Orient, we hate Orient.” Good grief. Parochialism gone mad.

Bob was beaming. We walked up to the Brompton Road for a nice meal at Salvo’s. I decided against going to the replay – instead I promised my ticket to Daryl. A pizza and a couple of beers helped ease the pain – and Bob was left trying to swing a work trip back to Blighty for the replay!

The magic of the cup.

Tales From The Borough

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Fulham vs. Chelsea : 28 December 2008.

There are three professional football clubs in the Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham.

Chelsea, Fulham and Queens Park Rangers all lie within about three miles of each other – the three grounds must be the closest three in all of the UK. I have an inherent dislike of QPR and I know this stems from the brief period of my youth when – despite small gates – QPR were able to Lord it over us on the pitch. That really hurt.

Fulham are a bit different. I, like most Chelsea fans I know, have a genuine soft-spot for them…but that winds the Fulham fans up even more.

You see – they don’t like us. They don’t like us one little bit.

The last time Fulham finished above us was in 1982-83 when they narrowly missed out on promotion to the top division. This is how bad it was – QPR were already in Division One and Chelsea were trying to fight off relegation to Division Three. Yes, dear reader, in Spring 1983, Chelsea Football Club was bottom, by some distance, in The Hammersmith & Fulham League Table. But more about 1983 later.

Craven Cottage, down by The Thames, is one of my favourite away games.

I set off alone – in the end,Cookie was making his on way up with some more friends from Shepton Mallet – at 8.45am and for the first hour it was yet another crisp, clear and sunny winter morning. As I approached Stonehenge, the roads were icy and I needed to slow my speed. I received a call from my mate in Turin, Tullio, checking about accommodation for the Juventus trip – I’m really hoping that both he and Mario ( now residing in Germany ) can get tickets for that one.

Stopped at Fleet for a McBreakfast and had a chat with some Yeovil fans en route to Millwall. Yeovil are Somerset’s only league team and I look out for their results. The weather got a bit greyer as I approached London. Cookie was already parked-up and I gave him directions of how to get to our “meet”, the Duke’s Head in Putney. As I veered off the usual approach to Chelsea, heading south of the river, in through Mortlake, Barnes and Putney, I couldn’t help but notice the huge amount of Young’s pubs. A real London brewery. I parked up at 11am and headed for the pub, wondering if I would be the first one in.

No chance – Alan, Daryl, Ed and Neil were already at a long table in the corner, pints in front of them. Daryl was supping on a Young’s Light Ale. Gary soon joined us. Ed, the youngster – Daryl’s 17 year old son – had been on the ale the previous night and was nursing a hangover…bottled water for him. I bought a pint of Nastro Azzurro and was knocked out by the price – £4.05. Welcome to Putney!

The pub filled up quickly – a mixture of Fulham and Chelsea. My mate Andy from Nuneaton joined us for a beer. He rarely misses a game. Eliot from the New York Blues popped in – he was over visiting relatives for the Xmas period and it was good to see him. I last saw him out in LA, where he masterminded the fans’ football competition. No sign of Cookie!

We set off on the twenty minute walk to The Cottage – up and over Putney Bridge, the icy wind blowing off The Thames. My new Victorinox coat was passing its first real test with flying colours. I know that a few CIAers have visited Craven Cottage and it’s a very nice ground…I can’t really call it a stadium as such. It’s homey rather than grand. I am told that the Johnny Haynes Stand – the old one on Stevenage Road – has exactly the same dimensions as the old East Stand at Chelsea – both Leitch stands.

Back in 1983-84, one of Chelsea’s defining moments took place at Fulham, where about 25,000 saw us win 5-3 in the October. Alas – I didn’t go, but my mate Glenn did. Oh – and Daryl, Andy, Alan, Gary and Neil. I was gutted I missed it…”how dare you score five without me being there!”

My fifth trip to HQ in 1983 was for the Portsmouth game on December 27th…I travelled up with my parents…they had seats in the East Lower, but I had decided to get in amongst The Benches, for the first time in fact since my first ever game in 1974. Up until that point, all of my games that season had been in The Shed, but both Glenn ( who was staying in London with his grandparents ) and myself fancied a change. Portsmouth, newly-promoted, brought a good following to The Bridge and we were both looking forward to some banter with the away fans on that huge slug of terrace to our left.

And – it would give us a chance to get in amongst the trendies.

Yep – December 1983 against Pompey was when I was brought up to speed with the football fashions of the time. Both Glenn and myself had entered the season completely oblivious to the movement which had, unbeknown to us, been developing in the main football cities since 1977. Now, many books have been written and many magazine articles devoted to this vibrant sub-culture…”the thing with no name” one Manc calls it…but I can only describe it from my perspective.

Most youth trends are music based. God knows, Britain in 1983, had many – there had been the Mod revival of 1979, skinheads, suedeheads and two-tone / ska boys and girls were in abundance, the punks were still around, the Goths were about, the soul boys ( definitely a London phenomenon ) too…then we had the lighter end of it all – the new romantics, the Duranies, the girls who dressed like make-up was going out of fashion…and hip hop was making inroads too.

But – as Glenn and myself were to find out over the remaining months of that most seminal of footy seasons, here was a movement which was solely based around what young people wore to football. It was a tantalisingly “underground” movement – that’s what made it so amazing to us. None of my friends back in Frome would be clued up about it for years and years – some still aren’t. Not only was Chelsea playing some great football, but I was going to more games and now this.

“What – a totally new way of dressing up, based on football? YES PLEASE! Where do I sign up?”

