Tales From Row Five

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Arsenal vs. Chelsea : 29 November 2009.

I had to wait twenty-five years for my first win at Arsenal, and now I get two in six months.

This was a great day out – of course! A fine example of myself stating the bleeding obvious.

I needed this to be an enjoyable day. Work is a bit stressful at the moment and I wanted to put all of those worries behind me, if only for twelve hours. I’m not a big fan of Sunday 4pm games, but it felt like my whole weekend was building to this one encounter. I was restless throughout Saturday. I watched the results roll in. The tension was building. At last, Sunday morning arrived.

Amidst terrible rain showers and angry dark skies, I drove up to London with Parky. We had arranged to meet up with the boys at a pub called The Shakespeare’s Head at Holborn tube. Daryl was already there as we strolled in at 12.45pm. Mark and Jon were at the bar. We wondered if Gumby would show up.

We have been using this as our pre-Arsenal watering hole for quite a few years now. I thought back to the first of these – a mammoth FA Cup Quarter Final in March 2003 – which ended 2-2. We had a great turnout that day – Chelsea in general, some 6,000 strong, but also my mates too…around ten of us attended. Daryl reminded me that when Frank Lampard bundled in a last minute equaliser, causing some of the most manic goal celebrations I can ever remember, Frank commented after that he couldn’t believe the potent smell of so many alcoholic fumes coming from The Clock End.

I can vouch for that – we were steaming.

As I say, I had been looking forward to this game all week. Yep, another example of TBO. As a few more mates arrived, we got into the groove. Beers were ordered and the pre-match chat began in earnest. Simon’s son Milo had sprained his ankle playing rugby ( he had no sympathy from us ) and, like Parky, was on crutches. They looked a right couple. I made the point to Daryl that this was a bigger game for Arsenal than it was for us. I would be happy to come away with a draw, but The Goons really had to win. Tuna arrived – his mother quite a bit better now – and he was so happy to be given the ticket which we had managed to muster for him. He tucked into a steak and kidney pudding and was quite the picture of blissful contentment. Last to arrive was Alex from the New York Blues, who had been in town for a few days following a quick trip to Madrid to see Real on Wednesday. He is quite a character and the place was full of resounding laughter from us all. It was a perfect pre-match.

At about 3.15pm, we set off for the game with the weather holding firm. We looked a rag-tag bunch of shapes and sizes and I had to laugh at the two of the boys on crutches…Milo picked up his crutch and cheekily poked Parky in the ‘arris. Youngsters these days!

The first train heading north at Holborn tube was jam-packed and only half of us made it onboard. We were pressed up against each other and it’s a good job we are friends. Although we were outnumbered by charmless Goons, we made our presence felt, including a boisterous Bouncy. It was with some relief when we soon arrived at Arsenal tube, but there was a very slow trudge up to street level. Outside, the rain was pelting down and I got drenched.

I reached my seat at about 3.45pm – I was impressed with my time-keeping for once. There were loads of familiar faces nearby. Unfortunately, Alan, Gary and myself were located in row five, which is pretty low down. It wasn’t a great view at all. It reminded me of my view for the 0-1 loss at the same stadium in 2007. There was heavy rain on that day, too. I hoped there would be no repeat.

Compared to our balconies at The Bridge, bedecked with many flags and banners, I could only spot two at Arsenal. Pathetic.

They really are a boring club.

Just before kick-off, we found out we had drawn Watford in the FA Cup…happy with a home draw, but I was yearning for a new away ground. Forest Green Rovers anyone? That would have been nice.

As the game began, I found it very difficult to concentrate. The main problem was my vantage point, where the game seemed to be played on one plane. I tried to fathom out the formation – Mikel holding, Joe in the hole. I took a few early snaps in case the light deteriorated badly. And I tried my damnedest to locate Beth and Danny. It took me a while, but I eventually found them. The home support made a lot of noise in the first ten minutes, but this soon faded.

Arsenal had the majority of the ball in the first period and we were off the pace. The fans around me kept shouting for our midfield to close our opponents down and to deny them space. But, really – did they ever really bother Petr Cech in our goal? Maybe a few half-chances. I noted how small and elf-like Arshavin ( or “Tom Cruise” as Gary called him ) really is. He seemed to have a lot of the ball, attacking our solid right back Ivanovic. We were rarely troubled. Gary singled out Sagna for more name-calling.

“Oi – abacus head…go play with your beads.”

However, we hardly threatened them either. Joe Cole was especially quiet. With the half-time whistle approaching, we struck.

Ashley Cole, who had been getting the usual rough ride from sections of the home support, whipped in two great crosses and the game inexplicably changed in our favour. I had noted two great crosses from Burnley’s Chris Eagles at West Ham on TV on Saturday night. Right in the danger zone. Brilliant balls in towards the six-yard box. Superb.

Well, these two from Ash were a bit different, but the results were the same.

The first cross found an outstretched leg of Didier and the ball flew up and in off the bar. We screamed – almost disbelieving our good fortune. After things had settled down a little, I gestured towards a gleaming Danny.

The second cross had the same result and this time we went ballistic…hugs with strangers, screams, full-on celebrations. It meant that the Goons would go in at the break heartbroken.

It was beautiful.

Of course, the away end was a-buzz with rumours that our second goal had been deflected in off William Gallas, but that would have just been too much!

I bumped into a joyous Danny at the break out by the concession stands, with the Chelsea support buoyed by the two late goals, baying behind us.

In the second-half, we enjoyed a lot more of the ball and I thought that the spine of the team – JT, Mikel, Drogba and Anelka – were superb. The defence was brutally dominant. As Drogba lined up to take a free-kick, I commented to Gary that it was from the same position that Sheva blazed over in that 2007 match.

Drogba approached the ball – I snapped my camera – and the ball flew in.

Yet more fantastic emotions overwhelmed me, but I managed to stay calm enough to snap a few shots of the resultant melee at the corner flag, a mere ten yards away. The players were screaming their delight and so were we.

I looked up at Danny – I spotted Alex nearby – and the smiles on their faces were beautiful. It was just one of those great moments.

By now, of course, the home support was drifting away and we were serenading them all with a few choice songs. Gallas was the main target of our disdain –

“Stayed with a big club – you should’ve stayed with a big club.”

“Five years – and you’ve won “nothing.” “ Ahem.

“Empty seats, empty seats, empty seats.”

We even sang of winning the league…

“We shall not be moved – we shall not, we shall not be moved.”

Of course, all of this was eerily similar to our game at Arsenal in May. Much laughter – much joy. This must have really hurt them, though – I think they really thought they could win this one.

I met up with Beth, Danny and Parky outside. There was a slow meander back to the tube, but there was a bounce in our step…it seemed that we were untouchable. How United must have hated the result too.

Five points clear – having a laugh.

We finished off back at Earls Court and the four of us had a quiet “de-brief” around the table of our favourite Italian restaurant. Danny had enjoyed his week with us in Chelsea Town immensely and I can’t wait for his reports. The games against Wolves and Arsenal were his sixth and seventh Chelsea games…and I rather scornfully pointed out that all seven have resulted in Chelsea wins. By the time of my sixth and seventh games, way back in 1975, we were playing the likes of Bristol Rovers in Division Two.

Not that I’m jealous, of course…wink.

Tales From The Blue Country

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Wolverhampton Wanderers : 21 November 2009.

I had been looking forward for this game for some time as it would be Danny’s first ever game at The Bridge. So often I hear comments that people experience Chelsea vicariously through me…well, I would be trying to live vicariously through him for one day.

Danny arrived on Friday, along with Beth, and Tuna was still in the UK. We had also planned to meet Gill and Graeme. Oh – and His Royal Highness The Prince Of Gumbo was arriving on the Saturday morning too.

Clearly a busy day.

With this in mind, I picked up Glenn and Parky by 8am. There was constant chat on the way up and this then gave way to The Jam’s “All Mod Cons” as we neared London. Of all of the bands from my youth, none conjures up memories of my Chelsea match-going experiences in the 1977-1982 period better than The Jam.

The Jam consisted of three working class chaps from Woking – a Chelsea hot bed – and they sang of London streets, rows going on down near Slough, tube stations at midnight and “Eton Rifles.” If you were to draw two Venn diagrams of The Jam’s support and footy fans, there would be a massive overlap. Their aggressive style mirrored that of the terraces. A perfect match.

We zipped past Windsor Castle and I was reminded that Frome Town would be playing at Windsor & Eton later that day.

We were parked up at 9.45am and we marched down to “Lloyd’s” for 10am. Breakfasts were ordered and we waited for Beth and Danny to arrive. We used to drink at this bar, which is located in the shopping centre above the tube for a while, but it got too busy. I was reminded of the old saying “nobody goes there anymore because it gets too crowded.” It was great to see Beth and Danny again and I welcomed them to HQ. After a quick chat, I had to quickly visit the box office to pick up a ticket for Gumby. With Gill and Graeme with us, we then quickly arranged for a team photo outside the West Stand with the CIA flag ( which has become a TV star in its own right ). I hinted that there might be several CIA match reports which will be converging at several points. There was then a quick trip up to the hotel foyer for Danny to meet Ron Harris and Peter Bonetti. I think Danny appreciated that.

I then had to meet a chap who was able to use a spare ticket – a friend of a friend – and we spent about forty-five minutes in The So Bar, awaiting Gumby’s arrival. Years ago, I think I would be a bit concerned about meeting a stranger – what to talk about! – but as we were both Chelsea fans, it was easy…we have that shared history to refer to. Bob was from North London, a fan since the 1967 Cup Final, but now lives in Devon. A few pieces of celery were thrown around and I told Bob about my little protest the day celery was officially banned from The Bridge in around 2006. I smuggled in a small piece and pinned it to my shirt. As protests go, it was hardly on the same scale as the lone Chinese student standing in front of that tank in Tiananmen Square, but there you go.

