Category Archives: Season 2008-2009.

Tales From The Halfway Point

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Chelsea vs. West Bromwich Albion : 26 December 2008.

So, nineteen games down, nineteen to go.

There is always something really lovely about a Boxing Day game at Chelsea. There’s just something in the air.

The Frome Five set off at 8.30am…a crisp, sunny, winter day…blue skies overhead, no clouds to be seen. Just perfect. Mixed fortunes on the employment front – work still scarce for Big Dave, but PD now has a new job to go to in January. We updated each other with Christmas Day tales on the drive up. Unfortunately, Glenn’s daughter Amelia has chicken pox. I had a quiet Christmas day really.

Karen made great time and we parked-up at 10.20am…actually, there were four cars from Frome on this occasion…a good turnout! Twelve of us all told. We weren’t prepared for the biting wind that met us as we got out of the cars…The Goose wasn’t open until midday and so we decamped to the Lillie Langtry…we defrosted ourselves and waited for the troops to arrive. Daryl and Ed were joined by Daryl’s Mum, his brother Neil and his fiancee Joy…Alan arrived…we were all together, drinking, happy.

Arranged to drive up with Cookie ( a lad I have known since school days in Frome – a good footballer in his time ) for the Fulham away game.

Glenn, PD and myself were the last to leave the pub. As we approached the area behind the Matthew Harding – not our usual approach at all – eveything was still…everything was quiet. I had to pinch myself to remember we were in the heart of London. Bought the latest CFCUK and the programme.

Without wishing to be disrespectful or sacreligious, I texted a few CIAers with the message “Jesus was born on Christmas Day so Chelsea can play on Boxing Day.”

It was bitterly cold, but with brilliant sunshine. I noticed a few empty seats around me – Boxing Day can be a difficult game for many fans to get to, with very limited public transport on offer. Noticed many empty seats in the away section.

We got off to a great start – a lovely deep cross from Joe and a big strong header from Drogba. We were buzzing in that first period and surely more goals would come. After a few half-chances, though, our play reverted to type and it seemed no more goals would follow until the second period. West Brom were offering nowt up front. With virtually the last move of the half, Frank walked the ball in and we were happy again.

My – it was freezing. I noticed an article about Mickey Thomas in the programme ( he has a column in CFCUK, too ) with a photo from 1983-84.

Ah yes – Twenty Five Years ago…let’s have a recap. By the middle of December, I had been to four Chelsea games…wins versus Derby County, Cardiff City and Newcastle United, plus a horrible defeat to Manchester City. On Boxing Day 1983, if memory serves, we won at Shrewsbury…a game, of course, I didn’t go to. I was on the dole and was limiting myself to a game each month. My Xmas game would be on December 27th against Portsmouth. That’s right – two games in successive days. I’ll go to town about that encounter later.

However, it was at around this time that I was getting clued-up about the sub-culture existing in football at the time…my mate Glenn had mentioned to me that he was talking to some Chelsea fans who spoke to him about all of the expensive gear that the cockneys were wearing. This was news to us…we were oblivious to all this, living in a small Somerset town, miles – and some might say – years away from London. I remember an article which must have appeared in The Mail On Sunday magazine ( which I still have – I must hook it out one day this season ) around December 1983 in which the reporter went into a great degree of depth about football fans from the main cities eschewing the stereotypical jeans / Dr Martins / skinhead look of the days of old in favour of a wide range of labels and styles.

I remember one photo, taken on an Inter-City train, of four spotty Scousers wearing Lacoste, Lyle & Scott, Benetton, Sergio Tacchini and Fila.

A whole new world was about to open up for me.

It would begin – for real, in full colour – at the Pompey home game.

Twenty five years on, I still adhere to the lessons learnt in December 1983. For the Chelsea versus West Brom game at Xmas 2008, I was wearing Nike trainers, Boss jeans, a Lacoste top, a Schott jacket and an Enrico Coveri scarf.

If it matters (…and it so obviously does. )

The second-half flew past, with a succession of chances being missed. I tried to keep warm, but failed miserably. Only our fourth home league win of the season…more to follow?

The Shed, previously quiet, got lively towards the end, with a little battle between The Middle and the West Side…you probably heard this on TV.

Sleep on the way home – back to Frome at 5.30pm.

The troops will be reassembling at The Duke’s Head in Putney for the sojourn to Fulham…the story of 2008, plus 1983, to be continued.

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Tales From Toffeeopolis

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Everton vs. Chelsea : 22 December 2008.

I’m a bit downbeat, so this one may not be too comprehensive.

Everton away – the chance, despite our well-publicised problems of late, to be top at Christmas. Against a team so depleted of attacking options that I read that in their last game, they lined up 4-6-0. And a trip to Goodison Park for the third time for Chelsea, and myself, in 2008.

I had booked myself a half-day holiday, but typically I was beset with a couple of last minute problems before I was able to leave work at 1.15pm. My good mate Glenn had driven over to Chippenham, but we were to be joined by a CIA stalwart for the day’s outing. Gumby is over here for a few weeks and I collected him from Chippenham train station. We zipped past the Edie Cochrane memorial, then were soon on the well-trodden route north. Glenn had not met Gumby before, but they were getting on well. I was a bit quiet, expecting some ructions from a couple of work-related issues. This was my ninth trip to the place known as Toffeopolis in the ‘thirties, but neither Glenn nor Gumby had been before. Believe it or not, this was a happy hunting ground for me – I have never previously tasted defeat at Everton. Wish I could say the same for that other stadium in Liverpool.

The traffic was light as we sped past Birmingham – me pointing out West Brom and Walsall’s grounds to Gumby. Stopped for a coffee at Stafford Services, but we were soon heading over the Liverpool Ship Canal, then turning off the M6 on the approach to Liverpool. This indeed has been a familiar trip for me…my fifth trip to Liverpool for a Chelsea game in about 17 months. I am a bit wary that I have probably detailed at great length a few of these away days on CIA before. Don’t want to cover the same ground!

Three other groups of mates were on their way too. Alan and Gary were heading up on one of the official free Chelsea coaches, about thirty minutes behind me. Daryl and Simon were on the free Chelsea train. Andy, Chops, Woody and Lovejoy were driving north from Nuneaton. We had arranged to meet for a meal at a Toby pub on the Queens Drive, the main road which circumnavigates Liverpool’s centre…as I parked-up at 5pm, Chops’ car drew up just behind us. Perfect. Andy had been recommending this boozer for ages – it does a great carvery for less than a fiver. I got stuck in along with the others. Very tasty. We had a few laughs over the meal. It was a nice time.

Our hunger, and thirst, satiated, we departed at 6.30pm. Until this point, His Holiness The Prince Of Gumbo didn’t have a match ticket. Our plan was to head for “The Arkles,” a stone’s throw from Anfield, and make some investigations. We paid £7 for a car park ( better safe than sorry ) and walked up to “The Arkles”…usually heaving, it was pretty quiet. As I waited to buy three pints of Carling, I asked a Chelsea fan if he had a spare…bingo! He had a ticket, which he sold to Gumby for face value. Job done. Spotted a few familiar faces. A few photos of myself with Glenn and Gumby.

As we left the pub at 7.30pm, I was reminded of the incident last May when I shook hands with Capello before the CL semi-final. As we walked past the Hillsborough memorial, our pace slowed.

Down the hill and Goodison Park loomed in the distance. The two stadia are about a half-mile apart. This blew Gumby’s mind.

I have detailed the street-scenes around Goodison before, so I won’t over elaborate again. Suffice to say, it’s a proper stadium, if a little ragged around the edges. Gumby took a snap of the Dixie Dean statue. Gumby had a quick chat with Cathy and Dog outside the Bullens Road Stand.

