Category Archives: Season 2009-2010.

Tales From Proud Preston

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Preston North End vs. Chelsea : 23 January 2010.

Thoughts on waking…

“Oh no, that can’t be the alarm…seems like I’ve only been sleeping for five minutes…it’s Saturday…Preston…long drive ahead…need to pick up Parky at 7am. Let’s put it on “snooze” for ten minutes. No – this is Chelsea. Let’s get up.”

I left my village at 6.45am. I was well aware that there would be a So-Cal “get-together” at 4.45am in Santa Anna, so I texted Andy Wray to let him know I was “on the road.” He was off to bed, but we’d talk later.

Over the years I have been to around sixty grounds in England and Wales, plus ten in Scotland – not always watching Chelsea…maybe twenty-five games not involving us. Like a lot of Chelsea of my generation, I am desperate for new grounds to add to the list. So, I was dead happy that we drew PNE in the FA Cup this year. Chelsea last visited that particular part of Lancashire in 1981. My only visit to Preston in my life was in 1996 on a coach headed for Edinburgh ( I remember trying to locate – successfully – the Deepdale floodlights ) and so this was going to be an enjoyable one for me.

I collected Parky, the old dog, and was soon headed past Bath onto the M4. Dawn eventually broke at around 8am as we headed up the M5 through Gloucestershire…the motorway was quiet. The chat was surprisingly about the game during the first hour. Danny Baker was on the radio, chatting away in that blokey-style of his…a beguiling mix of football, popular culture and humour.

At Cannock, we pulled off the M6 and had a massive fry-up at “The Hollies” transport cafe. Transport cafes are our answer to the American roadside diner, much beloved by Hollywood directors. However, the ones in the UK tend to be drab, grimy and austere. I would imagine that few tourists are inspired to drop in to them on their travels around this green and pleasant land. However, for £5 we were served a plate fit enough for a king…bacon, sausages, beans, black pudding, fried bread, hash browns, a sunny-side up fried egg ( no choice…no “over easy” over here! ), mushrooms, plum tomatoes, toast and a cup of Rosey Lee. A ”Full Monty” if ever there was.

We continued our drive north. The mist was clawing at my car, slowing my progress. Thirty miles out of Preston, we passed two Chelsea coaches and I pulled ahead of the one in front. A quick call to Alan and Gary, and they saw Parky wave to them, before I sped on.

Five hours after leaving my sleeping Somerset village, I pulled into a quiet housing estate close to Deepdale.

Made it.

Although this was the first time I had visited Deepdale, through a succession of books on stadia design, I have kept in touch with the redevelopment of Preston’s ground. The first new stand was finished in 1996 and, at the time, was so different to the remaining three stands. The old West Stand, dating from the nineteenth century was a quirky museum piece, with roof supports every few yards. Since then, three other new stands were added, the East Stand only recently. It’s now a trim, modern stadium, well appointed with a few nice touches. Ultra-modern floodlight pylons at each corner give the stadium a European feel. It is said that the architect took his inspiration from the stadium in Genoa. Three of the stands are named after former players…Tom Finney, Bill Shankly and Alan Kelly. Mosaics of the three players are picked out on each stand, using coloured seats. This is unique in the UK, perhaps in the world. Another nice touch. The third, East Stand, is named after the all-conquering Invincibles team of 1889 ( they went unbeaten throughout the season ). So, Preston has a proud history. No doubt. They used to be regulars in the top flight until the ‘sixties.

If I had reached Preston in better time, we would have dropped into the National Football Museum, which has been based at Deepdale for around ten years. This is undoubtedly because Deepdale is the oldest league ground in the UK. Outside, there is the famous statue of Sir Tom Finney evading a tackle by a Chelsea defender at Stamford Bridge in the ‘fifties. The photo on which this statue is based ( which has been termed “The Splash” ) was featured in the match programme…Finney has evaded the tackle, but in doing so, had lost his footing on a sodden pitch. A massive spray of water covers him. It’s a wonderful photo. The old West terrace at Chelsea – holding some 30,000 – was the backdrop and the winter sun lights up the spray. I reminded Parky that, in the photo, Finney has lost the ball. In the statue, which is set in a shallow pool of water with two fountains, he still has the ball at his feet. Artistic licence, eh? I took a photo of us outside the statue with my phone and sent it to California. The reply was “you look cold.”

As I entered the Bill Shankly Stand, I noted that the original turnstiles were still being used – the wrought iron “click-clicked” as I went through. Somebody must have made the conscious decision to save them from the original stadium. Another nice touch.

Time for one beer in the crowded concourse and then, with five minutes to go, up into the seating area. I was right behind the goal, halfway back. My seat colour was beige. I would be standing the entire game on Bill Shankly’s face. The Liverpool-haters amongst our support will approve. The mist was still hanging in the air and the floodlights were on.

The game? I think the game could be summed up by the phrase “we did enough.” We had lots and lots of the ball, but Preston defended resolutely. They were happy to let us attack them. I was stood next to my mate Andy from Nuneaton and we both noted the ample girth of their left-back. I was surprised how quiet the home fans were. A little section of the Invincibles Stand was quite gobby, but in their midst were a few teenage girls, giving us rude hand-signals.

We enquired of the girls’ sexual preferences and they were warmly applauded!

We had a disallowed goal, then another Alex rocket of free-kick. Preston came close with a couple of close- range efforts. After a while, I said to Andy “it’s almost as if we need to entice them in to create space.” Almost immediately, Deco gave away a cheap free-kick and Preston pushed up to support the attack. The move broke down and with a rapid succession of passes, Ballack found Anelka. He sped into the box and scored. He seemed to hit the ball right through the ‘keeper. The 6,000 away fans yelped in approval. It was a textbook break.

My mate Alan soon texted me the first part of our post-goal superstition –

“THTCAUN.”

I soon replied –

“COMLD.”

At half-time, I noted he was four yards away. The World’s shortest ever text message journey! I met up with Ajax who thankfully bought my Everton away ticket ( midweek – I’m unable to attend ).

Soon into the second period, Daniel Sturridge pounced on a loose ball from a corner and we went into a 2-0 lead. Although a two goal leads is not always easy to maintain, Preston never looked like causing us further harm. Two-nil and coasting. The only problems from the game were the injuries to Juliano and Frank.

An old Chelsea terrace chant made an appearance and it was great to hear so many singing –

“In Dublin’s fair city, where the girls are so pretty
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone.
She wheeled her wheel barrow through streets broad and narrow, singing
CLAP, CLAP
CLAP, CLAP, CLAP
CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, CLAP
CHELSEA!”

Midway through the second-half, a few lads to my right unravelled a plastic banner measuring 15 feet by 8 feet which remembered Chelsea fan Gary Lee, who sadly died after the game in 1981. I believe he was chased by some Preston fans and fell to his death from a multi-story car-park. The banner read.

Gary Lee RIP – Never Forgotten.

It was passed overhead for twenty minutes. A nice touch indeed.

However, one thing annoyed me. Once or twice in the game, the away fans sang “You are 5hit – you are 5hit” to the Preston fans. Preston are a struggling provincial Championship team. We are multi-millionaires with Champions League aspirations. The goading of Preston seems to me to be a bit crass and classless. In my mind, it mirrors the school bully hitting a weak kid. No need for it. I remember we sang the same thing to Gillingham a few years back. If we play a non-league team in next year’s FA Cup, will we sing the same? We need to be a bit more discerning I think. Sing it to Tottenham or Arsenal, for sure. Not Preston.

The home fans were eventually stirred during the last minutes of the game and the home end sang their unique “PNE” chant.

I met up with another mate from Nuneaton – The Youth – and he did Parky and me a huge favour. We are both unable to get to the Hull away game, but he bought our match tickets. As the Londoners would say – “a right touch.”

The gate was over 23,000 and was one of only a few full-houses on this day of the Fourth Round. This is sad. In my youth, the FA Cup drew around 50% more than the usual league games…these days it seems to be 50% less. I have many reasons for this – too many to mention – but I think the FA has miss-managed the FA Cup over the years. A real shame. Derby were watched by only 11,000 in the FA Cup, whereas 24,000 were at Sheffield Wednesday in the League. Bolton only drew 14,000 but are regularly watched by 22,000 in the League. Everton 30,000. And so it goes on. The only other full house was at Tottenham.

Ah, Tottenham.

