Tales From The Singing 3,000

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Arsenal vs. Chelsea : 10 May 2009.

On Saturday, I went with a few Chelsea regulars – with our wives and girlfriends – down for a fiftieth birthday near Southampton. The theme of the evening was ska / two tone and we presumed that a local ska band had been booked. There were about twenty skinhead types milling around…the main man, Alan ( from The Goose ), was wearing a Ben Sherman, jeans, braces and DMs. He looked a picture. Imagine our surprise when a trio of guys in their sixties appeared on stage…the original band couldn’t make it and so replacements were sought. The lead guitarist and singer introduced himself as Beaky from the ‘sixties band Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich…and the music they played was just a total mismatch for the evening. Nobody was dancing! We excused ourselves and headed back to pub where “Tony Two-Tone” was halfway through a Ska / Northern Soul set.

PD, Glenn and myself lit up the dance floor ( stop sniggering at the back!) as the ladies watched dumbfounded and aghast from the sidelines.

I was in a quandary though – I was headed up to London the next morning, so had to watch my beer intake. The last thing I wanted was to be driving up the M4, with alcohol seeping out of every pore. I also needed to protect my unbroken league stretch going for this season…for the first time ever, I am honing in on Game 38 and I had to make sure I wouldn’t fail on Game 36. Funny the priorities at this stage of the season…with just a few games left, I am sure we turn up out of habit, punch drunk from all of the travels and games…on any other year, I could so easily have given this one a swerve.

Glenn drove back to Frome and I, thankfully, wasn’t hung over at all. After a quick change into game gear, I set off and collected Lord Parky from his place at 11.45am. This was therefore going to be a bit of a strange one with a truncated “pre-match.” I hit a bit of traffic nearing London, but was parked up at West Brompton at 1.45pm. It was a hot and sunny day and we were soon on the tube to Holborn.

For every game at Arsenal since about 2002, we have met at “The Shakespeare’s Head,” handily placed a few stops away from Arsenal on the Picadilly Line.

We haven’t had a great record at Arsenal over the years. My first trip to Highbury was the iconic 1984-85 opener and I suppose I have visited Highbury seven or eight times in total, plus two visits to The Emirates. I had yet to see a Chelsea win. Since 1990, we have only won there three times…the first one was the 5-0 League Cup demolition job in 1998, the second one was the Wayne Bridge game in 2004 and the other one was the Robben / Cole 2-0 game in 2005-2006. I was really miffed that I couldn’t get a ticket for that last one. I used to love going to Highbury as I am a big art deco fan and, of course, this was Chelsea’s last ever visit to Arsenal’s grand thirties’ masterpiece. Since that season, I have been an away season ticket holder – I’m therefore guaranteed tickets for all of our games.

Anyway, enough history for now.

I had decided to stay off the beer, so Parky got me a coke. I headed out towards the rear of the pub and there they all were…a fine turn out from The Bing after Wednesday’s sadness…Parky and myself joined eight other close friends, plus Burger and Julie, visitors once again to our shores. I got the impression that I had missed a good pre-match, but I soon felt at home, with updates from the party in Southampton. We had a pretty heated discussion about the state of the club and the way forward. Suffice to say, we doubted that the club was in good hands. We need a long term plan and a manager to stay for more than six months! Hiddink was our choice, but we were not sure if he would stay, for various reasons. Daryl called our current team “Mourinho’s Third Or Fourth Best Team” and we all nodded. I said that Mourinho still haunts us all.

Lacoste Watch –

Ed – Chocolate
Parky – Lemon
Rob – Blue
Myself – Lavender

At 3.20pm, Parky and myself set off and our timings were impeccable. Gary, Alan and Whitey had left before us, but we still got there before them…we had left Simon, Milo, Daryl, Ed and Rob with Burger and Julie – just finishing off their drinks / ordering new ones!

Out from the rabbit warren of Arsenal tube and into the bright sunlight. As we walked the five minutes around to the new stadium, I glimpsed the old West Stand on Highbury Hill, now housing apartments. The usual hubbub of match day colours, sights and smells…fanzines, T-shirts, touts and burgers.

Into the concrete coolness of the stadium at 3.55pm – perfect timing. All of us away season ticket holders, all 500 of us, were along the side and I was four rows from the rear, thankfully shaded from the sun. The Gooners were about ten seats to my right. Parky was a few rows in front and there was Les from Melksham, too. Rob and Daryl were fifty yards away, right behind the goal and adjacent to The Goons.

Pre-match, I had predicted that we would be more “up” for it than Arsenal, but the opening exchanges disproved this. We were second best in all areas and I lost count of the number of chances which Arsenal squandered…at times it was laughable, but beneath the smiles and cheers, there was deep concern for us. Gary, alongside me, was especially worried. Mind you, he always is – he always seems to have the troubles of the World on his shoulders, bless him.

“Come on Chels, wake up.”

“Chels” – our own little word of encouragement to our heroes, which we only ever use at actual games…it really winds me up to see this special little word used out of context so often these days.

I have known Alan for twenty five years and not once has he talked about Chelsea as “Chels” outside of the stadium…ditto Daryl, Gary, Glenn, Walnuts, Rob, Blowmonkey and all. It’s usually only used to tease out a better performance from the team…never as a word to be used to express joy…

Never –“oh well done Chels!”

But rather – “Get into them, Chels!”

“Come on, Chels!”

“We’re better than this Chels!”

“Keep going Chels!”

Midway though the first-half, we got a free-kick and I saw Drogba setting himself. A shot? No – a deep cross for Alex to head home! Get in! Virtually our first real effort on goal – beautiful. Soon after, Anelka broke from deep and guided a superb shot in at the far post – easily his best goal for us. Lovely that it was against his old team.

2-0 up and in control – totally against the run of play, even better! Up until this point, Alan and Gary were eyeballing two Goons in our row, about fifteen yards away. Gary was winding one of them up constantly and the Gooner was doing the “outside, I’ll cut your throat” move…of course, at two-nil, the two Goons disappeared from view…never to be seen again!

There was so much laughter coming from our section – and the funniest selection of songs this season…

“Here for the sunshine, you’re only here for the sunshine!”

“Ooh to – ooh to be – ooh to be a Loser!”

“We’re surprised, we’re surprised, we’re surprised that you’re still here, we’re surprised that you’re still here!”

“You’d might as well go home!”

“Let them out, let them out, let them out!”

And – throughout the game – our song of the moment…

“We’re staying at home, we’re staying at home, F UEFA, we’re staying at home.”

Only Chelsea fans could get a song going about missing out on the CL Final – I love this club!

