Tales From A Black Night

Posted on December 13, 2025 by Chris Axon

Leeds United vs. Chelsea : 3 December 2025.

Subtitled : To ‘ell and back.

I will be totally honest – or in modern parlance, “NGL” – here. I had been dreading this trip ever since I heard of this season’s fixtures.

Even as the game became close.

And that is somewhat surprising, bearing in mind our recent little upturn in the home games against Barcelona and Arsenal.

No, sorry everyone. A midweek trip up to West Yorkshire on a Wednesday evening in December filled me with dread. For starters, I was short on holiday, so was only able to take two half days to accommodate this troublesome journey. However, it got worse; I was still recuperating from the bug that had hit me hard the previous week.

The day began for me at 6.30am with an alarm call to get me up and ready to work an 8am to midday shift.

I eventually got away, with PD and Parky as my trusty passengers, at 12.15pm. Thankfully there were clear skies overhead. I am not quite sure how I would have possibly coped with heavy rainfall and dodgy visibility. So, that was a huge positive.

Not long into the journey, PD shared the news that Marvin Hinton had passed away the day before. This fine servant, who played as a full-back and then a centre-half and was probably our first-ever sweeper on occasion back in the mid- ‘sixties, played an important role in our much-loved teams from that era. “Lou” played 344 times for Chelsea and came on as a substitute against Leeds United in the 1970 FA Cup Final and replay. Sadly, I never saw him in a game. He was known for his cool and calm style of play. He was eighty-five.

Rest In Peace Marvin Hinton.

We stopped briefly at Strensham Services. Thankfully I was feeling reasonable and we pressed on.

I spoke about the evening’s match.

“It’s weird. They will be singing ‘Doris Day’, while we will be singing ‘Dambusters’ and long may it continue.

It’s a cracking rivalry, even now.

At around 4pm, we decided to call in at a familiar pub on our travels; The Windmill at the Tabley Interchange on the M6. We were distraught to see that the property was closed and for sale. All three of us had really fancied some of their robust Northern grub. We then decided to aim for The Kilton Inn near Mere, another old favourite used for games in the Manchester area – including on Saturday 30 April 2005 – but they weren’t serving food until 5pm. Thankfully, our luck improved when we stumbled across The Plough at Hollins Green – a good sign for the evening’s game, surely – where we stopped from 4.30pm until 5.15pm.

Food was ordered and devoured.

In-keeping with the day’s travel and the evening’s game, we dined on traditional no-frills fare.

PD : Cheese and onion pie and chips.

Parky : Cottage pie.

Chris : Lancashire Hot Pot.

The pub was decent. It’s very close to the northern banks of the Manchester Ship Canal. The food was hearty and filling. The staff were friendly, if not slightly bemused that we were en route to Leeds.

We edged through some slow-moving traffic but then found ourselves back on the same road that we had used to get to Burnley ten days previously. Once on the M62, the traffic cleared, and I soared up and over The Pennines.

I made good time. We passed over the highest spot on the UK motorway network near the Lancashire / Yorkshire border then descended towards Leeds. As I drove on, the lights of the city and then the lights of Elland Road lured me in.

I was parked up at 6.30pm at a private car park; the price was a reassuringly cheap £6.

We had made it.

The former “away” pub The Dry Salters is now closed, so we had no options before walking to Elland Road, which was a good twenty-five-minute walk away. There’s nothing much around Elland Road. It’s a decent place to reach in a car, but it’s a long way out of the city centre, with hardly any pubs nearby.

Stamford Bridge it ain’t.

The temperature had dropped. Locals rushed by wearing the trademark white, yellow and blue bar scarves.

My K-Way jacket and Yankees cap fought to keep out the chilling temperatures.

I had to meet Lewis, a friend of a friend of a friend, to pass over a spare, and this was eventually accomplished at around 7.30pm.

In I went, and I was soon reminded that the bar area in the away concourse is strangely carpeted, a remnant of when this stand was for home fans only.

Up the steps, down the steps, and I quickly found my place alongside John. I said “this place doesn’t change much, does it?” and he soon mentioned the Don Revie carpet.

Revie loved getting the Leeds squad to play carpet bowls – that’s not a euphemism, I hope – and I wondered if this odd practice even took place in the crowded confines of Elland Road.

We had good seats, near the player’s tunnel. I soon spotted PD in the front row. He was sat a couple of seats away from a guy that Parky was sat next to at Burnley. During the TV coverage, Parky was spotted by many friends in the US and I was sent some screen shots. The chap next to Parky had a bizarre ‘seventies hairstyle…long blonde locks…and a mate said that an image of him was used to initiate a “reddit” thread during the game.

There were comments of this bloke’s resemblance to Jimmy Saville. In Leeds, on this night, he made the very wise choice to wear his hair in a ponytail. However, one poor chap within the Chelsea support nearer the noisy buggers in the South Stand, who must have had a passing resemblance to the infamous Leeds native, was the target for much abuse throughout the game.

John and I chatted about how ridiculous the 8.15pm kick-off was.

The irony was that Arsenal were playing Brentford at 7.30pm. If one game had to kick-off, why not that one, with most of the crowd travelling in from the South-East.

An evening game in West Yorkshire is bad enough, but not 7.30pm, not 7.45pm, not 8pm but 8.15pm?

It’s taking the piss on a monumental scale.

The team was announced.

Enzo Maresca rang the changes, and how. Nobody was happy.

