Tales From Miseryside

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Liverpool vs. Chelsea : 7 November 2010.

My sporting weekend began on Friday evening when San Francisco Bob, Lord Parky and I visited a local pub to see Ron Harris and Charlie Cooke, who were in the middle of a spate of appearances all over the United Kingdom. We had a great time. I have heard most of Ron’s stories from his playing days before, but it was refreshing to listen to Charlie’s tales from Scotland, England and America. I especially enjoyed Charlie’s reminiscences of playing amongst Docherty’s Diamonds. Tommy Doc was quite a character and I think there was a certain kinship between player and manager since they both came from hard-nosed working class areas in Scotland; Cooke, a Protestant, from Greenock on the banks of the Clyde and Docherty, a Catholic, from the bleakest of inner city areas of all, The Gorbals. We were whooping with laughter at the stories about Peter Osgood, Tommy Smith, Peter Bonetti and Bobby Charlton.

On the Saturday, Bob and I watched local Zamaretto League team Frome Town play Clevedon Town. My two friends from school days Steve and Francis were at the game too and it made a nice change. Steve was a big Bristol City fan as a youth and it is ironic that his eldest son Harry is now banging in the goals for one of Bristol Rovers’ academy teams. Frome came from 0-1 down to nab an unlikely 2-1 win with a goal in the very last minute. However, my elation was short-lived when Bob told me that Manchester United had also scored a last minute winner. Bloody Hell.

On the Sunday, it was Chelsea’s turn to play.

I collected Bob from his hotel in Frome Market Place and drove over to Westbury. From there, my friend Mark – with his daughter Kerry – took over the reins. By 10.30am, Lord Parky was aboard and we were on our way to Merseyside. I was feeling slightly jaded from a whirlwind pub crawl of my local town with Bob on the Saturday evening. Parky was his usual ebullient self, though, and we hadn’t reached Bath before he asked –

“Are we there yet, Mark?”

So, at last, a game in the North West without me at the wheel. I sat back and relaxed as Mark made good time. I first met Mark on that fateful day in April 1984 when we beat Dirty Leeds 5-0 and won promotion to the top flight. We reminisced about that day plus a few others from around that time. Parky and Mark’s mate Les phoned and asked about tickets for the Birmingham away game. This elicited a funny story from Lord Parky. Many years ago, Les used to work as a butcher in the Trowbridge firm of “Bowyers.” On one Saturday morning, Les did a morning shift and didn’t have time to get changed from his white butcher’s overalls. He drove Parky and a few other Trowbridge ruffians up to Chelsea in his car and parked up close to the ground. As a master butcher, he always kept his set of expensive knives in the car boot. As he hurriedly parked his car, his all-white tunic attracted the attention of a passing policeman, who was further taken aback when he glimpsed Les’ set of sparkling knives in the car boot.

“What’s going on here? What are you doing?” the copper asked of Les as the butcher’s robes were being discarded.

“Sorry, what do you mean? I’m getting out of my work clothes” replied Les, sensing the chance of some laughter.

“Why, what do you do?” the policeman asked.

Les looked him in the eyes and replied “I kill pigs.”

We drove past Tewkesbury and the Malvern Hills were shrouded in low-lying clouds to the west. Parky opened up a can of “Fosters” and almost covered himself in beer spray. After a couple of corrective gulps, he wiped his mouth with his hand and enquired –

“Are we there yet, Mark?”

I posed my favourite question about which football stadia can be seen within five minutes of each other in the Birmingham area and Kerry answered correctly. Incidentally, guess who Kerry is named after? Too easy, eh? Alan and Gary were on their way north on the Chelsea train and Burger and Julie were Liverpool-bound too. We shot past my former stomping ground of Stoke-On-Trent and Parky opened another lager.

“Are we there yet, Mark?”

Bob was taking it all in, with his excitement rising as each exit on the M6 was passed. This was to be Bob and Kerry’s first visit to the fields of Anfield Road, while Mark’s last visit was in 2002. I think Parky’s last visit was back in the ‘eighties. We flew over the Thirlwall Viaduct and then off at exit 23. Mark now had Liverpool in his sights and the chat got quicker and more intense.

We parked about a mile from Anfield and the weather was sunny, yet with quite a cold wind. As we crossed the road, a gaggle of Scousers were eyeing us up and asked the fabled question –

“Watch your car mate?”

To be truthful, Mark didn’t have a clue what they had said since it sounded more like “Washyercamate?”, that nasal Scouse accent to the fore. We ignored them and walked on by.

We walked through the Stanley Park cemetery, then out onto Utting Avenue. A chap dressed in an army uniform was playing “The Fields Of Athenry” on the bagpipes as we headed up the hill and another soldier had a bucket collecting for Remembrance Day. Our jackets were protecting us from the cold. We skipped past The Arkles as it looked too busy. Instead, we made our way to The Flat Iron. Pints were purchased and we made our way into the lounge bar just as “Going Underground” by The Jam started on the pub juke-box. How appropriate I thought. Going underground, going behind enemy lines, going undercover. We stayed there for about an hour, a little gaggle of Chelsea in one corner, surrounded by Scousers all around us. A lad called Andy joined us and it turned out that Andy has the fortune of sitting next to Parky in the Shed Lower. Small world, eh? We were then joined by Julie and Burger, then Cathy and Dog. I was still struggling with the remnants of my hangover, so regrettably didn’t join in further rounds. My mate Francis, a Liverpool fan, texted me to say that Essien wasn’t playing.

Oh dear.

Kelly was on way up from the city centre, along with his sister and wife. I met Kelly in Texas last summer and this was his first Chelsea game on English soil, albeit in that very strange part of England called Merseyside. Maybe there needs to be an asterisk there somewhere. At about 3.15pm, we decided to head off to circumnavigate the ground and take in the sights

As we headed towards the back of The Kop on Walton Breck Road, we passed five or six Scousers sitting on a low red brick wall. They were sporting tight dark jeans with old school Puma and Adidas trainers, like throwbacks to that golden era of Scallydom in the late ‘seventies. We soon found ourselves right underneath the red brick and grey roof supports of The Kop. Touts were looking for business, street traders were grafting away and there was the usual mix of sounds and smells of matchdays…those impenetrable thick Scouse accents, the shouts of fans, the smell of chips, the noise, the tribal routines and the anticipation.

The Bill Shankly statue was centre-stage. As Burger and Bob took a few photographs, I was reminded of a story which I heard Peter Osgood tell many years ago. He himself heard this story from the Liverpool hard man Tommy Smith and it centres on Bill Shankly, that tough and wily manager who first put Liverpool on the map. On a visit to Anfield in the mid-sixties, an un-named away team went 1-0 down in the first-half and endured a horrendous day, having to resort to desperate measures to keep Liverpool from scoring again and again. Wave after wave of Liverpool attacks were repelled, the woodwork was hit countless times and Liverpool should have been 5-0 up. Then, in virtually the last kick of the game, the away team miraculously broke up field and a ball was played into the waiting centre-forward. Liverpool had a ‘keeper called Tommy Lawrence at the time – he was bizarrely nicknamed The Flying Pig – and as the striker shot, the ball flew right through Lawrence’s legs and into the goal. The ref soon blew up and Lawrence was mortified. He was the last off the pitch, not wanting to face his team mates, nor – worse – the acid tongued Shankly. The changing room was silent and Lawrence took his seat. Not a word was said. Eventually, Shankly appeared and stood in the middle. No player dare look up. They should have killed the visitors off. After what seemed like ages, Lawrence looked up and spoke –

“Look boss, it’s my fault. I should have saved that shot. I should have kept my legs together.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Shankly barked in that tough Glasgow burr “No son…it was your mother who should have kept her legs together.”

Some character, Shanks.

We then edged around towards the away stand and walked through the Shankly Gates, erected soon after the passing of Bill Shankly in 1981. The gates were forged in my home town of Frome, strangely enough. We momentarily stood by the Hillsborough Memorial and I noted quite a few Scousers touching the black granite with 96 names etched in gold. I bought a copy of “CFCUK” and there was an obituary by Beth for her beloved friend Simon Turner. We heard another rumour that Drogba was on the bench.

Oh dear.

A few “hello mates” to the usual suspects as I made my way to my seat, right behind the Annie Road goal. Such a familiar view these days – this would be my seventeenth visit to Anfield, probably more than a lot of Liverpool fans. Bob and Kelly were sat just five rows behind us. Unfortunately, the pre-match rumours were true. Not only no Frank Lampard, but no Michael Essien and no Didier Drogba. The midfield three looked particularly second rate. A big game for Nico upfront. In the match programme, I loved seeing five or six black and white photographs from a Chelsea vs. Liverpool game from March 1978. I saw the game with my parents in the East Lower and we beat the reigning European champions 3-1 after going a goal down. Fantastic memories. Our goals were scored by the stalwarts from the America Tour of 2009, those likely lads Steve Finnieston and Tommy Langley. Tommy rates his first goal from that game as his best ever Chelsea strike.

Gerry and The Pacemakers did their usual turn and thousands of red and white scarves were held aloft. It seems hard to believe these days, but back in the ‘seventies and early ‘eighties, “YNWA” was not restricted to the terraces of Anfield. Back in those days, a lot of clubs used to mimic The Koppites. The Shed often used to sing “YNWA” and blue and white scarves were held overhead. Strange, but true.

We kicked-off and kept possession for 63 seconds. I think this was our best spell of that first-half. Joking aside, we were bloody awful. Liverpool chased us down at every opportunity and we had no time on the ball. Of course, Torres pounced on about ten minutes to outwit a tangled John Terry and neatly finish with a clipped flick to the far post. Seeing the net bulge made me feel ill. The home support roared and Torres reeled away. A sickening feeling. I just stared at the celebrating home fans and it hurt. Soon after, an Ashley Cole cross found Salomon Kalou who forced a great save from Pepe Reina. However, apart from a couple of long shots, I can’t remember any other Chelsea chances in that arid first period. I thought Mikel was solid, but Zhirkov and Ramires were sadly deficient. They were neither defending well, nor breaking forward in support of the stranded Anelka. I hadn’t seen a more insipid Chelsea midfield for quite a while. The one high spot of the half was watching Alex go up a gear to effortlessly beat Torres in a beautiful sprint for a loose ball. He was like a middle-distance runner turning it on during the last 100 metres of a race. Then of course, a slip by Ashley and the ball was splayed wide to Torres. I immediately sensed danger. Ivanovic should have forced him outside, but gave him too much room. Torres advanced, dropped a shoulder and craftily curled the ball past a stranded Cech and into the goal. The net bulged again and the Scousers roared even loader. Oh God. It pains me to say that the two Torres goals were of exceptional quality.

Long faces at half time. I said to Gary “I can’t see us getting back into this, mate. In fact, I can see us conceding more.” I wanted a big team talk from Carlo at half-time. He’d have to change things. Bringing on Drogba was a no-brainer.

The second-half was, of course, much better. However, could we really have played any worse? We enjoyed a lot more of the ball. On 59 minutes, Ramires rose and headed over from a Cole cross and this stirred the away support. We had been standing all game and we never stopped cheering the lads on. As we got more and more into the game, the Scousers quietened down. This was a lot better and we urged the team forward. I was thoroughly enthralled in the game – though it never felt like we would get the goals back. However, I was kicking every ball, heading every cross, sliding in with every tackle.

The Scousers sang of “No History” and “Rent Boys.”

“At least it’s a job!” retorted Alan.

One thing annoyed me. Drogba was tackled but was not given a free-kick. With rising anger, I watched him slowly get up – with a Chelsea attack developing around him – and slowly walk twenty yards towards the penalty area, oblivious to the play to his left. At one stage, the ball was played to him and he was facing the wrong way. Groin strain or no groin strain, this sort of behaviour is not wanted at Chelsea Football Club. However, I suddenly realised that Liverpool had hardly touched the ball during the previous fifteen minutes.

“Come On Chelsea.”

A great show of strength from Drogba – at last! – and a ball was slammed into Malouda, but his shot was saved at point blank range by Reina. We groaned like never before. Despite good wing play from substitute Bosingwa and the lively Ashley Cole, we didn’t carve out many real chances. John Terry often raced forward to support the attack, but Liverpool defended resolutely. Carlo made some changes and Sturridge had a couple of half chances. I couldn’t believe that Ramires wasn’t substituted, though. The game passed him by completely. I was really pleased that hardly anybody amongst the 3,000 Chelsea loyalists left before the end of the game. We stayed with it. We all knew how important this game was. Anelka hit the bar from close in with five minutes to go and the ball spun back into the lucky Reina’s arms. We just knew it wasn’t to be our day.

Where was The Flying Pig when we needed him?

We marched back to the car and we were soon headed south. Within a few minutes of getting onto the M6, Parky inevitably asked –

“Are we there yet, Mark?”

We had the predictable post-mortem…why didn’t Didier start, why were Yuri and Ramires so poor, how did we give Liverpool so much space? I felt tired and, for once, I was able to get some sleep…a rare luxury for me on Chelsea match day journeys. By the time we had stopped at Stafford for some refreshments, the mood had lightened a little. I commented to Mark that we ought to put this into perspective. We were depressed after an awful first-half, but there are thousands of football fans who travel the congested roads of England and Wales in support of their teams and, for many, there is no end to the agony, no end to the run of defeats, no cash, no future, no light at the end of the tunnel. Only the friendships of fellow fans to get them through the murky gloom.