I took a few snaps of Ed, Simon and Milo giving me the “thumbs up” at half-time. For a period in the second, it got a bit surreal, with the singing from our section taking precedence of the action on the pitch. An Arsenal substitution, gave the Chelsea choir another opportunity to get singing. On came Nicholas Bendtner…

“Where’s yer trousers gone, where’s yer trousers gone?”

And mine – “Down with yer trousers, you’re going down with yer trousers!”

The third goal came and it got even better.

“One team in London, there’s only one team in London!”

“Ash is going to Wembley, Ash is going to Wembley, tra, la, la, la, tra, la, la, la.”

Only when did Bendtner score did we hear anything from Arsenal – their support was truly pitiful. The last goal from Malouda resulted in even more home supporters leaving for the exits and it was a joyous sight.

Alan – who really despises Arsenal – was in heaven. I’ve never seen so many grinning faces. Still Arsenal kept missing their goal-scoring chances.

How we laughed.

By the time I met up with Parky, we were right at the back of the stampede out…it took forever to get back to west London – not helped by closures on a few tube lines.

Never mind. We called in for a pizza at our favourite Italian at West Brompton – and sat back and savoured a great away day. I always remember my first visit – with Beth – to The Emirates in May 2007, when a 1-1 draw resulted in us relinquishing our title to United…the day of the “chins up” from Jose. Despite losing the title that day, the support we gave the boys made me so proud to be a Chelsea fan.

In defeat, strength.

Fast forward to 2009 and our revenge was complete…

Arsenal 1 Chelsea 4.

My first ever win at Arsenal – just fantastic. I put Depeche Mode on the CD player on the drive home – we were singing aloud, loving it.

“All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, was here in my arms.”

Tales From The Heart

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Barcelona : 6 May 2009.

Our club has reached five Champions League Semi-Finals in the last six years – this is a phenomenal achievement. Let’s not lose track of how far we have travelled. I have been detailing our exploits 25 years ago to give some idea of contrast to the current season and, I have to say, such accomplishments back in those days would have been scoffed at. It would have been totally unbelievable. Utter craziness to even think about it.

During the day, I exchanged a few emails and texts with a few mates who had Rome in mind. Yet again, the Mancs had got to the flights first, leaving us with the scraps. A day trip was looking like £450, so we had a plan of flying to Nice, a train to Milan ( passing through my old haunt of Diano Marina ) and a train to Rome…around £250.

I tried not to think about the game too much during the day, but I knew that nerves would eventually get the better of me.

I tried to get away for 4pm, but was only able to leave at 4.20pm…these minutes make all the difference on the congested M4. Parky was accompanying me yet again – his payment would be a dozen eggs from his chickens and two pints of lager in The Goose. There was the usual constant batter about football and music as we headed east. To be fair, we made good time and made the pub at 6.30pm…just enough to say all we had to say to the boys, who were in a little corner of the beer garden. Burger had collected his brace of tickets from Alan and had left for the ground for some pre-match atmosphere. I am sure he wasn’t disappointed.

Parky got the beers in – The Goose still provides outstanding value…he bought a pitcher of four pints of Carling for just £7.50. The beer went down well. Our group was about ten strong and I noted that four of us were wearing classic Lacoste polos.

Walnuts – pink
Blow Monkey – racing green
Rob – mid blue
Myself – navy blue

To complete the picture – Parky had a black Lacoste baseball cap and Ed had a navy Lacoste pullover.

I stood on the table and took a photo of The Bing, all smiling confidently…for the moment. To be fair, talk was more of travel to Rome than of the game ahead, but I was now getting very nervous. I had predicted, in an email to a guy from a supplier ( Chelsea fan ) during the day that the score would be 1-1. Overall, others were more confident than me.

We left the boozer at 7.15pm and the area around the ground was heaving. I had the distinct impression that a lot of fans had travelled in to watch in the adjacent pubs, of which there are a good twenty-five within ten minutes of the stadium. Good vibes walking in behind The West Stand…I took some snaps of the CL banners adorning the area. Parky was watching down below me in the MHL. I reached my seat at 7.30pm – easy! – and spent a good few minutes walking around nervously, chatting to faces that I have got to know since my season-ticket era began in 1997. Everyone was edgy and my view was that “it could go either way…very tight, they could score three, we could too.”

As “Blue Is The Colour” was heartily sung by us all, the place looked a picture. The 3,000 away fans had their yellow and red Catalonia flags and their distinctive deep red and navy FCB scarves. Elsewhere, the Chelsea support waved the white and blue flags…and down below in the MHL, the iconic “Pride Of London” flag floated along. It was a wonderful sight. The Champions League “ball” in the centre circle was waved, the anthem began and the teams strode onto the green turf. The fading sun seemed to tint the back wall of the hotel a subtle pink colour.

I stood the entire game. For the first time that I can remember, a large section of The Shed Upper did the same.

First impressions were that Barca were continuing in the same fashion as the first leg. I noticed Messi was being deployed in the middle of their attack. Barca were full of crisp passing. The Chelsea support were doing a good job and I noted lots of people close by who normally sit in silence joining in. Good signs. I thought back to my school days, circa 1973, and here I was at a Chelsea game…at an actual game…”Chelsea – clap, clap, clap, Chelsea – clap, clap, clap.” It made me proud. Here I was – being part of it.

Then, a high ball came out to Michael Essien.

A shot.

We all stood in awe as the ball ( hit with his left foot! ) crashed goalwards…it smacked the bar and bounced down. We waited…we waited for what seemed like ages for the ball to bounce back up…we waited…until it hit the netting and the place erupted.

YES! Get in! Get in! I punched the air…I stood on my little platform to my right ( how many goals have I celebrated there! ) and then had a moment of awareness…we were winning…I took a deep breath and roared again. My voice has never been more loud. I looked down at Alan and we motioned towards each other –

“They’ll have to come at us now.”

“Come on my little diamonds.”

Soon after, I said to Alan “don’t get the lucky wine gums out – save them for Rome” just at the exact moment he took them out of his pocket to offer me one. Superstitions, eh? Last season for the CL semi, I wore a Yankees jacket and cap…this year, they were in my bag. Alan held his lucky Osgood badge the entire game.

Phew. We were winning. A few texts came in from Planet Chelsea. Barca continued to pass the ball around us, but Messi only really had one mesmeric dribble through the middle…balls were played too high, too wide…they were wasting all of their possession. The noise quietened as Barca continued their dominance. They were using a delicate scalpel to cut us open. We used a hammer. Midway through the half, I bumped into a guy who I had first met in Vienna for the Chelsea game in 1994. Even that seemed like light years away. In 1994, we were naïve Euro novices…in 2009, we were the real deal. I spotted “Tubes” from “Soccer AM” too.

