Chelsea vs. Arsenal : 14 January 2026.
As we prepared for Liam Rosenior’s first home game as manager of Chelsea Football Club, I was reminded of another League Cup semi-final against Arsenal almost twenty-eight years ago.
This one took place at Stamford Bridge too. And it was also the first home game for another new manager, Gianluca Vialli.
After a 0-2 loss in the league at Highbury on 8 February 1998, chairman Ken Bates dispensed with manager Ruud Gullit – despite the Dutchman securing our first silverware in twenty-six years the preceding May – and installed the Vialli as player-manager on 12 February. As fate would have it, Vialli’s first game in charge of his old teammates was against Arsenal on 18 February in a League Cup second leg after we lost the first game at Highbury 1-2.
Before the game, in the dressing room, Vialli arranged for the players to toast each other with glasses of champagne, and on a very memorable night goals from Mark Hughes, Roberto di Matteo and Dan Petrescu gave us a wild 3-1 win and a 4-3 triumph on aggregate. It was a bloody fantastic night.
I was confident that there would be no champagne in 2026; isotonic sports drinks were more likely.
We met Arsenal in the 2017/18 semi-finals too; a dull 0-0 at Chelsea was followed by a meek 1-2 loss at Arsenal.
What would happen in 2026? I, for one, was not too confident.
This was a standard midweek trip to Stamford Bridge for me. After I dropped my two fellow travellers off at “The Eight Bells”, I visited “Koka” restaurant on the North End Road. The waitress asked me if I had any allergies, and I wondered if I should have replied :
“Yeah, I fucking hate Tottenham.”
A bowl of French onion soup and a peperoni pizza later, I was on my way to West Brompton and then Putney Bridge.
During the day, I had messaged my friend Mark – a Chelsea supporter from nearby Westbury who I first met on the day we beat Leeds United 5-0 back in 1984 – and who is now the chairman of Westbury United. While Chelsea would be playing Arsenal, the re-arranged Frome Town vs. Westbury United game would be taking place over one-hundred miles to the west. I wished him “all the best for tonight” but was surprised to hear that he would be at Stamford Bridge instead.
As I walked into the pub, Mark was with Parky and PD, who he has known since around 1979, and I sat myself down for a good old chat about Chelsea and the non-league scene on the Somerset and Wiltshire border. It is an odd quirk that I am good friends with both clubs’ chairmen; even more that they are both Chelsea.
I was inside Stamford Bridge at around 7.20pm, and I was suffering with a recently acquired sore throat. There would be no singing at all for me on this night in SW6.
We had heard that Arsenal had the whole Shed End, but I soon spotted that there was a “no-go” area towards the left-hand side of the stand. This immediately confused me. I then presumed that Arsenal had not been given the rumoured 6,000, more like 4,500, and that Chelsea fans – 1,500 of us – were sat in the area usual reserved for away fans. It seemed odd and looked even odder.
We have had some strange sights over the years at Stamford Bridge since the renovations began in 1993. We have had away fans positioned in the East Upper. We have had away fans in the East Lower. We have had away fans in the uncovered West Stand. We have even had away fans in the Matthew Harding Lower. And of course, away fans in the Shed End. But this was the first time I could ever remember Chelsea fans in the away section of The Shed.
As I waited for the game to begin, I spotted a few visitors from The Shed who were unable to take up their usual seats due to the Arsenal invasion and were now sat in the Matthew Harding Upper. I spotted Long Tall Pete, then Cliff, then Martin from Glocester. Again, it was odd seeing unfamiliar faces in this section. Parky and Salisbury Steve, two other Shedenders, were in the tier below.
The team that Rosenior had picked surprised us.
Sanchez
Acheampong – Fofana – Chalobah – Cucurella
Santos – Fernandez
Estevao – Joao Pedro – Neto
Guiu
Several big names were out; we presumed injured.