Back in the car, Parky opened up another can.

“Are we there yet, Mark?”

Mark made good time and Parky kept us all in good spirits with joke after joke. It was great to be laughing again. I’m not saying that the Liverpool debacle was swept under the carpet, but I was pleased that we were reacting to defeat with typical gallows humour. Proper Chelsea. We chatted non-stop for a while about all sorts…Tiswas, Sally James, The Liver Birds, favourite sandwiches, Lily the Pink, beans on toast, Donald McGill seaside postcards and yet more Parky jokes. Some good, some bad. After one particularly poor example, nobody laughed and there was a pregnant pause…

“Are we there yet, Mark?” I asked.

Parky was shoved out of the car at 10pm…”see you on Wednesday, mate.” Goodbyes to Mark and Kerry at Westbury and a goodbye to The Bobster in Frome. It had been a bad day at the office, but we have two winnable home games coming up.

Let’s regroup and go again.

Tales From Matchday Four

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Spartak Moscow : 3 November 2010.

An alternative title –

“Friends And Roman’s Countrymen.”

It seems rather obvious to state, but the history of Chelsea Football Club has changed dramatically since the arrival of Roman in 2003. However, the game against Spartak Moscow got me thinking about our other links with that nation. Of course, the Champions League Final in 2008 comes immediately to mind – and I have detailed that emotional day elsewhere – but there have been other dalliances with Russian teams and players in our recent and not so recent past.

If there is one game in our ancient history that I wish I had seen it was the momentous 1945 game against the crack Russian team Moscow Dynamo. This game was one of four games that the touring Russians played on that tour and the others were at Rangers, Cardiff and White Hart Lane ( against Arsenal ). The tour is wonderfully evoked in a great football book called “Passovotchka” by David Downing which I bought a while back. My great friend John, who was a schoolboy in South London during the war, spoke to me once about going to the game at Tottenham on a murky winter day in 1945. His memories helped solidify the images in my mind which the author’s words had planted. The few photographs from that tour are priceless of course. It is one of those occasions which I often daydream about – I can almost smell the spectators’ tobacco smoke, the mustiness of soldiers’ demob suits, the greyness of the London air, the sense of anticipation amongst the thousands upon thousands swarming on Fulham Road, the joy of a top flight game after years of ersatz friendlies during the preceding six years, the noise and the colour of the Moscow team in blue and the Chelsea team in red.

When I visited Moscow on that monumental day in 2008 – another grey day in more ways than one – I wanted to pick up a Dynamo souvenir in honour of that game from our history. On Arbatskaya, midway through a drinking session with a few close mates, I purchased a Dynamo scarf from a stall. It’s great. I love that great big “D” – the Dynamo logo. I did think about wearing it to the game against Spartak, but thought better of it. Of course, Moscow is like London in its many teams…in addition to Spartak and Dynamo, there are Torpedo, Lokomotiv and CSKA. I think that Dynamo’s fortunes have waned since the break-up of the communist regime, but I’m hoping that we play them again one day.

I was worried about getting caught in horrendous traffic on the journey up to HQ as there was a tube strike taking place in London. I mentioned it to my bosses during the day – oh, at least five times – and I was thankfully allowed out early at 3.50pm. My colleague Bill, an Aberdeen fan from Brechin was travelling up with his Chelsea supporting son. I said I’d tip him off if the traffic got heavy.

Every second counts.

I collected Parky and made great time…until the last two miles, when time stood still.

Not to worry – into The Goose at 6.40pm. Bill wasn’t far behind me, happy I had texted him with some parking options. Just time for two pints of lager with the chaps. San Francisco Bob is over for a week and it was great to see him again. He is coming down to The Wild West on Friday and we are catching the Frome Town ( five league wins on the bounce! ) versus Clevedon Town game on the Saturday ahead of our assault on Anfield the following day. Bob’s excitement was palpable.

Texas Wes and his Russian mate Sergey soon arrived and I handed over the Shed tickets I had managed to get for them. Mo was able to come up trumps with another of Wes’ mates too – quite a hive of activity. Lots of laughter and Mickey-taking of course. Bob’s eyes lit up when I told him that there is a Henri Lloyd shop in Street and we planned a flying visit on Saturday morning before I give him a tour of my home town.

I checked my phone and sat at my seat exactly at 7.45pm. It was just a shame that my phone was obviously two minutes slow.

Drat.

The Russians were encamped in the away section and soon unfurled a massive red flag with a diagonal stripe and this was passed overhead for a few minutes. No words, but the familiar iconic silhouette of Lenin in the top left corner. It was quite striking. I checked the starting line up with Alan and there was no JT. Ivanovic was shifted into the middle and Paolo took over at right-back. As soon as the game began, ex-CSKA player Zhirkov was roundly booed by the visiting hordes. I imagined that the Russians had been queuing since breakfast – they like a good queue, the Russians.

The next thing I spotted was that ex-Celtic winger Aiden McGeady wearing blue boots. I immediately thought of legions of “Cellic” followers in Cambuslang, Easterhouse, Cumbernauld, Dublin and Boston spitting out their pints of Buckfast fortified wine and turning the air – er, blue. It certainly came as a surprise to me.

The first-half was poor wasn’t it? Our Russian visitors were surprisingly unadventurous, but we seemed to be quite ponderous in our attacks. I can hardly remember anything specific. Anelka cut in adeptly in that favoured inside-left channel, but his firm strike flew high and wide. From a whipped-in corner, the ball found Alex lurking on the far post, inside the six yard box. He flung himself at the ball but managed to deflect the ball up and over the crossbar. This action was up the other end and so I think the magnitude of this miss was lost on us in the Matthew Harding. It certainly looked a shocker, though. Chances were few and far between.

I heard the Muscovites singing, in English – “We Are Top Of The League.”

At half-time, Charlie Cooke was on the pitch with Neil while the Lenin flag was being passed overhead in the SE corner again. A right-winger and a left-winger together. On the PA, the classic Ian Dury song “Reasons To Be Cheerful” was being played.

“Some of Buddy Holly, the working folly
Good Golly Miss Molly and boats
Hammersmith Palais, the Bolshoi Ballet
Jump back in the alley, and nanny goats

Eighteen-wheeler Scammels, Domineker camels
All other mammals plus equal votes
Seeing Piccadilly, Fanny Smith and Willy
Being rather silly and porridge oats

A bit of grin and bear it, a bit of come and share it
You’re welcome, we can spare it, yellow socks
Too short to be haughty, too nutty to be naughty
Going on forty, no electric shocks

The juice of the carrot, the smile of a parrot
A little drop of claret – anything that rocks
Elvis and Scotty, the days when I ain’t spotty
Sitting on the potty, curing smallpox.”

To be honest, I could find few reasons to be cheerful in our pale first-half performance. I flicked through the programme and Ric Glanvill had written a great piece on the Dynamo game in 1945. A couple of great photos showed the sheer volume of spectators ( anything up to 125,000 ) plus the iconic shot of players such as John Harris, Len Goulden, Vic Woodley and Tommy Lawton clutching posies of flowers. What an iconic photograph. I’m sure you have all seen it. There was also a Q&A with our most famous Russian player, Dmitri Karin, our respected goalkeeper from the ‘nineties. He is now a goalkeeping coach at Luton town. I remember him famously saving a penalty against Viktoria Zizkov in 1994, our first European away game since 1971. He also played in the 1994 F.A. Cup Final.

The programme detailed our complete European record at Stamford Bridge and it really is phenomenal.

Played – 80
Won – 56
Drew – 20
Lost – 4

The game was being shown live on ITV1, one of our main channels, but I imagined thousands flicking through their TV guides on the back of the paucity of entertainment on offer in the first half. However, this became the hackneyed “game of two halves” with Chelsea hitting the net on four occasions in the second period. Nicolas Anelka was sent through, but I didn’t give him any chance of hitting the target from such a tight angle. Indeed, after he shot, the ball hit the side netting.

No – wait? Everyone else apart from Alan and me were cheering and Anelka was seen celebrating by running over to the far corner. This came as a complete surprise to me and I hardly celebrated, I was so shocked. This probably goes down as being the “least celebrated opening goal” in 36 years of Chelsea games. For the second goal, Didier tussled with the right back in that corner of the penalty box below me and I had a great view of his utter strength. It was amazing to see up close. What an ox.

An errant challenge, a penalty kick, two-nil to The Champions.

The Stamford Bridge faithful was surprisingly quiet all night – you knew that, right? However, we sang the old classic

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

The Cup Final song with a new European twist.

It was nice to see the three youngsters get some time on the pitch as the game progressed. With millions watching at home, some great PR for the club, too.

My camera was playing up all evening – very annoying – but I captured Ivanovic’ second goal in five days on film. However, the image was blurred and there is a white smudge from his forehead…to be honest, the image is pretty effective, though. He celebrated wildly by sliding on his knees into the arms of Didier, who I think had supplied the cross. We peppered the Moscow goal with a few late chances.

I noted that the Russian fans were doing the same as the Marseille fans – splitting themselves into two groups and chanting at each other. Meanwhile the middle of The Shed and the west side of The Shed were quiet.

We then went to sleep to allow a rapid Spartak break and a close-range goal. Not to worry, that man Ivanovic soon popped up with the fourth. A crazy game.

I briefly met up with Bill outside the Ossie statue and he had enjoyed the game. Parky, Bob, Wes, Sergey and myself met up at The Lily Tandoori at 10pm and we spent ninety minutes chatting away over some curries as the tube-strike induced traffic slowly moved outside. It was a time for celebration for Wes as he has recently nabbed a job as a schoolteacher in Ealing. He will be around for a while yet – after the Double last season, his sabbatical in west London is looking to be a perfect period in his life. Sergey tried a chicken tikka masala and it was his first taste of the English national dish. We spent a while debating if we had qualified for the final sixteen, but the football seemed to be of secondary importance on this particular night. From the gathering of the clans in The Goose to the curry after the game, it was all about laughter amongst friends to be honest.

We said our goodbyes – I’ll be seeing The Bobster on Friday – and departed at 11.30pm. Parky was soon asleep and the 110 miles were eaten up in double-quick time.

A double header coming up – Frome Town vs. Clevedon Town and Liverpool vs. Chelsea.

Reports to follow.

Tales From The Black And The Orange

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Blackburn Rovers vs. Chelsea : 30 October 2010.

It’s hard to believe now, but for quite a while, Blackburn Rovers were a bogey side for Chelsea Football Club. I’m pretty sure that it took us 16 years to defeat them at home in the league, from a 4-1 win in the play-offs in 1988 to a 4-0 win in 2004. Away from home, they were equally difficult to beat. I wasn’t present at the memorable 4-3 game at Ewood in 1998 and so, in total, it took me a staggering 15 games before I physically saw us defeat Rovers. From August 1988 to February 2004 the run went on and on and it never looked like ending…the first six matches all resulted in Chelsea defeats. Yes, it was as bad as that. It’s interesting to note that I’m talking about two interlinked worlds here…our complete record through the years, but also the games that I have witnessed. From a personal perspective, the latter always seems more pertinent. I guess it’s all of the emotional and financial involvement that I put into attending Chelsea games. I guess that’s natural.

My mate Mark is a Blackburn Rovers fan and I accompanied him to Ewood Park on four occasions from 1995 to 2004. For the first three occasions, we watched from the main stand on Nuttall Street, and it was difficult for me not to get behind the team as I was surrounded by Blackburn fans. In 1995, Mark gravely miscalculated on the dates which he had promised his then girlfriend a weekend away and so his ticket became available and my Chelsea mate Alan joined me in the Nuttall Street stand. Unfortunately, we lost 3-0 and were atrocious. This proved to be the late David Rocastle’s last ever game for us. Of course, Rovers were rampant at that time and Graeme Le Saux was firing in crosses for Alan Shearer and Chris Sutton. Every time Rovers scored, Alan and myself remained glumly sat and we were easily sussed. I think there was a little playful banter from the cheering Rovers fans by the time the last goal was scored. I’ve never had any problems at Ewood, though. Because of my friendship with Mark, I don’t mind them.

I left home at 7.45am and, with a coffee to perk me up, soon got into the groove. In an attempt to save some money, I had prepared some food for the day ahead. My bag was laden with provisions which Scott of the Antarctic would have been proud. As I headed through Writhlington, I spotted fellow Chelsea fan Terry leaving a corner shop, clutching a few morning groceries. I slowed down and yelped “I’m off to Blackburn” and smiles were exchanged.

The Style Council were running through their greatest hits on my trusty CD player and Paul Weller was in good voice.

“We’re gonna shout to the top.”

As I ate up the miles, I thought of the plans for the next clutch of games and tended to focus on the up-coming game at Anfield. That’s always one of the highlights of our season these days. The M5 around Gloucester and Cheltenham was edged with vibrant yellows and warm reds – by the time of that Liverpool game, the Autumn colours should be at their photogenic best. The sky was clear and the weather looked great, but I couldn’t believe that there wouldn’t be rain in Lancashire at some stage.