I don’t often drink in the So Bar and although it’s nicely noisy and very dark and atmospheric, I objected to a couple of nazi salutes.

Sort your lives out.

Gumby arrived with Lee and Mark at about 1.15pm and I handed over his Porto ticket. Bob and myself then spent about an hour in an absolutely packed Goose.

Phew – it had been manic.

At Chelsea, there are sometimes people handing outside various products by the main gates and, on this occasion, I was handed some chewing gum. Apparently, they were handing out toothbrushes too. I thought this was a bit bizarre, but then wondered if some bright spark at an advertising agency remembered the guy versus United cleaning his teeth and thought we all do this at Chelsea. Who knows how their minds work.

I got inside the ground and located Beth and Danny, down at The Shed, behind the west corner flag. The rain was starting to fall – oh well, Danny had said he had wanted some authentic winter weather. Liverpool had dropped yet more points and this was met with much laughter.

The 3,000 away fans were in early and I noted a few flags. One was “Devizes – Wolves” and I had seen this one on TV last Saturday for the England vs. Brazil game in Dubai. Devizes is a small town in Wiltshire, not far from where I work. I also spotted a Wolves flag which simply said “Wolves – Aye – We.” ( “Wolves – Yes, us” in English ) Wolves are based in The Black Country and their accent is pretty thick. The most famous Chelsea vs. Wolves game is, of course the 1955 game, but I remember the 1994 FA Cup quarter final when we won 1-0 and the “Blue Flag” song really came into our common consciousness. We sang that endlessly on that day.

“The Liquidater” was aired at about 2.50pm and the Wolves support joined in too – they also have it as a pre-game song. I saw Danny joining in.

In fact, throughout the game, I put myself in Danny’s shoes and wondered if he was having a good time. Would all of the pre-match hype live up to expectations? Would he be happy with the noise levels in The Shed? Would he feel at home? These thoughts fascinated me all day.

I noted three new, presumably permanent, Supporters Clubs banners on the balcony of the East Middle…those belonging to Sweden, Bermuda and Hastings. I think the idea is to get all of the balconies completely adorned with these and I like this idea.

It annoyed me that we weren’t treated to the classic old gold of Wolves’ first choice kit.

Wolves began brightly and a cross zipped across the wet surface at the North End of the stadium. Thankfully, no attacker was at hand to cause us any damage. Soon after, a quick break and some poor defending allowed Malouda to advance unhindered. He unleashed a real snorter which lashed into the Wolves goal and The Bridge erupted. Soon after, I received a text from Kyle in LA laughing about Danny’s nemesis Malouda scoring the first ever goal that Danny would witness at The Bridge. I had forgotten that Danny shares my opinions about Malouda and I had to chuckle.

By 3.22pm, two further goals had been scored at The Shed and it was a case of “game over.” I loved the players going down to celebrate all three at the corner flag were Beth and Danny were sitting. For Essien’s header, I have a wide angled shot of Essien waiting for the oncoming players to join him, arms outstretched, with Danny in the crowd, camera at the ready. I hoped for an onslaught of Chelsea pressure and many more goals. Although we passed the ball well nicely, no more goals ensued in the first period.

However, two pieces of play to talk about.

Firstly, there was a classic JT chest pass out of defence ( does everyone else notice how often JT does this? I counted three in one game a while ago…) and then that superb save by Cech, down low, from Ebanks-Blake.

Superb stuff.

We played some lovely stuff at times in the second-half, but with only the one Joe Cole goal to show for it. I took a nice shot of him when he was lifted up by Kalou, his face beaming towards the Matthew Harding. Essien was on fire the entire game and deserved a hat-trick…how unlucky he was with that strike which was saved and then hit the bar. I have always said Ess should score more goals for us.

The support was great at times…a “Super Chelsea – Super Chelsea FC” being the highlight…again I looked towards The Shed and spotted Danny’s arms outstretched. Now, I bet he felt at home at that stage.

Wolves countered with the dull “WWYWYWS?” and I groaned. How original. They also sang “four nil and you still don’t sing” at the East Lower, full of families and kids – a pretty anaemic part of our ground really.

So be it.

The highlight of the second-half was the lovely debut of Gael Kakuta. He showed real class and was a bundle of skilful ingenuity. That one delightful body swerve and shot was simply beautiful. Let’s hope he fulfils his vast promise at Chelsea.

So, 4-0 and it was a breeze.

Since that Stephen Hunt goal during the home opener, we have since conceded no further goals at home in the league. Let’s get back to Fortress Stamford Bridge.

The rain lashed down as we exited the stadium – buoyed by news of Arsenal’s defeat, we were full of smiles as we briefly met Cathy, Beth and Danny by the hotel. Danny looked a bit dazed to be honest – I eagerly await his match report.

Glenn, Parky and myself sloped off to The Finborough and then Salvo’s for pizza and beers. We watched a bit of the United vs. Everton game, but they couldn’t touch us this week.

Five points clear and having a laugh.

I drove back to Somerset, Glenn and Parky asleep for the most part, and got home just in time to see the games on “Match Of The Day.” We looked great and Alan Hansen was full of praise. I noted that Didier’s goal at The Reebok had been voted the goal of the month for October.

Happy days.

Tales From Remembrance Sunday

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Manchester United : 9 November 2009.

As a pre-curser to the United game on Sunday, I watched Paulton Rovers play Norwich City in the FA Cup on TV on Saturday lunchtime. Paulton is a village about eight miles away and they play in the same division as Frome Town. In fact, I watched Frome defeat Paulton in the Somerset Senior Cup back in the spring – the day after we lost to Barcelona in the CL semi-final. Two more contrasting games you could not wish to find. But that’s the joy of football, eh? An extra element of interest was that my next door neighbours’ grandson Ben Lacey was the young star of the Paulton team. Unfortunately, Norwich romped to a 7-0 win and Paulton’s five minutes of fame was over.

On the Sunday, I collected Parky at 10.30am and drove up to London via the A4 and then the M4. As this was Remembrance Sunday, we were both wearing poppies as a mark of respect. As a child, I used to love watching the Remembrance Service in London on TV. The Cenotaph was designed by Lutyens and the plain marble war memorial and a few other statues and plinths in my Somerset village were designed by him too. I remember that on one occasion, the BBC also showed film of a service from the large obelisk on the Marlborough Downs, near to where my father did his training at RAF Yatesbury in around 1941. As I drove between Devizes and Marlborough, I spotted the large monument and we had a chat about Remembrance Day. We knew that the Chelsea Pensioners would be involved in the ceremony at The Bridge and I knew it would be a sombre and understated affair.

Something the British do well. I remember being in downtown Las Vegas ( admittedly not the most typical of American cities ) in November 1989 and watching aghast at the Veterans’ Day Parade, awash with smiles and dancing girls. It left an impression on me and I longed for the quiet reverence of the Royal Albert Hall and The Cenotaph.

A few of us have a joint Chelsea / Poppy badge which we wear around this time of the year and I think the contrast of the blue badge with the red poppy is just right. We also heard that the Chelsea team would be wearing special shirts with embroidered poppies.

Excellent.

We arrived at The Goose at around 1.30pm and the pub wasn’t too busy at the start. I had brought up some photographs from Madrid to show the lads and we had a good chuckle recollecting a few of the funnier moments. I had heard that Tuna was over for a week or so – sadly, his mother hasn’t been too well – and he had miraculously sourced a match ticket. We found out that our respective mothers will be celebrating their eightieth birthdays within five days of each other in January. Weird, eh? He trotted off at around 3.15pm in order to collect his ticket from a bloke in “The Cock And Hen.”

Thankfully, we got our timings right and we all got into the ground in good time. I had worked out that this would be my twentieth consecutive Chelsea vs. Manchester United game at HQ, going back to a 3-2 win in March 1991. I remember a very young Ryan Giggs playing in that game – and a very low crowd of about 22,000. Hard to believe, eh? I first saw Manchester United in a game at The Bridge in December 1984 ( 42,000 – better! ) but we lost that one 3-1. Since then there have been so many games…a few low points ( the 1994 debacle, 3-5 at home in the FA Cup and of course Moscow ) but a few great results ( a few good wins at Old Trafford, plus the 5-0 in 1999 and – of course- the 3-0 win which gave us the title in 2006. )

Over the years, we have tended to do well in Manchester and United have had the advantage in SW6. However, the last seven games at The Bridge resulted in four Chelsea wins and three draws.

I noted to Alan that the all of the usual Chelsea banners which usually adorn the balconies had been turned back to front so that they were plain blue. I think this was so that the focus would just be on one white banner, draped at centre-stage at The Shed. It simply said –

“Chelsea Supporters – Will Remember Them” with club crests and a poppy.

Class.

Just before kick-off, the teams entered the pitch and gave a guard of honour to some active servicemen and seven Chelsea pensioners. Even though their tunics are red, I love that contrast too. I personally think we should go back to our pre-Ted Drake nickname of “The Pensioners.”

The game?

For vast parts, United ran the show, especially in the first-half. No question. Ferguson played just Rooney up front with a band of five in the middle. United were all over us like a rash and they closed us down at will. Pre-match, I had predicted that our midfield would be too strong for United, but I had to eat my words.

There was a lovely piece of football in the first-half involving Wayne Rooney and John Terry. Rooney ran at JT, teasingly keeping the ball on his toes and JT was back-peddling but was able to push him out wide and eventually forced Rooney to play it back to a waiting midfielder. It was pure theatre – one versus one – and I loved it.

Only Anelka – love the way he keeps possession – and Riccy – reading the game well and bursting forth at will – were above average in the first-half. I thought Frank was as poor as he had been for a while. Not one tackle and not one telling pass. Deco was below par, too. We improved in the last ten minutes of the first-period and we expected a big shake-up at half-time.

I spotted a large Canada flag in the East Stand, just above where the Chelsea Pensioners always watch every game. Chelsea gives the Royal Hospital free tickets and this is a tradition which goes back years and years. We can be rightly proud of this.