Sanchez

Chalobah – Tosin – Badiashile – Cucurella

Santos – Fernandez

Estevao – Joao Pedro – Gittens

Delap

With Caicedo on a ban, and James simply not chosen, I wondered if the team had enough guts.

The home team boasted a mysterious bunch of unknowns – Ampadu, the captain, and Calvert-Lewin aside – including Peri-Peri, Bijoux, Boogle, Nacker, Stuck and Stack.

“Marching On Together” boomed, and the noise was impressive.

The two teams appeared in front of us, and it irked me that Chelsea chose to play in the all black “Millwall badge” monstrosity. When Chelsea plays at Leeds, we should always wear blue. Maybe with yellow socks to remind them about 1970.

As for Leeds, what with their hatred for all things Mancunian and Lancastrian, the flash of red of their shirt sponsor looked out of place too.

The noise didn’t let up as the time reached 8.15pm.

I posted on Facebook : “Let’s Win This For Lou.”

Leeds began on fire. A shot from Ao Tanaka was dealt with by Robert Sanchez, but a corner in the sixth minute was swing in and Jaka Bijol leaped clear to head home, unchallenged, from an angle ahead of the near post.

“Here we bloody go.”

After ten minutes or so, we looked so lethargic in possession.

Where was the fire, the intensity, the hunger?

On fifteen minutes, a half-chance for Joao Pedro at the old Gelderd End, now the Don Revie Stand. Funny, back in the day, I always knew it as The Kop, not the Gelderd End. I only heard of this name relatively recently.

There was an almost witty exchange on fifteen minutes.

Chelsea to Leeds : “Champions of Europe, you’ll never sing that.”

Leeds to themselves : “We are the Champions, the Champions of Europe.”

This is their stubborn nod to the 1975 European Cup Final in Paris against Bayern Munich when a Peter Lorimer goal was controversially chalked off for offside, only for Bayern to win a tight game 2-0.

Fifty years ago. Fackinell.

The irony is that I wanted Leeds to win that night; these were the days when things were less tribal, and when – as a young kid – I wanted all English teams to be victorious in European finals.

I remember us singing “We are the Champions, the Champions of Europe” as we exited the stadium in Munich in 2012, but we haven’t sung it since to my knowledge.

Estevao was only really involved with his trademark shimmy inside and I wondered if he would be found out if this was to be the only trick up his sleeve.

Meanwhile, Leeds were winning tackles and second balls with an admirable, yet gut-wrenching, intensity. Our midfield was missing, perhaps on the Pennines or somewhere.

Shots were aimed at Sanchez from all angles. They were out-fighting us and out-shooting us.

“And go get your father’s gun, shoot the Chelsea scum.”

We improved slightly but our shots on goal were woeful. Jamie Gittens seemed unsure whether to stick or twist; to dribble past his man, or to pass. He looked lost.

Leeds were full of it.

“Even bloody Calvert-Lewin looks a handful tonight.”

Benoit Badiashile seemed to slow down to a crawl when in possession. And it didn’t help that he probably touched the ball more than any other player as the first half progressed. His passes were never positive. It was excruciating to watch.

On thirty-nine minutes, there was some terrible pre-meditated nonsense from Estevao. After losing the ball, he kicked out at a Leeds player from behind and was rightfully booked.

Prick.

In the last couple of minutes, Leeds won a loose ball as Chelsea struggled to clear and the ball ran nicely to Tanaka, who struck a magnificent shot into the corner.

Bollocks.

The home crowd roared again.

Memories of our equally awful performance under Thomas Tuchel in the August of 2022 came racing back. We lost 0-3 that afternoon.

At the break, we were at a real low.

What a lacklustre first half, nobody more than 4/10.

“Sort it out Maresca.”

At half-time, Howard Wilkinson slowly walked onto the pitch to say a few words to the Leeds faithful. How I remember our battles with his Sheffield Wednesday team in the early-to-mid ‘eighties, and of course I remember him leading Leeds to that 1991/92 championship. It was the last Football League title and – get this – Wilkinson is still the last English manager to win the title in England.

That’s pretty damning if you ask me.

As I heard him speak, I remembered that excellent midfield of David Batty, Gary Speed, Gordan Strachan and Gary McAllister. In truth, elsewhere that Leeds team contained mediocre players – maybe Tony Dorigo is the exception – but I was just happy that they pipped Manchester United that season. My college mates Bob and Trev went to many Leeds games that season. I thought of them too; friends since 1984.

I was having a wistful moment and found myself clapping the Leeds manager, no doubt out of respect for some fine memories of a time when football was another ball game in another age. A few other Chelsea fans of my generation clapped too.

At half-time, Maresca made two changes.

Malo Gusto for Badiashile.

Pedro Netro for Estevao.

On forty-seven minutes, a cross from the Leeds right found Lukas Nmecha but Sanchez made an outstanding point blank save.

Three minutes later, we worked the ball out to Gittens who surprised us all by sending over a very good cross that evaded everyone and found Pedro Neto arriving at the far post. He adjusted himself and did ever so well to slot the ball in from a very awkward angle. He raced away, heading for the bench, pointing and gesturing and one can only imagine what he was saying to the management team.

We momentarily played some incisive stuff, and the fans noted the difference in intent.

“Come on Chelsea. Come on Chelsea.”

Liam Delap fired wide from an angle.

“Come on boys.”

On the hour, more changes.

Cole Palmer for Delap.

Alejandro Garnacho for Gittens.

Eight minutes later, the Argentinian raced away down the left, in front of the baying home fans who remembered his Manchester past and set up Cole Palmer who had typically dropped into some space at the front of the goal.