A little chat about Goodison. A lot of you know I am well into football stadia history and design. My mate Alan is too – the guru of football stadia is the Villa fan Simon Inglis, who has written many great histories through the years. Goodison Park – the home of Everton after they left Anfield, thus paving the way for the creation of Liverpool FC – was one of the first stadia to be built on a grand scale, under a master plan, rather than built on an ad hoc basis. The doyen of early stadia architecture Archibald Leitch was the architect of Goodison…and to this day, two of his stands remain…the Gwladys Street stand behind the right goal and the Bullens Road, along the side. The away section is the last quarter of the Bullens, adjacent to the much newer Park Lane stand ( built in 1994 – itself a replacement of an original Leitch stand ). Chelsea only had 1,800 tickets and so on such occasions we were in the lower tier, originally a terrace. Looking up towards the over-hanging upper deck, the famous Leitch cross-hatch on the balcony walls can still be seen. This is the signature of all Leitch stands – Goodison is the best example, since other stands at such places as Fratton have advertising hoardings over the distinctive metalwork. The towering main stand opposite was built in around 1970 on the site of a Leitch stand, almost the same height. Think back to Everton’s hey days of the twenties – Goodison must have been truly awe-inspiring. It was the first stadia to have seats and terracing on all four sides.

As Everton’s “Z Cars” was played on the PA, the home fans made some noise and the teams entered the arena. This is a bit ironic – Everton are mulling over a move to an out of town Greenfield site that will house a new 50,000 stadium. Most Everton fans would rather see Goodison redeveloped. It is their home…not the town of Kirkby, eight miles away. Where was “Z Cars” filmed in the ‘sixties and ‘seventies? Yes, you’ve guessed it – Kirkby.

Another night game with us wearing all black. Madness.

In the first ten minutes, the Chelsea choir sang ten different songs. The Everton fans, never the noisiest, were relying on their two staples…”Everton, Everton, Everton” and the horrible Celtic song “If You Know Your History.” We were in good voice to be honest, the first half especially. Lovejoy always sits in the front row as he is officially registered as disabled, but even he was joining in with “the Bouncy.” I hope nobody from the club was watching! He was bouncing, but there wasn’t a hair out of place!

Do I really have to talk about the game?

I didn’t really catch the JT tackle, but we had a few texts to say it was very reckless. That was a ridiculous challenge, out on the left wing in the opponents’ final third. He cost us the game. I hope he learns from it. We need someone to read the riot act to him, but will anyone? I don’t know. Over the course of the entire game, I think we were very very lucky not to lose…it could so easily have been 3-0. We have big Pete to thank – easily the man of the match. Alex seemed solid, Ashley Cole was reasonable, he showed some spirit. But the rest of the team were dire. With Everton not showing any willigness to take the game to us, we could have imposed ourselves on the game. The midfield four were poor…Deco and Ballack especially.

Frank had a few surges, but hardly any body else took the game by the scruff of the neck. Nobody took control. Passes were back, sideways, too slow, too laboured. Only once did Deco run at Everton. I watched Ballack win a ball, but then – job done – showed no inclination whatsoever to plough forward and join the second phase. Truly lamentable. Balls were pumped forward to Anelka’s chest – not his game – in the first half and he showed no desire to chase the loose ball. Drogba gave us more drive and purpose in the second, but – crucially – the midfield four were yards behind the play on too many occasions.

Deeply disappointing.

A trudge back to the car…spirits low.

I dropped Gumby off at his mate’s house in South Wales and eventually reached home at 3.45am.

Sigh.

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Tales From Fulham Broadway

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Chelsea vs. West Ham United : 14 December 2008.

This is the story of Saturday night, Sunday morning and Sunday afternoon.

On Saturday evening I met up with a few friends to see The Blockheads perform in my local town of Frome. This band was fronted by the king of lyrical wizardry Ian Dury, who sadly passed away a few years ago. They have produced some great songs over the years, especially in the 1977-80 period. Infact, I worked out that the fourth single I ever bought, back in around April 1978, was The Blockheads’ “What a Waste.” This song has a certain amount of notoriety in Chelsea circles because of one line, referring to Fulham Broadway tube station. For a twelve year old boy in Somerset to hear the “Chelsea station” mentioned in a pop song was great. Many debates have been held over the years, questioning if Dury was a Chelsea fan. If not, why did he mention that station? Maybe we will never know. This was a Stiff record – and I remember being ever so thrilled by a swear word on the sleeve. Rock and roll! Half way through the gig, The Blockheads aired the song…their first real hit.

“I could be the driver in an articulated lorry I could be a poet, I wouldn’t need to worry I could be the teacher in a classroom full of scholars I could be the sergeant in a squadron full of wallahs What a waste What a waste What a waste What a waste Because I chose to play the fool in a six-piece band First night nerves every one night stand I should be glad to be so inclined What a waste! What a waste! Rock and roll don’t mind (Schtum) I could be a lawyer with stratagems and ruses I could be a doctor with poultices and bruises I could be a writer with a growing reputation I could be the ticket man at Fulham Broadway station What a waste What a waste What a waste What a waste Because I chose to play the fool in a six-piece band First night nerves every one night stand I should be glad to be so inclined What a waste! What a waste! Rock and roll don’t mind I could be the catalyst that sparks the revolution I could be an inmate in a long-term institution I could lead to wide extremes, I could do or die I could yawn and be withdrawn and watch them gallop by What a waste What a waste What a waste What a waste Because I chose to play the fool in a six-piece band First night nerves every one night stand I should be glad to be so inclined What a waste! What a waste! Rock and roll don’t mind Chose to play the fool in a six-piece band First night nerves every one night stand I should be glad to be so inclined What a waste! What a waste! Rock and roll don’t mind What a waste! What a waste! Rock and roll don’t mind Chose to play the fool in a six-piece band First night nerves every one night stand I should be glad to be so inclined What a waste! What a waste! Rock and roll don’t mind”

Great stuff. During the gig, I realised that I most probably bought the single in the town’s “Woolworths.” Pretty poignant really – this very week, “Woolworhs” shops all over Britain have been having their closing down sales, the most notable name in the high street to be affected by the global downturn thus far. A real shame.

“What a waste” indeed.

A few of the songs were careering around my head as I drove into Frome on Sunday morning. Due to the lack of work around at the moment, PD. Dave and Karen had decided not to go to the game. I had acted as ticket-broker and had shifted the tickets to some close mates. I volunteered to drive. Parky from Trowbridge was travelling up with Glenn and myself. We left at 9am and I made great time. Constant chat on the way up yet again – they should connect Parky to the National Grid, the energy he expels.

Parked up at 11am and straight into the café for a fry-up. Frank and Andy were already there. The owners presented us all with individual Xmas cards, thanking us for our custom throughout the year. A nice touch.

I needed to zip down to the stadium in order to get a few things sorted out. Popped into the shop – bought the late Ron Hockings’ “100 Years Of The Blues” for £25…I already have his 1985 and 1995 editions of these books, in which every game is detailed. I love pouring over the games. So many memories. Ron was th official historian until his untimely death in 2006, just after we secured our third championship. He went to about 4,000 Chelsea games apparently.

By the time I had retraced my steps to the refurbished Goose, the clans were gathering. I made my two pints last forever. Good to see three of the Nuneaton lot pop in. Neil had a glance at my newly-acquired book and spotted his first ever game – a 3-1 win at Highfield Road back in 1971…a week after Trowbridge Andy’s first game! The banter was flying about. Had a word with Dutch Mick in the beer garden – he spotted my Blockhead T-Shirt and it turns out he is a big fan too. On the subject of music, about 16 of us are going to The Specials gig at Brixton next May…that promises to be a classic. Another potential legendary weekend is planned for Cup Final weekend too. Alan and myself are seeing Morrissey on the Friday. Alan, Daryl, Gary and myself are seeing Depeche Mode on the Saturday. We just need to get Chelsea to the FA Cup Final for one of the best two days ever. Watch this space!

A big cheer rang out in the pub when Gianfranco Zola was spotted arriving at The Bridge on TV. A few songs in his honour. Good stuff. We exchanged a few Christmas cards.

Alan gave me a rare Cocteau Twins DVD, which I was so pleased to receive. The only reference to 1983-1984 this time will be a nod towards me stumbling across the Cocteau Twins in the autumn of 1983. I first heard Liz Fraser’s voice on This Mortal Coil’s version of Tim Buckley’s “Song To The Siren.” A song so pure it still chills me to the bone. Once I heard Pat Nevin loved them too – well, perfect.

A hardy few of us will see each other a Everton next Monday…for the rest, it was “Have a good Christmas – see you on Boxing Day.” I left for the ground quite early – chatting away with Russ, another Frome / Chelsea boy. It seems that The Slug ( aka The Kings Arms ) is now the designated away pub at Chelsea on match days. I guess this is par for the course these days…think The Arkles near Anfield for Everton, The Fernhurst at Blackburn, The Beehive at Bolton. It would never have happened back in the eighties, though!