Our history.

There was the usual red/ white / black United flags in their section including one lampooning our captain.

“Viva John Terry – MUFC – Champions Moscow 07-08”

Oh dear – memories of that night came back. To be fair, the United fans did make a constant din throughout the game, including their noisy “Viva John Terry” chant.

That was – until 74 minutes.

We were awarded a free-kick right down below me after a rash challenge by Fletcher. Frank had been his usual frustrating self with dead-balls all day. I steadied my camera and pointed it towards the phalanx of players in the box. Frank floated on in and I snapped just after JT connected.

In it went.

Oh you beauty – Get in! I screamed. You probably heard me.

It brought back memories of the same combination – Frank corner, JT header – which had resulted in the winner in the 4-2 game versus Barca in 2005. JT was euphoric and raced towards Frank and I followed up with a few more snaps, but the large CFC flag tended to get in the way.

Viva John Terry indeed.

We were all convinced that United would equalise – especially when the ball zipped across the box on more than one occasion.

I watched the referee as he blew up and the noise echoed around The Bridge. We had certainly rode our luck – make no mistakes about it. I think United deserved a point. Still, the game had swung our way and we had held on.

The fact that it had been a sub-par performance from us stayed with me, though.

As I walked back to the car, it seemed as though everyone was celebrating wildly apart from me. Maybe, after all those United games, I am getting game-weary, too many big games…too many wins against Manchester United? This haunted me on the way home…maybe I need to re-fuel my batteries…

So – it’s good we have a fortnight, now, to recharge those batteries and to enjoy “Life At The Top.”

Five points clear – sit back and enjoy the view!

Tales From Plaza Major

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Atletico Madrid vs. Chelsea : 3 November 2009.

After a busy week at work – plus an equally frantic period for Chelsea with six games in eighteen days – I couldn’t wait to get myself to Gatwick and on the plane to Spain.

I set off from my home in the small hours of Monday and it was fantastic to be off on my travels again. Meanwhile, Game Four of the World Series was taking place in Philadelphia and I needed to know how my Yankees were doing. Good job I have friends in California – the only ones in the US still awake – and so I texted Bob and Danny and, by the time I had parked up at a mate’s house in South London, I was very pleased to hear that the Yankees had won. One game away from winning it all. I texted Danny to say “my two teams could win the World Series and the Champions League Final in Madrid.”

With my thoughts returning to football, I added up – and lost count a few times – of the number of Chelsea European aways I had done and I worked out it was eighteen…Madrid would be number nineteen. A roll-call, from 1994 to date…Prague, Vienna, Zaragoza, Bratislava, Seville, Stockholm, Monaco, Oslo, Rome, Barcelona, Stuttgart, Paris, Barcelona, Bremen, Gelsenkirchen, Moscow, Rome, Turin and now Madrid.

Enough memories to last a lifetime really. The best three? I’d go for Turin, Seville and Stockholm…even Moscow was magnificent. The worst – by a mile – was Zaragoza.

I must be one of the few Englishmen who has never been on a standard package holiday to a Spanish beach resort. My childhood holidays were always in Italy ( 5 times from 1975 to 1981 ) and I have always felt more “at home” in Italy than Spain. My only ever visit to the city of Madrid was in September 1987 on an Inter-Rail adventure with two mates…we arrived at Chamartin station in the morning and we spent 12 hours walking the city streets until we departed from Attocha station, en route to Lisbon, at night. I don’t remember too much about Madrid…I remember I bumped into a girl who recognised me from my school in Frome ( small world, eh? ) but the main image from that day all those years ago is of a massive, but crumbling Bernabeu Stadium. I think we paid a few pesetas for a tour of the stadium, but this involved rampaging all over the terraces with no guide, no security and basically being able to go wherever we pleased. Later on that trip we visited Camp Nou in Barcelona and I was far more impressed with that grander stadium. All of these memories flitted in and out of my consciousness as I drive through the night.

I met up with Alan, Gary and Neil on a train at Purley at 5.25am. Our Easyjet flight to Madrid Barrajas airport left at about 8am. There were a few familiar Chelsea faces on the plane, including a chap I first met in a bar in Vienna for the Austria Memphis game in 1994.

I caught a small amount of sleep on the plane and we were soon circling the parched Spanish landscape around Madrid. The sky was picture-perfect blue and England suddenly seemed pale and grey by comparison. In a second, I understood why Arjen Robben chose to leave London for Madrid in 2007. We landed at 11.15am.

Our two mates Daryl and Rob were on a slightly later flight from Stanstead. They would soon be with us. Alan provided the first big laugh of the trip as we used the airport toilets. I wasn’t aware he was next to me, but I heard his voice bellow out –

“Just seen Torres outside, looking confused. He doesn’t know which one to go in.”

And before we knew it, the Stanstead Two arrived and we were all together, on a rumbling metro line headed for the centre.

Let the fun begin.

Our hotel was very close to the city centre ( whisper it, but we have provisionally booked it for The Final in May, too ) and the six of us spent from about 1pm to 5.30pm on a very enjoyable walk around the area by Plaza Del Sol and Plaza Mayor. My goodness, that sun was hot. We popped into a few bars and sunk a few Mahou beers. We were relaxing together and I felt the worries of work leaving me with each drink. We sat outside a beautifully tiled restaurant / bar and got stuck into some tapas, followed by a main course and it was all gorgeous stuff. We finished off our spell at the restaurant with a couple of liquors ( one on the house ) which came in chocolate coated wafer cups…the business. On the trot back to our hotel, we dipped into a couple more bars. We spotted quite a few faces in “Moores,” including the famous Chelsea fan Blind Gerry, who was over with Charlie and Nick. Gerry was actually sporting a Chelsea In America T-shirt. I had a chat with Nick and he told me a few funny incidents involving Gerry, who has been a fan of the club for ages. He told me that they gave Gerry the window seat on the flight over.

I’m sure Gerry made the most of it.

Charlie sometimes provides match commentary for Gerry and he once commented ( in all seriousness ), after a beautiful passage of Chelsea play –

“Ooh – you should have seen that, Gerry.”

We stumbled back to the hotel and arranged to meet up in about an hour. I forgot to change the time on my phone, so my alarm went off late…I joined up with the boys, rather sheepishly, at about 8.15pm. They had been joined by some other lads – chaps I went to Turin with – who were at our hotel, too. Woody was well oiled already and was wearing a multicoloured Mohican head-dress which he had obtained from a street vendor. I went off to get a beer as he fell off his seat. We bumped into a few other semi-familiar faces throughout the night and bar-hopped around Plaza Mayor. We had yet more tapas at about 11pm. Not sure what the conversations were about, but the laughter flowed as well as the beer. I met up with Dominic – from NYC – in a packed pub called “The Dubliners” and gave him his match ticket. It was manic in there – loads of Chelsea. I had last seen Dominic in Baltimore and he was so grateful to get his hands on a ticket. We dipped into a couple more bars and – sitting outside one – serenaded the world with a couple of Depeche Mode songs. We back-tracked and entered “O’Neills” in search of more fun.

Amidst all this, Game Five of the World Series was taking place. This was a historic time for Daryl and myself. I only got to know Daryl, in 1991, through our joint love of baseball – or the Yankees in particular. Daryl used to edit a Yankee fanzine for us UK-based fans. Only a year later, when he saw my name in the late lamented “Chelsea Independent” did he realise that we were both Chelsea fans. And that’s how our particular friendship blossomed. Anyway, we live 150 miles apart and had never once watched a baseball game together…certainly not in the US, nor even on TV in the UK. I have lost count of the times we have pondered trips to The Bronx together. They usually always ended –

“One day, mate – one day.”

However, there – like a mirage, was a large TV screen with the baseball. Daryl and myself smiled and toasted our team.

One win away from the Series, I wore a small gold NYY badge on my dark blue pullover and hoped the Yanks could overturn a 1-3 deficit. The coverage was then turned off for some reason. We then heard from Rob – who had disappeared – that the World Series was being shown in “The Dubliners.”

As I entered the pub, Cathy shouted out my name and I went over to have a brief word…the pub was full of Chelsea and the songs were loud. There was a crunch of sticky broken glass underfoot…the pub had obviously seen some heavy action that evening.

There were a few Rangers and Hearts fans in too – they often show up to see us in Europe.

We saw the Phils go 6-1 up and I wondered how long I could last. The beers were starting to have an effect.

The baseball coverage stopped at about 3.45am as the pub closed. I left most of my last pint as I knew I had reached saturation level. We meandered home, shards of glass stuck to my shoes, making me sound like a tap dancer. We reached the hotel at around 4am and tentatively all arranged to meet up in the hotel lobby at 10am.

At 11am I was the only one up! Eventually we all assembled and the eleven of us met up for a coffee in a nearby square.

Lacoste Watch

Chris – lavender
Jocka – light blue
Andy – racing green
Neil – mid blue

My goodness, the heat was strong again. Mirroring my visit in 1987, we then caught a couple of busses up to the Real Madrid stadium…while we waited for the second bus, next to the Madrid Hard Rock Cafe, we saw Ray Wilkins and Gary Staker walking towards us. We were able to get a few photos with Butch and we engaged him in a brief conversation.

Daryl asked him if there would be a full first team out and he replied “well – we’ve got a couple of crafty changes up our sleeve” and he then reconfirmed that “Sunday is a much bigger game.”

The Bernabeu Stadium is located a couple of miles to the north of the city in an area that could be called “plush.” It is set next to a business district full of blue-chip companies and a high-rent residential area and even the shops opposite are top-end boutiques. It is a quite abnormal location for a football stadium. It was once said – back in the mid-seventies, when talking of our un-reached potential – that Chelsea had the best location of any club in Europe, except that of Real Madrid. I was reminded of this when Daryl mentioned the setting of Stamford Bridge as being the best in London and the one stadium comparable to Real Madrid’s pad.