I expected him to score. John expected him to score. The twat behind me who had been calling virtually every Chelsea player a “c**t” expected him to score. My mates in South Philly and in South London expected him to score. Johnny Dozen from Southern California, watching to my right in the paddock, expected him to score.

The shot went wide.

I held my head in disbelief.

On seventy-two minutes, Chelsea suicide. We found ourselves doing our best “after you, Claude” routine, passing the ball around inside our box, but looking increasingly inept with each nervous pass. Leeds put us under pressure. Tosin dillied and dallied, and dallied and dillied, and lost his way, and the ball. Leeds had two aggressive players on the last man. Ilia Gruev stabbed at the loose ball, Sanchez blocked, but Calvert-Lewin pushed the ball home.

Leeds United 3 Chelsea 1.

Bollocks.

In the last ten or fifteen minutes, many Chelsea fans evacuated both levels of the stand, but I had to stay to the end. I rarely leave early.

On seventy-seven minutes, Marc Guiu replaced Joao Pedro.

No doubt recycling a chant aimed at Manchester United fans, the South Stand sang at us.

“It’s a long way to London when you’re shit.”

It wasn’t to be.

The whistle blew and that was that.

What a terrible performance.

In retrospect, the manager’s selection – and by the looks of it, his motivational pre-match speech – were way off.

To the Chelsea fans inside Elland Road, we appeared to be in completely the wrong frame of mind. Whereas the home team were full of aggression from the off, we seemed to be treating this game like any other.

Simply selecting a sub-par eleven and hoping for the best was never going to work at Elland Road.

Is anyone at modern day Chelsea aware of the dislike they have of us?

Amongst all of it, Sanchez kept us in it with some super saves, and he can’t really be blamed for the goals. Garnacho was a big positive when he came off the bench. And I think he ought to have started. He knows what the atmosphere at Leeds is like. Less so the young and still inexperienced Estevao. Enzo was poor. Santos too. That midfield was devoid of bite.

Elland Road is a very tough venue for us.

Since our first visit in 1927, in all games, our record is this :

Played : 53

Won : 8

Drew :15

Lost : 30

Two seasons ago, the two teams met in a Youth Cup game. The club was concerned that Leeds knew all about the rivalry, but the Chelsea boys didn’t. To remedy this, the 1970 replay was shown to the squad at Cobham, and the staff ensured that the players were suitably motivated. We won the tie easily.

I bet Maresca didn’t even know about the 1970 cup replay.

We slowly walked back to the car, and I got going at around 11pm. On the return home, there were roadworks on the M5 and so I was pushed down the M1 to Leicester and I was forced to come down the Fosseway – hello again – and over The Cotswolds. At Cirencester, there was a road closure, and the diversion signs took me everywhere but the right direction. At 2.45am, I found myself creeping around the streets of Cirencester trying to find an escape route.

I eventually reached home at 4am.

6.30am to 4am.

Bloody hell.

We all hate Leeds and Leeds and Leeds…

Tales From A Few Fleeting Moments

Posted on May 25, 2024 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Bournemouth : 19 May 2024.

This was turning into a very enjoyable end to the 2023/24 season. The last five days of it were packed full of Chelsea. On the Wednesday, we travelled down to Brighton and on the Sunday, there would be the final game against Bournemouth. But tucked into the middle, on the Friday, was a bonus day.

The Chelsea Foundation, who look after former players through the Chelsea Players Trust and oversee the club’s charities, education projects and Chelsea in the wider community, recently found out that we have been taking Ron Harris up to Stamford Bridge on match days since the autumn of 2021. As a gesture of thanks, they invited a gang of us up to the Cobham training centre. They gave us a range of dates to choose from, and it transpired that Friday 17 May was the best fit. You can just imagine our elation. I was lucky enough to visit Cobham way back in 2008 with a few friends from the UK and the US, but this would be a first visit for my match-day companions from the West of England; Glenn, PD and Parky. We went up in one car. In the other car, was the Harris family; Ron, his daughter Claire, her partner Dave, Ron’s son Mark and Mark’s young son Isaac. Joining us at Cobham was Gary Chivers, Ron’s match-day companion, who was with his young daughter.

We had an absolute blast on a perfect sunny day. We met academy chief Neil Bath, and a few of his staff. We chuckled when Ron introduced Paul to the academy hosts as “my minder.” You know you have made it in life when Chopper Harris calls you his minder.

The day started off in 1970. Let me explain. Recently, the youth teams of Chelsea and Leeds United met in a cup final, and there was a concern that the Leeds youngsters would be more “up for it” than the Chelsea lads. To rectify this, to illustrate the very real rivalry that exists between the two old enemies, the lads were shown footage of some of the tastier moments from the 1970 FA Cup Final Replay. We loved seeing the film, none more so than Ron, and there were many funny moments as we watched tackle after tackle, with legendary players clashing, a real blast from the past. It must have had the desired effect as Chelsea won the game 5-3. We saw footage of the youngsters’ match; there were some fine goals but some rugged tackles too, Leeds didn’t stand a chance.

In a surreal moment, we hopped into a fleet of little golf buggies and embarked on a tour of the huge complex, making sure that we didn’t crash into the players’ expensive cars. Not for the first time I found myself driving Lord Parky. We spotted the first team in a training session away to our right. The complex is massive. A full forty people are on the ground staff alone.