I got to my seat by about 3.30pm…plenty of time to soak up the atmosphere. A typical Chelsea Home Game of late…tons and tons of possession, but…well, you all saw it. Really, over the course of the whole game, we again deserved to win…but. Thought Mikel was our best player by far…a real solid performance, breaking up the play, playing it simple. So strong. I was really disappointed, again, by the lack of movement from the front six at times. West Ham were spirited, but I was still flabbergasted that they went 1-0 up. That Bellamy is such an irritant, but a good player of course. Ballack was woeful and deserved to be subbed at the break. My “favourite” referee Old Mother Riley was winding me up, as per usual.

A few, typical, boos at half-time. Mention Scolari to anyone now and they will say “No Plan B” in the way that Ranieri was “Tinkerman” and Mourinho was “The Special One.” Doesn’t matter that this is Scolari’s first four months in charge at Chelsea ( that he has won World Cups, that he was England’s first choice after Sven )…Scolari has no Plan B and is therefore a rubbish manager. This is the view of many at Chelsea. Funny how we urge other clubs to give new managers time, but not at Chelsea. Anyway, Drogba for Ballack at the break wasn’t rocket science. Let’s see if he does have a Plan B?

I thought that the atmosphere wasn’t bad for a change, especially in the second-half once we had got the goal back. A great goal, too. Nice stuff. At times I actually heard the West Stand singing. The second-half was a war of attrition…not a bad game at all really…a nice bit of noise. Of course, Cech’s fantastic save from Carlton Cole at the death gave us a share of the points. Deeply frustrating, of course. Then the boos started. After Liverpool fans booing their team off after a 0-0 draw at Anfield ( in which they went a point clear at the top ) and Arsenal fans shamelessly booing Eboue at The Emirates, it seems that Chelsea fans ( sorry – I mean Chelsea customers, not fans ) boo the team now too. What does it all mean? Maybe Booing is the new rock and roll? I can’t get my head around it. Sometimes my disgust for my fellow fans is palpable.

A quick march up the North End Road. Reached the car at 6.15pm. Glenn ( the worse for wear – he had been on the Guiness and was wobbly ) called me to say that Parky was nowhere to be seen. They had arranged to meet outside “The So” but Glenn had said that it had kicked-off. I tried to phone Parky, but no answer. The time passed. I eventually spoke to him and he had been hit by some West Ham. I was worried for him, but he seemed OK. Just like West Ham to hit someone on crutches I thought. Glenn waited in The Goose for him. I spoke to Glenn, infact, just as a mob of West Ham were scouting for stragglers. I waited in my car. At 7pm, I looked back and saw them both, safe…Parky with a beaming smile on his face. He was OK. He was buzzing, infact. I drove home, through the busy streets around Barons Court and then out onto the M4, as Parky beemed as he told me of his expoits. It seems a few lippy West Ham fans had goaded him, so he launched into them, crutches flailing. He got hit, but took a few down with him. I didn’t know what to think to be honest. He was safe, that was the main thing. He didn’t even have a bruised ego – far from it infact. He was just glad we had waited for him. As if we would leave him!

We sang a few verses of Rolf Harris’ “Two Little Boys.” “Do you think I would leave you crying when there’s room on my horse for two?” We laughed. After a few minutes, Glenn fell asleep, all limp with Guinness. Eventually dropped Parky off at 9pm, Glenn at 9.15pm…I bought another Chinese on the way home…getting back at 9.45pm. Rather than watch “MOTD2”, I instead played the Cocteau Twins’ DVD. I couldn’t stomach seeing the game again, really.

Another two points dropped – plus the chance to go top.

What a waste.

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Tales From The 2008/2009 European Campaign

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Chelsea vs. CFR Cluj : 9 December 2008.

So – with a bit of huffing and puffing, we made it.

I was able to get away from work a little bit earlier than usual. By 3.45pm, I had picked up Parky and his Lucky Crutches from The Pheasant and we were on our way. That extra 15 minutes paid dividends as we were parked up by 6pm. It was constant chatter on the drive up. Non stop – virtually all Chelsea related. Parky dived into his personal treasure chest of Chelsea memories…he mentioned some of the things which Trowbridge Andy ( from Saturday’s jaunt to Bolton ) talked about. Let us not glory in past demeanours, but Parky certainly saw some action back in the old days…he was on the train coming back from Luton in 1975-76 which “somehow” caught fire and he also told a pretty grisly, but also faintly humorous, story about throwing a police dog out of a ( stationary ) train window.

The Goose was temporarily closed, so we met up at the Lillie Langtry, pretty close to West Brompton tube. It was the usual turnout for a CL home game – nice to see the next generation represented in Ed and his increasingly wayward hairstyle ( I’ve got a comb in my bag mate! ) and Milo.

Just time for two pints of Carling, me darling.

Received a call from Beth just as we walked past The Slug at Fulham Broadway. This was her last game of her trip and we agreed to meet up for a drink and meal after. I had Wednesday booked as a holiday and so was in no rush to get back.

Bought a copy of “CFCUK” – a good edition…more than one person questioned the “love” for Anelka and Drogba. Funny – have been thinking the same of late. Personally speaking, I will never forget Drogba’s selfish slouch from the pitch at the Luzhniki in May and I am so very tired of his antics. Anelka seems to be playing reasonably well, but it seems his general demeanour makes it difficult for us fans to get close to him. I don’t think it’s a race issue.

Into the stadium…surprised that 1,500 Romanians were present. It made Bordeaux’ 400 look really paltry. More free scarves. Alan had brought his lucky European wine gums. Mine didn’t work in Moscow, but they usually do. I texted a couple of people that “the wine gums are out” but I think this was misconstrued – I think they thought that I was referring to the demise of Bordeaux. You know who you are – is this true?

We increased momentum and drive as the game progressed and thankfully made it through. The events in Rome were working in our favour, though, so there was never a moment when I felt under real pressure. A snappy goal from Kalou got us on our way, but a lot of our play in the first period was a bit annoying. Yet again, the midfield didn’t seem to want to move for each other to make angles. At one time, the move stagnating, with no movement, I bellowed “MOVE”. You probably heard me in Poughkeepsie and Tallahassee. It didn’t always come off, but at least Joe Cole was involved with runs to lose markers…at least he seemed motivated. Ballack – despite a nice few through balls, didn’t seem too interested…with Frank out, I expected more. I want to see him run our midfield, but he too often hides for my liking. How often do you see him gesturing and demanding the ball, knocking one-twos? Hardly ever.

We missed Frank.

Pete from San Francisco ( who was over for the Roma and Liverpool games in October ) was sitting a few yards away and we met up for a chat at half-time. He is over with work and I will hopefully spend more time with him on Sunday.

For the Expats amongst you, a lovely old Christmas song from 1980 was aired at half-time…Jonah Lewie’s “Stop The Cavalry.” I felt all festive and frosty.

We had a lot of the ball in the scond-half, but – completely against the run of play – Kone scored for Cluj with a great header from a wicked cross. Ho hum.

We made some substitutions…Juliano for Joey, then Drogba for Kalou. I clapped Kaklou off, not so sure about Drogs! Seeing Drogba and Anelka upfront, paired together in a two-pronged attack, I suddenly lost myself for a few moments, fantasising about this ( on paper ) incredible pairing. Who in The World would not want to have these two beggars up front? But still we stick with a 4-3-3. Are we mad not to give this a real go for the rest of the season? Let’s see what Big Phil does. Anelka quite impressed me to be honest – he doesn’t often lose possession. But – oh! – that body language.

A lovely finish from Didier gave us a deserved win…but virtually everybody in the MHU thought it was an own goal. Even when he does score, we can’t love like in days of old!

After the game, Parky and myself met up with Beth outside “Frankies.” I will surely let The Wild One tell the story, but she was not a happy bunny. She had been sat in the front row of the Shed Upper, but a few instances left her fuming…I’ll let Beth tell you all what happened…but she was almost asked to leave! Into “Frankies” for a couple of drinks – this place, which first opened as a Sports Bar in 1997 for regular punters is now an up-market restaurant.

On the site of The Shed. My heart bleeds.