We spent about 90 minutes at The Bernabeu and we loved it. Since 1987, how it has changed. It has now easily leap-frogged Camp Nou in terms of quality. We paid 15 euros for a tour and it was well worth it. The first thing on the tour involved a lift up the outside of the stadium, overlooking the streets below, which reached the top tier in a few seconds. From there, the view was spectacular. The skies were clear blue and mirrored the blue of the seats. The iconic white roof hovered over the steep stands and the scene was just beautiful. Throughout the tour, my mind was doing various permutations of what could happen over the next six months. Would Chelsea be paired with Real in the knockout phase? If we reached the final, who would we play? How spectacular it would be if it was to be Real Madrid. Or – tantalisingly suggested by Daryl – how about Barcelona? The whole of Madrid would be behind us. We would be drinking for free!

The tour consisted of viewing the stadium from several levels, from the upper tiers all of the way down to pitch level by the tunnel. I took lots of photos. There is a museum, featuring old artefacts, game-worn jerseys from as far back as 1902, photos of previous stadia, potted histories of a their famous players and then there is the trophy room, which is superb. There is a wall containing photos of thousands of players. We concluded that there are six players who have played for both teams…Arjen Robben, Christian Panucci, Geremi, Claude Makelele, Lassana Diarra and Nikolas Anelka.

They clearly are an ultra-successful club.

However – for anyone with just a rudimentary knowledge of Spanish football, all of this success hasn’t exactly come as a result of just the honest toil from the players on the pitch. Real has achieved their successes partly via the murky transfer of players, funds from politicians and businesses, decisions from dodgy referees, patronage of the state, favours from every direction, subjugation of others ( a certain team in Catalonia to name but one ) and the like.

When they claim they are the most successful club of the 20th Century, it is almost as if there needs to be an asterisk hovering nearby.

I never have liked Real Madrid, Franco’s club, the fascist Ultra Sur hooligans, the galacticos et al. I remember the booing of SWP and other black players on England duty at the Bernabeu in around 2005, something that certainly shocked me. The fact that Leeds United rebranded themselves in the ‘sixties to copy the all-white kit hasn’t helped either.

However, perhaps they have never liked us…we beat them in Athens in 1971 and in Monaco in 1998. I wonder when the third meeting will be.

You see how are minds were working? We were playing Atletico, but The Final and Real Madrid were always lurking in the background.

We enjoyed a pre-match meal in a quiet central bar / restaurant and caught the subway down to the game. As we approached the stadium, which remained hidden behind tower blocks for some time, we joined a slow-moving group of fans. This is where I needed to keep my wits about me. There were Atletico fans drinking nearby and a few Chelsea fans were singing a few yards away. I kept my eyes on Daryl, Rob, Alan, Neil and Gary to make sure we were all together. We walked past groups of police and I sensed an atmosphere. At last, the concrete walls of the stadium approached and the road widened, souvenir stalls in front and to the side. We walked around to the northern end and via a quick security check, we were in.

Virtually the first person we saw inside was Cliff and he was in the wars again…he had been hit by a bottle on the forehead, thrown indiscriminately into the Chelsea fans as they passed a bar. His shirt was bloodied but he was OK.

As we reached the top tier ( the 3,000 Chelsea visitors were in two tiers ) we heard from many that we had just missed a baton charge by the Spanish police in which women and even a teenage girl were hit. This is clearly disgraceful. I am not sure what the provocation was, but it highlighted how near we came, perhaps, to being attacked. I was struck by a police baton in Zaragoza in 1995 and was doing no more than watching my team. It was a case of “sit where you like” in the top tier and I was right on the end of a row, overlooking the outside of the main stand, which is quite an oddity. The Madrid ring road, next to the Mazanares River, runs right beneath its support columns. I had three or four policemen stood next to me for the entire game and a few mouthy Chelsea youths were prodded and poked throughout the game. Because away travel is virtually non-existent in Spain, I have this theory that Spanish police get freaked out by 3,000 away fans. Still no excuse though.

The Estadio Vicente Calderon is a simple bowl, in two tiers, with a single row of executive boxes perched on the rim – clearly a recent addition. The main stand – which was blocked from my view by a large scoreboard – sits apart from the other three sides though. The top deck is in the colours of the Atletico shirts ( red and white ) while the lower tier is blue, matching the normal blue shorts. I guess they played in red shorts to avoid a clash with us. The stadium was spartan – bare concrete everywhere and was a poor second to the majesty of the Bernabeu.

Banners at the opposite home end signalled two of their ultra groups – Red & White Inferno and El Frente Atletico. As the teams entered the pitch, their fans in the lower tier held their scarves aloft and waved a few flags. This was clearly the hotbed of their support. Elsewhere, the home fans didn’t really get involved.

I looked around at the fans in our support and soon realised that there were not many women and virtually no kids. In fact, 75% of our support were aged 40-55…perhaps more. I have heard stories from many fans that they don’t bother with domestic aways these days and only turn out for Europe.

I can see the attraction…maybe one day. Maybe after I have visited Bolton another ten times.

It was a strange game and we didn’t really impress for most of it. Strange to see Kalou starting and he was his usual frustrating self. Despite a couple of silky flicks, Joe Cole was very quiet and didn’t appear match fit. Alex patrolled the pitch with great conviction and often chased and closed attackers down as if his life depended on it. I liked Ashley’s contribution too.

A delightful move ended with Frank – otherwise quiet – shaving the post and Drogba hit the post in the second half.

Our support, split into two tiers, was sporadic.

Of course, that failed defensive header from JT gifted Aguerro with a goal on the hour and the home support roared their approval. They did a massive bouncy and it was pretty impressive. We came back into it when Malouda sent over an inch-perfect cross for Didi to head home…great celebrations…we just about deserved a point and we’d take it. Then, a superb break from Drogba, fending off two defenders, resulted in a goal when his initial shot was parried.

We went crazy.

Screams. Fists punching the air. Yes!

We couldn’t believe it really. Did we deserve three points? No.

Then, of course, the denouement…the sub Aguero spun a wicked free-kick past Cech and our elation turned to dust.

Again the Atletico fans roared.

At the final whistle, a shrug and the realisation that we had reached the last sixteen quickly over-rode any sadness.

The Spanish OB kept us in for about 25 minutes. We had a few songs. A few laughs. We assembled outside and had a partial police escort until they lost interest about fifteen minutes away from the stadium. There was no “afters.” We dived into a bar for a quite exceptional Mahou, served in an iced glass, then caught a cab to the centre.

After a couple of beers and yet more tapas, we called it a night.

On the Wednesday, we all got up late again and walked the short distance to the royal palace. It was an impressive building and we took a few snaps. We didn’t see much of Madrid to be honest, but it was all about male bonding and “being there” more than anything else. As we left the centre, en route back to the airport, I couldn’t help but think that it felt like it was a dry run, a “practice” for May.

Fingers crossed – let’s hope so.

Tales From The Goalfest

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Bolton Wanderers vs. Chelsea : 31 October 2009.

This was just a very very enjoyable day out…just perfect really.

With a three-day trip to Madrid coming up, I had to pop into work in Chippenham from 8am to 9.15am to do a few reports ahead of my holiday. I was soon on my way.

I would normally take the M4 west and up the M5, but chose to head up to the M5 via Malmesbury and Cirencester. In the end, this didn’t really save me any time, but at least I was rewarded with a stupendous view of the Severn vale as I descended the western edge of The Cotswolds. The autumn colours dominate our rural landscape at this time of year.

I was listening to the Danny Baker show on Five Live ( the usual mix of humour and football ) and it was a good accompaniment to my long drive north. Richard Hammond from TV’s “Top Gear” was Baker’s main guest and he admitted that he had never been a fan of sports, nor football especially. He knows he can’t “fake it” and I appreciated his honesty. When footy became fashionable again circa 1996, you could easilly spot the celebrities who were “faking it.” Nouveaux Celebrity Fans? Nothing worse.

With The Cotswolds to my east and The Malverns to my west, I continued my familiar path north. I had a coffee break just south of Brum and had a quick chat with a United fan from Kent, en route to Old Trafford. He admitted that United aren’t playing well at the moment. I noted that the division’s top two teams were playing only about 15 miles apart. At 11am, “Fighting Talk” began on the radio and this kept me amused as I headed north of Brum…past Stafford, past Stoke, then up and onto the M62 before it joined the M60, the Manchester ring-road. As I sped on, the signs overhead were for Rochdale, Preston, Oldham, Bury, Leeds, Manchester and Bolton. What a hot-bed of football…shame they’re all rubbish.

After a few miles on the M61, The Reebok was signposted and memories flooded back of that early evening game on Saturday 29th April 2005 ( no, I didn’t have to look it up ) when we became League Champions for the first time in fifty years. One of the best days of my life – probably the best if I am truthful. I have mentioned before that The Reebok is such a really bizarre location for such a monumental date in our club’s history. It is located a good eight miles away from the centre of Bolton in the area of Horwich and nestles below a massive Pennine summit called Winter Hill. There are a few miles of countryside, villages and ribbon development between the outskirts of Bolton and The Reebok. A more incongruous site for a Chelsea triumph you are unlikely to find. It is the first – and if I am honest, only US-style “out of town” stadium in the UK.

As I approached the stadium, I had this vision of a scene in the latter years of my life.

It’s 2055 – a nursing home in Somerset. This conversation is taking place.

Nurse One – “Mr. Axon in room 70 keeps asking us to take him to The Reebok.”

Nurse Two – “Do you mean that stadium in Bolton? The one where they used to play soccer? Don’t the NFL’s Bolton Pigskins play there?”

Nurse One – “That’s the one. Seems Chelsea – remember them? – once won the league there, years ago.”

Nurse Two – “And?”

Nurse One – “He wants to go back there, for old times sake.”

Nurse Two – “Bless him. I’ll take him.”

A voice from Room 70 – “And buy me some celery too, my love!”