On the Monday, we had sadly learned that former player and manager Eddie McCreadie had passed away at the age of eighty-five. Eddie stopped playing for Chelsea just before I began going to games, but he was a key member of the 1970 and 1971 cup winning teams in Manchester and Athens. I remembered him more as an intelligent manager, galvanising a team of mainly youngsters to gain promotion in 1977 after the desolation of relegation in 1975. That he failed to agree on a deal at Stamford Bridge in the summer of 1977 is always seen as a massive failure by the club at the time. In an era when Chelsea did not sign a single new player in 1975, 1976 and 1977 – are you listening, Clearlake? – the eventual success of McCreadie’s youngsters were testament to his prowess in nurturing young talent.
I always remember hearing the story of how he went on a mazy eighty-yard dribble in the home leg of the League Cup Final in 1965 and scoring past Gordon Banks in the Leicester City goal. The game had been tied at 2-2 after Chelsea went 1-0 up, then 2-1 up but the away team equalized on both occasions. This wondergoal from McCreadie won the game, and ultimately the tie, since the return leg finished 0-0.
But he will always be remembered for 1970, above all.
I absolutely think that the 1970 FA Cup winners are still regarded as the most-loved of all our teams, despite the glories of the past twenty-five years.
- Peter Bonetti
- Ron Harris
- Eddie McCreadie
- John Hollins
- John Dempsey
- David Webb
- Tommy Baldwin
- Charlie Cooke
- Peter Osgood
- Ian Hutchinson
- Peter Houseman
Sadly, just three of this cherished team remain with us; Ron Harris, David Webb, Charlie Cooke.
Before the game, there was a respectful moment of applause in memory of Eddie McCreadie.
REST IN PEACE
Kepa was booed as his name was announced and I shook my head. He was, after all, part of the team that saw us embarrass his current team 5-1 in Baku. I am sure others rolled their eyes when they heard that.
Soon into the game, we had already witnessed a long throw into the mixer from Declan Rice from down below us, and soon after I snapped as the same player dropped a corner into the six-yard box.
The action seemed to go into slow-motion. I saw Sanchez rise, I saw Sanchez flap at air, I saw the ball drop onto the head of Ben White, I saw the ball squeeze in past an Arsenal player on the line.
Chelsea 0 Arsenal 1.
Maybe there had been champagne pre-match, and Sanchez had drunk more than his share.
I slumped into my seat, with the back of my head nestling in the palms of my hands, crestfallen and silent. I don’t think I moved for the best part of a minute. The Arsenal players – I call them “the robots”, and they don’t deserve capital letters – swarmed together and very soon the Arsenal lot in The Shed began singing.
“Set piece again.
Ole, ole.
Set piece again.
Ole, ole.
Set piece again, set piece again.
Set piece again, ole ole.”
Was this tiresome chant a replacement of the equally shite “1-0 to the Arsenal”?
No, because that was soon aired too.
Bloody hell.
Ten minutes had passed, we were 1-0 down to the Woolwich Wanderers, they had scored via a set piece, and we had already been treated to pieces of kamikaze distribution from Sanchez.
“This could be a long night, this.”
However, Enzo rattled a powerful drive at Kepa, and we all hoped for more.
A strong run from Viktor Gyokeres into the box, trading paces with Trevoh Chalobah, allowed him to wriggle free and create space but his shot was deflected away for a corner. There was something in that old-fashioned contest that somehow warmed me; two players in a good-old duel, a real blast from the past.
I noticed that every seat in the house was occupied, and where there are usually empty seats in most areas, this night Stamford Bridge looked crammed. I have to say that the £60 ticket for this game shocked a lot of us; until recently the club has charged significantly less for League Cup games, even semis. We wondered how much the away ticket would cost. It was odd that the away game was not yet on sale; the first instance I could ever remember of this happening. On the way up, we wondered what the likelihood of purchasing a second-leg ticket would be if we were trailing 0-3 from this game.
The consensus was this :
“3-0 down. £60 a pop. Won’t get home until 2.30am. Let someone else have our tickets.”
Estevao looked lively as we tried to get back into the game. The best move of our match came on twenty-seven minutes as Enzo set up Joao Pedro but his low cross bobbled across the six-yard box but there was nobody close in to finish.
Leandro Trossard weaved his way into the box down below us, but his shot was blocked.