Parky and myself listened to the other Cup games on the radio on the drive south. As I was nearing home on the M4, in the last minute of the game at White Hart Lane, the referee awarded Leeds a penalty. I punched the air and my car momentarily swerved in joyous euphoria. When Beckford slammed it in, we yelled out…it was the end to a great day in FA Cup Land. We don’t like Leeds, but we hate Tottenham. We envisaged Spurs being run ragged ( on and off the pitch ) at Elland Road on a cold, dark, desolate Wednesday evening in ten days time and we smiled a deep deep smile.

It brought home to me how much I hate Tottenham. There would be nothing worse than losing to Spurs in the FA Cup. I wanted them out.

We scanned the remaining teams left in the Cup and, from a purely selfish perspective, we agreed that an away trip to Cardiff ( 50 miles away ) or Southampton ( 60 miles away ) would be our preferred choices. We could even go by train to these two cities.

After 458 miles, I reached home, tired and weary.

It had been a long day on the road. With United winning, we were down to third place, but my thoughts were on Wembley, or at least Cardiff, Southampton…and Leeds.

TEW05876899_00219

Tales From Ian Britton’s Homecoming

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Chelsea vs. Sunderland : 16 January 2010.

With no game last weekend, I was chomping at the bit for the league game with Sunderland. I drove up with Parky and Steve. The snow has almost completely disappeared now. However, instead, I had heavy rain to contend with, which is always tiring.

I was soon parked up at 11.45am and we headed straight into The Goose, which was already getting busy. The rain meant that the beer garden was a no-go area, so we stood, densely-packed inside. The usual suspects, chatting away, the usual designer threads on show.

Proper Chelsea.

It got busier and busier. I limited myself to two pints, though craved more. I chatted to a chap – name unknown – who I occasionally see at Chelsea, about the Liverpool debacle. It’s such a gorgeous thing to watch from afar, isn’t it? The Stoke vs. Liverpool game was on the pub TV and it looked a dire game. If Liverpool lose these days…great…if they win…Rafa stays. We can’t lose.

I had to meet Wes outside The So Bar to hand over his match ticket, so I left the cosy ( very cosy ) confines of The Goose at 2.15pm.

Unfortunately, Wes was running late.

Oh dear.

I waited for Wes to arrive and took in the scene. I take so many photographs of games and I am always looking for new subjects and angles. I took a few quick snaps of the street scene outside The So Bar…police on horseback, programme sellers, the deluge of on-rushing fans, the tourists with their megastore bags, the veterans in heavy jackets and baseball caps. The souvenir stall by the West Stand seemed to be doing a good trade. I bought a programme and a copy of CFCUK. A text came through from Andy Wray in SF that Stoke had grabbed an equaliser against Liverpool…our former defender Robert Huth to thank. A good sign.

Thankfully, Wes ( huffing and puffing ) arrived at 2.45pm and it just allowed me enough time to line up at the turnstiles and get in for kick-off. Wes would be watching from Dave’s ST seat in the Shed Upper.

The rain had thankfully stopped, but it was overcast…

I saw the team and I wondered if it would be a Jose-style 4-3-3 or Carlo 4-3-2-1.

Within a minute, Joey Cole was set up nicely by a Malouda header ( a what? ) but he fluffed his lines. Within three minutes, a lovely cross from Ivanovic was headed wide by Ashley. It was a bright start and things looked promising. I noted four flags of St.George draped over the Sunderland balcony as Frank Lampard took a corner. The Sunderland fans booed him. I wonder if they will be booing him when he plays for St. George in South Africa in June.

Soon into the game, both ends of the stadium began singing…

“We want you to stay, we want you to stay…”

…and I wondered who they were talking about. I soon found out.

“Rafa Benitez –We want you to stay.”

A beautifully deft and disguised through-ball from Michael Ballack set up “Doves” who calmly slotted home. He went to the corner and waited for his team mates to join him, just in front of Wes.

Click, click, click.

It was a fantastic ball from Ballack…a ball which made my heart purr…a ball which defied the laws of trigonometry. If had I had played a similar ball in five-a-side, people would think I mis-hit it.

Next up was a great goal from Malouda, now in the inside-right channel. He won the ball and advanced. There were general murmurings of discontent as he advanced…we simply had no faith in him chosing the right option. A step-over, a shimmy and a shot despatched with great precision into the far corner of the goal and we all celebrated wildly. Well done sir! Despite the passages of poor play, Malouda does show the occasional glimpse of pure skill. How infuriating he is.

After Ballack’s sublime touch for the opener, Alan had noted he was back to his usual self…poor passes and such-like. What followed was the line of the season –

“Ballack is just like Adolf Hitler. One good ball and he thinks he can rule the World.”

Oh boy – that had me in stitches. Alan is full of these droll comments. I have known him for 26 years and it is a pleasure to watch a game with him.

The next goal ( who’s keeping count? ) was the best of the day and possibly the season thus far. A launch from JT into the path of Ashley. A first touch from heaven, a dummy ( see you later, send me a postcard ) and a flick with the outside of the foot into the goal.

What a goal. We love Ashley and his name was sung with gusto.

Ashley then “dug out” a great cross for Frank to toe-poke home. Blimey. When was the last time we were 4-0 up at half-time?

I disappeared off for a steak and ale pie ( I’m still an addict ), thus missing the introduction of Ian Britton at half-time. When Ossie left in 1974, Ian Britton became my favourite player…industrious, pacy, a hive of activity. The last time I saw him ( I think, without checking ) was in October 1981 against Wrexham…Beth’s first-ever game infact. I watched him trot down towards The Shed. He now lives in Burnley. Great to see him again.

I quickly scanned the programme…there was mention of the amazing 2-3 and 7-1 games against Tromso in 1997…the home game still remains my highest ever Chelsea win in over 750 matches attended. I wondered if we would beat it. In CFCUK, many contributors were moaning about the booing against Fulham.

Quite right too.

A re-cap of the Chelsea supporters’ banners now adorning the balcony of the East…from north to south…Waterford, Swindon, New York, Cork, Hastings, Bermuda, Sweden, Lincolnshire.

Soon into the second-half, a rocket from Anelka was touched onto the bar by Fulop. Soon after, an inch-perfect cross from Joe found Ballack. An easy header, but an emphatic one. Get in.

Zenden made it 5-1. Big deal.

Then Anelka made it 6-1…a tap in. Thoughts of Tromso…

A header from Joe hit the post…still we attacked. After an Anelka miss, we got the required seven via a nice Lampard header…it was a lovely feeling to see the players so happy down below me. I almost expected Ian Britton to sneak onto the pitch and grab a goal.

Then Sunderland made it 7-2. Drat! However, a new record for me…I had never seen nine goals in the same game before. I had been texting a few friends in California and I could taste their elation from 6,000 miles away. Everyone together, everyone happy. It was the perfect end to a lovely week for me as I had received some great news about my current contract at work.

Happy Days.

I drove home, with thoughts of imminent visits to Tom Finney’s Preston and Ian Britton’s Burnley coming up. Fantastic times.

I watched “MOTD” later in the evening. Alan Hansen was gushing in his praise, especially of our Ash, who he said was “the best left-back in the World, bar none.” Music to my ears.

One thing did surprise me…even at 5-0, 6-1 and 7-1, The Bridge seemed stunningly quiet.

We need to sort that out. Let’s get the place rocking against Birmingham City and Arsenal.

TEW05876899_00130

Tales From The F.A. Cup

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Chelsea vs. Watford : 3 January 2010.

From Stamford Bridge to Wembley…

Let’s hope so.

I had been looking forward to this FA Cup game throughout the holiday season because it coincided with my mother’s eightieth birthday. After looking at some options, I booked the two of us into the Copthorne Hotel at The Bridge on the Saturday afternoon, ahead of the game on the Sunday. I was a bit concerned about the cold weather, but Mum was really looking forward to it. We began with an Italian meal at West Brompton on Saturday evening and Mum was clearly enjoying her time in London.

However, at 2.30am on Sunday morning, we had a major scare!

Our sleep was rudely interrupted by the wailing of a fire-alarm at the hotel and for a few scary moments, I wondered what would befall us. I put on some clothes and did my best Corporal Jones “don’t panic, don’t panic” impersonation…I peeped out into the hallway and noted a few indifferent Italians giving loads of hand gestures…I hoped and prayed that it was a false alarm. Thank heavens it was. Phew.