There’s no point trying to reinvent history – up until December 1983, I really had no clue. However – looking back – I guess by some kind of fashion fluke, I could have been mistaken for a football trendy. I have a photo of myself, taken on holiday in the summer of 1981 in Italy with Tullio and Mario, polo shirt, cords and a pair of Dunlop green flash. If I squint and avoid the glaring mistakes, I guess I could be mistaken for a football trendy. But I’d really have to squint hard. The horrible bog standard English schoolboy haircut gave it away. If I had been in the know, I would have realised that The Wedge was the way forward. There are people in their forties who coolly claim that the whole movement, the whole football thing, began with The Wedge in Liverpool in 1977. Who am I to argue? However, during the summer of 1983, I had helped myself to a great new haircut…before it the standard fringe and hair over the ears…we all had this haircut. Horrible it was. But, I decided to change all that..get a side-parting and sort myself out. Without really knowing it, my transformation from clueless fan to wedged-up trendy was beginning.

So – The Benches 1983 – a crisp sunny winter morning, my first Chelsea Xmas game and Glenn and myself clocking all of the hitherto unnoticed fashions of the time.

Why were those lads only wearing light blue jeans, many with side splits? Look at all those pastel-coloured jumpers! Look – they’re either Pringles ( small lion rampant, how Chelsea! ) or Lyle and Scotts ( yellow eagle )…why are all the trainers either Nikes or – what are they? What make are THEY? Diadoras? Dunno. Never seen them before.

Then the hairstyles…those side-partings, those huge flopping fringes, the famous flick… lads with hands in pockets, posing, walking up and down the Benches like a catwalk…what is that badge…a crocodile? And another! What is that?

John McEnroe’s Sergio Tacchini and Bjorn Borg’s Fila. Desert boots. Scarfs. Ski-jackets. Bright colours. Swagger.

Glenn and myself were hooked. Funny – at the time, it really was the cult with no name. Glenn called them “trendies”, quite correctly as it happens…but the cult was never really sure of itself…I would learn later – after much research! – that “the football trendies” were known as “casuals”, “scallies”, “perries”, “dressers” and “trendies.”

And here’s the thing – it was all about the football, the terraces, the away games, the specials, the buzz, the noise, the colour, the lifestyle.

Chelsea versus Pompey at Xmas 1983 opened my eyes. The game ended 2-2 and was notable for two things…Kerry Dixon missing two penalties and a lone Pompey fan, high on the terrace, hanging on to a fence, gesturing to us down below…dressed in pink.

The Benches were roaring…”who’s the poser in the pink?”

But deep down – we all knew.

Fast forward twenty five glorious years and the assembled ranks of Chelsea Football Club, all 4,000 of us, were making a racket in the Putney End. Alan, Gary and myself had seats high up in the middle, sat alongside John Terry’s Barmy Army, with Big John bashing the wire mesh every few minutes to our left. Fulham – bless them – had given out several thousand cardboard concertina’d noise-makers. The Fulham fans vigorously used these, but the resultant “noise” was pitiful.

Sod that – we’re Chelsea and we’ll make our own noise.

The game was so frustrating. We had a lot of the ball in the first half, but fell to a poor bit of marking to go 1-0 down. The fans weren’t happy. Thought Joe Cole was poor, but Mikel was doing OK. He has been my player of the year – I think – so far. We had a few chances, but it wasn’t convincing at all. Gary was having a go at Joey – a bit unfair I think. I noticed that “Familiar Fan Name Unknown” was glaring at Gary in these moments.

We played a lot lot better in the second-half. Very encouraging – I couldn’t doubt the team’s spirit. A quick move, a blunder from the ‘keeper Schwarzer and Frank is there to knock it in. Get in, you beauty…I took a few shots of the resultant aftermath, fans’ arms flailing, Frank running to the corner flag. “Familiar Fan Name Unknown” was yelling at Gary “JOEY COLE, JOEY COLE, JOEY COLE!” with a look of aggression…Joe had certainly upped his performance in the second and was having a blinder. Bizarrely, Joe was then subbed and this was met with boos from us. I took a few more snaps, but then – with typical bad luck – put the camera away just before Frank lined up a free-kick. I was right behind the flight of the ball and Schwarzer really should have done better. Yet more wild celebrations. It reminded me of his free-kick at Fulham in 2004 – virtually the same place too. Surely we would score more. Drogba was leading the line well and the Chelsea fans were rewarding him with his song. I – notably – was clapping along, but not singing his name. I remember Moscow.

We had heard of Liverpool’s win – we needed these points.

Dempsey’s goal at the death knocked all of the stuffing out of me. Silence in our section. Disbelief.

But then one last, agonising, chance for Frank at the end, but a double block. A mighty groan.

A damned fine game of football – but not good enough.

“Happy New Year – see you on Saturday.”

I walked briskly back to the car, over the Thames, the floodlights lighting up the winter sky. The Fulham fans were bubbly, the Chelsea fans were downbeat.

At 3.30pm, we were singing “There’s only one team in Fulham” and at the final whistle, it was their turn.

Pah.

CHELSEA/esque

A Blue World In Black And White

Category Archives: Season 2008-2009.

Tales From The Second City

Tales From A Romantic Evening With 2,300 Close Friends

Tales From The Ice Road

Tales From The Passenger Seat

Tales From Slumberland

Tales From Route 66

Tales From The Bottom Of The Ninth

Tales From Mancunia

Tales From The East Upper

Tales From The Borough