I paid the £6 parking fee and had a wander around, snapping a few shots of the stadium and noting a few Chelsea fans waiting for the team coach to arrive. Alan and Gary were a few miles behind me on one of the two official Chelsea coaches. Alan had to leave his house in South London at 6am and would not be home until midnight.

There is a massive retail park adjacent to The Reebok – another US-style innovation – and I was aware that there was a branch of the famous Manchester clothes shop Hurley’s nearby. I was after something by Paul & Shark ( difficult to buy down south ) but bought a pair of Henri Lloyd jeans instead.

I spotted a Bolton fan wearing a Bolton / Atletico Madrid “friendship scarf” and wondered if he was trying to wind us up.

I entered the stadium at 2pm and quickly found Alan and Gary talking to Ajax, who is a mainstay of the North Wales Chelsea lot. I also stumbled into Andy, Ash, Mark M and Mark N from my local area who had travelled up by train. Then Gary spotted his mate Clive. Clive and his partner are from South London, but were enjoying a romantic break in Bath.

Yes, Bath – the town twelve miles away from my home. We had to laugh.

“Fancy going to Bath for a few days love? Only problem is, we’re playing in Bolton on Saturday, but don’t worry, I’ll treat you.”

I wondered that if for the away game in Portsmouth in March, would Clive be planning a weekend away in Blackpool?

I took my seat in the upper deck. For the game in 2005, we were thankfully placed in the lower tier, right where the goals were scored, right where the celebrations took place. The photos I took on that day are – I am not afraid to admit – some of my best ever.

I met Bristol Tim and paid for a spare ticket for Madrid ( for Dominic, one of the NYBs – more of that trip to follow later! ). I scanned the team and I was surprised Ancelotti chose Riccy ahead of Alex…we braced ourselves for the aerial bombardment. I noted three Portugeezers in the team for the first time in a while. I noted a guy in front of me taking swigs from a “fake” mobile phone and that made me chuckle.

We enjoyed excellent early pressure, but Bolton caused us a couple of problems. Riccy seemed to be ball-watching, allowing Davies a chance. Elmander came close, too. We had a goal disallowed, but were enjoying good possession, with Anelka involved…he rarely loses the ball. Drogba too was getting stuck in, holding the ball well. They are not a classic partnership, but they have found roles for each other and I am happy with the way they are playing. One passage of play summed up Frank’s importance to us…one moment he had a shot, but within a few seconds the ball broke and Frank was back making a tackle on the half-way line. Just before the break, Deco found Ballack who played a perfect ball to Drogba. Bolton’s well-marshalled defence had gone to sleep and Drogba was in on goal. I thought he had taken one touch too many, but he was then fouled from behind. His theatrical head jerk made me wonder about the validity of his fall, but the referee had made up his mind.

I captured Frank’s penalty on film. Get in. How silly of me not to bet on “Frank First Goalscorer” before the game…I had thought about it….he was 11/2.

A quick chat with Cathy at half-time, who was very uncomplimentary about my pullover! As the second-half began, I spotted Lab Rat and Mark sat a few rows in front of me. The Chelsea support was pretty good for most of the match. The 3,000 were in good voice as Bolton began the stronger in the second period. We urged the team on. Essien hooked away a clear Bolton chance and we looked a bit off-the-pace.

We had a few good chances. Then Frank hit the bar with a thunderous shot. But still Bolton threatened.

Not to worry – a fine flowing move down our left was finished off with aplomb by Deco. Oh, how we loved that. I turned around and screamed “what a goal” to anyone that would listen.

A beauty.

Time for some celebratory songs and time for us to relax a little. Alan spotted Gary Megson prowling his technical area and commented –

“Get that Halloween mask off, Megson. I’d give you a lollipop if you showed up on my doorstep.”

I had a text from Pete in San Francisco saying that Gill’s “CIA” flag had been spotted on US TV and there was a comment about the club’s growing global dominance.

As Bolton chased shadows, we spread the ball majestically and were rewarded with two more goals, thus repeating the 4-0 mauling on Wednesday. I took a lovely snap of Didier blowing us a kiss after his goal…the perfect end to a perfect game. It was that good a game ( Bolton powerful, Chelsea artistic ) that even if it had stated at 1-0, it would have been the best game of the season.

But 4-0 was blue heaven.

Seventeen goals in the last four games.

Top of the league.

Having a laugh.

There was a terrible delay in exiting the car-park ( motionless for 45 minutes ) and I would like to think that this wasn’t because we had beaten the home team 4-0 again.

“Open the gates, kidder – the cockneys can leave now!”

As I drove south, around the Manchester ring-road, the floodlit roof of Old Trafford visible some three miles away, I realised how much I loved visiting The Reebok. I’ve never seen us lose there. Frank always scores there. We won the league there.

I listened to an underwhelming United win on the radio as I drove the 200 miles south. A United fan phoned in to “606” to say that it was a poor league this year ( I agree ) but United were only playing at 60% of their capacity…but this was not a warning to others, but a comment that United were simply unlikely to suddenly improve. Music to my ears. Let’s stuff United on Sunday.

I couldn’t wait to get home to watch “Match Of The Day” – especially since we heard that Liverpool were experiencing a horror show on the banks of The Thames.

I reached home at 10pm and watched the day’s games with elements of glee and pleasure.

It had been a great day.

Tales From World Series Week

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Bolton Wanderers : 28 October 2009.

During the day, my head was full of the first game of the 2009 World Series. I found myself thinking about this possibly more than the evening game against Bolton Wanderers. Here we were, in the middle of six Chelsea games in eighteen days and my head was in The Bronx. Throughout the drive to London and while at the game, my twin loves of football and baseball flip-flopped into my consciousness at various stages with both sports vying for attention. At least part of me was spiritually at Stan’s Sports Bar, adjacent the old Yankee Stadium, even if I was physically tied to England.

I left work at 4.30pm and, via a refuelling stop at Reading services that Jenson Button would have been proud, I entered The Goose at 7pm. I noted that, on the approach to The Goose, all of the other pubs were pretty empty. The Goose, however, was rammed solid. I bought a lager and headed out for a quick chat with the lads. We were full of gossip about our upcoming trip to Madrid, but Daryl and myself spent a few minutes discussing the Yankees. Daryl is a fan too and has been so for a bit longer than me. He has visited NYC on a few occasions. We were both relishing the Series – and even planning on trying to catch a game while in Spain on the Monday night.

Throughout the day, I kept thinking back to the first World Series that I saw live on TV. I bought a Sky TV package especially to watch the 1996 Series and it turned out to be an emotional week. I saw Chelsea get gubbed 4-2 at home to Wimbledon on the Saturday, then the first game at Yankee Stadium that night was rained off. Not a great start to the week! Atlanta took the first two games on the Sunday and Monday night. By the time I got into work, exhausted, on the Tuesday I was pretty low. The Yanks were 2-0 down and Chelsea had just been exposed by the physical nature of Wimbledon ( Frank Leboeuf especially ). I caught up on some sleep during Tuesday evening, woke up to find out that Chelsea had won at Bolton in the League Cup, then settled down to watch a phenomenal Game Three, with a Jim Leyritz homer inspiring the Yanks to a win. The game ended at about 5.30am. I caught an hour’s sleep. While at work, I heard from a mate that Mathew Harding had been killed on his way back from Bolton, no doubt just before Game Three had begun. I was dazed. Matthew was a great director – well loved – and it seemed that our brave new future, with him at the helm, was no more.

We were all devastated.

The Yanks tied the series on the Wednesday and went ahead in Game Five, the last ever game at Atlanta Fulton County Stadium…this took me up to Friday morning. On Friday night – at last – I could catch up on sleep. On Saturday, we reconvened at a sombre Stamford Bridge, armed with a blue and white floral tribute for Matthew, and paid our respects. I had a few pints of Matthew’s favourite Guinness and remember being numbed. The opponents that day were Tottenham Hotspur. Everyone stood silent for a minute before the game…a pint of Guinness on the centre circle…it was the most emotional I have ever felt at a game.

Chelsea beat Spurs 3-1 and, that night, in the small hours, the Yankees won their first World Series since 1978. When Charlie Hayes caught that fly ball down by third base, I yelped for joy.

What a night. What a day. What a week.

The fact that – here we were, thirteen years on – we had another Chelsea vs. Bolton League Cup game and another New York World Series Game was not lost on me.

Yet more lines at the scanners outside the MHU meant that I got in a couple of minutes late. I spotted lots and lots of young kids in and around me. This was a good sight indeed. I was impressed that Bolton filled their 1,400 allocation. Not bad for a weekday game. Compare this with Blackburn’s paltry 400 on Saturday. Proof if any was needed that the financial climate affects attendance. The ticket prices for League games are £45, for League Cup games it’s £19.

We opened the scoring with a great Kalou header and it looked like being an entertaining game. Juliano severely misjudged a cross, but the Bolton striker’s shot was bravely blocked by Hilario. Our reserve ‘keeper was soon replaced by home debutant Ross Turnbull. We scored our second when a ball took a deflection off Zat Night’s knee for the previously quiet Malouda to smash home. Two-nil and coasting.

I wanted us to soften Bolton up ahead of the second game in our double-header against them and it looked like more goals would follow as we carved them open. Joe Cole was again buzzing and looked as though he was making up for lost time.

Throughout the match, Alan and myself spoke further about our plans for Madrid, while Rousey behind us kept telling us of a lap dancing club in Madrid called, temptingly, Chelsea Girls. At half-time, Chelsea TV was previewed on the big screens and I spotted Jonny Gould, who used to host the Channel Five MLB coverage from 1997 to 2008. Bizarrely, he was sat a couple of rows behind me I Moscow. Small world. Back came the Yankees into my consciousness once again. Also at half-time, our U12 and U13 teams paraded around the pitch with two cups we had recently won in Eindhoven. They were roundly applauded.