A bit of a natter. Clive Walker called in to chat for a few minutes…1983 and all that. Parky was chuffed. We left there at 11pm, but I am afraid all of the places we tried for food were shutting. I said my “goodbyes” to Beth at Fulham Broadway…”see you in April.”

On the walk up the North End Road, Parky and me nipped into a KFC and it rounded off a good night out. Back home at 2.15am…

Let our 2008-2009 European Campaign roll on.

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Tales From A Special Place

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Bolton Wanderers vs. Chelsea :6 December 2008.

My twenty-first game of the season. This is how it panned out.

Set off from home at 8.45am, the fields and hedges dusted with frost. But a clear, blue sky and that was how it stayed. I drove the ten miles to pick up Andy from Trowbridge, just over the county border in Wiltshire. There are a number of medium-sized towns near me, but I would say Trowbridge has proportionately more Chelsea fans than Frome, Westbury, Warminster, Radstock and the like. Andy ( 48 ) is good mates with Parky ( 52 – the grand daddy of the Trowbridge mob ) who I have travelled up to HQ with this season.

I first met Andy in a Frome pub in the summer of 1984 and although we always say “hi”, this was the first time I really have had to spend an extended amount of time with him.

As we darted through Bradford-On-Avon, past Bath and up onto the M4, we began chatting about our own individual Chelsea histories. The time absolutely flew past, as I am sure you can all imagine. His first game was in October 1971. We swapped stories as we ate up the miles. He still goes to most home league games. His best effort was way back in 1981-1982 when he went to 41 out of 42 league games during a mediocre second division season, notable only for an extended FA Cup run. He used to travel to all of the games my train ( we all did ) in those days – the era of cheaper prices, young persons railcards and Persil vouchers. We both agreed that as a teenager, a train trip from the South West up to Sheffield or Middlesbrough was a major event in those days. He spoke of a few hairy moments from those days – an incident when he found himself, quite innocently, in the midst of Chelsea’s main mob ( Icky et al ) in Middlesbrough, legging it into a pub, then emerging two hours later, buoyed by alcohol, into a waiting crowd of locals…a salvation army band playing, Saturday shoppers fleeing from the fighting.

Then the predictable stories of trains getting bricked by Geordies at Newcastle. I experienced this myself back in 1984 – that story will follow later this season.

As the talk slowed, I put the new Killers album on the CD player.

Before we knew it, we had sped past Stoke and were only 45 minutes from Bolton. We stopped at Sandbach for a Wimpy burger and fries. Wimpy is our very own UK fast food chain and I mention it’s name for all of the Ex-pats…still pretty dodgy and not as good as McDonalds or Burger King. In-n-Out Burger it ain’t!

This was the sixth trip up the M6 for me this season alone. Those motorway service stations fall off my tongue like a mantra…Michael Wood, Strensham, Frankley, Hilton Park, Stafford, Sandbach, Knutsford, Lymm. I was in contact with both Alan and Beth, on separate Chelsea coaches and as we hit the Manchester orbital, I knew we couldn’t be too far behind them.

Indeed, as we exited the slip road for The Reebok, I spotted the Chelsea coaches a few hundred yards ahead. I had made good time – I covered the 211 miles in three and a half hours.

So – Bolton. I still get goose bumps when I think of the name. I was there in April 2005 and every time I go back ( this was my fifth visit to The Reebok ), I think back to that momentous day when I saw Chelsea become league champions. The stadium is quite a way out of town, a good 6 miles, and nestles under Winter Hill, adjacent to a shopping mall. Quite a bizarre location, really, for such a momentous day in our history. At the time, we all acknowledged the significance of winning the league at Bolton. Think back to 1983 and Clive Walker’s goal which fought off relegation to the Third Division ( arguably the most important goal in 103 years ) and therefore provided the lift-off for 1983-1984 and the successes which followed. I remember Alan ( who went to the game ) telling the story of famous Chelsea fan Breda attending the game with four-leaved clovers, rabbits feet, lucky heather and a crucifix. Breda used to look after the disabled section at Chelsea with John Bumstead’s Mum – anyway, all of the various lucky charms worked a treat. I mused on the fact that all of these fans have played such an integral role in our story. In comparison, of all the books I have read on baseball, the only famous fan I can name is the Brooklyn Dodgers’ Hilda Chester and her cow bell. Over here, in the UK, every club has its legion of fans…some more famous than the players! It is this interaction between club, player and fan that you must all find so intriguing.

On a more sombre note, let us also remember our league cup game at Bolton in 1996 and the helicopter crash which robbed the club of Matthew Harding.

Bolton plays a significant role in our history. More so than any other city in my opinion.

I parked up at the stadium and walked towards The Beehive pub, where we were joined by Alan, Gary and Beth. We stayed there about an hour. A couple of pints. Thank heavens Beth is over here – I think her recent spending spree in London has boosted our ailing economy. A quick chat with the Nuneaton boys.

I had a quick word with Ron Harris outside the entrance to the away seats…he was up to do an evening at a local club. He often goes to away games. Made my way up to our seat in the top tier…we had amazing seats…as central as it was possible to be, the very back row. Alan, Gary and me stood the entire game. The self-appointed “John Terry’s Barmy Army” were in front of us. It was still sunny – and not too cold either.

I snapped away as the teams came onto the pitch. I noted many St.Georges cross flags at the other end, but also a Stars and Stripes…a large flag was hoisted over the Bolton fans – “We are the one and only Wanderers.” Dave Johnstone’s Chelsea away flag passed close by too. The war of the flags! One massive Bolton flag intimated – via symbols – that they love gravy. This comes from the “Soccer AM” show in which “Northern boys love gravy.”

Quality!

OK – game on. Let’s see if we could get our eleventh successive away victory. Beth ( along with Andy, Rey and Cynthia ) was present for the first one, way back at Manchester City in April. By a twist of fate, the top three clubs were all playing within 40 miles of each other…Liverpool up the road at Blackburn and Manchester United at Old Trafford. Our formation seemed to be 4-1-3-2…with Mikel deep and Kalou upfront with Anelka.

Before we had a chance to settle, Davies ( always a blooming handful ) had headed over an easy chance. Thankfully, a lovely cross from Bosingwa found Anelka and we were 1-0 up. Then a lovely Deco goal soon after. We were coasting. Not great noise from our support from us to be honest…we had 2,800 up there, but it wasn’t brilliant. The Bolton mascot was getting on my nerves, but also amusing me at the same time – he rolled over on the floor, imitating Bosingwa’s reaction to a foul, then I saw him flicking Vs at other Chelsea players. He was strutting around, not happy at all. Pretty funny.

Bolton came back into the game after the break, but despite a few half chances, they never convinced me that they would score. Cech, despite some woeful kicking, played well with some timely saves. After last week’s poor show, Deco impressed me immensely, controlling the midfield, pushing the ball around intelligently. Did anyone spot McCann and Ballack getting very close while play was stopped, eye to eye, giving verbals to each other? Soon after, Ballack was smacked and had to wear a bandage.

I thought he resembled Sesame Street’s Bert.

The final whistle and we quickly reached the car, only to be sat motionless for twenty minutes until a few cars in front left. We heard that Liverpool had won, then listened to the United game on Five Live. As I passed through Birmingham, Vidic poked home a late winner and I smacked the car door in frustration.

Never mind. Our eleventh away league win on the trot. Happy with that.

On the way home, my NYC correspondent texted me to say that Roman was at “Nevada Smiths” in NYC.

I dropped Andy off at Trowbridge and then drove through a deserted Frome – the credit crunch was hitting, all of the pubs seemed deserted. I stopped off for a Chinese takeaway. It was freezing outside.

Home at 9.15pm. The big game against Cluj awaits.

Bring it on.

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Tales From The Fortress

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Chelsea vs. Arsenal : 30 November 2008.

Fortess Stamford Bridge – yeah, big joke, eh?

I’ll try to keep things nice and concise for this report, but will be referring back to 1983 at least once, and to Friday a few times too.

Fasten your seat belts – it’s gonna be a rough ride.

A late start from Frome, where we had sleet and snow as we departed at 10am. I had watched the highlights of Saturday’s games on “Match Of The Day” and rarely had the weather at all of the games been so bad. The poor souls at Sunderland looked frozen. As we teared past Stonehenge, I did wonder what weather the Gods would throw at us again. I’m fed up with all of this football in the rain. Sad to report that Dave and PD aren’t getting much work still – this, along with the utterly depressing performance from the boys on Wednesday, gave the trip up to London a bleak feel. Even six hours before kick-off, we were all fearing the worst.