There are towns throughout England which are synonymous with certain types of industry – I can think of shipbuilding in Sunderland, pottery in Stoke-On-Trent, steel in Sheffield, lace-making in Nottingham, glass manufacture in Rotherham, fishing in Grimsby, shoes in Northampton, beer in Burton and textiles in Manchester and Leeds. Blackburn is also one of those towns which owe its growth during the industrial revolution to textiles and I’m sure the town was dominated by cotton mills at the time of the formation of its football club in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. Rovers were one of the original members of the Football League and, growing up, we occasionally played them in the old second division. However, it was steel magnate Jack Walker who put the town on the map in the early ‘nineties. He invested millions in his boyhood team and oversaw a mini-Abramovich revolution in central Lancashire. Until then, Blackburn was probably more memorable for a brief mention in a Beatles song.

“I heard the news today, oh boy. Four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire.”

Well, on this particular “Day In The Life”, there would be nigh-on 4,000 Chelsea in Blackburn, Lancashire.

“On Boy” indeed.

At Frankley Services, just south of Birmingham, I spotted a young lad wearing a Blackburn shirt – the first of the day. I also had a quick chat with Chelsea fan from Abergavenny in South Wales. He’s a season-ticket holder too and attends games at The Bridge with his wife and this involves a 300 mile round trip every fortnight. Fair play to them.

I called in at Stafford to collect Julie and Burger at 10am and we were soon on our way up the M6. Like me, they are looking forward to the Anfield game and it will be a first-time visit for them. I very briefly ran through a list of attractions to see in Liverpool – stop sniggering at the back – and I’m sure they will enjoy themselves. Our talk again centred on our views of fandom and how Chelsea appear to be a special club, to our biased eyes at least.

Up and over one last hill and Blackburn was visible in the valley below.

At midday, I found a safe place to park my Peugeot 207 and we soon found our way to The Fernhurst, one of the first ‘away fans only’ pubs in England. The sun was out, but the temperature was surprisingly cold in the shadows. I think we only took about 2,500 up to Ewood on that miserable Sunday in March last season. However, we had heard that we had sold over 3,500 for this encounter. Chelsea had returned some tickets and so that there would be that very rare entity of away tickets being sold on the day of the game. In The Fernhurst car park, it certainly felt like a big turnout. A few flags were pinned up, including a new one involving the words to the Celery Song and a silhouette of a nubile young girl getting “tickled.” I spotted a Chelsea / Rangers flag and more than a few Scottish accents. Groups of familiar faces were huddled in small groups and there was a general hub-bub of conversation. Bizarrely, two mounted policemen arrived on the scene and positioned themselves in the far corner. The only crimes being committed involved the wanton crushing underfoot of tens of plastic pints on the car park floor.

Burger and me had a couple of Thwaites bitters for a change – a local brew – which went down well. At just after 2pm, we drifted off to the ground. I took Julie and Burgs around to the far corner to take a few photographs of the Jack Walker Memorial. Blackburn had lost their famous player Ronnie Clayton the previous day and there were a few bouquets of flowers at the base of the statue of Jack Walker. During the redevelopment of Ewood Park, a famous old turnstile entrance ( memorably used during a famous commercial in the ‘seventies ), was demolished. However, the brickwork involving the words “Rovers FC” was saved and this is incorporated into the memorial. There is a fountain amidst the red brick and it really works well.

Burger wanted to get his flag up so we entered the ground at about 2.15pm. They were in the upper tier, but my seat was right behind the goal in the lower tier… half Rovers, half Chelsea. I took a few photos of the players in their warm-up…first Petr Cech going through his drills with Hilario and the goalkeeping coach, then the rest of the squad joined in at 2.30pm. A few stretches, a few shots, but then some sprinting drills in front of the Riverside Stand to our right. I noted that as late as 2.40pm, only four thousand spectators were inside the stadium. This is so different to days gone by. Often The Shed was pretty full as early as an hour before kick-off and the ground would be reverberating to Chelsea songs. At Ewood in 2010, things were pretty quiet. Just before the game began, the inevitable rain, but – for once – it soon subsided. On this Halloween Eve, we wore the black and orange kit.

Ronnie Clayton was remembered.

RIP.

I was happy to see Ivanovic back on the right side of the defence. We began well and controlled the first ten minutes, knocking the ball around with ease. An early Drogba header was our only threat, though. Then, for the rest of the first period, Blackburn dominated and our support grew increasingly restless. Our defence was breached on a number of occasions in a ten minute spell, with Benjani the main threat. On one occasion, Petr Cech slipped just as a deft chip was dropping into the net. Thankfully, Petr recovered superbly well and palmed the ball over. In attack, we seemed to be too leaden-footed, too willing to take an extra touch, unwilling to play the ball quickly. Mikel was doing well to hold things together, but the rest of the team were underperforming.

Then, calamity. El Hadji Diouf was pulling the strings on Blackburn’s left and his perfect cross found the leaping Benjani at the far post. Despite JT’s best efforts, his leap was unchallenged and his powerful header flew into the net, just inside the post, right at me.

Groans.

We rarely threatened during the rest of that first period and the away support was pretty quiet.

After a Blackburn attack, Cech spotted the opportunity for a quick break. His sliced kick immaculately found Malouda on the left and I immediately wondered if that is what he had intended. Cech’s kicking is one of his weaker attributes. However, Malouda soon gathered the ball and sent over a long ball towards Didier. His headed knock down was perfect for the unrushing Anelka to prod the ball past Robinson.

Get in.

As I jumped around like a fool, I shouted – “I love that route one football.”

We had weathered the storm. We surely couldn’t play as poorly as in the second period, could we?No, of course we couldn’t.

With Chelsea attacking an increasingly involved away support of 4,000, our mood changed. We had a lot more of the ball, though if I am honest I can’t put my finger on what Ancelotti said at the break to warrant the improvement. I thought that the pairing of Ashley Cole and Yuri Zhirkov were the biggest improvement. The home support sensed Ashley’s threat as they quickly serenaded him with a ditty about his ex-wife.

It was Cole who had the best chance of the half when the ball zipped across the box towards him, but he sliced his effort wide of Robinson’s right post. Drogba was in a strange mood again though and I think he isn’t 100% fit. He seemed half-hearted. As the game drew on, we heard that Manchester City were losing 2-1 at Molyneux and so it would be very frustrating if we couldn’t capitalise. Shots from Zhirkov and spritely substitute Sturridge flew past the goal.

If I am honest, I was always confident our superior quality would tell. However, what a shock from that late Blackburn attack when the ball was deftly played into the lurking Jason Roberts. He shimmied past the last defender and we stood, as one, expecting the worst.

His shot flew past the post and thousands of home fans put their heads in their hands. The Chelsea section, however, roared.

Very soon after, a period of sustained Chelsea pressure ensued and the ball was worked out to the Russian. Zhirkov was faced with a couple of robust Blackburn henchmen in his way, but he nimbly created a yard of space and deftly dug out an inch-perfect cross towards Ivanovic on the far post. Time seemed to stand still as the ball hung in the air. The powerful Ivanovic was waiting. We all saw the gaps in the goal, each side of Robinson. We all jumped with Ivanovic and his crashing downward header filled us with joy as the ball hit the back of the net.

Delirium once again – another last minute winner – and the away end exploded. Several fans rushed past me down the aisle and I bounced around, hugging Mark and Gary, our faces aching with joy. In a croaking voice, a red-faced Alan spoke –

“They’ll have to come at us now.”

And I replied –

“Come on my little diamonds.”

The ignominy of 1995 and that woeful 3-0 loss, plus all those others, were forgotten and we could celebrate amongst our own now. The Chelsea choir responded with our very unique song, born in 2005 but now resurrected –

“That’s Why We’re Champions.”

Phew – all was well with the world, but we all knew we had ridden our luck against a defiant home team. We soon reminded the Blackburn Rovers support of the day’s events –

“One Nil, And You F***ed It Up.”

I took a few photos of the celebrating Chelsea players as I edged my way out of the Darwen End. The joy and emotion in JT’s face is always uplifting and it was wonderful to see that our elation was matched by theirs.

We’re in it together, after all.

After a slow start amongst bumper-to-bumper match traffic, we soon found our way back to the southbound M6. Burger spent a while looking through my photo album from the memorable 1996-1997 season and he made the point about how many players from the team at Wembley have gone into management and coaching – namely Dan Petrescu, Steve Clarke, Dennis Wise, Roberto Di Matteo, Eddie Newton, Mark Hughes, Gianfranco Zola and the substitute Gianluca Vialli. That’s pretty impressive numbers. We were to eventually hear that both United and Arsenal would win, but title challengers Manchester City were now a massive eight points adrift. And it’s only October. I said “adios” to The Burgers at 7pm, knowing that we would inevitably meet up at Liverpool next Sunday. I then continued my homeward journey, listening to “606”, featuring incandescent Tottenham fans, as I went. I gorged myself on a smorgasbord of curry slices, tuna and sweet corn sandwiches, cinnamon whirls, a Red Bull, a McDonalds coffee and a bumper pack of Maynard’s wine gums. Passing through Bristol city centre, I spotted a few local girls ( with accents that could curdle milk ) in Halloween face paint and, for many, it was an improvement.

“Alright, my luvver?”

I reached home at 9.45pm and I soon watched the highlights on “MOTD.” I briefly spotted myself in the build up to our winner as the ball hung in the air ahead of Brana’s header. It’s hard to believe that we have played ten games in the league, yet have only conceded a miserly three goals. That’s pretty phenomenal, yet nobody in the media has noted this. I’m going to suggest that our great defensive record is largely due to the fantastic shield that Mikel gives our back four. Along with Ivanovic, I’d suggest he has been our most consistent performer this season.

I quickly worked out that ‘my’ overall record against those pesky Rovers is now a much more respectable 10-7-10. That’s more like it.

And so we march on.

Tales From The NW Corner Of The MHU

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Wolverhampton Wanderers : 23 October 2010.

I love going to football during the month of October – it feels like the football season is up to full speed, the European campaigns are shaping up, the English countryside is entering its most picturesque period and there is a lovely “nip” in the air. My parents used to guarantee me ”one game before Christmas and one after” and this would often result in a game at The Bridge in October. Back in the seventies, Dad used to park at Ealing Common and we’d get the Piccadilly Line in to Fulham Broadway. I have distinct memories of walking back across Ealing Common at around 6pm, the autumn light fading, my mind full of Chelsea memories from the game we had just witnessed and me kicking conkers across the common, maybe recreating a Garry Stanley pile-driver or a Ray Wilkins blast.

I collected His Lordship at 9am and we were soon heading east. I made the mistake of asking Parky about his army days as we passed Swindon and he was still talking about it as we reached Slough. We were parked at 11am and this was followed by a hearty breakfast and a quick spin around the corner to The Goose.

The usual faces began to appear over the next hour. I spoke with Mark from nearby Westbury and sorted out plans for Anfield. For once, I’m not driving and that will be a nice break for me. Of all the people I would meet in the pub, I’ve known Mark the second-longest. Let’s think…Alan 1984, Mark 1984, Andy D. 1984, Gary, 1989, Daryl 1991, Neil 1992, Frank 1993, Simon 1993, Andy B. 1994, Woody 1998, Parky 2001 and Rob 2006. My closest Chelsea mate ( Glenn 1977 ) wasn’t attending on this occasion. I hate it when work gets in the way of Chelsea. The Tottenham vs. Everton game was on the TV, but nobody was bothering with it. Simon’s son Milo ( 2000 ) was the centre of attention for a few moments…he’s growing up fast these days, his voice is breaking, he’s getting taller…I’m convinced he is noticeably different from the time I last saw him against Arsenal, merely three weeks ago. At his current rate of change, he’s going to have stubble on his chin by Birmingham away and a full beard by the time we play Villa at home on New Year’s Day. He was wearing a lovely Lyle and Scott navy pullover and has long outgrown the desire to cover himself in Chelsea / Adidas / Samsung leisurewear. He’s fitting in nicely with our little family of old school Chelsea die-hards. Milo mentioned his fashion favourites are Fred Perry, Lyle and Scott and Carrhart and I had the distinct impression that he made sure his father was in earshot. It’ll soon be Christmas after all.

Good lad.

The week had been dominated by all of the Rooney nonsense and I was still trying to work out all of the strange developments, the statements, the rumours and counter-rumours. One minute Ferguson appeared crestfallen, the next everything was rosy. I spoke with Parky and Alan about it. I just think it was just horrendous PR from United. I can’t believe that this was a plot by Ferguson and Rooney to engineer funds to become available from the board – especially since the name of Manchester United was dragged through the mud, Rooney’s reputation was hurt and the fans must have been let-down too. I can’t believe Ferguson would have sanctioned that. Let’s hope that the United dressing room is as confused by the events as I am. Let’s hope they continue to drop points. Anyway, that’s enough about United.

Schadenfreude has certainly been rife this past week or so…Liverpool are still in a state of self-inflicted turmoil, Manchester United have endured a nightmare spell and at 8.30pm on Wednesday, Tottenham were 4-0 down at the Giuseppe Meazza.

Happy days.

However, I was pretty dismayed to hear that Portsmouth were possibly playing their last game at Hull City, with their former owner demanding payment on monies owed. What a sad story. I just wish the FA would thoroughly overhaul their “fit and proper persons” check…however, I did make the point that football clubs have been run by useless chairmen for years and years. There’s nothing new in football. It’s just the scale of things these days.