I noted that the guy sat in Glenn’s seat, between Alan and Tom, sat through the entire game without talking, without singing, without doing anything. I wonder if he even bothered clapping our goals.

We weren’t really sure why Essien and then Drogba came on during the second-half…especially as we were in the middle of such a busy period. Sorry Carlo – couldn’t fathom that one. We all felt sorry when Daniel Sturridge shot twice from similar positions within a couple of minutes. A goal there would have done his confidence the world of good. A nice move down below me was finished off with a well placed Deco strike and – with Bolton quickly losing interest – Didier headed a fourth. Thirteen goals in three home games…superb stuff. Does anyone else realise that, from Seattle onwards, we have scored in all our games this year? Long may it continue. It was a good game. It seemed that at times Joe and Deco were trying to out-do each other, but why not? Let’s entertain the kids!

I stayed in the stadium for about ten minutes at the end. I noticed that, like Saturday, Juliano headed towards the MHL at the end of the game and presented his match shirt to an adoring young fan…a nice touch indeed. With only a few hundred souls left in the stadium, one last moment catapulted me from SW6 to North America. On the stadium PA, Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” was played and I had a laugh to myself. This was the song chosen for the final scene in The Sopranos ( how my mates and I loved that show…for me, it helped cement my love for that whole NJ / NY area ) and I also, poignantly, remember it being played in Stan’s Sports Bar after my last ever game at old Yankee Stadium in June 2008.

I believe that the White Sox chose it as their anthem in their march towards their pennant and World Series in 2005, too.

So yet again on this strangest of nights for me, football and baseball intertwined.

I listened to Radio Five Live on the drive back to Somerset and it was lovely to hear former footballer Steve Claridge contrasting Liverpool with us. Liverpool seemed a confused club, whereas Chelsea ( he had been at The Bridge for the game ) had “great togetherness.” Music to my ears. It is always so nice to hear positive stuff about us from a neutral.

Despite a few foggy patches on the A303, I reached home at midnight.

Safe!

Tales From Midday To Midnight

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Blackburn Rovers : 24 October 2009.

I picked up Glenn in Frome at midday – the autumn colours now prevalent – and it felt pretty weird leaving so late for a Chelsea home game. The kick-off, of course, was not until 5.30pm. It reminded me of Mourinho’s last league game in charge of us…another 5.30pm start, another game against Blackburn Rovers. Was it really two years ago? How time passes. We had a right old natter on the drive up to Chelsea. I have known Glenn since 1977 – his brother Paul was in the same class as me and he had “warned” me that his younger brother was Chelsea. Our friendship blossomed in that 1983-84 season and we have been the best of mates ever since. We looked back on some of the memorable times we have had over the years in our support of the team…we’re lucky people. There was a traffic accident heading over a minor road on Salisbury Plain, so I had to divert down the A36. We also encountered some heavy traffic on the M3.

I was in contact with two Texans on the drive east…Wes from Austin, who is over here at college in London until next September, and David, from Houston, who was en route to a work assignment in Africa, but had arranged to have a stopover so he could see Chelsea. That’s what I call good planning.

I parked-up at about 2.45pm and we headed for The Goose. Wes was already there, lager in hand. The place was pretty packed and I said a few “hiyas” to some mates as I edged out to the beer garden. I expected rain, but the weather was mild…just as well. On rainy days at The Goose, with no overflow into the beer garden available, the place gets rammed solid. Glenn, Wes and myself stood in a quiet corner and had a good old yap. David was running late, but arrived at about 4pm. He joined in the chat. David’s son Adam has a notorious claim to fame amongst CIA circles…it was his piece of celery, aimed towards Landon Donovan, which caused him to be ejected at half-time at the Chicago 2006 game. David and Adam lived in London from 2000 to 2003 and got addicted by the Chelsea bug. This was to be Wes’ third game at HQ. We spoke about the time he had arranged to meet up with Cathy for a game in Manchester City in 2007, only to spend a nervous hour in an incorrect pub in Moss Side, one of the most dangerous estates in Britain. It was in City territory and Wes had great difficulty in understanding the locals’ broad Mancunian accents.

“We can laugh about it now, but at the time it was terrible” as someone once said.

Wes, Davis, Glenn and myself had a fine time, chatting about all sorts of nonsense. There were a few other clusters of mates both in and outside the boozer, but we stayed to our little group…it was perfect really. I always like to spend a bit of time with any “new fans” and chat to them about what footy means to me. In a bigger group, with conversations firing away at all angles, this can become difficult. We were also joined by Mo, who Wes remembered from various US tours. Mo put my support to shame – she hasn’t missed a Chelsea game, home or away, since the Matthew Harding game in at Bolton in October 1996. Some record. As always, it was a shame for the pre-match to end. We also agreed to meet up after the game and head off for a meal and a few drinks. This meant I wouldn’t leave London until around 9.30pm. This allowed me enough recover time to go for three pints, even though I was driving.

At just a shade before 5pm, we set off down the North End Road and dipped into The Cock. My friend Daryl was there with his son Edward, now eighteen ( and now able to buy the beers! ). They had been to Kingston University during the day to look at Ed’s degree options. In fact, talking of college, Wes is studying for a masters’ degree at the same college that Daryl frequented from 1982 to 1985. Small world. On the march to the ground, we had heard that Spurs had lost at home. Lovely stuff.

Despite the predictable line at the gate, I got to my seats with a few moments to spare.

I surveyed the scene. Yet again there were sizeable gaps in the “comps” section of The Shed Upper, right behind the goal. That never ceases to amaze me. Blackburn’s away support was predictably small. I always used to attend most Chelsea vs. Blackburn games ( and vice-versa ) with a mate from Darwen, just a stone’s throw from Ewood. However, Mark would be foregoing the delights of watching his team play, instead choosing a Morrissey gig in Swindon in the evening. I remembered back in the mid-to-late nineties, Rovers were a real thorn in our side and it took us ages to defeat them at The Bridge. Alan commented on this – apart from Arsenal, no team had taken more Premiership points off us at HQ.

I noted the newish flag heading away from me in the MHU –

“Chelsea FC – One Life – One Love – One Club – Carefree Since 1905.”

I had a quick scan through the programme and quickly noted the Tim Loveloy column. Not to be confused with my mate Lovejoy ( he of the perfectly constructed hair-style and tendency to fall asleep at games ), this Lovejoy used to host “Soccer AM” and now has a column in every home programme. He tends to love himself and I don’t class him as a particularly great Chelsea fan as I never see him at away games. However, his column was entitled “Football and fashion go hand in hand” and he went into detail about casualdom, illustrated by two photos from the ‘eighties. One line made me realise how much it all meant back in those days –

“We often sat there talking about the latest casual clothes rather than the football, like something out of the gossip pages of a girls’ magazine.”

Yep – I’ve been guilty of that. And Glenn. And Alan. And a few thousand more.

My clothes of choice for the Rovers game included a Henri Lloyd polo, Nike Cortez trainers and my new spanking CP Company jacket ( discarded, due to the mild weather. ) Oh, and a Royal British Legion poppy, pinned to my lapel for good measure. I had explained the significance of this to Wes in the boozer.

And so the game began. It was fantastic to see Little Joe back in the team and he almost headed us in front during the opening attack. The first twenty minutes was noticeable for Alan moaning about Anelka’s distribution. To be fair, it was poor. Then, a break down the left following a great Ballack pass and Anelka stroked a perfect cross into the danger area. We all thought Drogs scored, but it was an own goal.

You were saying, Al?

The first half was noticeable for pretty constant home pressure. I expected greater things from our support though, buoyed by extra pints surely…it was surprisingly quiet. Paul Robinson made a sublime save and our chances mounted up.

Paul Canoville was on the pitch with Neil at half-time. Top man. I bet he used to wear some gear back in the ‘eighties.

In that purple ( or should that be royal blue? ) period in the second-half, we scored four more goals and it was easily our best spell of the season. I was lucky enough to capture Essien’s curler and Frank’s penalty on film…plus the celebrations. I also snapped Ballack’s delivery which led to Drogba’s header. During this period of euphoria, The Shed did their biggest Bouncy yet…soon followed by the MHL. It didn’t take them too long to realise that one part of the ground was not so forthcoming.

“West Stand – Give Us A Bounce – West Stand West Stand, Give Us A Bounce.”

A few West Stand Lower fans even joined in. Incredible. Actually, there was a moment early in the game, when a few souls in the West Upper began a song. This hardly ever happens.

Alan and myself were enjoying the goals, enjoying the laughter. We had already gone through our usual repertoire of gags ( too personal and, of course, too corny to repeat here ) and I commented that we really needed a variation to our standard –

“Come On My Little Diamonds.”

Alan came up with “Come On My Little Diamond Formation.” I’m not sure if I laughed or groaned.

By the way, the highhlight of the whole game ( if not the season! ) was Joe’s sublime “reverse” cross, with the right foot coming from behind his standing foot. How we have missed his genius and his ability to Take The Mick!

Glenn, David, Wes and myself met up outside “The Butcher’s Hook” ( rhyming slang for “look” in case anyone is wondering ) and we set off in the crisp autumn air. We marched past a few T-shirt sellers and a couple of pubs and soon found our way up to Salvo’s for Peronis and pizza. The Inter vs. Catania game was on the box and Mourinho’s brooding presence glowered over us. Yet more chat about various football topics ( The 39th. Game, AFC Wimbledon, Rangers at Liverpool vs. Chelsea in 1985, the 2010 World Cup, Mourinho…) and the inevitable toast to “Friendship And Football.”

It had been a perfect day. We left London at 9.45pm and headed home. However, I heard worrying news from three different friends who were at the Morrissey gig in Swindon. Had it not been for the 5.30pm start, I too would have see Mozzer collapse after a rousing “This Charming Man.” Well, if my mate Mark was not miserable after his team had lost 5-0, heaven knows he certainly was now.

I dropped Glenn off at his house bang on midnight.