Anyway, into the café on the Lillee Road and a gorgeous fry-up again. Now then, the first reference to Friday. For the first time in my life, I attended an official Chelsea Football Club function – the 2008 CPO Luncheon at the Hilton, Park Lane…Beth always goes and she coerced me into going this year. We met up at Stamford Bridge at 9.15am and – until we departed our separate ways at 11pm – had a fantastic time. I won’t mention every minute detail, but my mate Glenn, from Frome, was a big Marcel Desailly fan ( he favours Milan, too – the poor misguided soul ) and so I presented Glenn with a signed “Desailly 6” photograph I had for him. He was well chuffed.

Into “The Goose” at 12.45pm and a few pints of lager. Some of you will remember that we bumped into Pat Nevin, amongst others, in Moscow…well, I knew that Wee Pat would be at the CPO Lunch and so I got him to personally sign two 8 by 10 photos of Pat with both Alan and Daryl. This was a surprise for my two mates, so they were pleased too. I must have around ten to fifteen close Chelsea mates, but I would describe Alan, Daryl and myself as the Inner Circle…between the three of us, all the important decisions are made!

To be fair, the mood in the boozer was quite subdued. The Bordeaux game was the topic of conversation. I guess any team is only as good as their last performance and ours was flat and lifeless. So – lots to groan and moan about. Daryl voiced the opinion that getting Eidur back from Barca wouldn’t be a bad move come January…a fine idea. Rob arrived and was full of chat about France…he had met up with Alan and Gary out there. After a shedful of beers one night, they found themselves drinking the almond liquor amoretti.

After six of these, Rob was leading the singing of “Chelsea Amoretti.”

The pub got busier and busier. I was wary I had to meet Beth at some stage…I owed her some money, £20 of which was for a bet I had lost with her. I had bet her that she would show at least one former Chelsea player at the lunch on Friday her new silver CFC belly button ring. The plan didn’t work and, despite a plan I had hatched with Clive Walker, Beth won her bet. Beth was doing a mini pub crawl by the sounds of it and I eventually met up with her in La Reserve, where she was enjoying a quiet drink with Mark Coden ( if that is possible…)

Into the ground nice and early for once, thus avoiding problems at the turnstiles.

Arsenal had the usual 3,000, but only two flags…a poor show. One of them was quite simple and effective – The Arsenal – but I knew this would wind Alan up as he hates the way Arsenal are sometimes referred to in this manner, like as if they are The Bank Of England or The Royal Family or something. For virtually all of their history Arsenal Football Club have hosted some of the most pragmatic and boring football teams to come out of these Isles…only since Wenger took over, in 1996, has the more expansive style of football been evident. Tell that to the JCL Gooners in America…they were called Lucky Arsenal in the thirties because they only did “enough” to win, nothing more…1-0 To The Arsenal is about right. The football Arsenal played in my childhood and youth was dire, with Liam Brady a rare entertainer.

A nice atmosphere to start – this is more like it…the extra hour in the various bars and pubs that surround Stamford Bridge on match days seemed to have a nice effect. In between Chelsea attacks, I spoke to Alan about some of the events on Friday…the highlights were nice chats with Paul Canoville, Bobby Tambling, Ken Shellito, Ken Monkou, Colin Pates and Tommy Hughes. I think I worked out I managed to say a few words to 19 of the 63 former players present. I batted .332 – pleased with that!

I thought we were fine in the first half and played the nicer stuff. After a barrage of abuse at the start, Gallas got away quite lightly really. However, it was so funny when there seemed to be a bizarre reaction when Bosingwa’s fine cross was put into his own net by Djourou – it seemed that the whole ground thought that Gallas had scored. There were almost boos when we heard that #20 and not #10 had scored! Hilarious. Even more hilarious was Alan’s off the cuff comment…”when it comes to crosses, I’m like a midget nymphomaniac…I like them low and hard.”

To me, the formation resembled 4-4-2, rather than 4-4-3, with Deco very withdrawn and Kalou quite central. What did anyone else think? Although we were playing some reasonable football, I was concerned that the Chelsea players weren’t getting very close to the Arsenal midfielders. Thought Fabregas was being given too much respect. Why not man mark him? He was always going to be their main threat.

At half-time, I noted in the programme that Chelsea have recently tied up a deal with Los Angeles Futbol Club in which training programmes will be set up with Chelsea, plus coach-exchanges. They will be known as LAFC Chelsea. They play in Simi Valley. Anybody heard of this club before?

Of course, we all know what happened after the break. We did let Arsenal have a bit more of the ball, but at 1-0 I still didn’t see a real threat from them. The first goal did look a bit close to being offside from my position – admittedly many yards away – and this was borne out on TV. The calls went against us, no doubt. But we threw the game away in three crazy minutes. I was standing the entire time – evidence I wasn’t happy.

Too many players had poor games – Deco especially, but nobody came out with too much credit. However, fair’s fair – again thought Ivanovic played well. A solid performance from the man with the 1980 haircut. We had a good viewpoint of Terry’s awful two-footed challenge which should have resulted in a red. He’s having a patchy spell right now, no doubts.

At this point, I go back to Friday night – and also 1983-84 again. I had a lovely few words with Colin Pates, the captain of that fabled team and I made the point to him that in those days the fans weren’t experts on formations or playing systems – we just had ten pints in the pub beforehand and sung our hearts out. Colin laughed and agreed that there really wasn’t too many tactics in those days. A far more simple era really, though we didn’t realise it at the time. Players played – supporters supported. Easy.

Now then – excuse me while I get on my soap-box here. I have often lamented – at length – the decreasing levels of our home support of late. At times, I get so frustrated with the lack of effort, I honestly feel like only going to away games. With Chelsea 2-1 down to Arsenal ( Arsenal FFS! ), not only did our team not react in the right way, the home support simply did nothing. It’s like my car at the moment – the turbo is broken – and we just couldn’t get that extra boost…I was putting my foot to the floor, but not getting a response. My mate Daryl has commented to me today that we all thought that the Carling Cup Final in February was a low point, but yesterday was just as bad.

It grieves me like you can not imagine.

I noted the three lads – in their forties, been going for years, been sat behind them since 1997, but they rarely sing – just sat, arms crossed, not even talking, let alone singing and clapping. I leaned forward and said –

“Is there any chance you lads can start putting your hands together and supporting this team of ours?”

Albert turned around, annoyed with me, claiming he does support the club.

“Yeah, whatever mate, whatever.”

Of course, I felt bad about it on the drive home, but please tell me – who is right?

Managers manage. Players play. Supporters support.

We support – we don’t spectate.

Of course, things got very frustrating and Deco became the poster boy for the hate and derision raining down from the stands around me. I have a rule here – and I try my hardest to keep to it. When a player miss-hits a pass, or skies a shot, I try my damned hardest to say nothing, to stay silent. Not the fans around me – in the last horrible twenty minutes, with the noise getting louder and louder with every poor pass, I had to wonder what was going through the collective minds of those around me. If they truly love the club, why the hate towards certain players. One guy behind me was truly venomous. It made me feel sick.

On one occasion, JT lofted a lovely pass into the pass of Ash down below me and not one clap…not one. These people make more noise when players play badly than when we play well.

Can someone please explain that to me? I just think us Chelsea fans have been spoilt rotten and as soon as a defeat is on the cards, suddenly implode. We can’t cope. We blame referees. We blame the coach. We pick on players. We behave like petulant kids.

Not my Chelsea.

Back in 1983-84, my fourth game of the season was a horrible 1-0 defeat a home to Manchester City…twenty five years ago on Wednesday.

In 1983-84, I was gutted we lost. In 2008-2009 I am gutted we have lost our support.

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Tales From The Blank Saturday

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Chelsea vs. Newcastle United : 22 November 2008

Well, that was a strange one, eh? The weekend that never was.

I have a feeling this won’t be a very extensive match report.