I captured JT’s great leap and header on film. We had a few chances, but not many.

The two first-half “penalties” were down the other end to us. I didn’t get a clear view of the Malouda one, but the Drogba one looked borderline…I think Didier’s reputation preceded him though. On the TV screens at the break, both challenges looked like more certain penalties and the crowd booed their disapproval.

The second-half continued in much the same way as the first. Lots of Barca pressure with Iniesta and Xavi seeing so much of the ball. Our defence was magnificent, but I felt the midfield surrendered too much space to the influential Barca playmakers. Cole was shackling Messi. Malouda was tracking back well and offering good movement going forward. He is the club’s most improved player since March.

Within a manic period, Drogba shot at the Barca keeper and Frank blasted wide.

Oh boy.

The support roused itself, but then the nerves took over. Pockets of support all over the ground tried their best to get it going, but the result wasn’t coherent. Barca obviously sang, but we didn’t hear them over the general hubbub.

Anelka was through on goal and a rough challenge…a red card! It surprised me as another defender was close by. Things were looking good, but we didn’t seize the chance. We didn’t stretch them.

Twenty minutes to go…a Barca goal, I had to keep reminding myself, would kill us. I watched the clock like never before. Still Chelsea’s midfield gave up too much space.

Work!

Anelka through on goal right down below us and Pique handles. This is the one – this is the one where the conspiracy theorists will go to town. It was a penalty, referee…it was a penalty.We screamed our abhorrence.

Ten minutes to go. I daren’t talk to Alan. I daren’t upset the karma.

Five minutes to go…86…87…88…89…Come on boys.

“We’re going to Rome, we’re going to Rome …F your history, we’re going to Rome.” What a city to win the Big One….

The PA announced “four minutes of extra time.” I glanced at my phone and it was 9.33pm. By 9.37pm, it would be all over. All was quiet…I kept glancing at Alan, not knowing what to say.

Then, a flat ball in to the edge of the “D” and a wild swipe at the ball from that man Iniesta.

“No!”

It looked a goal as soon as it left his foot. It seemed to spin further away from the stretching Cech…it hit the back of the net and I stood, mouth open, still…motionless…disbelieving…for five or ten seconds. My body did not move. My eyes acknowledged the away support falling over themselves.

Then – a few spectacularly odd and random thoughts crashed into my mind.

We’re out.

Not this year.

Never.

Not like this please!

Not after the two Liverpool defeats in 2005 and 2007.

No trip to Rome.

No added expense.

More money for America.

No need for holiday cover at work.

Guilt for thinking these things.

Sadness.

Self pity.

All those plans for Rome.

Snap out of it Chris – COME ON!

An inner smile.

More guilt.

Blow up ref – put us out of our misery.

Then – a corner…camera poised for the Greatest Goal Ever Bar None. Cech raced upfield. A delay added to the tension.

One last chance. The corner kick, and a scramble, click, click, click…a shot…handball!

The agony of the referee not blowing for the penalty.

The sadness.

I slowly and quietly left the stadium, bumping into a few mates on the way back to the car.

“We’re making a bloody habit of this aren’t we?”

Gallows humour.

I was OK – I was numb really. I think I was OK.

Parky and myself talked through the shared experience of yet another CL semi defeat as I drove west…we came out with some home-spun philosophy on the way home. We were fine. We’d seen worse, much worse.

We were Chelsea.

As I dropped him off at 12.45am…”take care, mate…see you Sunday.”

Tales From Chelsea In America On Tour

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Fulham : 2 May 2009.

I think I am suffering from battle fatigue at the moment. It’s not surprising. Fulham at home was match number fifty for me this season and I think it’s all starting to take its toll.

I even went to a game on Friday evening. My local non-league team, Frome Town, are on the brink of promotion to the Southern League for the first time in their history. My mate Steve tried to round up a few old school friends, but I was the only one who joined him and his two sons Harry ( United ) and Charlie ( Chelsea ) for the game with Bitton. Harry’s claim to fame was being an England mascot at a game in Manchester four years ago – and Frank Lampard was the player he held hands with. Lampard, back in the days when he wasn’t booed by Ingerland’s supporters, even scored a goal that night.

A crowd of around two-hundred watched as Frome scored twice within a five minute period in the first half to beat the champions 2-0. The ex-Southend player Mark Salter even missed a penalty just after the second goal. Salter is a bit of a cult hero at Frome and is The Robins’ highest ever scorer. It wasn’t a bad game…under lights, with the misty rain creating its own particular atmosphere, it was a nice place to be on a Friday evening.

The Frome Five assembled at around 9.15am, but we were met with some bad news. It seems that Dave and Karen are not renewing their Shed Upper season tickets next season. They have recently moved house and I think the “spend” was more than they budgeted. They are doing the FA Cup Final though – we all have tickets. We all overdosed on pig flu’ jokes on the drive up. There was a rugby game on at Twickenham ( what a waste of a Saturday! ) and this held us up somewhat. I spotted that there seemed to be a baseball tournament taking place in the park next to Richmond RFU ground. I even spotted a Yankee fan in a Thurman Munson shirt…respect!

You all know the score by now – we parked up at 11.30am, a breakfast and straight around the corner to The Goose. This was yet another manic pre-match, with me meeting many Americans in the boozer. For those that are new to this website, maybe some people are wondering why I contribute to this site. Without wishing to go into my whole bloody life story, I first visited North America in 1989 and love going back. I know New York, St Augustine in Florida and the Asheville area in North Carolina very well. Chelsea toured America in 2004 and, at first, I was unable to afford to go. However, thanks to being left some money in a will, I decided to go to the Roma game in Pittsburgh in that year. I really do have to thank my aunt Julie for leaving me that money. It has since opened up my Chelsea-supporting life and has been a fantastic experience. I went again in 2005 – games in DC and NJ – but I only really got involved on this site just before the 2006 trip to Chicago. There are around seven or eight UK fans ( Mark, Cathy, Mo, Ian, Kevin, Anna and myself… maybe some more ) that have been to most of these US tours and I love being able to pass on my passion to new people. You might have guessed.

We arrived in The Goose bang on midday and the first people to great me were Pete ( “PJK” ) and Becky from San Francisco. I first met Pete on the coach back from the Suwon game in LA in 2007. He’s a season ticket holder, despite having lived in America for twenty years or more. He comes over a few times each season. Parky was in the pub with the Trowbridge boys and I reintroduced him to Pete, who he last met for the Roma home game last autumn. I walked out into the beer garden and briefly chatted to Rob about Barcelona. The beer garden was drenched in sun and had never been more packed.