“Top of the league mate.”

“Happy days.”

Tales From The European Trail

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Atletico Madrid : 21 October 2009.

I generally think that my work / play balance is in pretty good shape. I enjoy my job and thankfully I have been able to attend lots and lots ( too many! ) of Chelsea games since I began working in Chippenham in March 2003. I’m lucky in that the town is only ten minutes from the M4 and my Chelsea parking spot is “only” 97 miles away. I’ve been able to go on a ridiculous run of home games going back to January 2004. The last one I missed was an F.A.Cup replay against Watford ( I was in America, ironically ) and I remember flying back into England on the morning of a Sunday game against Birmingham City. Since then, I have stacked up a run of 162 games (mmm – a baseball season! ), but I have been very busy this week and I did wonder if I would be able to get out early for the Atletico game. I usually drive up with Parky but warned him of my predicament. As a precaution, he decided to play safe and go up by train.

On Monday, I finished work at 7pm, on Tuesday at 5.15pm ( getting better! ) and I thankfully got my last bit of work completed at 4.30pm…this is realistically the time I had set myself. As I pulled onto the M4, I heaved a sigh of relief.

I slapped on a Buzzcocks CD, sipped at a coffee and tried to relax. Thankfully, there were no work phone-calls ( my official finish time is 5.30pm ) and as the sun set behind me, it felt good to be free from the worries of work. I reached Reading in double-quick time, then sped past Windsor. Things were looking good. However, from 6pm to 7.15pm, I travelled just nine miles and I did wonder if I would make the kick-off. The lads were in The Goose, but I had no chance of reaching them. As I tried to find a parking space in Chesson Road at 7.15pm, I was listening to the United vs. CSKA game on the radio ( Pat Nevin was over in Russia – he has a good life, eh? ) and as I parked up, United scored.

Oh great.

I sped past The Goose and headed down the North End Road. I was well aware that there would be the usual queues at the turnstiles. I peered into a few fast food restaurants and simply could not believe the amount of fans chomping away oblivious to the fact that they would be late for the kick-off.

I purchased a programme and cut through the crowds like Wee Pat on a mazy run – “get out of my way!” – and joined the line for the MHU. Two things stuck out. One guy next to me was wearing his work shirt, but had put a Chelsea replica shirt over it.

Ouch. Very stylish, mate!

Then, one fan placed his ticket into the scanner and was met with a red light…he was in the wrong queue ( he needed the MHL ), but began blaming the stewards. Unbelievable.

Thankfully, I reached my seat with two minutes to spare. You beauty! However, I hate this kind of rush, but it is more and more common with every mid-week game these days. Why do I put myself through it? There’s a question. I guess the unbeaten home run has a lot to answer for. Nobody would think anything less of me if I missed the odd game – I have nothing to prove – but I just need to be there. Watching at home on the TV would feel so very strange. The last home game I watched live on TV must be ages and ages ago.

Alan handed me my Madrid away ticket – we chatted excitedly about our plans for the return leg in two weeks. Six of us are going…can’t wait.

As the game began, I received a text from Danny ( Blue Celery ) in LA…

“Kalou for a hat-trick.”

Yeah, right mate – no chance of that.

Let’s not kid ourselves, we began slowly and Atletico had the better of the early exchanges, forcing saves out of Petr Cech in our goal. Diego Forlan, a bit of a flop at United, was lively and involved in most of their forward thrusts. They were making good patterns, moving the ball well. We, by comparison, seemed laboured and slow. The midfield did not seem to be working. We were giving Atletico too much space and, in possession, were unable to create. I noted to Alan that Anelka, when he receives the ball, often takes a touch and slows to a standstill, ensuring that the move loses its impetus. If I am honest, I do the same when I play five-a-side. We then had a goal from that long-distance free-kick ( not sure why ) and Ballack set up Kalou who shot wide.

Danny – are you watching?

Just before the break, we took the lead after great work down the left from Ashley who is in a great run of form at the moment. His cross found Salomon and he couldn’t miss. Alan and myself hugged and I thought of Danny’s pre-match prediction.

The half-time stats told the story of the half…we had more possession, but Madrid had eight shots compared to our five. It was great to see Tom at the game again after his recent sad loss and he seemed chirpy enough. Zac is off to the NFL game at Wembley on Sunday and we discussed this. He is a Miami fan ( he was wearing a Dolphins sweatshirt ) but is not really in favour of regular season NFL games being played outside the US. I made the point that, with only eight ( ? ) home games each season, as a fan of either New England or Tampa Bay, I would be gutted at missing out on a game. I am sure that the FA look at NFL’s colonialism as a shining example of new ways to grow sporting brands. Much more of this from American sport and they will look again at the “39th Game” which so infuriated me a year ago. Danny Granville ( remember him? Stockholm 1998! ) was presented to us at the break. In the programme, Mark Stein was featured in a piece about the Bruges ECWC game in 1995. That was a night when the full house of 28,000 absolutely rocked Stamford Bridge to its foundations. That was a great night and only our third European game since 1971. Since then, European nights have become part of the modern Chelsea story and I do wonder if the group phase games have helped soften the excitement of European games for some. Those early knock-out games against Zizkov, Austria Memphis and Bruges were phenomenal.

We played a lot better in the second period and the Spanish support soon fell quiet. I snapped Frank taking the corner which lead to our second goal. After the first goal, I had texted Danny to say that if Kalou got two more, I would be buying him beer all day when he comes over for the Wolves game.

I texted him again – “Now I’m worried.”

We began playing the ball around better and Madrid tired. After a move down in front of me, the ball zipped across the box and Kalou couldn’t quite reach it. Oh Danny – so near and yet so far. He was surprisingly subbed soon after and got a good reception. Two late goals rather flattered us I thought. The most noise from us was when Joe began warming up on the touchline, but he didn’t enter the fray. In the last quarter of the game, The Bridge fell eerily silent at times.

Oh well.

So, another home game came to an end…number 163 on the trot for me. It wasn’t that great. I have seen us play more expansive and pleasing football, but a 4-0 win mustn’t be sniffed at. I slowly left the seats and left the stadium. Outside, I noted quite a few Spanish fans exiting the pricier parts of the West Stand. It surprised me for some reason. I stopped for a pizza at an Italian near The Goose and drove home through the West London streets and then the Wessex countryside.

The loneliness of a long-distance football follower.

I reached home at 12.45am with thoughts of Blackburn Rovers, game 164, and beyond.

Tales From Balti Land

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Aston Villa vs. Chelsea : 17 October 2009.

Well, that new away kit is turning out to be a bit of a jinx so far this season. Let’s wear the all-white one for the next colour clash. Hell – there wasn’t really a clash at Villa was there?

Like the match against Villa in February – Guus Hiddink’s first game in charge – this was a 12.45pm start and so this meant that there was no chance of a good pre-match in a local hostelry. I collected Parky at 9am and drove up to Birmingham, aware that a few mates from London were travelling up by train. Their pre-match would be in a central Brum pub – ours would be half a mile to the north of Villa Park in a down-at-heal pub called “The Crown And Cushion.” We used this pub before the 2002 F.A.Cup Semi Final and it used to be the main pub of the Villa firm in days of old.

We sank a couple of pints of Red Stripe and noted the barmaid “of a certain age” arriving for her shift. We both mentally dressed her and then set off for the stadium. I commented to Parky that, save for a very brief mention by me of Petr Cech being back in the team, there had been not one single comment about the match all day. This is often the norm.

I have been to Villa Park on umpteen occasions and it’s a rather grand place. However, all of the stands have been redeveloped apart from the North stand, which always used to house the away fans. These days, we occupy the north section ( upper and lower ) of the Doug Ellis Stand. Everywhere around Villa Park is red brick – the stonework of The Aston Hall pub on the corner, the houses nearby and the old tram sheds adjacent to the stadium. The old Trinity Road stand, so beloved by connoisseurs of stadia design was a red brick masterpiece, with steps and gables, until its sad demise in around 2000. Villa have tried to recapture its presence in the remodelled Holte End, but it just isn’t the same.

On the way in, I spotted Dave Johnstone and purchased the latest “CFCUK”” in which there were a few wonderful obituaries for dear Vic who so sadly died on the evening of the Stoke game. How ironic the last ever goal of Vic’s beautiful life would be that oh-so dramatic winner.

Gary and Alan joined me in the middle of the upper deck just before kick-off and it seemed ages since our last game.

I thought we began pretty slowly and Villa had the best of the early exchanges. It took me a while to get into the game too – maybe I need the regular fix once a week more than I thought. Didier’s goal came out of the blue and Friedel really ought to have done better. Apart from a great run-and-shot from Ash and a shot from Didier, we laboured for the rest of the half. Villa were no great shakes and we ought to have seized the opportunity to kill them off. Unfortunately, I had a great view of Frank’s unfortunate flick which set up Dunne to equalise. The home support had been truly docile all of the half and the goal woke them momentarily. Our support was buoyant in the first period. We stood the entire game.

I looked around the stadium and noted gaps in the upper corners of the Holte End and the new Trinity Road stand…the gate was 3,000 below capacity. During half-time, I had a chat with six Chelsea fans from Belgium. They had six season tickets between them…good stuff.

I spotted a flag on the Holte End balcony wall –

“Villa – Stella – Balti” and it made me chuckle. It reminded me of the infamous United banner “United – Kids – Wife – In That Order.”

I wondered what a similar three-word phrase could sum up Chelsea Football Club.

“Celery – Bouncy – Underachievement.”

As the second-half began, the sun became brighter, but the support died a bit. Gary was giving John Carew loads of abuse, likening him to Bernard Bresslaw, but nobody else cottoned on to this. Poor marking at a corner gave Villa an easy goal, but still Villa’s support seemed muted. Was it something they put in their Balti pies I wondered? We toiled in vain for the rest of the game and, despite enjoying 67% of possession, the equaliser never came. We looked tired and out-of-sorts. Very often the players seemed crowded. Drogba had no support when it mattered and our shooting was poor. However, Villa weren’t exactly on fire. It was a game we so easily could have won. Frank seemed quiet, but Malouda was non-existent. We couldn’t fathom why Joe was brought on so late. Only once or twice to Villa’s support roar.