We spent a few moments with Cesc Fabregas who happened to be visiting the training ground. I told him that all four of us were at Burnley for his Chelsea debut in 2014 for “that pass” to Andre Schurrle. There was then a frantic period as the current first team squad made their way to the changing rooms. Each one, though, met with Ron Harris, and we tried our best to say a few words to as many as possible. Ron spent quite a while with Conor Gallagher and Cole Palmer. I took the usual smattering of photos. Nicolas Jackson was especially friendly. Loved his attitude. My big moment came when I tentatively approached Thiago Silva for him to sign a recent home programme; Tottenham, the great man on the cover. He took time to painstakingly sign in his unique way with his name, number and a flourish before handing the programme back to me.

“Obrigado.”

I was happy. Mission accomplished.

I must admit that Reece James looked a little sheepish after his sending-off against Brighton. We managed to spend an incredible five or six minutes with Mauricio Pochettino, who spoke easily and naturally with us as if we had known each other for ages. He talked about the development of the team, the way things have started to gel, and plans for the US Tour in the summer. He could not have been nicer. I loved the hug that he gave Ron Harris.

“We hope you are here next season, Conor.”

“So do I.”

We were treated to a lovely lunch in the same canteen as the academy players. PD tucked into a FAB ice-cream on the house, an image that will make me laugh for years.

Everyone that we met were so polite, so attentive, so personable and there was a cool and calm professionalism about the entire complex. We left on an absolute high, sure that the immediate future of our club was in good hands. I drove the boys home, almost not wanting the day to end. We stopped off for a couple of early-evening pints at a pub alongside the canal in Devizes. It was a fantastic end to a perfect day and it totally restored my faith in Chelsea Football Club.

Sunday – Munich Day – soon arrived and we were on our way to London at a ridiculously early time. Despite a 4pm kick-off, I was up at 5.30am to pick up PD, Ron and Parky by 7.30am. I dropped Ron off outside the main gates at about 9.45am and I was soon parked up. I spent a little time chatting to a few friends on the Fulham Road and at Stamford Bridge. I was quick to relay the positive vibes from Cobham. There was a quick and impromptu photo-call with Ron at the hotel with some friends of a friend from Dundee; their first-ever visit to Stamford Bridge and they were boiling over with excitement.

On a day when Thiago Silva would be making his last-ever appearance in Chelsea colours, I made sure that I took a few photographs of his image on the wall by the West Stand forecourt.

Then, a tube down to Putney Bridge to meet the troops in the pub. Friends from near and far joined us, and I detected a happier atmosphere in the boozer than is always the case. We were, after all, chasing our fifth win a row, and the confirmation of European football in 2024/25.

The global scope of Chelsea’s support was well-represented.

Russ – Melbourne, Australia.

Brad and Sean – New York, US.

Richard and Matt – Edinburgh, Scotland.

Sara and Danny – Minneapolis, US.

Even and Roy – Oslo, Norway.

Kyden and Jacob – Tampa, US.

No drinks for me of course, but the lads were filling their boots. The laughter boomed around “The Eight Bells.” At around 3pm, we set off for the final time of this roller-coaster of a season.

A tube to Fulham Broadway, a walk up to the turnstiles, the sun out, where is there a better place on Earth?

Chats with a few folk who sit close by. Again, positive vibes. The end of season run-in was not as problematic as we had feared.

The team?

In order to accommodate Thiago Silva, Malo Gusto was unfortunately dropped. Mudryk was out after his injury at Brighton. He was the one player that we did not clock at Cobham.

Petrovic – Chalobah, Silva, Badiashile, Cucarella – Caicedo, Gallagher – Madueke, Palmer, Sterling – Jackson

The surprising thing was that there had been virtually no mention of the title race. Was Manchester City’s win against West Ham as straightforward as we were hoping? Only time would tell. However, the outside chance of Arsenal winning the title for the first time in twenty years was lurking in the back of my mind, and maybe others too. I think we made a pact with each other to keep silent. I also had a whimsical notion that Tottenham would do the ultimate “Spursy” thing and fall on their own sword at Sheffield United, thus giving us the chance to finish above them.

There were colourful displays at both ends of the pitch devoted to the captain for the day.

Thiago Emiliano da Silva.

The great man signed for us while we were ensconced at home under COVID, and I did not see him play for Chelsea in the flesh until the FA Cup Final in May 2021. Just a few weeks later, I remember watching out in Porto as he fell to the floor in the closing moments of the first-half. Inwardly, I shared his tears as he pulled his shirt up over his face before walking off. Thankfully, we scored just three minutes after and he would win his sole Champions League medal after all. Since then, he has been a colossus, a giant, a cool leader at the helm of an oft-troubled defence and team and club. We will miss him so much.

Anyway, the game began.

In the opening few moments, Stamford Bridge was a noisy cauldron in celebration of Thiago Silva. His standard two songs rang out and we all joined in.

“Oh, Thiago Silva.”

“He came from PSG.”

After all that had happened the previous week, I found it difficult to fully concentrate on the game that was being played out on the gorgeous green of Stamford Bridge. I felt a little tired, a little dazed. Was this one game too far for me?

This was my eighty-seventh game of the season.

Chelsea 51; for the first-time ever, I had not missed a single game.

Frome Town 35; my most-ever, beating last season’s twenty games, and an absolute belter of a season.

Exeter City 1; and quite easily the worst of the lot, my reward for going to a game in which I had zero interest.

We began brightly, and there was a shot from Nicolas Jackson and one from Cole Palmer. Both did not trouble the away ‘keeper Neto. The first was hit right at the ‘keeper, the second drifted past the far post. Raheem Sterling was buzzing around, and it was a nice reminder of how he can play if he is in the mood.