However, I was unable to get back to sleep for ages and for some reason all I could think about was Jamie’s question about our team of the decade…in the small hours, I toyed with a few ideas…the troublesome right-back berth, could I really leave out Duff and Robben ( only two good seasons apiece? ), I had to find a place for Eidur, Jimmy and Drogba upfront ( blimey – I don’t think they’d get on! ), I couldn’t put Dan Petrescu in as he only played five months into 2000…decisions, decisions. We were over-stacked at left-back with Le Saux, Bridge and Ashley, but oh that right-back place…

At about 3.30am, I went with

Keeper – Cech
Right back – Gallas
Centre Half – Terry
Centre Half – Desailly
Left Back – Cole
Holding – Makelele
Midfield – Lampard
Midfield – Essien
Hole – Gudjohnsen
Striker – Drogba
Striker – Hasselbaink

So, a right old mixture of names, eras and formations. With that sorted, I fell asleep.

The match day morning began lazily – we were in no rush. I peered out of our hotel room down at the old Shed wall, the winter sun lighting up the South London horizon beyond. A few fans were already clutching Megastore bags.

With the cold weather showing no signs of letting up, we sat in the hotel foyer / bar area from 11am to 2.15pm. It was a lovely time. The place gradually filled-up with Chelsea fans. My two mates Glenn and Parky arrived at about 11.30am and we sat in a cosy corner with Ron Harris and Peter Bonetti, chatting about all sorts. Peter was there with his daughter and grand-son. We spoke about our shoddy form of late, but we didn’t let it spoil our time. Autograph King Mick showed up too and I was able to chat to him for a bit. A couple of pints, a coffee for Mum…nice. At 1.20pm, we heard a yelp from a gaggle of people watching the Manchester United vs. Leeds United game on the bar TV…Leeds were 1-0 up. Lovely stuff. Nobody at Chelsea likes Leeds, but we put our dislike of them to one side for one day only. I thought of those 9,000 Leeds fans going doo-lally.

I had briefly popped into the megastore on the Saturday, but only bought one item. I flicked through a Stamford Bridge Tour Brochure and was chuffed to see a full page photo of some US-based CFC fans at the Milan game at Giants Stadium in 2005.

In clear focus – Chopper, Leila, Gumby, Mike, Steve, Lawson, Elliot, Tommy, Wobbly, Andy and his wife, Alex, Steven Cohen plus a few more.

I went to the Frome Town versus Paulton Rovers game on New Years Day and I chatted to Glenn about it…it was a dire game, no goals, freezing cold, but a bumper crowd of over 600 showed up. Good times at Frome Town, up to fifth place now. The first ever “professional” game I saw was a Frome home game in around 1972 and I went with my mother…my Dad was working in his shop and so was unable to attend. I remember nothing of the game apart from a heavy Frome defeat and Mum buying me some cherries to eat at half-time.

Of course, Mum has been to Chelsea many times before and I guess she has been to The Bridge around twenty-five times…mainly in the 1974 to 1979 period, when Dad would drive us up from Somerset twice per season. Mum also went to games at the two Bristol clubs – and Swindon. The last game Mum saw at Chelsea was the Birmingham match in 2005, our centenary championship!

Happy memories.

We left the hotel, coats buttoned, scarves on. We battled against the crowd. The 6,000 away fans were out in force. The weather was brutal, but Mum wasn’t complaining. There was the usual ten minute wait to get inside the MHU. Leeds had hung on to the lead at Old Trafford. Great stuff. We managed to take the lift up to the top tier. Mum is in good health, but six flights of stairs is too much ( sometimes for me! ).

Once inside the stadium, it didn’t seem so cold. A full Shed End of away fans, but only three paltry flags. They didn’t make much noise. No balloons!

The big surprise that Anelka wasn’t playing and I wasn’t sure of the formation…was it not a “Christmas Tree” ( with Malouda and Joe behind Sturridge )? To be honest, after three early goals, I was far from caring…whatever formation it was, it was definitely working. What attacking options down the left with Ashley and Zhirkov and Malouda! I was very pleased that Sturridge scored his first goal for us, but the other two were scrappy. Not to worry – coasting. I think I counted just two Watford shots in the entire first-half.

At half-time, more congratulatory handshakes and kisses for my mother. Anna brought us some coffees and Russ gave some mince pies. It was a lovely feeling for Mum to meet my match day mates.

Loads more Chelsea pressure in the second period and what a strike from Frank – especially for Mum! I was really impressed with the cool finish from Sturridge for his second goal…very nice. We all thought it a shame that Carlo took the lad off when he was “on” for hat-trick.

The Chelsea support was quiet and were only really roused after each goal.

I was so pleased when I glimpsed Mum singing along to “Chelsea, Chelsea” to the tune of “Amazing Grace.” How sweet the sound. She could teach a few JCLs a lesson or two!

Carlo made a few substitutions but it stayed at five. I shan’t make any further comments about our performance because – after all – it was only Watford. I was impressed with Sturridge and Zhirkov. JT seemed intent on going on more mazy runs in the attacking third. Maybe he’s a frustrated striker. I’m convinced that one day he’ll score a goal of the season contender from forty yards. Towards the end, our former left-back Jon Harley ( he of the scuttling runs ) came on as a Watford substitute and was given one of the noisiest songs of the game. That was a nice touch. The “referee has added on a further five minutes” announcement was met with frost-bitten groans.

We walked back to the car, stopping off for a good old-fashioned plate of pie and chips and a mug of tea on the North End Road. We eventually thawed out. On the drive back home to Somerset, we listened to the FA Cup draw and I was elated that we face an away jaunt to Preston. At last a new stadium to visit ( well, actually a very old stadium, but a first-time visit for me. )

Later in the evening I opened a couple of my books on football stadia and “read up” on the history of Deepdale. The National Football Museum was once based there, but I heard recently it was going to be moved to “more fashionable” Manchester. I hoped it will be open – and still in Preston – for our visit later this month.

From Stamford Bridge to Deepdale…to be continued.

TEW05785739_00223

Tales From The Last Game Of 2009

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Chelsea vs. Fulham : 28 December 2009.

Another beautiful suuny drive amidst the Winter landscapes of Southern England and the three of us ( Glenn, Parky and myself ) were jammed in The Yadana Cafe on Lillie Road by 11.15am. Despite the cold temperatures, which maybe helped keep the roads relatively clear of traffic, we were buzzing as we chatted about the season so far and the game ahead.

Rob was already in The Goose as we strode in at 11.45am. I sat next to the radiator in the far corner, attempted to thaw out and waited for the troops to arrive. I chatted to Daryl about the “state of the nation” and spoke about the mumbles and grumbles from the away support up in Birmingham a couple of days previous. It was reassuring to hear that he shared my view that now is the time for the Chelsea support to get together and rally behind the boys. OK, the team aren’t playing well, but now is the time to dig deep, stick together, get back to our basics of supporting Chelsea…it certainly isn’t the first time the team is going through a comparatively rough spell – and it certainly won’t be the last.

If anyone wants to get off the ride now – please go ahead.

And here’s the thing. Going into the game against in-form Fulham, we were top.

Top of the pile.

Back in the dark days of my youth, I would have given my right arm, my right leg and my right side of my brain to be “in the mix” for the league title at Christmas.

The beers went down well, the banter was great ( “Gromit” / Kev was the brunt of some friendly-Mickey taking ), and it was wonderful to be amongst like-minded souls. It’s nice to know that wherever we go with Chelsea, there are always a few Goose regulars not too far away. After a while, the Three Texans joined us and I enjoyed chatting…it would be Jed’s first-ever game at HQ.

We got into our seats in good time and we had already heard that Jose would be back at The Bridge for the first time since September 2007. He was shown on the Shed TV screen and I soon located him via my camera and snapped a few for old times sake. He was watching from the West Middle – one of the many unused Millenium Suites – with Rui Farria. He had a grey overcoat on.

Memories.

I was surprised that only one “Jose Mourinho” chant sounded throughout the day…but pleased too. We needed to get behind the current incumbent.

I spotted two new supporters club banners…”Chelsea Swindon” and “New York Blues.” again, Kev, Jed, Wes and Jeff had tickets together…in the Shed Lower this time and my telephoto lens soon spotted them.