2.30pm soon came around and we departed for the match. I noted to Parky that, apart from a quick comment about Didier Drogba coming back into the team, we had not spoken about the imminent game all day. I met up with Bournemouth Steve ( 2005 ), who was having Glenn’s season ticket for the day, outside the tube and we walked past the Peter Osgood statue on the way in to the Matthew Harding Upper. I bought an extra programme for our mate PD ( 1984 ) who is still in a poor way, struggling to come to terms with his horrific ankle injury. The programme contained confirmation of our Asian tour dates next summer – as it stands, I’m thinking about doing just the Kuala Lumpur and Bangkok games. I have a mate, originally from Frome ( the best footballer in my school year, in fact ) in Thailand and I’d like to spend some time with him and his wife. It would be rude to just call in for a couple of days. They were back in Frome in April and May, just as we were nearing the League title, and I promised them a visit over the next couple of years. With us playing in Bangkok, there are simply no excuses. I’ve never visited Asia – it ought to be a wonderful experience.

Yep, Drogba was back in the team. Good.

As the game began, I had the usual scan of the stadium to see what was going on. Wolves had 1,500 fans in the SE corner. The “Devizes-Wolves” flag was present again. In two weeks, a few of us are going to a Ron Harris and Charlie Cooke evening at a pub near Devizes and that promises to be a good craic. I noted that a few permanent banners had been repositioned…the Roy Bentley, John Terry, Frank Lampard and “Fulham Road” banners were now on the rear wall of the MHU. However, not a good move…lots of fans in the back row constantly stand during the game ( I know I would…) and so the banners are partly hidden. A re-think is needed there.

Wolves began brightly, but we then got into the groove. After 12 minutes, Jose Bosingwa made one of his trademark advances deep into enemy territory and was played in. He unleashed a low shot, but Marcus Hahnemann did well to divert it past his right post. I think everyone in the ground believed he had scored. After 18 minutes, we wondered why Drogba was lining up to take a free kick from about 40 yards out. Surely he should be in the box, for heaven’s sake. However, a great free-kick was played in to a leaping John Terry – completely unmarked – who then headed poorly wide. Wolves had a few attacks – a free header being the best chance.

A lovely move involving Nico and Yuri ended with a great ball being played into Florent Malouda. He was just perfectly positioned and coolly finished. I immediately thought of Danny, out in Rancho Cucamonga, whose first game at HQ last November was against Wolves and Malouda scored first in that game too. Like me, Danny used to get so frustrated by Malouda, but we both acknowledge his massive improvement in form. Soon after, Nico was clean through but shot wildly. He didn’t even hit the target. Despite the lead, the crowd were desperately quiet.

The Wolves fans bellowed “1-0 and you still don’t sing” and I sighed.

At the break, Neil Barnett paraded former Chelsea manager Tommy Docherty around the Stamford Bridge pitch and the applause was heart-warming. He’s now 82 years old, but looks very well. As he walked in front of The Shed, he crouched down and put his hand on the penalty spot – his own little homage to Peter Osgood.

Class.

At the start of the second period, Wolves substitute Stephen Hunt was gently reminded of the word with which his surname rhymes.

Soon after the second-half began, Yuri played in Ashley Cole on one of his world-famous overlaps. It was a delightful ball. However, with three on-rushing Chelsea attackers grouped together on the edge of the box, Ashley seemed to be unsure of which teammate to play in. The chance was lost. As the minutes progressed and as Wolves got more and more into the game, the agitation amongst the home support grew and grew. We were definitely restless. But still the crowd were quiet…only moans were heard, not rousing support.

Shots from Nicolas Anelka, Didier Drogba and Michael Essien were blasted high and wide.

A tremendous through-ball from Ivanovic was played into acres and acres of space for Didier Drogba. We held our breath and expected a goal. However, a poor touch from Drogba and the Wolves ‘keeper smothered the chance. Wolves peppered our goal, but Cech managed to be in the right place at the right time on all of the occasions that an attack developed.

More unrest. More anxious yelps. How we craved a second goal in order to kill off the Wolves threat.

I mentioned to Alan that JT was making more and more forward runs from defence – something I have noticed in recent weeks. This is something which would never have happened under Mourinho and – I have to be honest – I am not so sure I approve. However, I am sure that one day, maybe not for a few years yet, John Terry will go on a 30 yard run and hit an unstoppable shot into the net. Of all his career goals, I cannot remember a JT strike from outside the box.

One day.

Salomon Kalou came on for Florent Malouda on 72 minutes. Within ten minutes, a lovely move ended with a perfect pass from Michael Essien into the path of the substitute. Without blinking an eye, Kalou despatched the ball into the net…

“Thank Heavens For That.”

Not a great game, not a great performance. Our finishing was thoroughly atrocious. No attacking player warranted more than 6/10, though the defence was solid. Drogba was in one of his moods and was more miss than hit. On the way home, I dropped in to Reading Services and a Chelsea fan said that Wolves had been the better team. I simply couldn’t agree with that, but they had certainly given us a good game and looked much-improved from last season. Not to worry, teams tend to struggle after long trips back from Champions League games…after the arctic temperatures in Moscow during the week, at least we won. When I got home, I did some maths. Our last eight Premier League games at Stamford Bridge have all resulted in Chelsea wins. Eight in a row. How many goals have we scored in that run? A mighty thirty-two. How many goals have we conceded? None…none at all.

Our form at home is truly remarkable and I am convinced that the lack of a loud and constant support at home games these days is a direct result of this…we have grown bloated and spoilt as our victories have continued . To remind everyone, our last 126 league games at Stamford Bridge have resulted in just 3 defeats. There is every chance that there are many Chelsea fans who began watching us in the Spring of 2004 and have only seen us lose three times at home in the league. Is it any wonder that some fans think that success is easy – expected, almost – and so why should they bother to sing, shout and get involved? I very well remember the horrible boos last December after we “only” drew 3-3 with Everton. Factor in the obvious socio-economic changes in our support since 1996 and this is what we are up against, everyone. We are victims – atmosphere wise – of our own success.

I’m told we have sold over 3,500 tickets for the away game at Ewood Park next Saturday, so at least I’ll be amongst the more passionate element of our much-maligned support. I’ll be there with Burger and Julie ( 2006 ). There will be a certain poignancy about next week – I’d suggest the away game at Blackburn was the low point of last season. We had just lost at home to Inter, we had a grumbling post-mortem in The Fernhurst car park, United defeated Liverpool just before our game began and we only drew 1-1 against Rovers. I hated the drive home…we were adrift of United and time was running out. Here’s hoping for a better day out in Blackburn this season.

Be sure of one thing though – it will be raining.

You’ll need to bring your jacket – see you all in The Fernhurst.

Tales From Brum

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Aston Villa vs. Chelsea : 14 October 2010.

With no Chelsea game for a fortnight, I should have been ultra-excited about the game at Villa Park. However, for some reason, I seemed to be quite subdued about the whole day ahead. To be honest, Birmingham has never been my favourite city and an away game at Villa has long ceased to excite me too much. As the week drew on, it became evident that more and more Chelsea first-teamers would not make the trip up the M40 due to injury and this weighed on my mind too. Aston Villa are a Jekyl and Hyde team at the moment and there was a chance that they would prove tougher opponents than we might have hoped.

I collected Parky at midday and we were soon on our way as we headed north through the early Autumn countryside of Gloucestershire. The leaves are slowly turning and in a few weeks the colours will be at their peak. An away game at Villa is pretty easy – a quick trip up the M5 and we’re there. We chatted about the plans for the next clutch of Chelsea games, but focussed on plans for the Xmas game at Arsenal. With an 8pm kick-off and all of us on holiday, it could be a messy one…we talked about going up by train, enabling me to have a few cheeky beers. The Killers gave way to The Stranglers on the CD player around Worcester as the blue skies started to cloud over. We were soon at Birmingham. Ahead of us, we spotted the truncated arch of a rainbow and I noted that its lowest section was hovering over the floodlights of The Hawthorns away to my right. West Brom were of course soon to kick-off at Old Trafford and my mind, always keen to seek out sporting metaphors, was going into overdrive.

“Let’s hope The Baggies find a pot of gold today, Parky.”

I drove right past The Hawthorns and additionally remembered that the East Stand at the old stadium used to be called The Rainbow Stand until its demolition in around 2000. The traffic started to clog up a little as we curved south and east through Perry Bar. Time was moving on and I wanted to get parked-up. Alan, Daryl, Gary and Rob ( on a rare excursion out of London ) were drinking in the town centre and I knew Burger and Julie were drinking in the centre too.

We were parked-up at about 3.15pm…time for a few brews in the nearby “Crown & Cushion.” Of course, it was almost a year ago to the day that we last visited Villa Park. That turned out to be a tough game and a tough result on that occasion. This would be my twelfth game at Villa Park.

Over the past week, I have spent quite a few hours tabulating all of the Chelsea games I have had the pleasure to see in person. I have always had a hand-written record , but I eventually got around to putting all the games onto a spread sheet. I haven’t attempted team line-ups yet and the thought of detailing all those players’ names makes me go a little giddy. Maybe I need to out-source that particularly time-consuming task. Visits to Villa Park are near the top of the list of my most-visited away venues –

Liverpool-16
Manchester United-13
Arsenal-12
Aston Villa-12
Portsmouth-10
Tottenham Hotspur-10
Blackburn Rovers-9
Everton-9
Manchester City-9

Villa Park, like so many English stadia, has undergone many changes over the past twenty years. The North Stand was once the newest structure when it was built over the site of more predictable terracing in around 1979, but it is now the oldest stand. There is even talk of re-building the North Stand yet again. Villa Park always used to host F.A. Cup semi-finals and was the quite absurd venue for our semi-final against neighbours Fulham in 2002. The game was originally scheduled for Highbury but Fulham moaned about the 21,000 / 17,000 split of tickets. So, despite the two grounds being just one mile apart, the Football Association forced us to play at 6pm on a Sunday night in Birmingham. The gate at Villa Park was over 4,000 below capacity and it was the Fulham section that was not full. I would estimate that only 16,000 Fulham fans bothered to travel. You could not make it up if you tried. And Fulham have the audacity to sing “WWYWYWS?” to us at every game. Quite unbelievable. They weren’t even there when they were good.

I bought a book last year called “Images Of Football” which contains hundreds of fascinating black and white photographs from the pages of the Daily Mail through the years. One crowd scene is from a Villa vs. Birmingham City derby game at Villa Park in 1930. It is a mesmerizing photograph and I have spent some time just looking at all of the various characters staring out at me. The photographer simply positioned himself a few yards away from the fence at the base of the terrace and took a shot of around 500 spectators. There are no women. There are only 9 young boys, clustered in a group at the front. At least two are blowing raspberries at the camera. At least ten have severe dental problems. Virtually all are wearing caps or hats. One chap is waving a beer bottle and many are smoking. I can only just imagine the comments, jokes and laughter uttered by those 500 strong natives of Birmingham which would have been overheard during that afternoon all those years ago.

“All those people, all those lives, where are they now?” as a native of Manchester once said.

We sank a few pints of Red Stripe on draught in the pub and I sat back as Parky told some tales from The Fighting Years including some familiar stories of scuffles with Cardiff and Southampton fans. People might feel queasy hearing such gruesome tales these days, but often these stories stem from the need for self-preservation rather than an over-riding thirst for violence in itself. I guess you had to be there to understand it all. Thankfully, I was fortunate enough to remain largely unscathed during the era where hooliganism was rife. Sky Sports News was on a few TVs and we heard a loud shout at about 4.15pm. We were soon to learn that West Brom had equalised at Old Trafford, after being 0-2 down. That pot of gold was shining brightly. At the final whistle at Old Trafford, Parky and me had a chuckle then left for the ground. There was slight drizzle as we marched past the terraced houses towards Villa Park. This stretch of road always takes me back to 1996, when we lost 1-2 to United another F.A. Cup semi-final…the walk back to the car was amongst gloating United fans and this easily gets into one of my top ten most miserable Chelsea experiences.

Outside the Doug Ellis Stand, Dave Johnstone was hawking the most recent copy of “CFCUK.”

“Only a pound – hurry up.”

A few familiar faces were in the line for the turnstiles ahead of me and, as Dave spotted them, he gave them a kiss.

“Dave – can I pay £3 for a fanzine as long as you don’t kiss me?”

Alan and Gary were already in their seats in the upper tier as I joined them with a few minutes to go. Gael Kakuta was in, upfront with Anelka and Malouda. Within the first five minutes, we had survived two attacks on our goal. Stuart Downing burst forward down the right wing and we groaned as he easily found Stephen Ireland who was completely unmarked. Thankfully his shot zipped past the far post. Soon after, we lost possession far too easily and John Carew forced an excellent finger-tip save from Petr Cech, way down low to his left. We hadn’t begun the game too well.

Amidst the grumbles in the away support, we found enough spirit to reignite a chant from the Wembley semi-final –

“Seven-One, My Lord, Seven-One,
Seven-One, My Lord, Seven-One,
Seven-One, My Lord, Seven-One,
Oh Lord – Seven-One.”