In the opening fifteen minutes, we had completely dominated possession, possibly at the 90% level. But in the stands the noise had been reduced to a whisper.

“Football in a library” sang the three-thousand Bournemouth supporters.

Yep, guilty as charged.

Sterling went down inside the box, but VAR adjudged it to be a clean challenge.

On seventeen minutes, Jackson poked the ball forward perfectly into space for the lively Sterling to chase. Neto was out early and cleared, but was under pressure from Conor Gallagher. The resulting swipe lacked direction. The ball reached our half, where it found Moises Caicedo. The midfielder pushed the ball forward, just over the half-way line, and thumped a high ball towards goal. With Neto scrambling back, and a spare Bournemouth defender chasing too, the ball perfectly nestled into the Shed End goal. I will be truthful, it looked a goal as soon as it left his foot.

GET IN.

I captured his jubilant run and leap. What a way to score his first Chelsea goal.

Alan : “THTCAUN.”

Chris : “COMLD.”

We heard that Manchester City were 1-0 up and then 2-0 up within twenty minutes.

“We’re gonna have a party…”

The away team attacked occasionally, but we didn’t seem in danger. I made sure that I took a few photos of Thiago Silva down below us.

The away fans were still moaning.

“1-0 and you still don’t sing.”

I was still struggling a little to get into the game and our players looked a little tired. Bournemouth seemed to improve as the first-half continued. A speculative long-range shot from Ryan Christie glanced the top of the bar, there was a block from Trevoh Chalobah, a save from Djordje Petrovic.

At the end of the first-half, we heard that Arsenal were losing at home to Everton and there was a sudden input of noise.

“…when Arsenal fuck it up.”

But then the mood changed when it became City 2 West Ham 1 and Arsenal 1 Everton 1.

Please God, no.

At the break, we were relatively content. With just a point required to secure European football once more – out of the question for me and many others until very recently – we were on track.

On forty-eight minutes, the seemingly rejuvenated Sterling was put through in a wide position and danced his way down below us in The Sleepy Hollow and into the box.

“Go on, Raz.”

From a ridiculously tight angle he finished beautifully, although Neto will be annoyed at the ball going right between leg stump and off stump.

Barely thirty seconds later, Bournemouth scored when a shot from Enes Unal was deflected off the unlucky Benoit Badiashile and into the net. Could Cucarella have done better? His slight slip allowed Unal to come inside.

Bollocks.

The game drifted a little. At least there were no significant updates from the UAE Air Company Stadia.

On the hour – at last! – a loud “CAM ON CHOWLSEA” followed by an equally loud “Carefree.”

We then heard that City were 3-1 up and we could relax a little.

Mauricio Pochettino made three substitutions.

Malo Gusto for Madueke.

Lesley Ugochukwu for Caicedo.

Christopher Nkunku for Sterling.

I captured the header from Nkunku, from a Palmer free-kick, that just missed the goal frame.

At the other end, Dominic Solanke – who was applauded by many as he came on as a substitute – really ought to have done better but his low shot went wide of the far post.

Chances came at both ends and the game became a lot closer than we had hoped. We created chances for Gusto and Nkunku. There was a fine low save from Petrovic up the other end.

Another substitution.

Cesare Casadei for Palmer.

Huge applause.

The lad from Manchester has been a revelation. He will be the main reason why I pay any attention to the European Championships in Germany later this summer.

Late on, substitute Casadei forced an error and the ball fortuitously fell to Gallagher who forced a decent save from that man Neto.

There was a header, from distance, a little similar to John Terry against Barcelona in 2005, from Thiago Silva and although we prayed for a perfect end to his Chelsea career, there was no Ricardo Carvalho on hand to spoil Neto’s view and the effort was ably saved.

Drat.

At the death, a lightning break from Bournemouth down their right caused added anxiety. The ball was played in to Dango Ouattara but Petrovic parried the low effort away. Christie was following up but a perfectly-timed scything tackle from Gallagher denied the chance. However, the ball bobbled out to Solanke who – thank God – blasted the ball over.

Alan and I looked at each other and gasped.

The added time came and went, and we had made it.

City champions, then Arsenal, then Liverpool, then Villa, then Tottenham, then us.

“We’re all going on a European tour.”

There was not too much time to wait for the farewell speech from Thiago Silva. He walked on to the pitch with his wife Belle and their two boys – a guard of honour from his team mates of course – and took a few moments to steady himself.

It is a mark of the man that virtually everybody had stayed behind for this. Often when there is a lap of honour at the end of a season such as this – no trophies – many drift off. But it again restored my faith in Chelsea Football Club to see so many supporters, evidently including many in the corporate areas such as West View, stay to witness his farewell speech.

There were ripples of applause throughout the speech and a big and booming finale greeted his closing words.

“Oh, Thiago Silva.”

What a man. What a player. What an athlete. What a professional.

These last four years have been as mad as they come, but his presence has been like a beacon for us Chelsea supporters.

Thiago – you will be missed.

We left the stadium. I popped around to collect Ron from outside the hotel, and we slowly walked back to the waiting car.

It had been a fine end to a testing season. We were all relishing the prospect of some European travels in the autumn – at least – in whatever competition we end up in. And we were all looking forward to, hopefully, a summer of stability, with thoughts of progression into 2024/25.

On a personal note, I am really looking forward to the release date of the Frome Town fixtures for next season. I am likening it to the summer of 1984 when I daydreamed of Chelsea’s away days back in the First Division for the first time in five years.