The Fulham 3,000 were making a fair din in the SE corner and they were soon jumping around like maniacs when Zoltan Gera put them 1-0 up. What terrible defending…first Paolo on walkabout leaving the entire right flank exposed and then the oh-so common foul up in the middle.

She-iiiiiiiiite.

We didn’t play well in the first period. Our approach was so laboured…touch, touch, touch, pass, pass, pass…it anoyed me we didn’t change our attacking policy. Why not hit Drogba early once in a while? Why not test their defence, without Hangeland, and put them under pressure? Our corners were woeful…do we bother taking any during the week at Cobham? I hear myself say the same thing ever week…It was so annoying to see Drogba writhing around in apparent agony three times in the first-half. Every time he does it, I like him less. Which is not the way it should be. The lack of confidence which Carlo has spoken was evident with players reticent to move for each other. I noted that the Shed Lower were standing throughout the first-half and this was good to see. The support tried it’s best, but there were the inevitable boos at the break.

Top of the league and Chelsea fans booing.

I mentioned my sadness about this to a few folk at the break, including SF Pete and Becky who I met in the MHU concourses. We had a right old moan, but hoped for a change in our fortunes in the second period.

We played better of course in the second 45. But it still took an age to get on the scoresheet. Our crossing had been particularly poor and so it was with a great deal of frustration that I pleaded with sub Ivanovic to “loft the effing thing.” Thankfully, the resultant deep cross was headed home with aplomb by an perfectly placed Drogba. The place erupted. I punched the air and bellowed. The boys around me were bouncing with relief.

Within two minutes, the two wide players Kalou and Sturridge were involved as – guess what? – we scored a second. I was impressed that Schwartzer palmed away Sturridge’s angled shot, then found it hard to believe that the Fulham lad had put the ball in.

From the Matthew Harding, it was difficult to see what had happened.

I am confident that from the Shed Lower, Kev and The Texans had no such problem.

Get in!

At long long last, the crowd upped the volume and the place was echoing to the sound of our support. I had to think to myself “about time.”

This was a hot-and-cold performance, no more so than from Didier Drogba. Again it was sad to see Petr Cech getting a few decisions wrong…as Alan observed, “Cech doesn’t know whether to stick or twist.”

In the last few minutes, Salomon Kalou rattled the bar with a thunderous shot. Fulham had chased and harried us all day, but we had so much of the ball…I’m just glad that we eked out a win in a game that we all said we just had to win.

Back in the car in Chesson Road, we were cold but happy. A coffee soon warmed me up, as did the memories of those two goals which had given us those all-important three points…

Let’s keep it going.

TEW05785739_00177

Tales From Halfway To Paradise

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Birmingham City vs. Chelsea : 26 December 2009.

I collected Parky at just after 9am and began the drive up to Birmingham. Thankfully, the weather had improved over the past few days and so the roads were clear of ice. As I made my way from Parky’s village of Holt and headed towards Bradford-On-Avon, we both spotted a kestrel on a nearby hedge. Quite a sight. We are lucky to live in the countryside, but we are never too far from Chelsea.

As we headed up to the M4 at Tormarten, the visibility was incredible…we saw as far as the Welsh Brecon Beacons. Then as we flew past Cheltenham, the Malvern Hills seemed to be almost within touching distance. The skies were crystal clear, the sun was shining and we were both relishing the game against in-form Birmingham City. I was well aware that three lone Texans ( Wes, Jeff and Jed ) were just arrived in England and were attempting to break the world land speed record as they drove up the M40 to England’s second city.

My approach into the city took me through a varity of middle-class suburbs, past classic mock-tudor beamed houses, then the usual array of superstores and shops…the HQ of Cadbury’s at Bourneville to my right, then Warwickshire’s cricket ground Edgebaston, then the University buildings to my left. The roads were clear and I made good time. The city centre loomed in the distance as I sidetracked around the southern edge of the city…St. Andrew’s was spotted at the top of the hill and I knew I would soon be parked-up. Base camp was the Ibis Hotel on Bordesley Circus and as I found a place to park, we spotted Kev ( “Gromit” ) who had just arrived before us. We reached the Ibis bar at 11.45am and gulped down a couple of pints of lager. We just had time to relax and chatted for a bit…it was noted that Kev was wearing the unlucky hooped away shirt and there were a few growls from Parky and myself. Pete and Becky from San Francisco arrived to say “hi” just before it was time to leave for the game…we arranged to meet up after. We heard, via texts, that Drogba would be partnered by Sturridge.

The stadium is only a five minute walk up a gentle hill from the hotel and I was soon inside the away end. I arrived at my seat just before kick-off. The Three Amigos had made phenomenal time ( having fought off the combined police forces of the Met, the Thames Valley, Oxfordshire and the West Midlands ) and were parked-up and on their way in…I had been able to speak to Wes and advise him of the best way into the city. Bizarrely, I felt like a sheep farmer, whistling away to his loyal band of dogs, ensuring that every stray sheep was accounted for.

All the visitors from the US were in. Shut the pen!

At last I could relax.

Some football clubs are full of history and some clubs pass me by, hardly making a ripple on my general consciousness. In the West Midlands, Villa are dominant in terms of history and support, Wolves are a proud club with a great sense of identity, but Birmingham City have never been high up on my list of clubs I respect from afar. In fact, to be blunt, I’ve never liked them…I’ve never like Birmingham as a city, never liked them as a club…and I’m not a fan of St. Andrews either. I always thought that West Brom were bigger, borne out from the miserable gates that The Blues seemed to attract to their stadium in the ‘eighties. Some clubs exude class even in times of trouble…Birmingham City are just naff. Even their club song is a never-ending dirge – “Keep right on to the end of the road.”

Yeah, right.

At Birmingham, like at Stoke, the teams enter the pitch from the corner, and the first thing I noted was the white-black-white away colours. At the kick-off, the sun was shining almost too brightly…even with my sun-glasses on, I found it hard to pick the players out. The Chelsea away support, some 3,000, strong stood the entire game. I was with Alan and Gary mid-way back, the Texans were towards the rear, Parky was right down the front.

Alan said that he had spotted Peter Bonetti outside ( he lives in the Midlands ) but hardly anybody noticed him.

I couldn’t really complain with our first-half showing. Despite an early chance from the lively Cameron Jerome, we got into our stride and carved out several good chances. Daniel Sturridge was thwarted by a superb save by Joe Hart, down low, which made us gasp. Soon after, Frank was foiled too. Of course, they had a goal dubiously disallowed for off-side, but we kept up the pressure. I photographed Alex’ thunderous effort on the City goal which rocked the goal frame to its foundations and as the whistle blew for the break, I was sure a goal would come in time.

In the interval, I hunted for the Texans, only finding Kev. His view was different to mine – he was pretty non-plussed by our performance. I always find it funny how different various people’s opinions of the same game can be.

However, as the game drew on, Birmingham City grew stronger, with those two niggly battlers Bowyer and Ferguson getting more and more involved. Cech did well to save from a tasty free-kick, but we were all very concerned when he appeared to be knocked out…not again!

The Chelsea support bayed for Joe Cole to join the fray, but Kalou came on for Sturridge…oh great. Just after, that man Hart denied Kalou. And so it continued, with our midfield toiling to create anything…Frank was again quiet at the tip of the diamond. Our defence was fine, it was just the rest of the team.

The substitutions didn’t work in our favour, the crowd became restless and then frustrated.

Joe Cole for Frank Lampard. Work that one out.

A second silly challenge saw Malouda ( who did well not to be subbed ) get sent-off and, despite six minutes of added time, the final whistle.

The home crowd – amazingly quiet all game – erupted with noise and we turned and began to exit. We clapped the players off, but the mood was not good.

Down at Bordesley Circus, in the hotel bar, we had a quick post mortem. If only the team had showed the same level commitment as Wes, Jed and Jeff. I don’t like berating the manager, who is still learning the ropes in England, but I am not so sure if everyone else will be quite so lenient if our form does not improve over the next few games. I said my goodbyes to Wes, Jed, Jeff, Becky, Pete, Kev, Cathy and Dog – “see you on Monday” – and drove back home, the winter sky now dark and foreboding.

At the halfway stage of the league campaign, the question has to be –

Is the glass half-empty or is the glass half full?

In any other season, a 13-3-3 record would suggest the form of champions. This year, I’m not so sure.

TEW05785739_00159

Tales From The Game Of Four Penalties

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West Ham United vs. Chelsea : 20 December 2009.