Our support seemed to be up for it and the “John Terry Has Won The Double” chant got many an airing throughout the game. Gary was next to me and his venom was mainly directed at Ashley Young and John Carew. It’s usually Kalou, so Carew came natural to him.

I was only three seats from the segregated space between us and the home fans. For the first 15 minutes, a line of West Midland police constables were stood next to us, blocking our view and seemingly taking great pleasure in it. Obviously, we moaned and moaned –

“Sit daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.”

To our great pleasure, their sergeant arrived and amidst laughter from us, eventually got them to meekly sit, their helmets peeking over the wooden barrier. It was one of the sights of the season.

“One-nil to the Chelsea.”

It was a poor first half to be honest. We hardly troubled the Villa goal. Kakuta was quiet and we seemed to be rather lack-lustre in the attacking third. Mikel was solid, but few were shining. With the autumn sun quickly disappearing behind the Trinity Road stand opposite, it was rather a sombre mood at half-time.

Thankfully, it was a different story in the second period as Chelsea attacked the North Stand down below us. Kakuta was replaced by Zhirkov at the break and the Russian got stuck in, causing the Villa right flank some problems. To accommodate him, Malouda flipped over to the right wing and I was able to get a closer look of his new braids. In the first-half, this had initially resembled a sleeker version of an eighties-style mullet, but I was now able to see it in all its magnificent glory. In fact, Malouda was one of our best performers, retaining the ball well, despite an often poor first touch. However, Essien’s passes were tending to go astray. Despite more and more of the ball – Villa rarely attacked – our chances were minimal. I commented to Gary – “this is a nil-nil mate.” We again missed Frank bursting forth from his midfield position. Hurry back, mate.

At the end of one Chelsea attack, the ball was headed away for a corner by a Villa defender and I caught this particular moment on film. To our annoyance, the referee gave a goal-kick. I had a quick look at the photo I had just snapped, zoomed-in and noted that I had captured the exact moment that the ball had hit the Villa player’s forehead. With this – and this happened so quickly, nobody may have spotted it – I leant back and threw my camera at the match referee Lee Mason. He quickly picked the camera up, looked at the image, but still pointed for a goal-kick.

Once a referee, always a referee, eh? Who says technology will erase human error?

On 75 minutes, we had a double substitution. After what seems like an eternity, we welcomed Jose Bosingwa back to the team. Jose took over from the steady Paolo Ferreira at right back and we wondered if he would soon be flying up the wing like a man possessed. Josh McEachren replaced the tiring Ramires.

Soon after, Malouda whipped in a great corner and Ivanovic rose to thunder a brilliant header against the upright. This was the first chance of a frantic final ten minutes. At the other end, in front of a surprisingly docile Holte End, Ashley Young’s free kick was edged onto the far post by Clark with Cech beaten. In the final minute, a lovely Cole cross found the on-rushing Anelka eight yards out. However, his down-and-up header bounced onto the bar and the 3,000 Chelsea loyalists held their heads in their hands.

Then – a nightmare. McEachren had shown some deft touches, but easily lost the ball in his own half to Reo-Coker. This looked a certain goal to me and I almost turned away, not wishing to witness such a horrific denouement. Unbelievably, the Villa midfielder advanced but scuffed his shot wide of Cech’s near post.

I could hardly believe it.

So, a 0-0 draw and “as you were” at the top. It wasn’t a great Chelsea show, but I wasn’t too dismayed. We hadn’t, after all, drawn 2-2 at home to West Bromwich Albion. As I descended the stairs, I spotted the BBC commentator Jonathan Pearce and so I had a quick word. He’s a Bristol City fan and so I enquired if his team had won at Cardiff. They had been 2-0 up, but had imploded to a 3-2 defeat. Bristol City are mired at the bottom of The Championship and, as I received my only punch in 36 years of Chelsea games at Ashton Gate back in 1984, I am not shedding any tears at their demise.

As we approached the car, one lone Villa fan was shouting out to a gaggle of Chelsea fans, inviting them to partake in an old-school altercation.

“Come on Chelsea. Let’s go. Let’s have a little row.”

Thankfully, Parky kept his mouth shut and we walked on as things petered out.

Back in the car, we had an impromptu picnic involving Chelsea Buns, Cheddars and Mars Bars and I was soon edging back past The Hawthorns and then south on the M5. I reached home at about 10pm. We were the second-from-last game to be shown on “Match Of The Day” and I could understand why.

I’m not going to Moscow on Tuesday – few are – and so the next game to be entered on the spread sheet will be our encounter with Wolves next Saturday. Hopefully we’ll get a few more first- teamers back into the team and there will be some more goals entered in the “goals for” column.

Tales From The Only Team In London

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Arsenal : 3 October 2010.

This was another manic whirl-wind of a match day at Stamford Bridge – a frantic twelve hours overflowing with travel, chat, laughter, friends and football.

It was a wet and windy Sunday morning and there was considerable “debris” on the road into Frome, following a rough old Saturday night, with small branches and leaves littering the roads. The leaves have started to turn colour over the past week and this felt like a proper autumn day. I collected Glenn and his first words were –

“Yep, it’s a day for the big jackets.”

We picked up Lord Parky and we headed east on the M4, the spray on the motorway making driving a little tiresome. The pre-match vibes were good. We didn’t exactly dismiss Arsenal’s threat out of hand, but we all agreed that we had enough in our collective locker to win the day’s game. Two words alone would strike fear into the Arsenal psyche –

Didier Drogba

It was a very busy pre-match. After a quick breakfast, we left Parky to head into The Goose when it opened at midday, but Glenn and myself hot-footed it down to The Bridge where the clans were gathering. As I turned the corner and headed towards the West Stand, I was able to spot the Peter Osgood statue for the first time. It certainly dominates the West Stand forecourt and quite right too. The statue stands centrally, beneath the club crest, looking out. Initially I thought the body was spot-on, but the face wasn’t that great. However, as I looked at it later, I realised that it was a pretty reasonable likeness. The most important person to judge is The King’s widow Lynn and her praise has been well documented. That’s good enough for me. We met Jules and Steve outside the West Stand, cowering from the rain, then four NYBs soon appeared in the mist – Mike, Stan, Pat and Linda. We then collected the brothers John and George and headed up to spend thirty minutes or so in the Copthorne Hotel. “Kent Blues Gill” was there too…handshakes all round. I acted as cameraman as several group photos were taken of everyone with Ron Harris, Peter Bonetti and Bobby Tambling. Most of “the guests” got to speak with the three Chelsea legends, if only for a few seconds. John especially was bowled over by being able to chat to these former players. A slight glitch with a ticket for John was eventually sorted via a few transatlantic phone calls and all was good.

However, one sight in the hotel bar made me see red ( and blue. )

Two numpties were stood across the way, each wearing Chelsea leisurewear, but with Chelsea / Arsenal friendship scarves tied around their necks. I am not a violent person ( and for those of a delicate disposition, please look away now ), but I was sorely tempted to march over and bang their two heads together, causing severe and lasting pain to them both for the rest of their sad lives.

Instead, I glowered at them as I descended the elevator.

We all heard The Goose calling. I popped back to take a few snaps of the Peter Osgood statue and John and George took photos by the new Chelsea Collage on the perimeter wall. By the time we reached the pub, the place was unsurprisingly rammed, but still offering the best value for pre-match tipples at Chelsea for miles around. I spent my time flitting between the bar, The Bing in the pub and the US guests in the beer garden. The Bing were awash with the usual assortment of Henri Lloyd, Lacoste, CP, North Face, Barbour and the like and I noted that we had all made a “special effort” for Arsenal. The City vs. Newcastle game was on TV, but I gave it a wide berth. In the far corner of the beer garden, we were discussing the rivalry between the Red Sox and the Yankees ( friendship scarves anyone? ), the Ossie statue, the phenomenon of UK-based JCLs, the predilection of Americans to annoyingly quote complete passages of “Monty Python”, John and George’s overuse of the word “Dude”, a host of various Chelsea games from the past and – for a brief moment – Shakespeare.

“Two nil or not two-nil, that is the question.”

All of the NY guests were over for just this one game – a fine effort! Linda’s one previous game at The Bridge was the Wigan 8-0 game last May. I probably said something like “you lucky so-and-so.” Glenn and myself spoke about or friendship which goes back to 1977 and John was lapping up our stories from the past. Parky and his Famous Crutches appeared on the scene and I feared for the two girls who were in our little group. He didn’t disappoint –

“I’m Parky – kiss, kiss.”

As we left, I realised that the rain had stopped and the sun was trying hard to break through. I walked down to the ground with Daryl and we spoke about Bobby Tambling, who scored some 52 more goals than Ossie, but is not well known outside the Chelsea support. He was a fine player in his own right. But it just goes to show how highly Peter Osgood was regarded by us all that Ossie was “the star of that great team,” as the song goes, by quite some margin.

There were a couple of articles about Peter Osgood’s involvement in Chelsea vs. Arsenal games in the match programme, but the game I always remember was the 1973 F.A. Cup quarter-final between the two teams. This is the very first game that I can remember being excited about before it took place. I was seven…my friend Andy Cox ( who I bumped into last week, the first time since about 1992 ) was an Arsenal fan and I was Chelsea. Not sure about the quantity nor quality of the banter in the week before, but I can remember that Arsenal went 1-0 and 2-1 up, only for Hollins ( I think ) and Peter Osgood to equalise. It ended 2-2 and I well remember watching the highlights on TV that evening. Then, on the following Wednesday, I can remember being allowed to stay up to watch the BBC News at 9pm to see brief glimpses of the replay at Highbury. We lost 2-1 and I was heartbroken. But Ossie had the last laugh. On Cup Final day ( when Sunderland beat Leeds United 1-0 ), I can vividly remember that Peter Osgood’s volley at The Bridge was voted “Goal Of The Season.” And there he was – my hero – standing in the TV studio amidst a massive pile of envelopes and postcards with the correct answer and it was Ossie’s job to pick a winner.

I got to hear my hero speak – this was all too much!

We love you Ossie.

There was the usual scrum to get in to the Matthew Harding, but I reached my seat just as the teams came onto the well-watered pitch. Alan and myself quickly scrambled down to the front of the upper tier and held by hand-made Peter Osgood banner aloft for a minute or two. I was hoping that Sky might spot it, but I think it went unnoticed. The US guests were huddled together in the Shed Lower, by the SW corner flag and Mike soon texted me to say he had snapped the banner as it was held aloft.

We weren’t sure if Zhirkov or Ramires would complete the midfield, but Carlo Ancelotti chose the latter. I noted just two Arsenal flags – pathetic.

Within thirty seconds, a Chamakh header flew at Cech’s goal and, from the resultant corner, another header was put over the bar. This seemed to set the tone for the early exchanges. Arsenal – as they do – moved the ball around at will and we seemed to be content to give them space. An Arshavin screamer was saved by Cech, at full stretch, but Arsenal were generally reluctant to shoot. A Nasri shot went narrowly wide, but Cech was largely untroubled.

Didier bore down on the Arsenal goal in the inside-right channel on 34 minutes, but could only force a save at the near post. However, we were getting in to the game and five minutes later, Ramires won a tackle, then slid in Ashley Cole with a perfect pass behind the full back. In front of the Arsenal support, Ashley slid a ball in. Didier arrived and I’ll be honest – I didn’t know how he did it, but I soon saw the ball nestling inside the far post.

We erupted – and I immediately thought of our trans-Atlantic guests being able to see the players celebrate right down in the SW corner.

With the news that Blackpool had won at fellow relegation strugglers Liverpool, the place was buoyant at the break. Lynn and Darren Osgood came on to the pitch to a warm reception and then Neil Barnett walked Erland “Moon Man” Johnsen around the pitch to an equally fine show of affection.

It was more of the same in the second period. Lots of Arsenal possession and mounting nervousness all around me. Arsenal were again goal-shy though and it was Chelsea who managed to carve out the more clear cut chances. Ramires was growing with each passing minute, but Mikel and Essien were the real stars in my eyes. The destructor Mikel, so strong and determined and looking more and more settled in our midfield. The rampaging Essien, no tackle too hard, no challenge too tough, no foraging run too difficult. Ramires set Didier Drogba off with the ball of the game, a delightfully paced pass using the outside of his foot, curving beautifully into Drogba’s run on the left.

Anelka sensed frailty in the centre of the Arsenal defence and pestered the defender into losing the ball. He calmly approached Fabianski, rounded him but then inexplicably hit the side netting. Anelka then lofted the ball into the path of Cole, but his shot into the net was ruled offside. It looked level in our eyes, but maybe we are biased. Chamakh had another clear header, but headed over.

Then, a free kick about thirty yards out. Drogba had taken a few free-kicks during the game, to no avail. The crowd were again bellowing for Alex. I pulled my camera up to my eyes and focussed on the ball. I widened the lens a little to spot Alex’ advance and waited.

A blur of blue – snap! – and I pulled the camera away from my eyes.

The ball flew.

It was a bludgeoning hammer, a swerving thunderbolt, a screaming torpedo. I gasped at its ferocity and, as the back of the net bulged, Stamford Bridge roared like hardly ever before.

A roar from me too, then I honed in on Alex on his run towards the West Lower.