Dear reader; if you weren’t around forty years ago, you will simply have no idea of the excitement of those times.

I make no apology for dovetailing Frome’s games in with Chelsea’s games during this season. Hopefully the readership of this blog appreciates the contrasts and the extra narrative that it provides for my Chelsea rambles.

And thanks to everyone for keeping faith with me again this season. It’s a labour of love all this. It is part of my Chelsea routine. I take photos and I write. It’s what I do.

I am currently up to 1,952,777 words on here.

Next season, I will get past the two-million-word mark.

Fackinell.

As an aside, I have noticed a couple of things this season.

Firstly, there have been more and more “clicks” on the homepage, meaning that many of the good people who read these tales do not rely on Facebook links to access this website. I like that. It means they don’t need a prompt.

Secondly, despite these tales beginning life on the Chelsea In America site in 2008, there has been a continual reduction over time of viewers in the US.

In the first full year of CHELSEA/esque in 2013, the US comprised of 7,437 out of 16,895 total views. Yet so far in 2024, the US’ numbers are just 4,184 out of 26,010 total views.

2013 : 44%

2024 : 16%

But I am not worried. Viewing figures remain robust and healthy, with more and more from the UK with each passing season. That’s great. We are, after, all – despite the owners – a UK club.

Oh, the owners.

Do I have to?

These match reports always end on the day of the game; either at the final whistle, on the walk back to the car, on the drive home, or after watching “Match Of The Day.”

If there is anything that occurs the next day that requires comment, I shoe-horn it in to the next edition. But, as my next edition will not be for three months, I had best turn my attention to the events of Tuesday 21 May 2024.

I could write a lot. I could write a little. What to do?

It just struck me that it is something when 95% of opinions shared by Chelsea supporters on social media that evening backed Mauricio Pochettino, the former Tottenham manager, as opposed to backing the Chelsea board.

Yes, he did not rush to win us over, but I liked his view that he wanted to earn respect from us rather make some superficial “kiss the badge” statement or be pressurised into a sound bite. He was his own man and I kind of respected him for that. We told him at Cobham that we realised that it would take time this season. He got us into Europe. We reached one cup final. The last two months have generally been superb. The odd blip? Growing pains.

I leave with my “Facebook” post that evening.

“I feel so blessed to have been able to see a decent man go about his work last Friday. The clowns in charge of the club have left me confused and sad, angry yet helpless.

Good luck Mauricio, for a few fleeting moments it just felt right.”

Best wishes for a fine summer everyone. This football fancier will return in August with hopefully a tale or two to tell from Brazil featuring Thiago Silva.

Keep The Faith.

Cobham

The Eight Bells

Stamford Bridge

Chelsea vs. Bournemouth

Obrigado Thiago Silva

Tales From 1970 And All That

Posted on March 1, 2024 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Leeds United : 28 February 2024.

After the defeat at Wembley on Sunday, we reconvened down at “The Eight Bells” in deepest Fulham – via a pint at “The Sawyers Arms” at Paddington – and although our spirits were low, a decent evening ensued. We spent three hours or so in the company of Johnny Twelve from California and also Rob and Karl from Hersham. Suffice to say, the drinks flowed and the smiles returned. However, on waking in the Premier Inn opposite the pub the next morning, I could not stifle a brief “I hate football” from flitting into my head.

But these were a busy few days for Chelsea Football Club.

Next up was our first FA Cup tie against Leeds United since the 1970 FA Cup Final and subsequent replay. It was a busy time for me too. As Monday passed and as I toiled over the Wembley blog late into Tuesday, I managed to “let go” of the result on Sunday and I tried my best to look forward to the game on Wednesday.

I was in early at work on the day of the game, but I could not get something out of my head. Back in 1986, Chelsea exited both domestic cups within the space of four days; we lost at home to Liverpool in the FA Cup on Sunday 26 January and at home to QPR on Wednesday 29 January. I sincerely hoped that there would be no repeat thirty-eight years later.

PD and Parky had enjoyed a pub lunch and PD had then picked-up Ron Harris at 1.45pm. At just after 2pm, in the car park of “The Milk Churn” pub in Melksham, I stood with Ron as PD took a photo of the two of us. It seemed right that on the occasion of the first Chelsea vs. Leeds United FA Cup game in fifty-four years, we should mark the start of the drive to Chelsea in this manner.

As I pulled out of the car park, I realised once again how absolutely lucky I am to be able to drive our captain from those glory years up to Stamford Bridge.

1970, eh?

While Ron was busy leading the team to those two classic games, I was just starting out on a football life of my own.

I began my school days at the age of for years and nine months, probably just before the Wembley Cup Final on Saturday 11 April. In the ensuing few months, I would choose Chelsea as my team, although the exact reason or reasons are not crystal clear. In my memory, it’s down to a list of a few motives. It has to be said that until school, my parents told me that I wasn’t particularly interested in football.

Maybe I liked the name “Chelsea”. Maybe, after the replay at Old Trafford on 29 April, some school pals told me that “Chelsea had won the cup” (there is no recollection at all of me watching it, sadly) or maybe I had worked out that Chelsea were a good team. In a nutshell, Chelsea were the talk of the town, or at least the school playground, in the April and May of 1970 and I became a fan.

I’ve had quite a journey, eh?

And here I was, aged fifty-eight and seven months, driving the captain of that team to a game against Leeds United so many years later.

As I approached London, I could not resist asking Ron a question.

“Ron. Of the two games at Wembley and Old Trafford in 1970, what is your one stand out memory?”