Glenn had to work, Karen had to oversee some builders at her new house, so the Frome Gang Of Five had been clipped to just three – Dave, who drove, PD and me. For someone who doesn’t particularly like driving, Dave made light work of the 110 miles. We were parked up at 11.15am. I shot off down to “Lloyds” in order to meet Beth and Jamie. “Lloyds” is the large bar at the top of the escalators at the Fulham Broadway complex…we used to go there a few years ago…but it gets too busy after 1pm. I’m tempted to use the old Yogi Berra ( or was it Casey Stengel? ) catchphrase…”nobody goes there anymore because it’s too crowded.”

I ordered a pint and a £4 breakfast. Jamie was the first to arrive – she had just got back from the Germany vs. England game in Berlin…had enjoyed Berlin, but was glad to be back in an English-speaking city. This was her last game of her stay in London. Beth arrived at about midday…great to see her again. I gave her my Bordeaux ticket. I’m not going, but Beth will be in good company as Alan and Gary are going. Seems that virtually everyone is going on the Eurostar. It will be like a Chelsea Special. Beth and myself are going to the annual Chelsea Pitch Owners Lunch on Friday – this will be the first ( and possibly only ) official Chelsea function I have attended. I can’t wait – it will be a great day I am sure. Beth passed over a couple of items from the Presidential election for me…one badge had the phrase “Yes We Can” and I did wonder how bizarre it was that Obama had pilfered a Bob The Builder catchphrase. Wasn’t there a Joe the Plumber involved in the election campaign too? Anyone care to explain to me what it all means?

We spoke a little about the presidential campaign, but I felt my eyes glazing over…I bade a fond farewell to Jamie and told Beth I’d see her on Friday.

After calling in on Andy at “The Jolly Maltsters” to pass over Glenn’s ticket to one of his mates, I made it back to The Goose for 1.15pm. It was well-packed and so ordered two pints at the bar. Just as I headed over to join the boys, Mike from NYC was on his way to the bar too. He had flown in for the game – had arrived Heathrow at 9.30am and was going back on Sunday afternoon. Great to see him again. I surely should be on a commission the amount of US trade I drum up for The Goose. Chatted mainly to Mike and my mate Rob, who mentioned that he is thinking about making it over to NY / NJ should Chelsea confirm plans for the American Tour in 2009. The more the merrier.

Rob is a chap I only have got to know over the last year…he lives out past East London and mentioned he tries to go and see as many of the youth games as he can. We spoke about what the club means to us and I understood completely when Rob said that he doesn’t really care about who is or isn’t in the team or who we are meant to be after in the transfer market. He’s Chelsea regardless of any of the on-field stuff. It’s something which goes deep. I’m sure Rob will be at The Bridge forever and a day.

Proper Chelsea.

More ridiculous queues at the turnstiles, so I got in five minutes late. Yes, a very odd game. There is a part of me that thinks that I should say that it was “just one of those games” where we just couldn’t score, despite embarrassingly high possession. But that wouldn’t tell the whole story. I’m writing this after having had the benefit of having read the Sunday paper and so I need to agree with the match reporter…we don’t seem to have a Plan B, especially prevalent at home these days. I don’t understand why Scolari only made two substitutions. I don’t know why Ballack was only given ten minutes. Without Drogba ( who offers a vivid variation to our slow build-up play ) we seem to want to pass pass pass forever. We clearly lack width. Apart from one great run when he came through the middle, Malouda was again poor. And Deco seems to get worse with every passing game.

The Geordies were singing “The Blaydon Races” in their corner. Our noise levels weren’t great. At half-time, former player Chris Garland was introduced to the crowd by Neil Barnett. Garland played in the very first game I ever saw – against Newcastle United in March 1974. He has suffered with Parkinsons in the past and I think he isn’t too bad now. Apart from Liverpool, I think I have seen Newcastle play more times than any other team – we couldn’t even escape each other when we dropped down into the old second division. Our last home league defeat against them was way back in 1986…we have a great record against them.

If we were on top in the first-half, the story of the second-half was really amazing. I think I’d struggle to remember a more one-sided 45 minutes of football. Alan and myself were celebrating “the goal that wasn’t” for what seemed like ages before we realised Joe was offside. Pah. At that point we should have realised it wasn’t to be our day.

As the chances came and went, I stood up, leaning against my seat back – always a sure sign I am not pleased! As always, Alan and myself tried to entice our fellow fans to get behind the team, but The Sleepy Hollow were deathly silent. One passage of play was met with moans, groans and boos and made me very annoyed. In the second-half, a rare Geordie attack was broken up by Anelka ( of all people ) who intercepted the ball, controlled it and laid it off to a defender. This was met with howls of derision…presumably because in the eyes of the fans Anelka shouldn’t be back defending. Some players just can’t win, eh?

I stood up and shouted “don’t have a go at him – he’s back defending – FFS! He’s done well there. You lot make more noise when we do something wrong than when we are playing well.”

I was told to calm down by a bloke. I smiled. But seriously – at times at Chelsea, we hardly applaud a corner, but the boos echo around when a player does something wrong. It’s pathetic. Whereas in around 2000, the West Lower was a bastion of noise, these days they watch in silence. Do I sound like a broken record?

Well, we heard that The Goons had lost and then, as we exited down the stairs we were told Liverpool had only drew. So a tangible bit of relief there.

Villa grabbed a point off United as we sped back home. Thank heavens.

At least it didn’t rain.

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Tales From The Corner Flag

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West Bromwich Albion vs. Chelsea : 15 November 2008.

Just another day in paradise – or the heart of the West Midlands, to be precise.

A late kick-off was good for me, as it meant I had no rush to get up. I was even able to pop into town to run a few errands. Saturdays are usually completely devoted to Chelsea, which can cause problems!

Glenn kindly volunteered to drive the 110 miles up to Birmingham – this gave me free reign to relax and have a few beers. Frome stalwarts Dave and Paul were also travelling with us.

We left my village at 10.45am. Five of the boys were heading up from Marylebone in London and we had arranged to meet at a pub near Snow Hill station.

Our route again took us through Bristol. On the elevated section of the M32, to our left, there is an IKEA warehouse. This was built in around 1996 on the site of Eastville, the former home of Bristol Rovers. Seems that every Chelsea fan of a certain age from the West Country was at the 3-0 loss we suffered at the hands of Rovers in February 1980. An infamous game – it ultimately cost us promotion and was memorable for the police horses trying to control the fans…the horses were even on the terrace at the Tote End at one stage. I remember watching from the North Stand seats, looking around and seeing Glenn and his grandfather a few rows behind us. 28 years ago – oh boy.

It was an easy trip up. Glenn is a bit of a speed merchant.

Chris “Ralphie Schumacher.”

Alan “Dionne.”

Glenn was given a driving assessment during the week – he ferries youngsters around as part of his new job. He passed but was told “too fast and too close.”

“Yeah, mate – that’s what your wife says, too.”

Talk was of Glenn’s new job. He thought he had it tough with the banter from the non-Chelsea supporting lads at his old factory, but the youngsters at the care home he works at are much much worse!

As chat quietened, Keane were on the CD player. At 12.30pm we parked up at a hotel just off the M6.

Chris “Frank Skinner.”

We had a quick pint at the Park Inn bar, then quickly walked past The Hawthorns to catch a metro train into the centre of Brum. By 12.45pm, we had exited the train and were sat in “Edmunds” bar – formerly The Corner House. I have hardly ever been out drinking in Brum city centre before. We ordered some beers ( Becks Vier to start, but I then spotted some Staropramen…nice.) After about twenty minutes, the London Boys ( Alan, Daryl, Gary, Simon and Milo ) arrived. Milo ( aged 10 ) and Gary ( aged 11, sorry 43 ) had been playing Chelsea Top Trumps on the train up. Food and more beers were ordered. I had brought up the photos from Rome – all 150 of them – and these were handed around, with comments from myself. The texts to and from America began! I heard that about 30 Chelsea were meeting up in Stamford, CT, for a game at a bar…a nice thought…them on their road trip, us on ours.

As usual, the banter was great – the beer was flowing and it was all good. I commented that – for one game only – The Bada Bing were The Bada Boing.

I had a text from Connecticut that The Goons had lost. Superb.

At about 4.30pm, we retraced our steps to Snow Hill and caught the train to The Hawthorns. It was only a seven minute trip. A few Chelsea were onboard. A few songs. There was steady rain as we queued to get into the away end.