At the other end, Enzo played in Estevao who forced a fine save from Kepa at his near post.
Arsenal were plainly a well-oiled machine with players who knew how their system worked. Chelsea kept battling away, but without a great deal of penetration.
On thirty-nine minutes, William Saliba dropped a shot on the roof of Sanchez’ net.
Two bookings followed for Estevao and Cucurella, and the first half ended.
At half-time, no changes from Rosenior, and I was quietly expecting another half of decent possession but no final product. Marc Guiu had not had a sniff.
During the break, I was relieved to hear that Sam Heal had given Frome Town a 1-0 lead against Westbury. A healthy gate of 814 would soon be announced
The second half began, and after just four minutes, the action switched to the West Stand touchline. Pedro Neto lost the ball to Bukayo Saka, Cucurella fell and tried to recover, and raced back trying to track Saka, but the ball was played outside to the free man White, racing on the overlap, nobody tracking him. I know that Neto usually does this; not on this occasion. The ball was fired in low, and from over one hundred yards away, it was not clear to me how it had evaded Sanchez. Gyokeres had the simplest task.
Chelsea 0 Arsenal 2.
The visitors began singing about Wembley.
Eight minutes into the second period, the new manager made two substitutions.
Benoit Badiashile replaced Acheampong, while Alejandro Garnacho replaced Guiu.
We approached the hour mark, and we seemed to be more direct, more cohesive.
On fifty-seven minutes, a poor Arsenal clearance failed to clear their half. It annoyed me that the bloke behind me was quick to berate Enzo, but as he spoke his words of disgust, Enzo chased down the ball from one player and then continued to fight for the ball, not once but twice. The ball broke to Joao Pedro who set up Neto on the right. The ball was crossed to the far post, where Garnacho waited. The ball bounced, he chested it down, then lashed it in from an angle. I was impressed with this finish.
Chelsea 1 Arsenal 2.
Game on.
Garnacho soon realised it was no time to sit his arse on an advertising board and raced back towards his own goal.
Arsenal had been singing along constantly all game, but it was now our turn. Stamford Bridge was engulfed in a deluge of vibrant noise.
Heart-warming stuff.
We created a few half-chances, with Estevao and Garnacho causing problems.
Sadly, on seventy minutes, Saka initiated a move on the right, and the ball was neatly played between Mikel Merino and Gyokeres. Fine footwork from Martin Zubimendi inside our box allowed him to create space and fire home, high into the net.
Chelsea 1 Arsenal 3.
The Gooners went into orbit.
On seventy-five minutes, Jorrel Hato replaced Fofana.
I wasn’t particularly confident about anything.
“It’s going to be a long quarter of an hour.”
An Estevao shot was blocked. At the other end, Sanchez denied Merino with a stunning piece of goalkeeping, flinging out a leg, and stopping a goal-bound shot with his boot.
From the corner, Gabriel headed a cross down and up and over the bar.
Fackinell.
On eighty-one minutes, our last two changes.
Tosin Adarabioyo for Cucurella.
Shim Mheuka for Joao Pedro.
…also Kai Havertz made an appearance, and Porto 2021 seemed such a long time ago.
Estevao enjoyed a fantastic run down the right, forcing a corner. Neto delivered the ball in, and it was flicked on towards Garnacho, again at the back stick. An instinctive finish, but well controlled, and we were overjoyed to see the net ripple.
Fackinell.
Chelsea 2 Arsenal 3.
Garnacho again raced back to his half; no time for celebration fripperies.
The last ten minutes of the game were played out, and half-chances came and went. PD set off early to begin the slow walk to the car. No more goals ensued, and as I joined the masses attempting to vacate The Sleepy Hollow, tempers were raging among a few players down on the pitch.
Out into the night, I muttered to myself:
“Now I’ll have to fork out for a ticket for the bloody second-leg.”
I met up with the chaps. We were pragmatic. We hadn’t played brilliantly but we never gave up.
“The tie is still alive.”
After a predictable detour down the A4 from Hungerford to Melksham, I eventually reached home at around 1.45am.
At least Frome won.