As we stumble towards the half-point in the season, what an amazing weekend.

What with both Liverpool and then Manchester United losing on Saturday, the Sunday game at West Ham was set up perfectly. A Chelsea win would solidify our lead at the top but also confine West Ham to bottom place. Too good to be true, eh?

My first concern as I awoke on Sunday morning was getting out of my Somerset village. I set off, rather gingerly, at 9am and made it over to collect Lord Parky at 9.40am The first hour was spent in a snow-dusted landscape, as I drove east. The Devizes duck pond was completely frozen. The swans and ducks must have been confused. As we headed through Savernake Forest, we encountered many “picture postcard” scenes. The sky above was clear and it was a truly gorgeous morning. It was a pleasure to be alive. We spoke about the madness of Mark Hughes losing his job at City. What a crazy decision. At a garage en route, I refuelled and we had to laugh at West Ham Dad and West Ham Kid who were buying some junk food for the trip to London. Dad was unshaven, tattooed and wearing some scabby jeans. Kid was dopey. Stereotypes for us all to admire.

I spoke to Parky about a book I had just purchased – “Mad For It” by Andy Mitten. This details various derby matches all over the world, mainly from a fan’s perspective, and looks to be a great read. He starts with Liverpool vs. Manchester United, but the book also encompasses a wide range of matches from Barca vs. Real, Boca Juniors vs. River Plate to Wolves vs. West Brom. It made me think about our rivals…and the fact that our natural “derby” against Fulham is hardly passionate, in the way that others are. For a derby to be genuine, the animosity has to go both ways. I’m sorry, but I can’t hate Fulham. Of course, in London, the biggest derby is the Arsenal vs. Spurs encounter. West Ham might say that their “derby” is Millwall, but this game is so infrequent as to be unworthy of the name. Where does that leave Chelsea? To be honest, I don’t really know. I still think our biggest London game is Spurs, even though they dislike Arsenal much much more.

Back in the early ‘eighties, Chelsea and West Ham were mired in division two and it felt like West Ham were suddenly our natural rivals, both sub Arsenal and Spurs, but with potential to be much bigger. In the past ten years, we have diverged!

Of course, in London we are spoilt for choice for geographical rivals. These rivals change through time, but I remember that in the 1988-89 season ( and this may surprise a few ) that our London league rival was only Crystal Palace. Believe it or not, in that one season, when Chelsea were in the second division, we played second best to seven other London teams ( Arsenal, Tottenham, West Ham, QPR, Wimbledon, Charlton and Millwall ) who were in the top division. Only twenty years ago, but we were the eighth best team in London.

How times change. And thank heavens they do.

At Reading services, we stopped for coffees and I heard from Kevin ( “Gromit” ) who was heading down to East London from Wolverhampton. He was running late, but we would meet up somewhere. We continued on, reaching London at 12.45pm. Rather than head over to meet the boys in Barking, Parky and myself dropped into The Goose for a burger and a pint. Just the business. We walked to West Brompton and boarded the district line train. Some 26 stops later, we arrived at a freezing Barking station at about 2.30pm. We joined up with Alan, Daryl, Gary and Whitey in The Spotted Dog, having just missed Cath and Dog. Just time for one pint and a few laughs…we weren’t wearing colours, so nobody sussed we were “the enemy.”

We took the five minute train journey back west to Upton Park, to be met outside by Walnuts, who had endured a horrendous train trip up from Brighton.

We quickly walked through the tight terraced streets, sliding on the ice, and were soon inside the packed away end.

I was in row H, just beyond the goal with a great view of the game. I noted the thin sliver of a crescent moon way up above the main stand. We stood the entire game. I spotted many empty seats in the top corners of both the home end and the main stand. In fact, the gate was a full two thousand below capacity…for a London “derby” – pathetic.

We began brightly but then seemed to lose momentum and West Ham got into the game, with ex-Chelsea midfielder Scott Parker increasingly involved. I was warned by a steward not to use my camera and Gary was also having a battle of wills with another steward about something or other. It was getting spiky and the steward was itching to get him nicked. Two Frank Lampard shots from distance and one from John Terry were our only chances of note. Kalou offered no threat at all.

In one notable moment, JT had to head clear as Cech remained routed to his line. JT had a word with Petr, while Frank shaped “ball” with his hands and gave him an old-fashioned look as if to say “make sure you bloody come next time.” From the resultant corner, Cech came and punched superbly away. Phew.

Then, a rash challenge from Ashley gifted them with a penalty which was converted.

Here we go again.

Just before the break, about twenty West Ham numpties in The Chicken Run serenaded us with “You’ve Got No History” which must surely go down as one of the most ridiculous songs ever. From West Ham! To be blunt, this song really annoys me anyway – it implies that a club’s “history” is solely dependent upon trophy success, whereas we all know that it’s to do with so much more than that.

Loyalty. Comradeship. Humour. Fraternity.

At the break, we mixed things up with two substitutions. Drogba and Kalou had been poor, but the service from midfield was very scant. To be fair, both Mikel and Sturridge did well in the second period.

With Robert Green but ten yards away, Gary was on form.

“You’d might as well put Hughie Green in goal – your rubbish!”

And he meant that most sincerely.

We got behind the team and they responded with an improved performance – or was it the other way around?

We enjoyed so much more of the ball as the game developed and it was great being able to see the movement and strength of our players from such close quarter. We tied to prise open their defence, but it wasn’t easy. Then, a challenge on Sturridge and we were overjoyed with the referee’s decision.

Frank steadied himself and despatched it.

Get in you beauty. Gary began winding up the steward, but it transpired he wasn’t a West Ham fan.

He was a Liverpool fan – even better! Much laughter.

We then turned around, only to see Frank taking another penalty. We had been oblivious to the re-take and I had to wonder if I was in a Groundhog Day loop.

He scored the retake and we yelled again.

We then turned around, only to see Frank taking another penalty. We had been oblivious to the re-take and I had to wonder if I was in a Groundhog Day loop.

He scored the retake and we yelled again.

This time – it counted!

Drogba narrowly missed from an angle and we sang for a winner. I felt sure we would score again, but despite more pressure, including a disappointing shot from Joe which blazed over, it stayed at 1-1.

Outside the packed away end, the weather was freezing. We marched back to the tube and were soon thawing out on the train. We chatted to three fellow Chelsea fans and we all agreed that this is turning out to be a poor season with United, Liverpool and us fighting to find the form of the recent past. Our form has suffered over the past three weeks, but the form of the other two teams mentioned seems more terminal.

Where will it end? Watch this space.

We dropped into Salvo’s for a warming coffee and I made good time on the M4. I got home at 10.40pm, just in time to switch on the TV and see the move which lead to our thrice-taken penalty. The “foul” on Daniel Sturridge?

Oh boy – we were lucky!

TEW05785739_00116

Tales From A Cold One

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Chelsea vs. Portsmouth : 16 December 2009.

This was far from a polished performance. It was decidedly ragged around the edges, but when we all left the ground at 9.30pm, there was a lovely warm, fuzzy, Christmassy buzz in the air. It was a typical Chelsea performance of late with a few players under-performing, but a couple of nuggets too.

I had met with my bosses briefly in the morning to discuss my proposed transfer to the new company in the New Year. There were no agents involved, no signing-on fee, no bungs, no sell-on clause. At this time of year, not even a Santa clause. I tried my damnedest to get away as soon as I could, but I didn’t leave until 4.45pm. This is the latest I had left for ages. The weather was cold and wet and I struggled with the visibility outside in the Wiltshire night. I had heard from Alan and Daryl that snow had been falling in The Smoke. Oh great. My proposed pre-match meet-up was in severe jeopardy once again. In fact, I knew that I would struggle to make the kick-off.

I am sure that my long unbroken home sequence which goes back a few years will come to and end later this season and I’m a bit miffed about this. I am preparing myself for this grey day. Let’s hope it’s not an important CL game. As I am nearing the end of this run, I’m aware of the total on this stretch…the Pompey game would be number 170.

A quick bit of maths – 170 games, 37,400 miles, 6 defeats…one defeat every 6,233 miles. Let’s look at those losses – none of them by a large margin.

Arsenal League – 2004 – lost 1-2
Charlton CC – 2005 – lost on pens
Barca CL – 2006 – lost 1-2
Liverpool League – 2008 – lost 0-1
Arsenal League – 2008 – lost 1-2
Burnley CC – 2008 – lost on pens

What a run we have enjoyed since 2004. And there are still “fans” who boo us.