As I got the beers in, I spotted Jenni ( “bluebelle” ) and Mo ( “shovelgirl” ) and – after a few words – the girls were directed to our section of the beer garden. Alan, Daryl, Ed, Glenn, The Youth, Seb, Andy, Lovejoy, Chopper, Gary, Simon, Tim, Georgie and what seemed like a million others were milling around, drinking and laughing. Jenni had sat next to Alan and Gary in Barcelona. I was aware that Andy ( “wrayman” )from the OC Chapter was in town for one game, but I think he stayed close to The Bridge. I texted Beth ( #26 ) a few times, but didn’t meet her this time.

Simon arrived, minus his son Milo, who came in for a scathing attack from us all.

“Typical fair-weather JCL Chelsea fan…as soon as we are out of the league, off he goes paintballing – disgraceful.”

Milo is eleven.

We all laughed.

Next to arrive was Brian from LA, who I met in 2007 too. He is originally from Belfast and has a “Norn Iron” / London / LA accent…he had just flown in during the morning and was pumped. He’s over for The Specials too. He posts on the board as “cfcshed65”. On another walk to the bar, I detected a few American accents amongst a group of around seven sat quietly at a table. Before I knew it, Parky was ploughing straight in and it transpired that “comeonyoublues” was at the head of the table and so I introduced myself to his little group and welcomed them all to The Goose. They were all from the DC area, so I asked if they were going to the Baltimore game. The four chaps were, but not so sure about the three ladies, one of whom I had to correct –

“Football, not soccer!”

Before I knew it, the DC lot and Brian had all left to acquire their match tickets and I was able to spend a bit more time with Jenni and Mo. Then, the time came for them to leave.

Daryl, Parky and myself were the last to leave the pub at 2.40pm – we would be cutting it fine for sure. As we strolled past Fulham Broadway, we could hardly believe our eyes…two slow-moving police vans, with about fifteen OB on foot, were escorting a mouthy little mob of Fulham fans. They numbered no more than twenty-five and were certainly enjoying their five minutes of fame. No doubt they told of this to all of their school friends by text.

“Yeah – we walked right through. Chelsea didn’t want to know.”

Bless ‘em.

What a lovely free-flowing move which lead to Anelka’s first league goal in ages. Just a shame I was still climbing the last of the stairs when it was scored! Yep – I missed it. I don’t miss many.

As I sat down next to Alan, I shared his surprise at the strength of team we put out…very surprising indeed. “I hope Guus knows what he’s doing.” Before I had a chance to get my camera out, Fulham equalised with a shot which Cech really should have saved. The 3,000 away fans roared their approval.

A lovely sweeping shot from Malouda made it 2-1. Just a shame I was outside in the gents – alone – at the time. Yep – I missed that goal too. I came back with a sheepish grin on myself and quite a few so-called mates were shooing me away

“Stay out!”

I laughed – I’ve never missed two Chelsea goals in the same game before. Oh boy. This pre-match drinking has a lot to answer for…

This game had the air of a friendly…heaven knows what the game against Blackburn will be like. We played OK, without overdoing it. I had a drink with Brian ( who was sat ten seats away ), Becky and Pete in “Dixons” at half-time…but sadly Andy wasn’t spotted. Next time, mate!

At last I saw a Chelsea goal, with that inch-perfect pass from Anelka to set up Drogba. We were well deserving of our three points. The Fulham fans made a bit of noise. Let’s hope we make a hell of a lot more noise against Barca. After a little bit of Fulham banter, the MHU replied with –

“ You never won fuck all!”

Call me a pedant, but this really annoys me – this is a double negative and it grates every damn time I hear it. It should be – roll on drums…

“You’ve always win fuck all!”

On the walk out of the ground, I found myself next to a young Fulham kiddie and he was talking to his mate.

“Yeah, really poor Chelsea support.”

“Well, at least we don’t need thunder sticks mate.”

He bristled with annoyance at me upsetting his applecart and blatantly lied…

“We don’t have thunder sticks.”

Bless.

Footnote – I got back to Frome at 7.30pm, but soon drove over to Judy’s home town of Westbury for a party at the old railway social club, opposite Westbury train station. The train station was where I used to depart for Chelsea back in those heady days of 1983-84 and was recently featured in the “hoolie porn” flick “Green Street” ( in the guise of Macclesfield train station, for some reason. )

There you go – obligatory 1983-84 reference completed.

Tales From Green Street And Fulham Road

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

West Ham United vs. Chelsea : 25 April 2009.

This is what we call the “business end of the season” – just a shame we have to do business in the hell hole that is Upton Park.

I picked up two lads – Ashley and Andy – from Trowbridge en route to collecting Lord Parky at 8.15am from his village between Trowbridge and Melksham. There was strange weather as we headed up the M4…the phrase “sunny intervals and scattered showers” was never more appropriate. Luckily, the inclement weather had finished by the time we hit Chelsealand. I was parked up by 10am and a breakfast soon followed. The plan was to meet up at The Spotted Dog in Barking, JT’s home town, a couple of stops past Upton Park on the District Line. From West Brompton to Barking is a full twenty-five stops…we set off at 11am and hit Barking at midday. For anyone who cares, the West Ham ground is at Upton Park tube, not West Ham.

On the train, I was talking to Parky about the rivalries between the big London clubs. West Ham seem to hate Millwall and dislike Spurs and us intently. Not sure what they think of Arsenal. I personally dislike Spurs most and Alan loathes Arsenal. What of West Ham? Back when I was a youth, in the early ‘eighties, West Ham and Chelsea were both in the Second Division and I bracketed us together in terms of “size” at the time, though we were always potentially massive. Since then, Arsenal have moved on in terms of comparisons with Tottenham, while we are on a different footballing planet to West Ham. And how we love it.

Twenty-five years ago, Chelsea were hitting the business end of the 1983-84 season. Our entertaining team was on the brink of promotion, having let a 2-0 lead at Pompey slip, ending up with a 2-2 draw. I didn’t go to that game, on a Wednesday evening, but was going to the next game…the momentous encounter with Leeds ( yeah them – of all teams ) on Saturday 28th April. For those new to this site, I have been detailing my matchday experiences over this season and that fantastic season, all those years ago.

But in some ways – it seems like yesterday.