As we exited the stairs, there was frustration amongst the away support and one fan was complaining of a lack of a desire to change things. Scolari was mentioned.

Groan.

I waited for Parky to show up and noted that the Villa fans must surely be the ugliest in the Premiership.

At least Liverpool lost.

Tales From A Top Day Out

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Liverpool : 4 October 2009.

On Saturday evening, Judy and myself went to a surprise birthday party for a former boss ( who used to work with the both of us ) who now lives in Thailand. It was a great time. I met a few former work colleagues who I hadn’t seen for a while. I spent quite some time chatting to Steve, who also lives in Frome, but who is a Liverpool fan. How fateful that we should meet up for the first time in ages on the eve of the Chelsea vs. Liverpool game. Our first concern was to check how United had got on…he had been listening on the radio on his way to the party and confirmed they were losing 2-1 with five minutes to go.

“I daren’t text anyone, mate” I said.

“It’s OK – they’ve lost – they’ve lost…definite.”

“God – I need to know.”

Another former work colleague texted another friend and disappeared out to the road to get a signal. He returned and said the infamous words “You won’t believe this…”

We groaned.

And so we learned about Rio’s brother’s OG and yet another last minute United goal. Damn. I tried not to let it spoil my night and tried to take some solace in United dropping two home points. I got stuck into some crisp Peronis and looked forward to the game.

I woke on Sunday with an inevitable headache and a slight hangover.

I set off at 9.45am and picked up Parky on the way up to London. The usual gang were doing a few different things pre-match. Dave and Karen were making their own way up, stopping off to look at a new car and Daryl, Gary and Alan were watching the Old Firm game in a pub in the city. Parky and myself sat down to a hearty breakfast in the café at 12.30pm and that sorted my hangover out.

We stayed in The Goose for about an hour and I had a couple of pints. Rob was already there, his tan topped-up from a few days In Cyprus. Dutch Mick and a few others too. They had said that the Cyprus trip had been the best ever. They spoke of being on a beach, under a Cyprus Blues flag, with Cypriot girls giving them massages for ten euros…it sounded idyllic. The whole notion of doing some sunbathing on a beach of an island ahead of a Chelsea away game just sounded so – wrong! Especially as I wasn’t there.

My mate Francis arrived at 1.15pm. He is a friend from my home town who I have known since 1978…he has always been a Liverpool fan and has been my guest at Chelsea on quite a few occasions. He was to have Glenn’s ticket and sit next to me in the MHU. He tends not to go to too many games, but this would be his eighth Chelsea vs. Liverpool game since his first one back in 1991. Much to his chagrin, he had never seen Liverpool win at Stamford Bridge. In fact, his first ever game at Anfield was the infamous game in 1992 when Chelsea won in the league at Anfield for the first time since 1937. On that particular occasion, and with the reasons being far too complicated for me to explain here, he watched from the Chelsea section and I watched from The Kop. Despite seeing Liverpool lose, he always talks about the atmosphere in that Chelsea away section as being amazing and the late Mickey Greenaway made a big impression on him!

As I wasn’t “officially” drinking due to me driving, we said our goodbyes and set off for the ground very early at about 2.15pm. The weather had brightened up and there was clearly no need for my ridiculously warm new jacket. We spotted a few Scousers around and about. They were making a fair din in The Slug, now the away pub at Chelsea…it still grates to see away fans anywhere but in the ground at Chelsea, but I guess Chelsea go into away pubs on our travels and I guess its only fair that favour is reciprocated.

We had a quick word with the fellows on the CFCUK stall. I had brought up an 8 by 10 photo of myself and Mickey Thomas for him to sign, but he had just left, unfortunately. It seemed so strange to be walking along Fulham Road at a leisurely pace with ages until kick-off. The sun was now out in force and it was very pleasant. We idled past the main gate, up and over the railway bridge, past The Black Bull ( where I used to do my drinking from 1988-1993 ) and down to the Fox And Pheasant. This is probably my favourite pub at Chelsea…two small rooms, but a lovely courtyard at the rear…everyone takes their drinks outside and the road, or rather the mews, was jam-packed. Parky bought me a coke – I know my limits. I explained to Francis that I usually bring “The Americans” into this pub on my “guided tours.” It was very pleasant indeed. There were photos of Frank Lampard and Dennis Wise, standing outside the pub, on the wood-panelled walls. Before we left, I had a quick chat with Ron Harris’ son Mark, who used to live in a nearby town to me for a while. I had last seen him, very drunk, walking along the Fulham Road after the Cup Final.

We battled through the crowds outside the West Stand. By now, my jacket was stuffed inside my bag, the weather warm enough for just a polo shirt. My new jacket would have to wait for its official debut.

Yet more queues at the turnstiles and those damned scanners…we began lining up at 3.45pm and we hoped we would get in on time.

Throughout the build up to the game, I knew there was a black cloud hanging over me. We had leant that our match day neighbour Tom had lost his beloved wife, Josey, on Monday. We had heard from his daughter that Josey had gone into a care home the previous week, but her passing had shocked us. At 3.50pm, Alan – who was already inside – phoned me to say that Tom was there, he was emotional, and asked me just to talk about the football. As Francis and myself ascended the stairs, I braced myself.

We reached our seats with a minute to spare. I reached over and gripped Tom tightly by the hand and briefly looked him in the eyes. I gave his hand an extra special squeeze.

Let the game begin.

It was a perfect day for football.

Programme Quiz.

1. Name three of the four players who scored for us in our 4-1 over Liverpool at Anfield in October 2005.
2. How many times have we played Liverpool in the CL?
3. Which striker scored his one and only goal for us in our 1-1 draw with Liverpool in the 1998-99 season?
4. John Barnes famously rapped on “World In Motion” but which two Chelsea players also featured in England’s 1990 World Cup song?

Francis was to my left, in my seat, I was in Alan’s seat and Alan was sitting next to Tom in Glenn’s seat. We settled down for the game – as we had done every other week since we first had season tickets in the Matthew Harding Upper in August 1997. Tom had been with us all the way. It seemed wonderfully normal that he should be with us once more.

Liverpool began the stronger and we struggled to get into the game. It felt odd for Chelsea to be attacking our end in the first-half. Drogba, despite a week’s rest, didn’t appear to be firing on all cylinders. We gave Liverpool too much space. Things weren’t going our way. Hilario did well to get down to turn away a free-kick which he appeared to see late. Our chances were few and far between.

At half-time, Tore Andre Flo and Mickey Thomas came onto the pitch and we applauded them. We also noted Dennis Wise in the Sky studio. We serenaded him with his song from 1999.

I looked around I noted that all of the people who had been to Cyprus had all returned with tans.

The Liverpool support was sporadic…noisy at times, quiet at others. They only had three flags. Into the second-half and we grew stronger. However, Frank appeared to be having a quiet game. Deco was shining, though. He was full of twists, flicks and enjoyed a couple of strong runs at the heart of the Liverpool defence.

Liverpool began singing “The Fields Of Anfield Road” and I commented to Alan that they even nicked that from Celtic ( the Irish “Fields Of Athenry” ). This seemed to stir the Chelsea support and we replied with first boos, but then our second-half standard of “Chelsea Chelsea” being sung to “Amazing Grace.” This usually gets sung in the second-half of away games, but we all joined in with gusto. Straight after, we moved the ball down the left and Drogba danced with the last defender, rocking him one way and then the next.

A cross – on the money – and an easy tap in for Anelka.

Yes! The place erupted. Alan shouted at me –

“They’ll Have To Come At Us Now” and I shouted at him –

“Come On My Little Diamonds.”

The place was bumping. Liverpool came back, but their finishing was awful. We noted that Torres was quiet. John Terry crunched every tackle and roared us on. What a leader. My friend Steve, on Saturday night, had said that JT would only smell his aftershave, but JT closed him out of the game. We taunted him.

“Ladyboy! Ladyboy!”

The game continued on a knife-edge…it seemed like a cup tie…we had to hang on. Hilario patrolled his area with great confidence and did a superb job as Cech’s replacement. A last-minute challenge from Ashley saved the day, too. Soon after the board was held up to signify three extra minutes, Drogba muscled his way past Carragher, right in front of Parky in The Shed Lower, and superbly set up Malouda to make the game safe.

Get in!

It had been a strange game for Drogba…at his embarrassing worst in the main – falling, diving, feigning injury – but a World-beater in setting up the two goals. The Chelsea support responded –

“We Are Topotheleague, Say We Are Topotheleague.”

Francis shook my hand and I invited him back next season. I had a word, after Tom had said his goodbyes, to another inhabitant of our little section of the stadium. Joe is around 82 and has been coming to Chelsea for 72 years. Imagine that. He comes with his two sons and he told me he wishes he could write all of his memories down. Top man.

As I waited for Parky outside the CFCUK stall, a few friends bustled by – Gary, Walnuts and Jonesy – and they were all beaming. Let’s not kid ourselves, though. We hadn’t played brilliantly, a few players did not play that well and – if I am honest – it could so easily have swung the other way.

But we’ll take it.

We were hit with atrocious traffic on the way out of Chelsea and then on the M4 around Windsor. We eventually got home at 10.15pm.

Dedicated to the memory of Josey Crowe. RIP.

CHELSEA/esque

A Blue World In Black And White

Category Archives: Season 2009-2010.

Tales From Row Five

Tales From The Blue Country

Tales From Remembrance Sunday

Tales From Plaza Major

Tales From The Goalfest

Tales From World Series Week

Tales From Midday To Midnight

Tales From The European Trail

Tales From Balti Land

Tales From A Top Day Out