Sad, sad, sad.

Oh well – off I sped into the night. I saw a signpost for London as soon as I entered the M4 –

London 94

…and my heart sunk.

However, I passed Windsor at just gone 6pm and so I wasn’t hanging around. I foolishly thought I would be parked-up by 7pm but then the traffic slowed and it got frustrating. I heard Carlo Ancelotti being interviewed on Five Live and he said the players still had great confidence in Petr Cech.

I parked up at 7.30pm and I was out into the cold drizzle. From inside the warm car, this was a shock. I knew I wouldn’t make the kick-off, so I didn’t rush. I passed Cathy and Dog outside The Maltsters. There was a slight queue getting into the Matthew Harding but I sat down in Seat 369, Row 4, Block D at 7.50pm.

Made it.

Alan welcomed me and said “you haven’t missed anything.” A quick look around – lots of empty seats…Pompey had only sold 900 of their 1,100 allocation, but I estimated that only 500 showed-up. A bit unlike them. I did see three PFC Santas, though. The gate was given as over 40,000 but I am beginning to think that our league has adopted the US way of quoting “ticket sales” and not spectators actually present. I spotted many empty seats all over the ground – a block of about 40 in The Shed Upper for starters.

This helps to explain that over 60,000 “allegedly” show up at Arsenal, but even their fans acknowledge that, at some games, there are hundreds of seats not used. Football is the victim of spin too these days…anything to hide the truth that games are not always as “sold out” as they might appear.

Every one seemed to be wearing caps of various shapes and sizes. Tom came dressed for a Polar expedition, bless him. In the end, I saw no snow…thankfully. There was a new flag in the East Middle…”Waterford Blues” from Ireland.

So, a few changes…we think Drogs is being saved for Sunday…Joe out, Alex in.

It was really lovely to hear the old Chelsea favourite “Come On Chelsea – Come On Chelsea” being aired soon into the game. Whenever the fans acknowledge that the team is trying their hardest but not getting the breaks, this old chant is sung. I love it. You can almost pinpoint the time in any game when the crowd realises “right, the team needs us, let’s get behind the boys.” I’m not sure if any other teams have this same chant. Another example of how Chelsea is special.

Alex began with a few timely tackles and looked highly motivated. He had an amazing run down the right and reached the goal-line….I heard myself saying these words –

“Brilliant – but get rid – get rid – oh he’ll lose it now.”

With that, he fended off one last challenge and played in an inch-perfect ball for Anelka to slot in. Alan laughed at my commentating. What do I know?

Pompey had a few chances, but Cech looked in control. Just. Alex had a stupendous effort from a fee-kick which was just wide of the right-hand post. I thought we exhibited slight over-elaboration in our approach play…come on, we’re not Arsenal. Kalou was on the periphery. The game by-passed Ballack yet again.

More of the same in the second-half. A few chances for us. Then – calamity. I caught the Pompey free-kick on film which lead to their goal. I had the camera in front of me, so my view wasn’t clear, but the ball came back off the wall and the loose ball was smacked home. The away fans scampered around like drunken sailers on shore leave. For a moment, I thought Avram might have the last laugh.

Oh dear.

But – to my pleasure – we responded…

“Come On Chelsea – Come On Chelsea – Come On Chelsea – Come On Chelsea”

The noise levels weren’t great, but here’s the point – the spirit and tone was right. We encouraged the team the whole night and it felt great. I think we made more noise when we were 1-1 against Pompey than we did when we were beating Everton.

Which is surely the way it ought to be.

The hopeless Kalou was replaced – I had actually forgotten he was playing at one stage – and the support continued. Big John in front of me banged the MHU balcony. On a cold day, that must have hurt. In his first contribution, sub Joe Cole made a great run deep into the Pompey penalty box. This stirred our souls a bit more.

“Come on Chelsea.”

Then, much relief…Ivanovic was pole-axed and Frank slammed the resultant penalty home. I captured this – of course – on film. Of all the places for me to have a season-ticket, I am so grateful I am in the NW corner, where the Chelsea players tend to prefer running towards once a goal is scored at the North End. Look out for those snaps.

Beautiful.

The last part of the game was notable for the superb show of skill and determination provided by sub Fabio Borini. We really took him to our hearts and he was so unlucky not to score when he lost the ‘keeper but shot wide from an angle down below me. A rasping shot was then saved by the Pompey goalie.

He showed more in 25 minutes than Kalou has done all season. Sad but true.

OK – we weren’t wonderful, Pompey had made seven team changes, they are a poor team – but we kept going. At the end, it felt probably better than it was, but I’m just so pleased to get back into the winning mentality. I was pleased with our support too.

Oh – one final thing…Tal Ben Haim…what an odd-looking chap. Was his spell in our colours the weirdest thing ever? He doesn’t look like a footballer even now…even playing for Pompey.

We took a few moments to shake each others hands and I wished my neighbours a Merry Christmas and the descent down to street level was full of smiles and cheer. It felt great. I briefly met up with David and Wes – the two Texans who were at the Blackburn game – outside The So and had a chat. We agreed Borini was really impressive. I also thought Ashley was solid and at his speedy best.

Wes is hoping to make it to the Boxing Day game at Birmingham along with two friends from his home state. But, they don’t get in to Heathrow until 9.30am. I said I wished them all of the best for that – it’ll surely be a mad rush to get up to Brum for the 12.45pm kick-off.

Again I bumped into Cathy and Dog on the North End Road. Dog, unzipping his coat, said to me “I’ve got something to show you” and I did wonder what I would be looking at. He was proudly wearing an LA Dodgers sweatshirt – a present from Danny – and as I walked away, I realised what I had just seen.

A Dodger Dog. Well tasty. He looked “mustard.”

I had hardly eaten all day, so I dipped into The Lily Tandoori opposite The Goose for a curry. On a cold night, that certainly warmed me up. After more slow moving traffic, on the M3 this time, I didn’t get in until 1.45am…the only thing keeping me from falling asleep at the wheel being the sugar rush I got from a bumper packet of Rowntree’s fruit pastilles.

Yet more junk food on a Chelsea road trip – I wouldn’t have it any other way.

After a game against one poor team, let’s keep it going against an equally shocking team on Sunday.

“Come On Chelsea.”

TEW05785327_00102

Tales From The Blip

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Chelsea vs. Everton : 12 December 2009.

Just the three of us from the East Somerset / West Wiltshire Chapter travelled up for the Everton game. I left home at 8.30am and the weather was cold and grey. I drove up on the A4 for half the way and then hopped on the M4 at Hungerford. This mirrored the route taken by my father in my youth and works a treat. My father was a shop-keeper in Frome and found it difficult to take too many Saturdays off. However, from 1974 to 1980, Dad would religiously take me to two Chelsea home games each season – once in October / November and once in February / March. Back in those days, driving on the motorways was quite rare and I was reminded of the exhilaration I felt as a young Chelsea fan on match days as we entered the M4 at junction 14. My Dad was never a fast driver, but it meant that London and Chelsea would be but two hours away.

Looking back, I lived for those Chelsea trips as a kid. “Priceless” is a word I would to describe them. I remember I had to dip out of a school football game in the 1977-78 season as I was Chelsea-bound and my games master was far from pleased ( “Bloody hell” he said…and this really tickled my parents when I told them this ) but I knew that even at that age, given the choice, Chelsea would always come first.

Big Dave, Parky and me sat ourselves down for a mega fry-up at 11am and Daryl soon joined us. By then, the skies were blue and the winter sun was a fine sight. Daryl was resplendent in a circa 1973 away scarf, the classic Hungarian red, white and green, much beloved by the Shed End at the time.

We spent from 11.45am to 2.15pm in the boozer. “Pops” from NYC showed up at around 1.45pm and joined us for a chat. We spoke about a few battle-royales against Tottenham in the late-seventies and I remember thinking “Danny would be enjoying this.” Daryl mentioned that the last three Chelsea vs. Everton games have been draws…

We got into the ground nice and early for a change, “Pops” sitting alongside me at The Bridge for the first time ever. I pointed out the gaggle of Supporters Clubs banners in the East Stand and he told me that there would soon be a New York Blues one there too.