On that Saturday morning, my father dropped me off in Frome and I met Glenn near his house before we walked down to PD’s flat. Gary and Mark, from Westbury, arrived outside by car and we were soon off. I was sat in the back with Glenn and PD ( just as I often do in 2009! ) and the talk was of Chelsea all the way up to London. We parked near the ground – near Worlds End I reckon – and were soon heading back towards the North End Road. The others had some food in the Pie And Mash Shop ( now long gone, alas ) before hopping over the road for pre-match bevies in The Cock ( now The Cock And Hen ). This was a historic day for me. I was eighteen, but this was the first time I had ever been in a pub at Chelsea. Before then, I was always broke, and I seem to remember having a single lager and lime. The pub filled up and I remember talking to a lad from Reading. The songs started up and “One Man Went To Mow” was the song of that season…we all sat until “nine”, then exploded onto our feet on “ten.” The pub was a riot of noise. I felt as if I was coming of age…this was my tenth game of the season…not bad for someone who spent the entire season on the dole, getting by on £25 per week. I guess a trip to Chelsea used to cost me £15 in those days. It was my life – maybe even more so than now.

Glenn and myself headed off to get into The Shed at 1.30pm or so – no tickets in those days, we had to be sure we could get in! We paid the extra £1 to get a transfer on to The Benches, that hot bed of young and exuberant Chelsea support. The weekend before, I had travelled to Bath to buy my first ever bona fide casual garment, a mid blue and white Pringle, which cost me £25 or one week’s dole. I wore that with my Chelsea shirt underneath, some jeans and a pair of white shoes. I felt the business. I belonged.

It was a gloriously sunny day. I was hoping that our season best gate of 35,000 would be surpassed – I hoped for one of 40,000. The place was buzzing. Lo and behold, the lads who had been sat in front of us against Fulham were now sat behind us…perfect. I think they admired the fact we were from Somerset. Extra kudos for us! Amongst the lads ( Alan, Paul, Mark, Leggo, Rich, Dave and Simon ) the labels were out in evidence. It was like a fashion parade.

And Chelsea were going up! We just had to get a draw, I think.

For anyone who was there, I am sure these words are taking everyone back. It was as near a perfect game as I can ever remember..

Chelsea beat Leeds United – our old foes, both on the pitch, on the terraces and in common folklore – by five goals to nil that sunny April day in 1984. The atmosphere was electric. Mickey Thomas – our unlikely new hero – opened the scoring. Kerry Dixon scored a hat-trick and Pat Nevin – I remember – wove in and out, around and around, before setting Kerry up for one of the goals. Johnny Bumstead hit the post, in the same place, twice. Ken Bates, the chairman, came onto the pitch at half-time to appeal for us all to stay in the stands. He was applauded – and his name was song with gusto. There is a classic picture taken by John Ingledew of The Benches that day, looking up and back at thousands of Chelsea faces…99% male, 99% white, 75% between the ages of 18 and 25. It’s a picture that is worth a million words and – every time I see it – I am taken back to a wilder, crazier time. Believe it or not, at 4-0, Leeds got behind their team with a noisy song and the Benches stood up to applaud them.

In the last ten minutes, thousands of pastel-clad Chelsea fans lined the pitch in preparation for the final whistle. We were winning 4-0 and the PA had to keep telling the fans to stay in the stands. Then, a mazy dribble from supersub Paul Canoville and – you silly boy! – he scored at The Shed End.

Pandemonium!

Thousands of hysterical Chelsea fans flooded the pitch and the players were lost. After five minutes of pleading, the pitch was cleared and the referee soon blew up. Within seconds, the stands emptied and about 5,000 Chelsea fans invaded the pitch. I was one of them – my first foray onto the sacred turf – and it was fantastic to be there. The Leeds fans, unsurprisingly were not enjoying the proceedings. This must have been purgatory for them. A few of them began smashing our scoreboard. There was a charge by some Chelsea towards them, but the police kept the two factions apart. To be fair, the Leeds fans ( the Service Crew and all ) were penned in, anyway. There were about 3,000 of them.

The players and the management team appeared in the front row of the East Upper – I remember Pat Nevin sitting on the balcony! – and all was perfect in my world. After five years of ridicule by my peers, jettisoned in the Second Division – Chelsea were back,

You’d better beware!

We eventually left the pitch. I remember the dry dirt being kicked up by us all and there was a smell of football in the air – a heady mix of grass, mud, beer and testosterone. We walked off behind the Shed goal and a stranger came up to me and said “We’re playing Tottenham!” and I said

“Yep…Tottenham…and Liverpool…and Man United…and Arsenal..and West Ham!”

He gave me a big hug.

We got back to the car and began an oh-so slow drive home…on Radio Two, coach John Hollins was describing Pat Nevin’s cross for Kerry Dixon.

…”and Pat, bless him, went on this amazing run…I don’t know if he beat three players four times or four players three times.”

On the elevated section of the M4, Chelsea cars were blaring their horns…thumbs up from strangers…one car slowed down and passed us a can of beer. It was an idyllic moment as we drove west into the setting sun, past Slough and beyond…oh just beautiful.

Chelsea were back.

Of all my current friends at Chelsea, virtually all of them were at that iconic game in 1984. We have come a long way, baby.

On Saturday, a few of us were enjoying our pre-match meet in Barking. Parky and myself were chatting to Bob from San Francisco – he flew over for just one game. At the adjacent table, laughter was booming out from Daryl, Gary, Alan and Whitey. Soon, Beth and Jenni joined us, but Mo and Tom were yet to appear. The beers flowed and stories were exchanged. At last Mo showed up at about 2pm and it was soon time to leave for the game. Tom eventually arrived by cab ( despite Beth telling him to take the tube ) and I had to say

“There has to be anotherway, Motherway.” He grimaced.

Parky, Bob and myself lost the others and got to Upton Park at 2.40pm…out into the bright sunshine of Green Street.

Ah, Green Street…I did find it superbly ironic that American Bob had successfully infiltrated our tight little crew. Maybe we can make a film about it.

Through the terraced streets behind the away end – no fear of an ambush these days – and we were soon inside the Centenary Stand. We arranged to meet up after…I was stood next to my two away buddies, Alan and Gary. The three beers had set me up nicely. It was sunny, with white fluffy clouds taking over from grey ones as the afternoon drew on.

A minute’s applause for ex-hammer Jimmy Neighbour was well respected by us. Good to see.

The game? We had so much possession, in the first period especially, but West Ham had the best two chances, especially the shot from Dyer which Cech saved. All eyes were on Bosingwa, getting some practice ahead of a potentially messy time on Tuesday night in Catalonia. I was impressed with the solid midfield of Mikel, Belletti and Frank. Mancienne did well. It was just upfront where we became unstuck. Kalou had a lot of the ball but was frustrating the hell out of Gary. Anelka was having one of his lazy days too. At half-time we wondered if all of our easy possession would account for nothing.