The nine of us were spit into two groups. Alan, Gary and myself were right down the front by the corner flag, second row. Lovejoy was in the front row. But really disappointing seats – we are all away season ticket holders and we usually get allocated the prime seats. Not on this occasion. We mumbled a few grumbles of complaint. The other six lads were way back in LL. We had a good 3,000 turnout and we had all been drinking by the sounds of it!

Another wet Chelsea game – at least we were undercover, not like in times of yore. I like the Hawthorns – a good, compact ground now that the corners are all connected. It always was a good ground – the new stands have retained its character I feel. We settled ourselves down for the game. Chelsea in all yellow – maybe they took my advice from Blackburn. The entire Chelsea contingent stood the whole game. No bickering stewards asked us to sit, thank heavens… but I was involved in a war of attrition the whole game with stewards who kept asking me not to take photos. I do have a big old lens and was asking for trouble…but with the flash off, I managed to take about 15 shots.

I texted a few people to tell them to keep a look out for me on TV.

I thought West Brom began well and caused us a few problems. We seemed to take an age to get into our normal rhythm…however, once we scored, we looked good – for eleven minutes! What a finish from Bosingwa – one of the best players on the day. And what lovely finishes from Anelka too…being so low down, our perspective on the action at the far end was really poor…on seeing the replays on TV, I realised how cool he had finished. A great ball from Kalou on the third goal.

Behind me, in the concourse, at half-time, it was going mad. About 300 Chelsea were doing the “Bouncy Bouncy” ( a Rangers song, adapted by us – having a pop at Tottenham ) and then the “Juliano Belletti” song. It was crazy. I felt old!

To be honest, we were expecting a hatful more goals in the second-half and were a bit dismayed that no more goals ensued. And despite the beer being topped-up at half-time, and the 300 being in good voice at the break, the noise levels weren’t that great in the second period. If anything the home fans – next to us in The Smethwick End ( louder than the Birmingham End ) – were outdoing us. I quite like West Brom as a club, but fear they might not stay up this season. Bumped into Mark Coden on the way out.

“Too easy.”

A wet walk back to the car…I bought a hot dog and onions ( which I later regretted! ) to sustain me…the rain was still falling, the cars were leaving the ground in fits and starts, the streetlights reflecting on the roadside puddles…a typical scene…the home fans silent, the away fans an extra bounce in our step. Listened to BBC’s “606” and a call from a West Brom fan really annoyed me. He hadn’t been to the game, was relying on the local radio coverage, but still felt so aggrieved that he had to phone “606 to vent his feelings. We all agreed that West Brom had played alright – they had been a bit unlucky. Why did that bloke have to moan and complain? Go and support the team next time, mate!

We reached home at 10pm…it had been a very quiet trip back really.

I think we were a little deflated that we hadn’t scored a few more goals…football fans – we’re never happy are we?

TEW03651427_00095

Tales From 1983 And 2008

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Chelsea vs. Burnley : 12 November 2008.

I have to admit that I wasn’t particularly overly-excited about this one.

This would be my seventeenth game so far this season and my lack of enthusiasm did trouble me. But, I guess, once I see as many games as I do, I suppose it is natural for there to be occasions when I get under-whelmed. The Carling Cup is certainly priority number four for us all this season. Should we progress, I was already writing off the chances of me going to an away game.

Time and money.

Parky from Trowbridge had made his way to Chippenham and we departed at 4pm. Constant chat on the way up – he loves to rabbit. Talk was of Chelsea, work and a fair bit of time remembering Remembrance Day. Parky had been in the army and had actually visited The Cenotaph in London on Tuesday.

We hit a bit of traffic around Hammersmith and reached The Goose at 6.30pm. It was pretty quiet – only five chaps from our lot were there…Alan, Daryl, Ed, Rob and Gary. Just time for two pints and a few memories of Rome shared with the boys – and a few preliminary plans made for Saturday…West Brom away, ten of us meeting up for our biggest away gathering of the season. Looking forward to that one.

I had already exchanged emails with Daryl during the day about the events of Saturday 12th. November 1983. Daryl is the other great “historian” amongst our little group and we have been chatting all season about 1983-1984. Daryl still contends that this is his favourite season ever. So let’s re-cap on 1983.

I was unemployed throughout the season…but had been to the home games against Derby in August and Cardiff in October. The biggest game of the season was to be against Arthur Cox’s Newcastle United. They were the favourites for promotion and had Keegan, McDermott and Waddle. A good team. I had travelled up alone for the first two games, but had arranged to travel up by train with Glenn, from Frome, for the first time for the Geordies’ game. We would have reached Chelsea at about 10.30am and I distinctly remember having a cuppa in the old “Stamford Bridge Restaurant” with him. Two Geordies were sitting with us.

“Keegan will score a hat-trick today, like.”

I remember we got inside the ground when the gates opened at 1.30pm. Even to this day, I can remember peering out on a misty Stamford Bridge, Eurythmics playing on the pre-match show, in amazement how many people were “in early.” By 2pm, The Shed was getting very full. Back in those days, we were used to average gates of around 12,000 in the Second Division. In April 1982, we infamously only drew 6,009 for a league game. In the First Division, in 1983-84, even champions-to-be Liverpool only drew 32,000. Football was at a bit of a low ebb. The recession was biting. After narrowly avoiding relegation to Div Three in May, however, Chelsea were rejuvenated in the first few months of 1983-84 and the Chelsea support was rallying around the team. We drew 30,000 for the Newcastle game in November 1983…a monster gate, when the average Div Two gate was around 11,000. We watched from The Whitewall.

Chelsea slaughtered Newcastle 4-0 and I fondly look back on that game as one of my favourite games ever. We absolutely dominated. Mention this game to anyone who was there, though, and they will say two words.

“Nevin’s run.”

Just before half-time, with us leading 1-0 , ( and my memory is still strong ) Pat Nevin won a loose ball from a Newcastle attack in the Shed penalty box on the West Stand side. I read a report from “When Saturday Comes” founder Mike Ticher that Pat nut-megged Keegan ( but I can’t confirm this ) and then Pat set off on a mesmerizing dance down the entire length of the pitch, around five yards inside the West Stand touchline. This wasn’t a full-on sprint. Pat wasn’t that fast. At five foot six inches he was the same height as me. Pat’s skill was a feint here, a feint there, a dribble, a turn, a swivel, beating defender after defender through a body-swerve, a turn…it was pure art, a man at his peek…he must’ve left five or six defenders in his wake and I guess the whole run lasted around 20 seconds…he may well have beaten the same man twice…each time he waltzed past a defender, the noise increased, we were bewitched, totally at his mercy…amazingly he reached the far goal-line…a dribble of around 100 yards. He beat one last man, looked up and lofted a ball goalward. Pat’s crosses always seemed to have a lot of air on them, he hardly ever whipped balls in…his artistry was in the pinpoint cross rather a thunderbolt…a rapier, not a machine gun. The ball was arched into the path of an in-rushing Kerry Dixon. We gasped…we waited…my memory is that it just eluded Kerry’s head and drifted off for a goal-kick, but Gary reckoned Kerry headed it over. Whatever – it didn’t matter. On that misty afternoon in West London, we had witnessed pure genius. I loved Pat Nevin with all my heart – my favourite player of all time – and most Chelsea fans of my generation felt the same. When I met him in Moscow in May, you can not comprehend my happiness.

So, on the walk to the ground – 25 years on – Pat Nevin was remembered with affection.

Into the stadium. Another full house. Burnley had 6,000 noisy fans in The Shed.

“Stand up if you hate Blackburn.”

We had a poor start, then got into the game. This really was a B Team for us. We had a lovely move down the right, but Kalou took an extra touch. Often he will do that. Carlo fluffed a catch and was lucky to escape unpunished. Burnley were neat. Belletti went off injured and Frank came on. I noted that every time Frank gets rested, he always seems to have to come on early to cover an injured player. But he certainly lit up our play. A lovely finish from Drogba ( our reserve striker? ) gave us a 1-0 lead. Ivanovic then hit the bar after a sweet fee-kick from Malouda.

I noted six red-coated Chelsea Pensioners in the East Middle. Chelsea have always given the Royal Hospital free tickets for the Pensioners as far back as I can remember. I think that’s fantastic. A lovely little piece of Chelsea History. I have noted, though, that whereas in 1983, their tickets were right on the half-way line, every year they seem to get shunted further towards the wings. A shame.