In the programme, for the second successive match, there was a lovely article by Ric Glanville about old Stamford Bridge. This time, it detailed the use of Stamford Bridge for the three cup finals in 1920, 1921 and 1922, the ones immediately before Wembley was used. How I love reading about our history and I especially enjoy any shots of the crowd back in the past. It is such a shame that the individual stories of all of these fans are lost in the mists of time. My grandfather once travelled up to The Bridge as a young man and it is unfortunate that he was never able to remember which game exactly. As he favoured Villa and Newcastle, I always like to think he was at the 1920 FA Cup Final when his Villa played Huddersfield. There was a photo from that game in the match programme and Ric Glanville made the point that the 50,000 crowd was a huge disappointment as the stadium held over 75,000 at the time. He guessed that the expensive ticket prices ( three times that of normal Chelsea games ) was the reason. There was also an article detailing Tommy Langley’s first ever game for the first team, some 35 years ago. He is still the third youngest-ever Chelsea player. I remember him coming into the team. Hell – that means I must be getting old.

As kick-off approached, I contacted my mate Chris who was joining up with a few other Chelsea at the meet in Alexandria, Virginia.

Everton brought 1,500 fans and they didn’t make much noise.

I unfortunately captured the JT slight touch which lead to the Cech OG on film. This was the first league goal we had conceded at home since the Hull game on the opening day. If only we knew what was to happen over the next hour or so. To be fair, we got back at Everton straight away. A lovely interception by Riccy, followed by a bustling run at the heart of the Everton defence found Frank. He set up Drogba who stroked the ball goalwards. It was a lovely strike and I was able to perfectly follow its curving trajectory into the net. Soon after, more Chelsea pressure and the ball was played out to Anelka – snap! – and I caught that goal on film too. At this stage, all was well with the world. However, the ground was eerily silent. I had to remind myself that we were top of the league.

Poor defending – JT the main culprit in my mind – gifted Everton with an equaliser just before half-time. That was a crushing blow and was met with grumbles all around us. I looked up at the East Middle and commented to “Pops” that a huge number of the corporate seats were empty – they had obviously decided to get in early for the half-time nibbles. Hey ho. I was far from impressed with a few boos emanating from the home seats as the teams trudged off at the break.

Chris sent me a great photo from the VA meet-up. There was Beth right in the middle! She’s here, she’s there – she’s…you know the rest.

The rest of the game was a bit of a blur. We struggled to put any sustained pressure on the Everton goal, but a lovely Ivanovic cross found Drogba who coolly slotted home. He came over to our corner to celebrate but I noted that he, and Frank, was very subdued. It was if they knew we weren’t playing well. Again the midfield were poor in my mind.

Then, an Everton free-kick thirty yards out and I said this to “Pops.”

“They’ll loft it into the box, what for us to F up and then score.”

Imagine the groan when this is what happened. But – what bad luck for Drogba, usually so strong on defensive headers. The indecision in our defence needs to be sorted out.

The last final chance, after a pinball session in the Everton box, fell to Ballack who strode purposefully at the ball. I held my breath – “your big chance for redemption, mate” – but was stunned when he drilled it wide.

So – two points dropped and much frustration. Alan restated how unlucky we were with two of the goals, but we knew we hadn’t played well. At the final whistle, despite us being top of The Premiership, boos rang down from the MHU. “Pops” was dismayed –

“Booing Chelsea?”

My views on this are well known and I’m so bored with talking about this.

On the slow drive home, we heard that Villa had gone 1-0 up at Old Trafford. We didn’t celebrate as we knew that United were bound to at least equalise. As the miles past and as the minutes ticked by, we listened with growing tension…Villa had not won at in the league since 1983…the signs were not good.

At 7.25pm, the three of us yelped with pleasure at the final whistle.

What a weird day.

TEW05785327_00091

Tales From A Tuesday Night In London Town

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Chelsea vs. APOEL Nicosia : 8 December 2009.

I won’t probably say this too often, but I was far from enthused about the game with Apoel Nicosia. I think I am overdosing on stressful journeys up the M4 on winter mid-week evenings. The fact that we had already secured our berth in the next round probably didn’t help. Dare I say it, but was this to be a meaningless match? We certainly haven’t had too many over the last ten years – we have usually had “something” on each game we have played.

I usually work until 5pm or 5.30pm, but on “Chelsea Nights” I engineer an early departure from my Chippenham office by 4.30pm. Everyone I work with is “cool” with this – they know how much it means, but it comes at a price should we ever lose…nobody lets me off too easily!

Work. A few things to say. My current company lost an extension to our contract last week, but I will be working for the new company. I’m very pleased that my job is safe for the time being, but of course there is no guarantee for my long-term future in the new regime. However, a major downer is that I will lose my company car, plus fuel benefits, in the New Year. I’m pretty sure I will be forced to cut back on the more northerly away games. And I can’t promise my 160-plus home run will extend for too many more games.

My work was completed at 4.20pm, one last coffee and I was away at 4.30pm. Parky was with me again.

The traffic was gruesome in the last hour and I parked-up a 7.15pm. We raced down to meet Wes – from Texas ( “Snipes” on the board ) – outside The So and I gave him his match ticket. He’s over here for a year and was pumped, as you say, to be seeing us play again. No time for any chat – straight inside the stadium.

I left work at 4.30pm and without any time wasted at all, I sat in my seat in the MHU at 7.43pm.

That’s what I call pretty good timing.

We had heard on the radio that the 3,000 away fans had been inside the stadium for a good hour. I’m sure that there were a few London-Cypriots dotted around the ground too. They were making a hell of a racket as the game began and they honestly did not let up. One of the best away shows I have seen on European nights for years. I had predicted that the home areas of The Bridge would be morgue-like and I was to be proved sadly correct.

Alan and myself did our best, but even in our section we are the exception and not the rule.

We got the impression that a lot of the regulars hadn’t bothered and Parky, down in the Shed Lower, was to report that his section was “full of tourists.” There was at least one “tourist” in the MHL – Wes was watching his first ever game from that particular part of The Bridge. I hoped he would be in for a fine time.

Our team was a mixture of regulars, fringe players and youngsters. No grumbles really. We have to be pragmatic about this – this wasn’t an important game in the grand plan for the season.

Apoel worked an original free-kick in the first few minutes and then beat our offside trap to go ahead.

The away corner exploded, those vibrant tangerine shirts ( a la University of Tennessee ) bouncing all over. We groaned. Soon after Joey Cole had a headed goal disallowed, but we began getting into the game. That screamer from Ess gave us the equaliser and as he raced over to the SE corner to celebrate in front of the fans, I thought back to the Wolves game when Danny and Beth were close by. How sad that Ess was soon injured – let’s hope he recovers in time for the ANC…wink. Frank entered the fray – the poor chap rarely gets a day off, does he?

I noted a couple of new flags dotted around –

“Chelsea – Cork.”

“Chelsea – Vasteras – Sweden.”

Programme Quiz –

1. Which manager signed Nuno Morais for Chelsea?
2. And against which club did the youngster make his Chelsea debut in the FA Cup third round in 2005?
3. Who were the last club to beat Chelsea at home in the CL – back in 2006?
4. Who was our leading goal scorer in last season’s CL with five goals?

The rain, always a feature of our games these days, increased and I disappeared off for a steak and ale pie. I was mid-way through demolishing this when a nice move was finished with aplomb by Drogs. Excellent stuff. Surely more goals would follow in the second-half?

To be truthful, this turned out to be a weird game. Our play involved many miss-placed passes and a few players were decidedly quiet. Joe Cole buzzed around, but often selected the wrong option. I thought Kakuta was quiet. Ross Turnbull did well to get down and turn aside a wickedly-swerving shot as Apoel never gave up. I was impressed with Fabio Borini when he came on…he did well. For a slight player, he shows good strength. He could teach Kalouless a lesson. Joey whipped in a long cross from the right wing and it rattled the top of the bar, the Apoel ‘keeper back-peddling rather embarrassingly…or maybe he was embarrassed by his ‘eighties hair-style. JT smashed in a goal from close range but this was disallowed too. I was impressed with the way JT quickly sped back to his position with no back-chat. In the resultant move, a mix up allowed Apoel to score and the away corner again exploded. By then, vast sections of The Shed Upper, which had been eerily quiet all game, had decided to slope off home.

I said to Alan that we had been “sloppy” – despite bags of possession – and when I reached home at 12.30am, this was the self-same word that the BBC teletext service had chosen to describe our performance too.