Snap, snap, snap, snap. The look on John Terry’s face as he jumped on top of the huddle of players was really fantastic…one of absolute pleasure. I looked up and the Arsenal fans were leaving and it was another beautiful sight. The Chelsea fans, I felt, had been too nervous to fully get behind the team in the way I would have liked, but we soon made up for it. With the Arsenal support speeding for the exits we bellowed –

“One Team In London, There’s Only One Team In London – One Team In London, There’s Only One Team In London.”

I’m sure you all heard us.

We even had time for a few more good goalscoring chances in the dieing embers of the game, but 2-0 would be enough. What a fantastic result.

As we drifted past the Peter Osgood statue, the fans serenaded him once more and a Chelsea tradition was surely borne there and then. After every game – win, lose or draw – let’s do the same.

We sat in traffic for ages and ages, listening to the moaning Gooners on “606” – but we could almost share their frustration. They do play some good stuff, up until the penalty box, but they desperately need a 25-goal per season striker. They miss Thierry Henry and the current team is a pale shadow of the 2003-2004 team. Why Wenger doesn’t spend is a real mystery and I can sense that the Arsenal fans are losing their patience. The three of us, maybe typically underestimating our performance, had recognised Arsenal’s superior possession and were pleasantly surprised by the radio commentator’s praise of both our strength and Arsenal’s weaknesses.

Parky made a comment that we had “chiselled out a win” and I think this was a fine summation. We had defended deep, content with our defensive abilities – JT’s positioning was superb all game – and were far more direct when we attacked. With that, Parky slumped and fell asleep, his exertions taking its toll. Glenn soon joined him, leaving me to steer the ship home.

Tales From A Champions League Night At HQ

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Marseille : 28 September 2010.

This was to be a monumental night in deepest SW6 for one CIA regular – Jules ( ChelseaChickSoCal ) is over for a week or two and is staying with her brother Steve in Cheltenham. The game against Olimpique Marseille would be their first game at Stamford Bridge. Additionally, Jules had arranged for John ( who also posts on CIA ) and his brother George to meet us in The Goose and this, too, would be their debut at HQ. We had arranged for Jules and Steve to drive the hour or so to Chippenham and then travel up with His Lordship and yours truly.

Luckily I had arranged to negotiate an earlier-than-usual “escape time” from work, so there was no stressful scurry up to London. The timings were perfect and we left bang on 3.30pm. Lord Parky had been drinking across the road at The Pheasant from 2.30pm and was already four pints to the good…or bad…for those who know Parky, take your pick.

I made good time amidst the M4 traffic as we chatted about all things Chelsea. I remember reading Jules’ first few posts on CIA and her story is pretty amazing…via a conversation with dear Vic on a stadium tour, she was put in the direction of Andy’s OC Hooligans and Jules hasn’t looked back. Stories of football, Chelsea, fandom and England were swapped between the four of us and it was a perfect pre-curser to the night’s game.

I posed the question to Jules –

“Which three football stadia can be seen from the M4?”

At 5.30pm, we had reached The Goose and the first pints were soon ordered. A few of my mates were already there, soon to be augmented by others as the evening progressed. The Spartak vs. Zilina game was on TV – unfortunately, as I looked at all those empty bright yellow seats at the Luhzniki in Moscow, all I could think of was a certain game in 2008. As Alan said, it looked like the rain hadn’t stopped since.

John, who I briefly met in Baltimore, arrived at about 6.15pm after battling his way through the pub regulars. I reintroduced myself by saying –

“Yeah, photographic evidence would suggest that I was in Baltimore, but I’m really not convinced.”

For anyone who survived Baltimore, you’ll know what I mean.

John had kindly collected the tickets for the four of them at the box office. Within a few moments of arriving in our little corner, tucked under the TV screen, the historic handing over of Jules’ first ticket took place. Jules was beaming as she grabbed the ticket and uttered one word.

“Awesome.”

There was much laughter from us both. You can take the girl out of California…

John and George had been staying down in Winchester and had been doing the tourist trail, including visits to Salisbury and Portsmouth. It’s a nice part of the world. John was trying to talk George into extending their visit an extra week past their planned Monday departure. I immediately made the comment that there was no Chelsea games next week, so why would anyone want to hang around? I was only half-joking.

“Get yourselves home and start saving money for the next Chelsea trip!”

At just after 7pm, Jules, Steve and myself set off down the North End Road, leaving Parky, John and George guzzling with a few of the lads in the boozer. It had been a fine pre-match. I pointed out all of the pubs on the walk down to the stadium – one day we’ll do them all on the best pub-crawl of all time. I took a photo of Jules and Steve outside The So Bar, then headed off inside. I left them with two instructions –

“Enjoy the game and sing like fuck.”

The CL match programmes this year are slightly different…white and not blue, with a spine, like the monthly magazines. The content is the same as the normal ones, though. Same price, too. That’s unlike Chelsea. I’ll talk to Roman about that.

Another midweek game, another full house.

As I settled in my seat, I spotted the four US visitors in row two of the Shed Upper, right behind the Peter Osgood “Born Is The King” banner. Dead central. I had mentioned to them that not only did I want the team to perform, I also ( probably more importantly ) wanted the Chelsea fans to perform too. I wanted them to be buzzing with the noise. For me, that’s what Chelsea is about…the team may not always be title-challengers or cup-winners, but there’s no reason why Chelsea fans can’t make the ground shake.

There were a few empty seats towards the rear section, but the c.3,000 Marseille fans stood the entire game and were in rollicking good form. The balcony was festooned with various banners – one Ultra flag was the largest, but I noted two strange ones, heralding two of the club’s fan groups.

At the front of the lower tier – “DODGER’S”

On the balcony – “YANKEE.”

I had to text a few choice individuals in California with the news that two of baseball’s teams had been spotted in deepest London.

Danny replied –

“Who are these people?”

I replied –

“Educated.”

It was baseball’s biggest intrusion into SW6 since the New York Giants and the Chicago White Sox played an exhibition game at Stamford Bridge in the ‘twenties.

The game began and there were no complaints from me with our early form. Of course, this was an injury-weakened team, with several first-teamers missing through injury and suspension. Kakuta was given a start again and I hoped he would shine. The Marseille fans wasted no time in hurling tons of abuse at the former PSG striker Anelka and it instantly reminded me of the night in 2004 when 40,000 PSG fans made life very unpleasant for Didier Drogba, as the former Marseille player returned to the Parc Des Princes. Of all the rivalries in France, the PSG / OM one is the most bitter.

Meanwhile, we booed ex-United left back Gabriel Heinze.

Yet another early goal – JT toe-poking in a corner – but I annoyingly missed it as I was mid-text. Ironically, Alan alongside me missed it due to the same reason. We’ve been varying it a bit recently and our “THTCAUN” and “COMLD” contained a horrid mixture of French and English words on this particular occasion. ( Against Newcastle, our two trademark phrases were said with a Geordie twang. ) Anyway, my French teacher from school days would not have been happy…

”Allez vous, mes petite diamonds.”

I texted Jules the original “They’ll Have To Come At Us Now” and she did me proud –

“COMLD.”

The away fans were making a hell of a racket – pointing, chanting, swaying – and were at their noisiest just before we were awarded a penalty. We didn’t get a good glimpse of the handball which lead to the penalty, but I steadied my camera as Anelka – with the OM fans baying – took the smallest of run-ups and scored again via another impudent finish. Two goals right in front of Jules, Steve, John and George – lovely stuff.

We played the ball around nicely for the rest of the first period, with Mikel and Essien dominating the midfield nicely. Not much from Kakuta, though. We missed Frank’s forward runs on a few occasions, especially when the ball dropped loose on the edge of the box a few times.

At half-time, who else but Didier Drogba appeared to a great reception from home and away fans alike…the Marseille fans sang their “tra, la, la, la, las” and everyone was happy.

What happened in the second period, eh?

Marseille began strongly and kept going…probing away, moving the ball nicely. Over the course of that second forty-five minutes, we found it difficult to put two passes together. Ironically, though, although Marseille out-shot us, we had the best two chances. On 66 minutes, we were chanting again for Alex to take a free-kick and the resultant whiz-banger crashed against the post. Then, a lovely pass from substitute Ramires found Essien who blasted against the same post. Despite only glimpses of fluid play, we could have won the game 4-0. Despite Marseille’s dominance, all of their ensuing shots seemed to be down Petr Cech’s throat.

Easy.

Our support seemed to be both frustrated, yet quiet. Where was the passion of last week’s throaty performance against Newcastle when we were 3-1 down and the crowd responded magnificently? I was feeling for our four Bridge Virgins in row two. The Shed Singing Section were quiet for most of the game and the MH too. The Marseille support had one more trick up their sleeves, though. With just a few minutes left, everyone turned around with their backs to the game, linked arms and starting bouncing. It was quite a spectacle, believe me. I had never seen that before I must say.

An Essien chance – the last one – whizzed past the goal and the game petered out.

Everyone reassembled back at the car and, despite typical road works on the M4 ( welcome to England! ), I made good time on the return journey. We stopped for a Scooby Snack at Reading Services – yes, a can of Red Bull for me – and with Parky sleeping in the front, dialogue was minimal on the way home. We had won, of course, but our second-half performance wasn’t great. Steve was philosophical though – the defence was strong – and it goes without saying that Jules had enjoyed herself…no question!

And on Sunday, we’ll do it all again.

Tales From Eastlands

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Manchester City vs. Chelsea : 25 September 2010.

Another early kick-off, another early start. I left my home village at 7.15am and I was soon texting Alan that I was on the road.

“Jenson Button.”

The Formula One World Champion spent his childhood just a mile or so away from my home – as I never tire of telling the world. The two villages of Mells and Vobster have always been separate but the now redundant Vobster church used to be within the Mells parish, plus the Mells village football club is officially entitled Mells And Vobster United. My grandfather Ted played for the team back in the roaring twenties, while I played a handful of games for the reserve team in the early ‘eighties, before my love of watching soon over took my love of playing.

As I headed past Writhlington School, I was reminded of the tough battles that my school teams used to have against that school when I was a right-winger for Oakfield School, then Frome College. I remember a tough-tackling left back, who resembled Malcolm MacDonald the Newcastle striker, who I always seemed to be up against.

I then drove through the old mining town of Radstock – a little piece of Northern England transplanted into north Somerset, complete with terraced houses and slag heaps of coal waste – as the low morning sun lit up the houses. The rain which had been forecasted was nowhere to be seen and it was a beautiful start to the morning.

With the ground of Welton Rovers to my right, I remembered the game I watched there the night after Barca beat us in the CL semi last year – Frome Town came from a goal down to defeat local rivals Paulton Rovers in the Somerset Senior Cup Final…a game watched by over 1,000.

I then passed through Farrington Gurney and I thought back to a brilliant night I had enjoyed back in 2006, just after our back-to-back title, when I met up with Ron Harris and Kerry Dixon at a charity event at the local golf club.

At Pensford – home of ‘sixties musician Acker Bilk – I drove past a pub called “The Travellers Rest” and it brought back beautiful memories of Chelsea’s 2005 League Championship, when three very contented Chelsea fans called in for a celebratory pint on the drive back from Bolton.

It then suddenly dawned on me that I had been driving for just fifteen minutes, but yet my mind had been swamped by football memories from my past and it seemed to sum it all up. Wherever I go in Britain, there are football memories nearby , just waiting to be exposed. I had a little laugh to myself and thought “enough!” – I still had four hours of driving to do before I would reach Manchester…I’d best start thinking about “other stuff.”

I soon reached Bristol – and that’s another story.

Via a chain of events too complicated to retell here, I managed to get tickets for both Burger and Julie, now residing in Stafford and so the plan was to collect them en route to Manchester. Parky, meanwhile, had some great news during the week – he wasn’t originally able to afford to go to the game, but a gang of Chelsea from Trowbridge had hired a stretch limo for the day and one chap – Shep – was unable to attend. So – in lieu of the many pints that Parky had bought Shep in their youth, Parky was called in as a last minute replacement and it was all free-of-charge…happy days indeed. I wondered how they were all getting on in their white Hummer…I kept a look out for them as I headed north.

I stopped at Strensham to refuel the car and a Subway breakfast roll, the Malvern hills to my west, the Cotswolds to my east and the sky completely devoid of clouds. I passed a Bath City coach on its way to Fleetwood Town.

At 9.45am, I had navigated the tight narrow streets of Stafford town centre and was parked up outside Burger’s house, as surreal an experience that I have had in the past few years following Chelsea. Who would have thought that when we all met up in New York last summer and caught the train down to watch the boys play in Baltimore, that just over a year later, they would be living in Staffordshire and I would be taking them to a game at City? A cup of coffee was waiting for me and I was given a brief tour and history of the house…it’s lovely and Julie is especially thrilled with her little English cottage. Burger is equally chuffed with the Bear & Pheasant pub, just five doors down, where he is already one of the locals.

Proper Burger. Proper Chelsea.

It didn’t take long to reach to reach Manchester – the time soon passed as I spoke about my history as a student in Staffordshire and Burger spoke of his life as a student in Toronto. We exchanged stories on the drive through the flat Cheshire Plain.