Ball juggler Billy Wingrove put on a superb show of skills at half-time. I watched, mesmerized.

Soon into the second period, Frank did so well to hook out a ball from the goal-line and Kalou slammed the ball high into the net. Get in! A couple of women in front unfurled an Ivory Coast flag and muttered something about Gary being “happy now” about Kalou. Until that point, they had watched in silence. 1984 seemed a long way off.

I thought the West Ham fans were pretty quiet, but they apparently sung some nasty songs about Frank and JT. What a deeply jealous, odious, set of fans they are. Jealousy seeps out of every pore.

What a phenomenal penalty save from Cech, down to his left, a mere five yards away from me. I wish I had taken a photo, but I don’t often like taking snaps of opposing penalties. We controlled the game and should have scored more. However – players rested, three points, job done!

The funniest part of the entire day was seeing Frank slowly walk towards us at the end, the last player to come over. He glanced over towards the last few West Ham fans left in the Chicken Run and – for want of a better word – swaggered towards us, just like a casual from 1984, legs wide, arms outstretched. It was poetry in motion. He acknowledged us and pumped the air…he milked the applause and why not? We love him and he loves us. West Ham can perish for all I care.

I caught the tube with Bob and at 6.15pm we were back at Earls Court. Eventually, Parky, Ashley and Andy arrived too. Straight around the corner for a pizza at Salvo’s. United were on the TV, losing 1-2, but within ten minutes of us sitting at a table, they were 5-2 up. What a mad game, but we didn’t care. The League is over this season, but we have Wembley and Rome ahead.

In 1984, we listened to Slade on the drive back to Wiltshire.

In 2009, we listened to Drum And Base.

Yep – we’ve come a long way, baby.

Tales From The Dress-Rehearsal

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Everton : 22 April 2009.

My mates always commend me on my memory, but I think I will have trouble remembering too much from this game in a few weeks, let alone a few years.

Is this the game our league hopes were extinguished? I think so. Let’s get the black armbands out.

I had a call from Parky during the day to say that Les from Melksham wanted a lift, too, and would I oblige? The more the merrier, in my book. I don’t know Les too well, but I happened to be stood next to him in Turin a few weeks ago…he, like Parky, has been going to Chelsea for ages and has a season ticket about thirty seats away from me. Les is “Class A Old School”, with many misdemeanors from the good old bad old days to his name. I left work bang on 4pm, after manipulating some work into Thursday ( priorities! ), and I made great time up the M4. I amazed myself – I was parked up at 6pm and we were soon charging through The Goose to meet the rest of the boys in the sunny beer garden. I had forgotten that this game was to kick-off at 8pm, so we had a good ninety minutes of banter ( we didn’t change ends at half-time ) before we needed to leave at 7.30pm.

I squeezed in three pints, but it left me a bit weary at the end of it all.

Les shot off to make an unproductive raid on the box office for Gooner tickets, leaving Parky and myself to represent the West Country in the pre-match chat. It was another great time. There was a fairly substantial post-mortem on Wembley. Some things to ponder –

1. At the end of our little pub crawl, we were all buzzing – some more than others. It was a brilliant pre-match.
2. Claire really enjoyed herself – her first game since the Liverpool crunch game in 2003.
3. We are all happy to pay a cheaper price for the FA Cup Final – the view in the Lower Tier won’t be worth £90 plus.
4. Everton were by far the noisiest of the four semi-final teams over the weekend. They will out sing us at Wembley, no doubt.
5. I made the point that Everton are at an advantage because the fans only know three songs.
6. Rob made the point that we were singing three songs at the same time on Saturday.
7. The Lower Tier was being targeted by the CSG and CFCUK as the “dedicated singing section” on Saturday – we must do better!
8. We are getting Bada Bing “leisurewear” for Neil’s wedding ( reception ) in Guernsey in the summer – you have been warned.
9. Daryl has spent untold amounts of £££ on match tickets for himself and Ed the past four weeks.
10. Ed’s repayment is to be the dedicated beer collector once we are drinking. He knows his place!
11. We are annoyed that for the second year running, should we reach Rome, the other team will be a day ahead of us in booking all of the cheap flights and hotels.
12. Should we get a favourable result in Barca, a few of us might “gamble” on flights to Rome.
13. Simon confirmed that his son Milo, eleven, has been to about 35 games this season and will mysteriously fall ill should we get to Rome. I hope his teachers don’t read this.
14. Glenn was the wobbliest of all of us on Saturday – by a mile.
15. Russ – from Frome, now Croydon – had just got back from four weeks in Oz and is seriously considering Rome. Watch this space.
16. Lovejoy was absent, but was with his lady friend in La Reserve…five minutes of Lovejoy stories followed with much laughter from all.
17. Alan spoke of “the meet” for West Ham and hoped that those Americans coming ( you know who you are ) realise we will be behind enemy lines. No colours, no girly shrieks – especially from you, Bob!
18. Season tickets for next season were discussed, with the conclusion that a ) we can’t afford them and b ) we will get them regardless.
19. Provisional plans for gigs coming up over the next month were discussed – The Specials, Morrissey, Depeche Mode. It’s not just the football that keeps us as mates.
20. Parky – get the beers in!

It was such a pleasant Spring evening in that packed beer garden, full of friends and acquaintances built up over the years, that we could have stayed there all night. I am sure as the years progress, our departure time will get later still. Parky and myself trotted down the North End Road and, without trying, got rid of Parky’s spare ticket. In to the ground at 7.57pm – perfect timing.

The programme had a fantastic shot of Alex, just after the point of impact of his shot which crashed into the goal against Liverpool…veins pumping, muscles taught, legs fully extended. I took a shot, a split second after, in fact.

We half-expected there to be empty seats in the away section, but they filled their 1,400. Credit to them. Despite going to about ten games with Lord Parky this season, I was sat next to him for the first time – he was in Glenn’s seat. I chatted with Tom, thankfully having no ill effects from last week’s health scare.

Everton harried and chased all night long and tested Cech on a few occasions, especially in the first half. I remember a Ballack free-kick which went quite close for us. But, not a great performance at all. Meanwhile, United were 1-0 up at home to Pompey. Groan. Cech was our best player, I reckon…nobody else stood out really, although Malouda wasn’t too bad, following on from his best two games in our shirt. Alan asked me who would be my Player Of The Year. I said “Frank – by a mile.” Mikel began the season well, but has faded. What do others think?