I won’t get too disheartened about this game, but Arsenal last Sunday suddenly seems a long time ago.

Programme Quiz – I got three out of four.

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Tales From The City Of Manchester

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Manchester City vs. Chelsea : 5 December 2009.

With the late kick-off for our game at Eastlands, let me say a massive thank you to the TV companies and the FA who once again make life that little bit more difficult to the fans who actually attend games.

Good work.

Looking ahead, I see that for the third consecutive year, we are at Everton on a midweek night later on this season. It’s a disgrace and makes me sick.

For a few moments on Friday evening, my head was full of the World Cup draw. Rarely has my mobile phone been busier thanks to all the Stateside messages I received within an hour of England and USA being drawn together. However, thoughts of the World Cup rapidly evaporated when I awoke on Saturday morning.

Manchester City vs. Chelsea. The battle of the money men. Game on.

I had been suffering with a slight cold on Thursday and Friday and so wasn’t relishing the 200 mile drive up to Raintown.

I left home at 11am and listened to “Fighting Talk” on Five Live. I would be travelling alone, cocooned in my car with thoughts of the day ahead, battling the traffic, the wet weather and the cold. It was a typical winter day – low lying cloud and virtually no sun. With the Pompey vs. Burnley match on the radio, I decided to listen to Kings Of Leon instead. Not even I am that much of a footy fan.

I sent the usual cryptic clues to Alan as to my whereabouts as I zipped past the oh-so familiar M6 service stations –

“Cripps” – Stafford

“Howard” – Keele

“City Limits” – Knutsford

It was a pretty uneventful trip north. The Cocteau Twins replaced the Kings Of Lyon as I spun around the M60, the Manchester orbital. With the massive Stockport train viaduct ahead of me and then three massive red-brick mill buildings ( now rejuvenated as shopping malls / offices ) it suddenly dawned on me that I was “up north,” in the country’s former industrial heartland.

Stockport – of course, the location of Chelsea Football Club’s first ever competitive game, some 104 years ago.

At around 1.30pm, I found myself in the district of Clayton, where Manchester United’s first ground was located. I could see the supports to the City Of Manchester Stadium roof and so hunted for a place to park. I decided against street parking as I saw a few shady looking youths loitering. I paid a fiver for secure parking in a car wash, opposite a pub. I was reminded of the memorable welcome a few of us received from a female City fan way back in 1989. We had walked down to Maine Road from Piccadilly on a wet Saturday morning and as we crossed the road by the main stand, a Ford Capri stopped. The passenger window was wound down and the girl shouted out

“You’re gonna die, you cockney cunts.”

How charming.

As I approached the stadium, Beth called to say that she had just arrived too. She had travelled up by car with Gill and Graeme.

The weather turned murkier and the drizzle increased.

This was my fifth visit to the new City stadium. On a similarly rainy evening in 2004, a Nicolas Anelka consigned us to our only league defeat that season…I wondered about the omens.

Just before I bumped into Alan, Gary, Whitey, Beth, Gill and Graeme, I noted a long wall adjacent to one of the car parks. Emblazoned on it was a long piece of graffiti, signifying “speed”( all zig-zags and stripes ) with none other than an image of Shaun Wright-Phillips at the front. It looked pretty tasty. However, I soon realised that it was ultra-realistic.

He didn’t have the ball at his feet.

There was probably an image of a ball on another wall somewhere, or on the other side of the road. Maybe next to a chip shop in Droylesden or somewhere. Anywhere but at SWP’s feet.

I had time for two pints inside the stadium and a bit of a chat with a few mates.

As I took my seat in the upper tier, we noted that the stadium lights did not appear to be on full power. All was revealed. Just before the teams came on, all stadium lights were turned off, leaving just a “blue moon” image on the two scoreboards at each end of the stadium. With that, the City fans began bellowing their club song.

It was pretty good actually – the best example of a stadium helping to orchestrate an atmosphere I have seen outside of SW6.

Like The Bridge, the balcony walls were covered with City flags and slogans. The best one – and the biggest – simply stated

“We’re Not Really Here.”

I’m not sure of the origins of this City chant, but I guess it could be City’s particularly tongue-in-cheek reaction to being the second-class citizens of Manchester. I like City’s self-deprecating sense of humour. They remind me of us. In fact, just before kick-off, I spoke to Gary about City being the only other team I could stomach winning the title, mainly in lieu of all the hard times they endure as a result of United being across the city.

Soon into the game, we regaled the City left-back with a nice song about a game at Highbury in 2004. It didn’t take Gary long, once he had spotted a certain H Webb as the referee, to state

“We’ll get nothing here.”

However, it is worth saying that Gary says this at every one of our domestic away games, as if every Premiership ref has a personal vendetta against us. I had to chuckle.

We began well and appeared to be continuing on from the Arsenal game. We had a couple of chances even before we went ahead via Adebayor’s own goal.

Oh how we laughed.

However, for the rest of the first-half, City played really well and smothered us. Our midfield was poor by comparison to theirs. However, it was especially grating to hear that their equaliser had come via a handball. There were many grumbles at half-time, but I had confidence in Carlo sorting them out during the interval.

We played better in the second-half, but the Tevez free-kick made it hard for us to get on top of City. That lead gave them an extra yard. However, our midfield was truly abysmal…in fact, only Anelka seemed to play well. It was a disjointed affair. No passion.

Despite the fact that we stood for most of the game, our vocal support was poor, too.

Drogba was put through, one on one, and I was convinced he would score. I turned around in dismay and kicked the seat when he stroked the ball wide.

We piled on some late pressure and we prayed that a goal would come. Then, a ball for Drogba and he was scythed down. I pointed a finger at Gary – “He’s given it!” – and was full of emotion. I turned around to share my jubilation with my fellow fans.

And there she was.

Stood behind me, away shirt on, was a girl in her early ‘twenties. She had no expression. No smile. No laughter. No jubilation. I felt like shaking her. Why wasn’t she going mental like Alan, Gary and yours truly? Her obvious ambivalence to the emotion of the moment truly saddened me to the core.

Why do these people bother?

The away end held its collective breath and hoped Frank would score.

I snapped just as he was about to strike.

The scuffed shot. The save. A miserable 3,000 strong groan. The City fans erupted.

Despite five extra minutes, we looked unlikely to do it. As the final whistle blew, I quickly exited and I was soon out in the rainy evening. A few City fan were goading us and Dave Johnstone walked over to remonstrate with the Manchester police. I sped on back to the car.

The City lot were full of it – no complaints, they deserved it.

A gaggle of them sang “We’re not really here”

“We’re not really here, we’re not really here
Like the friends of the Invisible Man
We’re not really here.”

And I wished they weren’t.

I was lucky to get away relatively early. I edged out of the car park and was away, the rain coming down thicker now…the car windows steamed up and all around me car lights came on. The terraced houses seemed to go on forever. The City fans were bouncing. It would be a good night in Manchester’s blue half.

It was a four drive home…my post-match depression was short-lived. My good mate Alan had downloaded ex Cocteau Twins singer Elizabeth Fraser’s first single in 13 years and I listened to this on a loop for a good hour. It cheered me up no end. It also included her liaison with the late Jeff Buckley on “All Flowers In Time Bend Towards The Sun.”

Soon after, as I headed south past Tewkesbury and Cheltenham, I put my favourite Cocteau Twins album “Treasure” on and Fraser’s magnificent voice, shimmering one minute, crashing with emotion the next, soothed me.

“Treasure” came out in November 1984…and every time I hear the first few words, I am immediately taken back to that time. It takes me back to a cold December night, myself listening to “Treasure” on my Walkman, walking up the Fulham Road, full of Christmas shoppers, just after I had seen the Chelsea vs. Liverpool game on December 1st 1984…we had just beaten the European Champions 3-1 in front of over 40,000…Peter Osgood had been spotted in the West Stand seats just a few yards away, King Kerry scored after a few minutes and the Scousers were outplayed by an exuberant Chelsea team, newly-arrived in the top flight.

With such memories as that to draw on, the drive home was easy.

I soon reached Bristol – now home to Elisabeth Fraser, Massive Attack, Tricky, Portishead et al – and the music and memories of games past continued until I reached home at midnight. Let’s not dwell too much on a poor day at the office for Chelsea. Who needs bad memories? All flowers in time bend towards the sun.

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