“After the first game, Dave Sexton told me that I would swap positions with Webby, who had been given the biggest run-around I had ever seen by Eddie Gray, and in the second-game he never got a kick.”

The response did not surprise me at all. It is the classic moment from both games aside from the goals.

The 1970 FA Cup Final is so iconic, so fantastic, and so important to the history of the competition and to Chelsea Football Club alike. But it is, undoubtedly, so important for me too, although I did not even watch the games at the time.

It was a game-changer.

I knew that Chelsea were issuing a programme for the game that would feature a cover photograph of the jubilant Chelsea players at Old Trafford, with Chopper holding the trophy alongside a few team mates, and I liked that. Sometimes Chelsea get it right.

As time moves on, though, it has been sad to see so many players from both teams pass away over the years. Of the twenty-two starters at Old Trafford, only ten remain.

Chelsea.

Peter Bonetti : 20 April 2020, aged 78.
Ron Harris – aged 79
Eddie McCreadie – aged 83.
John Hollins : 14 June 2023, aged 76.
John Dempsey – aged 77.
David Webb – aged 77.
Tommy Baldwin : 22 January 2024, aged 78.
Charlie Cooke – aged 81.
Peter Osgood : 1 March 2006, aged 59.
Ian Hutchinson : 19 September 2002, aged 54.
Peter Houseman : 20 March 1977, aged 31.

Leeds United.

David Harvey – aged 76.
Paul Madeley : 23 July 2018, aged 73.
Terry Cooper : 31 July 2021, aged 77.
Billy Bremner : 7 December 1997, aged 54.
Jack Charlton : 10 July 2020, aged 85.
Norman Hunter : 20 April 2020, aged 76.
Peter Lorimer : 20 March 2021, aged 74.
Alan Clarke – aged 77.
Mick Jones – aged 78.
Johnny Giles – aged 83.
Eddie Gray – aged 76.

I dropped off PD and Parky at the bottom of the North End Road and I dropped off Ron outside the main gates. As I slowly retraced my steps back to my usual parking place, police sirens were wailing.

Leeds were in town.

At about 5.15pm, I popped into an Italian restaurant on the Lillee Road – “Pizza@Home” – for the first time and I enjoyed some lovely food. I then dipped into “Café Ole” at the bottom of the North End Road once more for a large cappuccino. It was all about staying out of the rain for as long as I could. Funnily enough, there was a bundle of friends at “Café Ole” – Pete, Liz, Mark, Scott, Paul, Gerry, Tom, Leigh, Darren – probably all with the same need to keep dry.

I had a nice talk with Tom, the first one for ages.

I was inside Stamford Bridge at about 7pm. PD told me that, should we beat Leeds, we would play host to Leicester City in the Quarter-Finals.

Mixed blessings.

I was angling for a dream draw of Newcastle United at home on Saturday 16 March as it would mark the fiftieth anniversary of my very first game against the same opposition. But I was relatively happy with a home draw. I hoped that the game would be played on the Saturday though. Outside of a home draw, we all wanted Coventry City. Ah well, it was not to be.

PD ran through the team.

“We’re playing with three wingers. Sterling, Madueke, Mudryk.”

I had swapped out with Parky to allow him a seat next to PD in The Sleepy Hollow. There were around six-thousand noisy Leeds fans in The Shed, their largest away following at Stamford Bridge in over fifty-years, maybe ever.

At about 7.15pm, Ron Harris was interviewed pitch side with club historian Rick Glanvil as they spoke about the 1970 FA Cup Final and its place in football folklore. Amazingly, the replay was watched by 28.49 million people. It is at number six in the list of the highest-ever TV audiences in the UK, alongside royal weddings, royal funerals and England games. Apart from the “Matthews Final” of 1953, it is probably the most famous FA Cup Final of them all.

The usual dimming of lights and fireworks, but then the shock of Leeds in an all pink kit, albeit one with a shirt that resembled a polyester outfit from the ‘seventies that Mrs. Slocombe might wear at a Grace Brothers night out.

Hideous.

Time to sort the team out. I had a look.

Sanchez

Gusto – Disasi – Chalobah – Gilchrist

Caicedo – Enzo

Madueke – Mudryk – Sterling

Jackson

I had forgotten that Ethan Ampadu was now full-time at Leeds United after three relegations on loan to Sheffield United, Venezia and Spezia. Eddie Gray’s great-nephew Archie was playing for the visitors. He is the son of Andy Gray, who I remember at Leeds, and the grandson of Frank Gray who I also remember at Leeds.

Conclusion : I am getting old.

The visitors in The Shed noisily shouted “We are Leeds, we are Leeds, we are Leeds” and Enzo kicked the ball back to a team mate.

We were off.

The pink visitors attacked us in the Matthew Harding. Mudryk was in the “Number 10” slot, the space recently occupied by Cole Palmer. We began on top.

I noted many empty seats during the first few minutes but most filled. There were, however a few hundred unused seats in the top corners of Westview all game.

I was just getting settled, making a mental note of all the songs that the visitors were singing at us, when a lumped ball from deep released Daniel James who had lost the back-tracking Alfie Gilchrist. The Leeds player lobbed the ball just wide of the goal frame.

From the goal-kick following this miss, a typical Chelsea disaster of 2023/24 occurred right in front of me. Sanchez played the ball to Axel Disasi who he chose not to clear his lines, no doubt under instruction from the management. He played the ball into the feet of Moises Caicedo, even though there were three opponents close by. Possession was lost, Jaidon Anthony pushed the ball square to Mateo Joseph who slammed the ball past Robert Sanchez.