The time was shooting by, but I wanted to give them both a quick taste of Manchester before we parked-up. I drove in past Old Trafford and momentarily parked outside the forecourt so Burger and Julie could see the Munich Clock, the Sir Matt Busby and Holy Trinity statues. I quickly spoke about the match-day experience at Old Trafford – the pubs, the rituals, the colour – but was soon on my way again…a quick glimpse of the Imperial War Museum North on the banks of an old wharf at Salford Quays, then into the city centre. As we slowly drove past impressive red brick buildings, Julie commented that she was reminded of the financial district of downtown Toronto.

At 11.30am, we were parked-up at Piccadilly and we fastened our jackets for the swift walk to the stadium, out past some Victorian canals and new apartment blocks.

Before we knew it, we had met Lovejoy and Burger had collected his ticket…he would be sitting ( or rather standing ) in the lower tier, while Julie’s ticket was, bizarrely, the row in front of my ticket. Alan and Gary were talking to birthday boy Andy, but Julie and myself soon shot into the stadium to tie Burger’s flag to the balcony wall, dead centre…job done.

This was a milestone for me in my Chelsea life – Game Number 800 – and I got Alan to take a photo of me for posterity. Looking back through the years, it’s clearly apparent that my attendance at Chelsea is a result of my salary increases…if I had my way, I would have reached 800 years ago.

Game 1 16.3.74 Chelsea 1 Newcastle United 0
Game 100 21.3.87 Chelsea 1 West Ham United 0
Game 200 4.2.95 Coventry City 2 Chelsea 2
Game 300 5.3.98 Real Betis 1 Chelsea 2
Game 400 31.3.01 Chelsea 2 Middlesbrough 1
Game 500 9.9.04 Chelsea 3 Real Zaragoza 0
Game 600 5.12.06 Chelsea 2 Levski Sofia 0
Game 700 29.10.08 Hull City 0 Chelsea 3
Game 800 25.9.10 Manchester City vs. Chelsea

The way I am accelerating away, I’ll soon be seeing games before they are played.

The stadium, an oasis of sky blue, slowly filled up and I again noted that City have a lot of permanent banners on show at Eastlands.

“We’re Not Really Here.”

Just before kick-off, who else but Parky, plus a few other familiar faces from West Wiltshire appeared and sat a few seats away. I’m just glad they made it intact. Parky was predictably wobbly…and reeking of alcohol, bless him.

During the opening passage of play, City had more possession and were constantly exploiting our right flank, where Branislav Ivanovic was constantly finding himself marking two attackers. On a couple of occasions the midfield man ( Mikel then Essien ) did not shift over and close down the man with the ball, leaving Ivanovic covering both once the ball had been played to the wide man Milner. I clearly saw Ivanovic shout at Mikel the word “speak!” when this happened the first time. I’ve often said that we aren’t a great team of talkers, JT excepted.

We then enjoyed more of the ball, but there was a distinct lack of movement upfront. On 27 minutes, Drogba took a short corner and I shouted “what is the point?”, only for the resultant cross to be headed across goal by Nico for Ivanovic to head against the bar. Chuckles from Alan and myself…” I’ll keep making the wrong call, if it leads to more chances, Al.”

This seemed to be the quintessential Italian game, with Signori Ancelotti and Mancini in charge, the former Milanese managers transplanted to these shores, but reverting to type. We had more and more of the ball, but less and less chances…the Chelsea support was getting frustrated. The support wasn’t great either, but it’s difficult at City as the away support is split in two. To be fair, the home fans weren’t too vociferous either. The warm sunshine which had greeted our arrival in town had disappeared in the cold shadows of the stadium and everyone inside looked freezing…jackets buttoned tightly, caps on.

The first song on the PA at half time was the Joy Division classic “Love Will Tear Us Apart.”

Either that, or James Milner, I thought.

We began the second period brightly with Anelka soon forcing a save from Joe Hart. The Chelsea support was roused and we got stuck in. However, we easily lost possession and the ball was worked by City to Carlos Tevez. With both JT and Ashley Cole backing off, I screamed

“One of you go to him!”

I’m sure the same sentiments were shared by Burger in the Lower Tier, Andy in Orange County, Bob and Pete in San Francisco, Gumby in Texas, Rick in Ohio and Steve in South Philly.

An excellent strike by Tevez and were were 1-0 down.

This was always going to be a tough game – City will be in the mix at the end of May – and I would have been content with a draw going in to the game. Now, our powers of recovery were to be tested. Could we do it? We still had a lot of the ball, but we were limited to long shots from Essien, plus a couple of free headers from Alex and Ess. Sturridge took lots of abuse from the home fans and didn’t provide much final product when he was brought on for the surprisingly quiet Drogba.

I thought John Terry was our most consistent player on the day and his “never say die” spirit was encapsulated in the last minute when he won a tackle by stooping to head the ball on the ground, with City boots swinging around him.

City had defended well and their team had showed more fight, spirit and passion. It was a strange Chelsea performance and our squad looks a little on the thin side with no Frank, Yossi or Kalou. The sight of the massive bulk of Yaya Toure against the slight Ramires will be my abiding memory of the day.

Throughout the game, fellow spectators in our row were constantly getting up to go out to use the toilets…up, down, up, down, “excuse me, ‘scuse me”…”weak bladder mate?” Up, down, up, down. It was annoying the hell out of Gary, who chirped

“F – ing hell, there’s more movement in this row than there is in our f –i ng team today.”

Howls of laughter.

That good old gallows humour always helps.

Julie and myself were almost out when I suddenly remembered “Burger’s Flag” and we had to fight the descending Chelsea fans all of the way back up the stairs. There was Burger, with a “face on”, standing in the lower seats. I’m not sure if he was unhappy with the team or for me for forgetting his flag.

Wink.

We slowly edged through the terraced back streets of the City heartland of South Manchester – Longsight, Burbage and Didsbury – and were buoyed by the goals being scored at the Emirates and Anfield, but the mood in the car wasn’t great. We had a brief post-mortem. However, Burger and myself shared a few inevitable laughs and by the time I had reached Stafford at about 5pm, with Arsenal’s demise taking the sting off our defeat, things were back to normal…we were planning our next trip together, and even thinking of potential away games in the F.A.Cup…

“Number 54 – Stafford Rangers…will play…Number 11 – Chelsea.”

It was lovely to spend some time with Julie and Burger – great to see their infectious enthusiasm for my country and their plans for the future. I was almost jealous of them – they are able to look at England with fresh eyes and a thousand days of new towns, new villages, new experiences ( to say nothing of Chelsea gamnes ) lie ahead for them both.

After 390 miles, I reached home at about 8pm and watched the highlights of the game on the English institution that is “Match Of the Day.”

It was – of course – a bad day at the office, but we’ll bounce back.

We do a lot of bouncing at Chelsea.

Tales From West London

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Newcastle United : 22 September 2010.

Oh boy – on Saturday, I was trying to remember the last team to score against us at Stamford Bridge.

After three weeks of no Chelsea games for me, I’m now in the middle of a “four games in ten days stretch.” Busy times. I do love football at this time of the year, especially the mid-week matches, where the fading sun provides a lovely backdrop to the evenings’ entertainment.

I was able to leave work at just after 4pm. Unfortunately, the 96 miles to HQ took over two and a half hours due to congestion around Heathrow airport. As is usually the case, Parky and myself spent the time chatting about all sorts. We talked about the current TV mini-series “This Is England ‘86” which is an exceptional follow-up to the Shane Meadows film of a few years back. Gritty working class drama with magnificent characters, plus some unforgettably dark humour too. A shame there is just one episode left.

We drove past Brentford’s Griffin Park, where Everton – The Toffees – had become unstuck the previous night.

There is an advertisement for Lucozade ( an energy drink ) which has reappeared on this stretch of the elevated section of the M4. It was originally torn down in 2004 – and I hated the fact it had disappeared, as I always used to look out for it on our pilgrimages to Chelsea as a kid. It seems that other people missed seeing it, too, as there has been a warm response to it appearing in February, albeit in a location 200 yards away from the original. It brought a “whoop” of joy from Parky, Glenn and myself when we spotted it for the first time last season. I’m sure there are ex-pats living around the world will enjoy seeing it over the years too, on their taxi cab rides from London Heathrow.

Welcome back!

Parky usually has around ten classic “Chelsea stories” which get aired every few weeks.

“Yeah, I remember you telling me” never seems to work as he launches into yet another repeat of Nottingham Forest 1985, Watford 1981 or Preston North End 1980. However, a new story – a new story, I tell you! – had me laughing as we approached Hammersmith, the clock ticking towards 7pm. He told me the story of a game over the Christmas period back when he was in his ‘twenties and a gang of Chelsea travelling up by train from Trowbridge, standing in the area by the buffet, knocking back cans of lager and getting stuck into some riotous and aggressively non-PC Chelsea songs of the time. They were making a hell of a racket. However, every time the doors swished open and a family with small children appeared, they immediately switched to singing Christmas carols. I quickly imagined the scene –

“The famous Tottenham Hotspur went to Rome to see the Pope and this is what he said – Ding Dong merrily on high, in heaven the bells are ringing.”

“Spurs are on their way to – Old King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen.”

“Chelsea here, Chelsea there, Chelsea every – away in a manger, no crib for a bed.”

We were parked up at the usual spot at around 6.45pm and we hot-footed it to the beer garden of The Goose, where we bolted down a pint apiece. To be honest – and this happens quite a lot – the game against the Geordies hadn’t occupied too much of my mind since Sunday and I was more focussed on the trip to Eastlands on Saturday. Burger would be travelling with me for that one and was on the look out for another ticket for Julie. Luckily – very luckily – Rob happened to mention that Millsy had a spare…a few texts and phone-calls later, we were sorted.

We were only in the pub for twenty minutes. The place didn’t seem as busy as it is for weekend games…Parky and myself really wondered if we’d get anywhere near a full house, despite the £20 tickets across all areas.

I picked up a match programme and flicked through the pages on the quick approach to the Matthew Harding. My attention was drawn again to the piece by Rick Glanvill detailing a game from our history.

October 25th 1980 – Chelsea 6 Newcastle United 0

This was a game I well remember – this was my eighteenth Chelsea game and I travelled up from Frome with my father, his former boss ( a cousin of the great English comedian Kenneth Horne ) and two school friends…Pete ( Manchester United ) and Kev ( Tottenham Hotspur ). It was a magical day as Chelsea played some really excellent stuff on that autumn day some thirty years ago. Colin Lee nabbed a hat-trick and we played with two old-fashioned wingers for the first time in a while. It really was a 4-2-4 formation, with Phil Driver and Peter Rhoades-Brown providing the crosses for Lee and Clive Walker. We were rampant against a team which included Chris Waddle in one of his first games. Our legendary ‘keeper Petar Borota was playing for us and I remember a particularly acrobatic save at The Shed in the first-half when it was 0-0.

An extra bonus was the fact that the TV cameras were present. At Sunday’s game, Rob mentioned the buzz we used to get back in those times when we used to get to The Bridge and see the TV cameras in position.

“Great – we’ll be on the highlights this weekend!”

The fans of today live in a different world.

I remember quite a bit from the game. In the 1974 to 1980 period, we used to watch from the lower tier of the East and on this occasion we were behind the away bench, maybe eight rows back. The Newcastle manager at the time was Arthur Cox and my cheeky mate Pete took great pleasure in shouting “Cox out! Cox out! Cox out!” when we were scoring our last few goals. To accompany Rick’s piece in the programme, there were around four black and white photos from the game…annoyingly, in one photo, we are out of shot by a matter of yards. I remember that Gary Chivers’ goal was selected as one of the Goals Of The Season in 1980-81 by the BBC and we could be seen in the build-up. There I am in a green jacket and a blue and white bar scarf around my neck. At the time, it was the best game I had seen, despite it being a second division encounter.

I texted Pete and he replied “Great – happy days” and we then exchanged some texts as the Chelsea vs. Newcastle United and Scunthorpe United vs. Manchester United games were played out. Pete is a great friend – my oldest – and he actually played against me in my first-ever 11-a-side game in the autumn of 1974. Where does the time go?

Another mate called Pete – a Newcastle fan from Scunthorpe – was in touch during the evening, too. Everyone keeping in contact, the football uniting us all – perfect.

I was amazed that it was another full house. Well done everyone. The away fans resembled a big jar of mint humbugs in the corner opposite. I noted a TV gantry positioned on the balcony wall above the away fans in the Shed Lower – I’ve never seen one there before.

“Great, we’re on TV!”

I noticed a new banner in the MHU – “History Makers.” This must’ve been the winner in the CSG competition I believe.

No complaints with the team selection – a nice mix of youth and experience.

But what a crazy game.

We began very brightly and scored yet another early goal, from a lovely finish from Van Aanholt. However, the immense and bulky frame of Sol Campbell soon retaliated with a header which flew past Ross Turnbull’s right post.

A warning sign.

However, we were playing some nice football in the opening fifteen minutes, with Benayoun especially making some nice runs and looking as though he was energised by the night’s encounter.

Pete The Geordie texted me –

“Scunny One Up – Come On!”

This piece of good news was not mirrored at The Bridge as Newcastle got back into the game and lead 2-1 at the break. Defensive frailties resulted in an equaliser on 26 minutes. Ameobi had an incredible “air shot” soon after and then an awful defensive wall failed to stop a bullet of a free-kick from Taylor. Ameobi was clean through on 38 minutes, but Brouma did ever so well to thwart him with a great sliding tackle.