It was pretty quiet for most of the night. I wondered how Beth was doing in The Shed – hopefully not falling out with a few “day trippers” like during her last visit.

What a run from JT – with the whole MH shouting “shoot!” – he let fly and forced a save from Tim Howard. Kalou got behind the defence a few times but this was one of those games, I am afraid. That dynamic shot from Drogba on about 93 minutes just about summed it all up. What a difference from eight days ago against Everton’s city neighbours.

Phil Neville got his usual customary, friendly welcome.

At the whistle, a few boos, which obviously annoyed me. We had arranged to meet Beth in the hotel, but ( despite a tricky manoeuvre by myself to elude the doormen ) the other two were denied access to the bar area as we weren’t staying in the hotel. Just a quick chat with Beth – I will see her again on Saturday. We dipped into a KFC and eventually left Chelsea at 11pm. The other two fell asleep and I found the driving terribly tiring. Home eventually at 1.15am. I had confessed to Parky on the last segment that, for the first time in years, I had a strange thought during the game along the lines of “almost £50 tonight – that’s a lot of money…I could do a lot with that!”

West Ham next – with Gary, Alan, Daryl, Ed, Andy, Ashley and Parky ( plus honoured guests from CIA Land ). Oh, and a mammoth report about Chelsea vs. Leeds United from 1984.

Tales From Section 131

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Arsenal : 18 April 2009.

When I was in my teens, very often I would hear that a few lads from Frome, invariably Liverpool and Manchester United fans, were going to FA Cup Semi-Finals at various grounds. I looked on from afar and my mind was not so much tinged with jealousy, but full of a certainty that such events were not for the likes of us. We were mired in the second division, our time would never come.

Well, our time has come – and how!

From 1970 to 1994, maybe my first phase of Chelsea support, we took part in no FA Cup semi-finals at all. Since 1994, we have had eight semi-finals, with successes in six out of those eight. I vividly remember the first of these, against Kerry’s Luton Town 1994…Simon, Neil, Daryl, Tony and myself met at a pub near St Johns Wood and we all agreed that the game was massive. It was looking likely that United would win the league again that year and would also play us in the Final. So – all we had to do was beat Luton and ( smelling salts please nurse ) Chelsea would be entered into the ECWC…and we would have European football for the first time in our supporting lives. I can’t think of a more important game in all the years of supporting the club, apart from the game at Bolton in 1983. With European football in 1994, came exposure on a larger scale…Gullit, Hughes signed in 1995, then Vialli and co in 1996. Our history was being re-written.

The Frome Fun Boy Four set off from Somerset at 9am and there was plenty of banter flying around. It was going to be sunny day, if not a little windy. Glenn drove up, but Dave – happy to get by on cokes – was scheduled for the return home.

A very strange thing happened as we neared the turning for the M25. I lost my father back in 1993, April 17th…and so with the anniversary of his passing on Friday, my mind has been full of memories, to say the least. My Dad, Reg, was a bit of a sportsman in his youth, but only really got into football through my love of Chelsea. He saw his first ever game during World War Two at Everton. His first ever game with me was in 1974, against Newcastle United…his last Chelsea game was with me, versus Everton in 1990.

At around 10.45am, a car sped past us with this registration plate –

RE06 AXN

It certainly made me smart. I smiled and Dad came back into my thoughts again.

After a cracking breakfast, we sauntered over to West Brompton tube, bumping into Mike, Steve and Chopper ( the three remaining members of the NYC contingent ) right outside Earls Court Two…perhaps the site of a new stadium, should we ever, sadly, leave the Bridge. We changed trains at Notting Hill Gate and bustled into a packed compartment. Who should be there but Parky, with his step-daughter Clare, who I used to work with. Parky, his back-turned, had recognised Glenn’s Cockney/Somerset crossover accent and bumped into him…imagine the look of surprise on Glenn’s face when he turned around, intending to give somebody an earful! A small world.

We bounced into The Tyburn, a Wetherspoons pub at Marble Arch. Alan, Gary and Rob were tucking into a breakfast and we were soon joined by Neil, who flies in from Guernsey for our games, plus Walnuts from Brighton. A nice bit of banter and three pints of Carling. We then walked a few hundred yards to the Duke Of York for the drinking to continue…the Father/ Son combinations of Daryl / Ed and Simon / Milo were already there. We sat – or rather hovered – outside in the Spring sunshine. Alas the Staropramen was off, so I made do with four pints of Becks Vier. Lots of chat and laughter, too much to remember.

Fifteen of us all told, only one girl, only two replica shirts…too bloody Old School for own good.

We had plans to catch a 4.09pm train from Marylebone, but we were lured into one last pub, The Lark, for one last pint. By this stage, we were all buzzing. I had heard from Beth, but was pretty much resided to the fact that we wouldn’t bump into each other. Unlike the Carling Cup final against Spurs, there was no police presence at the station and it surprised me. I somehow lost the others, so travelled the five miles up to Wembley on my own, trying my best to ignore the beer-induced hiccups which were annoying the hell out of me. Alan and Glenn phoned me – they were on the same train, but seemed like we had all been split up.

We pulled into Wembley at about 4.45pm I guess…up and over the “White Horse Bridge” with the Stadium, its arch glistening in the sun, ahead. I managed to annoy a seller of Chelsea / Arsenal “friendship” scarves and we ended our little chat by calling each other “mugs.” I think my ire was misdirected – it should have been for the numpties who buy such things.

I joined the massive queue for toilets – at Wembley, some things will never change – and then joined the rest of the lads in row 21 of section 131…inline with the penalty box. It would prove to be a great seat come the 84th minute.

From the left – Neil, Ed, Daryl, Gary, Rob, myself, Alan, Simon and Milo.

Walnuts, Glenn, Dave and PD were up in the Gods.

Parky was in Parky World.

We were back in the same lower section as where we watched the 2007 FA Cup Final…we were back row that time, though. I didn’t care for being so low down. I think I prefer to be higher up. Before we knew it, the teams were on the pitch. I would much rather have preferred for the dressing rooms to be behind the East goal at the new stadium, to mirror the old place…to enable that wonderful, iconic, long march of the teams onto the playing surface.

The Hillsborough “applause” was reasonably well supported. Was it really twenty years ago? Those images remain vivid.

There were blue skies overhead with no clouds at all. The sun was hitting the Arsenal fans at the other end full in the faces, but there were strong shadows being formed by the massive stands too. The contrasts between light and dark were very strong. The first worrying sign, picked up by Rob and myself, was that the entire lower tier of Arsenal fans were standing, just like Spurs in the Carling Cup Final. This, to us, was bad news – they were clearly “up” for it. Rob and myself pleaded to get everyone of us on our feet. We really did not want to be out-shouted, out-supported and out-muscled in this game too…memories of that Carling Cup Final remained vivid for us. We did not want a repeat.