The away hordes roared.

After just eight minutes we were one-nil down.

The away end went through a few favourites.

“Should I be Chelsea, should I be Leeds, here’s what she said to me.”

“Let’s go fucking mental, let’s go fucking mental.”

“Marching on together.”

We tried to retaliate immediately, with Sterling setting up Enzo but his low effort flew past Ilian Meslier’s post.

On fifteen minutes, we constructed a really fine move down the right, with a smattering of one-touch passes. Jackson back to Disasi, to Gusto, inside to Jackson, to Madueke, to Caicedo and a killer pass to Jackson, who carefully guided the ball home.

Lovely goal.

It was back to 1-1.

Another shot from Enzo, but easily stopped by Meslier.

“Come on Chelsea, Come on Chelsea. Come on Chelsea. Come on Chelsea.”

A slashed effort from an angle by Madueke that only hit the side-netting. Another shot from Madueke was so high and wide that it almost defied description. Mudryk went close at an angle. At a corner, Mudryk took Shedloads of abuse from the Leeds fans.

“You’re fookin’ shit, you’re fookin’ shit, you’re fookin’ shit.”

Leeds countered occasionally. For some reason, their right-winger James (he scored against us in his first game for Manchester United in August 2019) reminded me of Eddie Gray, his build and his running style.

On thirty-seven minutes, another fine move down our right. The ball was worked centrally at first, Caicedo to Chalobah to Madueke. As so often happens, he chose to dribble laterally, but in doing so encountered some space. He pushed the ball between defenders to Gusto on the right. A touch, a prod into Sterling, and a cutback to Mudryk, and a first-time finish, sweeping it low past the ‘keeper. Another great goal.

He stood in front of his detractors.

“Ви казали?”

We were 2-1 up.

The visitors were not impressed.

“2-1 and you still don’t sing.”

Leeds came again and James fired over from a free-kick. Jaidon Anthony ghosted in from the left and thumped one that just missed the far post.

“We all hate Leeds and Leeds and Leeds…”

At the break, it was time to reflect on the first-half. We had scored two nice goals, but some of our build-up play was just too slow. Moises Caicedo was the best of our bunch, strong in the tackle, decent passing, holding it all together. We had done just enough.

Alas, in the second-half, we didn’t do much at all.

Leeds began the stronger and after a while it dawned on me that we had hardly strung more than two passes together. On fifty-eight minutes, with the Chelsea crowd not involved and docile, Ampadu swung a long cross over to Anthony. I was dismayed that Gusto did not make a stab at the ball, allowing a long cross towards the far post where Joseph was able to leap, totally unmarked, and head down and in.

It was now 2-2.

On sixty-one minutes, a double substitution.

Conor Gallagher for Madueke.

Ben Chilwell for Gusto.

Chilwell to left-back, Gilchrist to right-back, Gallagher to the middle, Mudryk to the left, Sterling to the right.

Our play went to pieces.

“We’re second-best here.”

A shot from Anthony was deflected but its trajectory stayed close to Sanchez.

Our passing was off, our intensity had slowed, we had stopped doing the small things. We looked so tired.

Mudryk crossed high but Jackson was always underneath it.

On seventy-four minutes, more changes.

Levi Colwill for Gilchrist.

Cole Palmer for Sterling.

Disasi to right-back, Colwill in the middle, Palmer on the left.

We still struggled. We all began to wonder about extra-time and penalties, another late night.

On the ninetieth minute, there was really fine play from Enzo who fought to retain possession on the left and he scurried forward. He spotted the run of Gallagher and slotted a beautiful pass into him. Gallagher’s touch was exquisite and despite being squeezed by two Leeds defenders, he lifted the ball over Meslier.

Get in you beauty.

Now it was our turn to scream and shout.

Stamford Bridge roared, but how I wished that it had been roaring all night.

In injury-time, a debut was given to Jimi Tauriainen, whose first moment of action was to foul a Leeds defender; obviously he had read the script.

Chelsea 3 Leeds United 2.

At the end, “Freed From Desire “ and “One Step Beyond”

We can’t really grumble about getting home draws all of the way through the two domestic cups this season can we? Eight out of eight.

Wimbledon.

Brighton.

Blackburn Rovers.

Newcastle United.

Preston North End.

Aston Villa.

Leeds United.

Leicester City.

During the day, I had joked to a few people about the game against Leeds.

“Yeah, looking forward to it. But what’s the end goal? Get to another Cup Final at Wembley and lose that one too?”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Outside, mobs of Leeds made their way back to waiting cars and coaches. I had not seen so many police at Chelsea in years.

On the walk back to the car, Ron Harris explained that Eddie Gray was with the Leeds board at Stamford Bridge and had asked to be linked up with his old adversary from 1970. The two former players spent thirty minutes in each other’s company. In fact, Eddie Gray did the exact same thing on his last visit to Chelsea last season. I admired that. These old warriors must love to meet up and share stories of that game and others.

“How old is Eddie Gray, Ron? Same age as you?”

“Couple years younger, I think.”

“Right.”

We walked on.

“Oh yeah, I remember now. When he played against you in 1970 he was younger. But after the replay, I heard that he aged significantly.”

Ron smiled.

I soon escaped from London and for the first time that I can remember I didn’t stop once until I pulled up at “The Milk Churn” at about midnight. I was home by 12.40am, a relatively early night.

Right then, back to the league now. Brentford on Saturday. See you there.