There was a full moon arcing its way through the night sky as the game progressed and I took quite a few photographs…I’m not saying the football was that bad, though!

Moans and groans from the home support at the break.

Despite his links – on two separate occasions – with Spurs, Gus Poyet was given a superb reception at half-time.

“Poyet – There’s Only One Poyet.”

Into the second-half and two substitutions – Alex for JT and Kalou for a very quiet Gael Kakuta. However, an awful blunder at the back gave Ameobi a clean run before he placed a shot past Turnbull at The Shed End. We all thought Turnbull should have done a lot better.

Yet more groans.

On 53 minutes, Salomon Kalou pulled up as he was chasing a through ball. It annoyed me that not everyone clapped him off, nor clapped on his replacement Josh McEachran.

On 62 minutes, Yossi pulled up too. Oh hell – we were down to ten men.

After 64 minutes, Alex hit the post after following a free-kick which rebounded back off the wall.

And then it happened. With the team showing signs of being roused, the home fans turned up the volume with the best show of support I have seen this season at The Bridge. I was loving it and prayed that the team would sense the desire amongst our fans. An inch-perfect ball found Van Aanholt on an overlap and his first time ball was finished with glee by Nicolas Anelka. This was a spectacular bit of football and the crowd roared our approval.

“Come on Chelsea – Come on Chelsea – Come on Chelsea – Come on Chelsea.”

A few texts flew around as the game progressed, the noise increasing with every minute. We were all very impressed with substitute McEachren, who showed great poise and skill in that central midfield birth. Ramires, however, did not impress me with his passing…and Sturridge was poor too.

There was an amazing last ten minutes. On 85, Alex ( getting forward at every opportunity ) was fouled below me and a penalty.

Another roar.

I steadied myself and held the camera in place to capture Anelka’s impudent strike. The noise continued on and it was turning into an amazing game. Paolo Ferreira hit a stonking volley which crashed against the near post.

How would it end? I was preparing for extra time and penalties…

In the last minute of normal time, that man Ameobi glanced in a header from a corner and the ball nestled in at the far post. This was hard to take. Seeing the fans in that away segment bounce around like loons reminded me of a Les Ferdinand equaliser in the 95th minute of a FA Cup game in 1996. At this point, a lot of the home support decided to leave.

Why? Why? Why?

Six minutes of extra time was announced and this stemmed the flow of fans leaving. Big John thumped the balcony wall down below me and the supporters around me recommenced the chants which had so buoyed the team in the last twenty minutes.

We hoped and prayed.

It was not to be.

I texted a “well done” to Geordie Pete.

After the game, I collected the ticket for Manchester City outside the So Bar as the Newcastle fans trooped past – it had been their first win in any competition at The Bridge since November 1986. Good luck to them…there are teams in England I dislike more.

Parky and myself decided on a curry at the Garden Tandoori on the Lillie Road before we headed back along the M4 to Wiltshire and Somerset. It had been some game. We were concerned about the injuries we had sustained but the major plus points were the form of Josh McEachren ( when Frank hangs up his boots, he could be the man ) and our support which was loud and passionate.

When I eventually got home at 1.45am, I flicked on the TV and experienced a warm glow of schadenfreude when I saw that Liverpool had lost to Northampton in front of just 22,000 at Anfield.

“Oh dear”, I thought,” our obsession with Liverpool’s demise shows no signs of abating.”

Ho ho ho.

We reconvene at Eastlands at 12.45pm on Saturday.

See you all there.

Tales From The Big Easy

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Blackpool : 19 September 2010.

With the Stoke City game a distant memory, the Blackpool match couldn’t come quick enough for me. Three weeks with no Chelsea game for me represented a real mid-season drought and the longest time I had “gone without” since late summer in 2003, when my mother’s ill health resulted in me missing four home games. I can remember my huge pleasure at getting back into the swing of things with a game at Wolves and I realised then how much attending Chelsea games meant to me. Back in 2003, I had missed the first three weeks of the Abramovich era – who were all these new players? That Wolves game was a landmark game in my Chelsea life…I can’t put into words the joy I felt at seeing the team play again.

Back to 2010 and an extra bonus – my mate Glenn volunteered to drive up, so I was able to kick back and relax. He called for me at 10am, dressed like a spokesman for Quicksilver ( his VW van even had a Quicksilver logo ) and Lord Parky was collected by 10.30am.

We were on the road.

The first portion of the drive up to London was spent discussing some sad news that has befallen one of our fellow Chelsea mates. PD had been working for one of the many tarmac gangs of Frome ( due to the many limestone quarries in our home area, Frome seems to be the centre of the road-gang industry in southern England ), when a piece of heavy machinery crashed into his lower leg. Details are still a bit sketchy, but PD is in a Bristol hospital and has already had three operations in an attempt to save his ankle and foot. We haven’t seen much of PD at Chelsea games recently, but he is a well-liked member of our little crew and the news came as a massive shock.

Our thoughts and prayers are with him.

The usual drive up the M4…a bit of chat about the team’s form of late, some musings on the Hate Derby taking place at Old Trafford at lunchtime, we even – briefly – spoke about the Somerset county cricket team…surely a first. Somerset are the “nearly men” yet again this season…the team lost two one-day finals this year, but also missed out on a first county championship in 135 years ( you think the Cubs have it bad! ) to Nottinghamshire. Both teams finished level on 214 points, but Notts won one more game during the season. I can’t say I’m a cricket fan, but I was gutted that my county lost out yet again. I played cricket for my school during the summer of 1980 and I was constantly reminded of the adage that the sport is “9 parts complete boredom and 1 part complete terror.” My maternal grandfather was the cricketer in my family and he was quite the sportsman, playing for my village cricket and football teams.

I had only ever seen Blackpool play once before – a game way back in the autumn of 1975. It was my fourth Chelsea game and the first one in the old second division. My parents were with me and we also invited my Uncle Geoff – a Spurs fan – from the nearest village to attend too. I remember little of the game, except the distinctive tangerine of the away team, plus players Bob Hatton and Mickey Walsh. We won 2-0…the most memorable part of the day was when Tommy Langley came off the bench to score the second goal. He ran straight back towards the bench from the North Stand end and, as our seats were right behind the Chelsea bench, it appeared that Tommy was running straight towards us. His face was a picture, his arms were outstretched and, for a moment, I thought he was running straight towards me to give me a hug. Mum took a shine to young Tommy from this moment and he was her favourite Chelsea player for many a year. I reminded Tommy of my Mum’s infatuation with him when I first met him a few years back. Lovely memories, eh?

12.30pm Glenn had parked his van on Bramber Road.

The usual start to the day in Chelsealand…breakfast, then into the boozer. Reg the landlord must have found his feminine side as the pub was festooned with colourful hanging baskets.

With the United vs. Liverpool game on Sky, the pub was rammed and the twelve or so of my mates were huddled together in a corner. There were five or six Blackpool fans on the next table and there was no trouble. I nipped out to get a “Get Well Soon” card for PD which we all duly signed. I showed a few of the lads some of my photos from my recent trip to Philadelphia and spoke with Daryl about my visit to Yankee Stadium, then our proposed “50th Birthday Bash” to NYC in 2015…we hope to see the Mets vs. Yankees series that summer as it coincides with our fiftieth birthdays, plus Daryl’s brother Neil too. That promises to be a memorable holiday, no doubts.

The United goals were met with stony silence, but the pub erupted when Gerrard’s too goals were scored. Then silence again on 84 minutes.

Pah.

Alan spoke of the enjoyable trip to Slovakia during the week. He said that they spent a few moments in the bar at the Holiday Inn, where the team were staying. Dutch Mick had walked over to Patrick Van Aanholt and spoke to him in Dutch. Florent Malouda appreciated this show of fraternity and apparently bought Dutch Mick ( who is originally from London ) a bottle of wine as a “thank you.” It is not known how many times Dutch Mick mentioned the phrase “for sure” in his dialogue with Patrick.

Mike from the New York Chapter – in his trademark shirt from last season – showed at about 2.30pm and I showed him the US photos too…it didn’t seem real that we had met up in a bar in Greenwich Village only ten days earlier. Then Burger and Julie called in, full of pleasing stories of how they are acclimatising to life in Staffordshire, duck.

On the walk to The Bridge, I read with interest in the programme about a 21 year old “avid” Chelsea fan from Lancashire, who was attending her first ever game.

Avid, eh?

I had to wonder why she never saw us play at Manchester United in 1995, Bolton in 1997, Blackburn in 2003, Wigan in 2005 or Burnley this year?

Just before the teams entered the pitch, there was a moment’s applause in honour of the late Chelsea and Tottenham Hotspur forward Bobby Smith, who played for us in the ‘fifties. The away corner in The Shed housed the eager Blackpool support and they resembled the orange-clad hordes of Nicosia from last season. Just two flags, though.

What a first-half.

We only had to wait two minutes for the opener. We played the ball around with ease and I think Blackpool’s only touch was the hoof out for the resultant corner. Drogba whipped the ball into the six yard box and Kalou smashed it in.

Here we go again.

On eleven minutes, a strong run and endearingly unselfish play from Drogba set up Malouda with a sweeping ball into the goal area which was inch perfect in its execution. Malouda couldn’t miss – and didn’t.

I unfortunately was in the middle of a comfort break when our third goal was scored, a Drogba deflected goal after nice work by The World’s Best Left Back.

Oh boy – coasting.

As Drogba came deep to help defend, Glenn piped up –

“Drogba…what are you doing back there?”

With that, he won the ball easily, advanced and spun a delightful ball into the path of Kalou with the outside of his foot. Kalou sent in a ball to Malouda and we were four goals to the good. Alan and myself had great pleasure asking Glenn –

“You were saying, mate?”

Every attack was a joy to behold. Each time we broke, I sat back and wondered “how will we create a goal scoring chance this time?” What a goal scoring run we are on at the moment and long may it continue. Amazing times in our history…and all this without Messrs. Anelka, Lampard and Terry.

At half-time, I heard a PA announcement and I recognised a mate’s name. Steve works for a former supplier of our company and his name was announced as part of a treat his wife had arranged for him – he was watching in one of the executive areas of the West Stand. It reminded me of when I was a child and my parents would often write in to Chelsea DJ Pete Owen and I would often get my name read out on the “Pre-Match Spin” show. The first time this happened – it may well have been the Blackpool game in 1975 actually – I remember being very embarrassed, with me thinking that everyone in the stadium was aware it was me.

Dennis Wise was on the pitch at the break.

I’ll be honest, the second-half was a let down, but we are – of course – so splendidly spoilt these days. To be fair, Blackpool – spurred on by the deep Bristolian twang of Ian Holloway – put on a good show and tested Petr Cech on a few occasions. They did well and played it on the floor, probing away. We are so lucky these days – even the less successful teams play it on the grass, unlike the “route one” football employed by many teams back in the grim ‘eighties. In those days, teams like Sheffield Wednesday and Wimbledon would start every attack with a hoof up the field from a ‘keeper, there would be a midfield scramble, the ball would break to a full back who would then chip it up into “the channels.” A further heading duel would ensue, then possession would be lost.

Back in those days, the atmosphere at games was better, but the football could be bloody awful.

The away fans mainly stuck to their “This Is The Best Trip I’ve Ever Been On” chant throughout the game and it certainly seems to sum up their Premiership experience perfectly. They’ll probably get relegated, but I’m sure they will have fun along the way. There will be as many ups and downs for them this season as a rollercoaster on their famous Pleasure Beach.

We took our foot off of the pedal in the second-half and, looking back, it seemed inconceivable that we didn’t score any more. We had a typical Kalou one-on-one fluff on 63 minutes, a Malouda volley was palmed over on 64 minutes and Ashley Cole annoyingly decided to take an extra touch with his favoured left peg on 75 minutes when he really should have slammed it in with his right.

The World’s Best Left Back Who Can’t Kick With His Right Foot.

On 86 minutes, Drogba blazed over.

The finishing was so woeful that I am convinced I saw Alan Mayes miss an open goal on 73 minutes, Teddy Maybank head the cross-bar rather than the free ball on 85 minutes and Dave Mitchell fall over his feet in the last minute when clean through with only the ‘keeper to beat. Blackpool then scored a consolation goal via a Graham Wilkins own goal at the death. What a strike. He doesn’t miss from there.

Our support had become pretty docile as the game progressed. We had only been momentarily roused on a few occasions. I think we need a stern test to re-focus ourselves…we have had it too easy. Manchester City next Saturday will be just about perfect.

As I joined the buoyant crowd on the Fulham Road – even the Seasiders looked happy – I enjoyed a bit of banter with a colleague by phone who is an “avid” Manchester United fan. He commented that we had enjoyed the easiest start to a new season he had ever seen.

I replied –

“True. We haven’t played Everton or Fulham yet.”

CHELSEA/esque

A Blue World In Black And White

Category Archives: Season 2010-2011.

Tales From Miseryside

Tales From Matchday Four

Tales From The Black And The Orange

Tales From The NW Corner Of The MHU

Tales From Brum

Tales From The Only Team In London

Tales From A Champions League Night At HQ

Tales From Eastlands

Tales From West London

Tales From The Big Easy