I noted every Burnley pass was enthusiastically cheered by the away fans. How odd that Blackburn and Burnley share the same song…”The Wild Rover” / “No Nay Never.” But with vastly differing words. Blackburn in reverence, Burnley with animosity.

At half-time, I popped over to see Jamie – she had a fantastic seat in the front row of the MHU, right behind the goal. The news came through that Spurs were 3-0 up.

Mikel came on for a poor Deco. Thought Mikel was great, actually.

Burnley is a small town in Lancashire ( population 77,000 ) and like Rovers, does well to sustain a relatively big club. In the ‘sixties they were a great club with a good team. Believe it or not, this was my first sighting of their famous claret and blue. I wondered that if the Burnley flags might possibly reflect the very parochial nature of their support.

Not so much “Manchester Clarets” and “Burnley – London Branch” as “19 High Street Clarets” and “Burnley – Top End Of Our Street.”

For the first time since the shame of Moscow, I clapped the substituted Drogba. However, soon after, Burnley scored through Akinbyi ( a well-travelled gun for hire if ever there was ) and things looked ominous. The away support erupted. Our support – typically – was quite subdued all night. Lots of kids around us, but a lot of people sat on their hands, not involved.

Extra-time and Di Santo had a knock…down to ten men. Another ominous sign. We went to 4-3-2, but unfortunately this left the night’s two most ineffectual players ( Malou and Kalouda!! ) upfront. Not good. With six minutes to go, Alex ( one of the few plusses ) skied it over from right in front of the goal – and Jamie. Oh hell. Then a Burnley chap was sent off for a second yellow.

Ten versus ten, but it didn’t help us. The inevitable penalty loss was oh-so predictable…our last success was back in 1998 apparently…six failures since. Are we England in disguise?

Let’s move on. A poor performance, but we could and should have easily won. Fortress Stamford Bridge is beginning to sound like a sick joke.

Due to the prolonged game, didn’t get home until 1.30am.

Good job we are at The Hawthorns on Saturday. Mow That Meadow.

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Tales From Lancashire

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Blackburn Rovers vs. Chelsea : 9 November 2008.

I had arranged to meet up with Jamie ( aka Crowtrobot ) at her hotel in Blackburn before the game. I knew there wouldn’t be much for her to see in Blackburn on the Saturday. I texted her to let her know that if she was struggling to find something to watch on TV, maybe The Remembrance Service from the Royal Albert Hall would be worth watching. I always like to catch this every November. I think it is something that the British do so well – nice and understated, but rich on ceremony. As a child, I always used to keep a watch out for the Chelsea Pensioners ( just the sound of the word Chelsea used to make me go all goose-pimply ). Then there is a moment when thousands of poppies are released from the rafters, each representing the life of a serviceman or woman lost in the defence of the things we hold dear.

“At the going down of the sun – and in the morning – we will remember them.”

I do like the idea of Pensioners leading us out for home games.

I set off for Blackburn – the stereotypical Northern town – at 7.45am…a sunny start to the day, the beech trees looking especially golden as I headed towards Bristol. Every time I drive through Bristol, I think back to 2006 and Jenni’s ( aka BlueBelle ) first ever Chelsea game up at Wigan. Jenni was staying with friends and I collected her en route. I’m lucky to be able to share all of these experiences with you lot.

This will make you laugh – as I drove past Bristol Temple Meads station, I glanced up at a billboard for the forthcoming pantomime at the local Hippodrome. It was starring none other than Mickey Rooney! 88 years old ( I’ve looked it up! ) and still working. Amazing! I told a few mates this at Blackburn and they responses were “are you sure?” I then doubted my sanity for thirteen hours until I spotted it again on the way home at 9pm. It certainly is a mad, mad, mad, mad world – I loved that film!

Lovely sun on the M5, zipping up past Cheltenham, but then – ominously – clouds at Birmingham, then rain at Stafford, then atrocious rain at Stoke.

I stopped for a coffee in the dry at Sandbach. Alan and Gary were en route too…they had left Chelsea at 6am. Depeche Mode gave way to the Cocteau Twins. As Winter Hill to my east was spotted – it overlooks The Reebok – I mused on the importance of a few venues in the North West to Chelsea Football Club…1905 – first ever league game at Stockport…1970 – first ever FA Cup at Old Trafford…2005 – first League title in fifty years at Bolton.

At last the roads were dry at Wigan. Darwen Tower was spotted ( looking like a ‘fifties space rocket ) and as I approached Blackburn, I saw signs for Burnley too, their hated rivals. Burnley is just 11 miles to the east, nestled under The Pennines, almost on the border with Yorkshire. I have a good mate who comes from Darwen – Mark is a Rovers fan and has told me Rovers don’t object to Bolton or Preston – they just abhor Burnley, or “the bastards” as he calls them.

I made good time and reached the Premium Lodge, just a mile south of Ewood at 11.15am. Time for a coffee with Jamie – I had brought along my 2007-2008 photo album to show her…around 220 photos from that emotional season.

We then parked up and made a beeline for The Fernhurst, the focal point for all Chelsea fans, as it is one of the few “away fans” only pubs in England. Unfortunately it was mobbed and it took ages to get served. The Nuneaton lot were well represented – about ten – and Lovejoy was right in the middle. I introduced Jamie to him. I had sorted a ticket for Mark Coden via one of the Nuneaton lot…said “hi” to a few people…then outside to meet up with Alan and Gary, nursing pints, in the porch. Cathy and Dog were nearby. We wondered if the eastern-European girl who was with Lovejoy in Rome was still around. Gary said he thought her Visa had run out. I replied that it was Lovejoy’s Mastercard that had more likely ran out!

The weather was shocking as we trudged to the ground. Bumped into Mark’s mates Lee and Jon. Good lads.

I demolished an excellent steak and ale pie, then found my seat, halfway back, behind the goal.

So – the same team as Rome, except Kalou in for Joe. A lot was made of the “poor” 20,000 gate on the radio, but – to be fair – Blackburn only has a population of 105,000. I think 20,000 is a fine effort to be honest. London’s eight million and its eight teams – the same pro rata figure would be gates of 200,000!

I made the point that I did wonder why, on such a dark day, we were wearing the all black kit. Received a text from Bob – now in Paris – saying exactly the same thing.

The conditions really were atrocious in the first-half…rarely have I seen the ball “hold up” on the pitch like it did. But I think we adapted a lot better. We had all of the play in the first-half and the much derided Paul Robinson made many crucial saves. Anelka was Anelka – good one moment, lazy the next. What an enigma. I was losing my patience with him…was just about to shout “Anelka – move!” as Bosingwa shot from a distance…it hit Anelka and just about made it over the line…much laughter. Me and my mouth! He had stayed completely still and had scored. I will shut up next time.

I guess we had around 2,000 at Blackburn…maybe a bit less…quite a few empty seats. Jamie was ten rows in front and loving being so near the players. The singing wasn’t great, but I think the damp conditions were to blame…pretty poor though, really. One or two nice “ZZs” from Martin.

The second half was a bit more open – and the rain had slowed – but we still had the edge. I thought Mikel and Alex – big men, not hindered by the greasy conditions – were our best players by a mile. Cech played well. But Deco was poor – really poor. Good 6 and 7s out of 10s for the rest.

A nice move and a slick finish from “Doves” and it’s looking great…safe. Say what you want about Anelka, but ten league goals so far! He should have scored a third, eh?

By the way, referee Chris Foy was awful…I commented that he seemed to be making decisions on things which had happened five minutes previously. What about that foul throw?

“Have another go, son.” A joke.

The final whistle…our sixth away win out of six…goals for 16, goals against 1. Just beautiful. We love it up north.

Jamie and myself raced back to the car and I dropped her back at Blackburn train station. Left Blackburn at 4pm…listened to the Spurs game…pah! Annoyed they took 3,000 to City. I guess they are all euphoric about moving out of the bottom three…ho ho ho.

I stopped for food at Knutsford – saw Mark, Jon, Lee – but was feeling really tired, so caught thirty minutes sleep in my car…the weather was awful on the trip south…there were signs for spray, wind gusts and standing water. Not enjoyable. It was really tiring. Had to stop for another coffee, but eventually reached a windswept Somerset at 9.45pm. Time to see the replay on “MOTD2 “ but I soon crawled to bed…

Rovers’ rivals next!

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