For most of the first-half, vast sections of our support sat. It infuriated Rob, especially. We had a little chat about it. Those incredible years of our away support in the ‘eighties had left a painful legacy – nothing these days can compare to it and we get so frustrated harking back to those days. It hurts us to see sections of our support simply not getting involved. I could write a book on it.

While I was out taking a second “comfort break,” Arsenal scored. I don’t miss many goals…those eight pints were taking their toll. To be honest, we had started rather slowly and Arsenal were playing the better stuff. We then got into it and started to dominate possession. A great ball from Frank and before we knew it, Malouda had swept the ball in at the near post.

Manic celebrations ensued, but Rob started to stumble – he had been pushed from behind – and fell on top of me. I lost my balance and for a moment we looked a right picture…Rob’s a big lad, but thankfully Alan hauled him off me. At moments like this, Hillsborough or not, seats just get in the way. So – a goal apiece, game on. As the team got more confident, the crowd rallied and at the start of the second period, more and more were standing. Along the side sections, I noticed more Chelsea than Arsenal were standing. These were good signs.

We created a few half-chances – a shot from Frank, a header from JT. Chances were at a premium really. I still found my viewpoint frustrating – concentrate Chris, concentrate!

On 84 minutes, a ball from Frank into space and it’s all a blur. Drogba, all strength and power, beat off a challenge in that inimitable way of his and rounded the advancing ‘keeper. He was no more than thirty yards away from me.

We gasped and Drogba shot early, not wishing another, potentially wasteful, touch.

In it went.

Yeeeeeeeeeeeees!

Up came my camera as he raced over to the left-hand corner flag. More photographs for the album. Mayhem amongst our little group and hugs with strangers.

The game ended and out came the camera again – shots of Frank, clearly loving it, just yards away. A few snaps of my mates – smiles as big as the Wembley arch. Before we knew it, the Arsenal replica shirts had given way to empty red seats and we were left to enjoy ourselves in our own little party with no fear of voyeurism.

“Blue Day” and then – everyone singing – “Blue Is The Colour.”

I was standing on my seat, arms outstretched, smiling, singing…looking heavenwards.

…”cus Chelsea – Chelsea is our name.”

Tales From A Shaking Matthew Harding Upper

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Liverpool : 14 April 2009.

In some ways, I am tempted to keep this a really brief one and – tried and tested football cliché coming up – let the football do the talking for me.

What an incredible, pulsating game of football. If anyone of us live to see a richer example of a sporting contest, we should feel very blessed.

I had to pull a few tricks to get away from work at 4.15pm. However, I soon ran into trouble – an eleven mile tailback on the eastbound M4. For an hour or so, I was convinced that I would get in late…very late in fact. In the first 90 minutes, I had covered just 40 miles. Luckily, I had my wits about me and diverted south at Marlborough and was back on the M4 at 6pm. As I drove past Heathrow, Radio Five’s Mike Ingham was reporting from The Bridge with the great news that Steven Gerrard wasn’t even on the bench. I forwarded this info to a few people and two replied exactly the same way…

“Sweet.”

Believe it or not, I parked up at 7.15pm, and – programmes purchased, rush, rush, rush – I entered the seating area with the Liverpool players hovering over the ball at kick-off. I sat down and the game began. Perfect timing. The place was buzzing from the start. How familiar those Liverpool scarlet red banners are. This was the twenty-fourth time the two teams had met since the start of the 2004-2005 season. By any stretch, that’s a lot of familiar contempt. Arriving so late, I had no time to acquaint myself with the team. I had to grasp at some notion of who was where. Riccy in for JT, a solid midfield, Malouda and Kalou. What fates would befall us all over the next two hours? Well, we didn’t have to wait long.

A free-kick, not sure why…all eyes on Torres, offside, onside, offside, onside, leading Ivanovic a merry dance. The focus was towards that cluster of players on the penalty spot. Then Arbeloa’s strike and Cech woefully beaten at the near post. Game on.

Chelsea struggled in the first-half…we weren’t at it. Despite a head cold, I was bellowing at the midfield who were allowing the visitors untold space. We all agreed Drogba should have been carded for rolling – “injured” – back onto the pitch. What a loon. Then, an intelligent ball was played into the box – right in the danger area, but Cech gathered. Relief. Then – NO! – the referee pointed to the spot. We were dumbfounded. Alonso scored the penalty and my jaw dropped. This was a horror story being enacted right in front of us all. I glanced at the Scousers celebrating. It was a terrible sight.

All was doom and gloom at the break. I chatted to a few fans and we were doubting our ability to limit the damage to just two. We began the second-half in much the same manner. One particularly poor passage of play left us fuming…miss-placed back-passes, balls being miss-controlled, no unity. Then the ball found Anelka just as I commented to Alan about “the one way to get our confidence back is to run for everything and work harder.” Bless him – Anelka must have heard me. He held off a challenge and played in a great ball, hard and low. Drogba was lurking – in fact, his run was perfectly timed. To my eyes, Reina appeared to palm the ball into the net.

Mayhem – oh you beauty. We all got up and yelled our support. I gathered myself and reached down for my camera and took a few telephoto shots of Drogba, alone, yelling at the MHU to get behind the team…he was in his element. That posturing gait we all know. With the crowd rejuvenated, we got back into the game and our confidence grew. A Drogba free-kick flashed past the goal.

Soon after, it was Alex’s turn. I held the camera still and caught him in mid air, just after the ball was smacked. It flew into the net and the stadium bounced. I took nine photos of the players collapsing in a beautiful pile on the pitch right in front of me.

Carnage. What a game. It was now 5-3 on aggregate and we heaved a collective sigh.

Now the crowd was rocking. The noise thundered around the four stands and it was a bloody lovely sight. The Shed were singing “One Man Went To Mow” and even the West Lower was animated. A lovely shuffle from Malouda made us all gasp – was that really happening? Then, as memory serves, a sublime reverse ball from Ballack found Lampard. I can’t remember exactly what happened, but Frank scored a third. He came over to celebrate on the same piece of turf where he had pointed to the sky after the penalty against the same team in the semis last year. More photos. As Frank pointed skywards again, I crouched down on the steps and felt myself “going.” I wiped away a tear.

Bloody hell – don’t do this to me. What a game – what emotion. I was right…words simply cannot do it justice.

“We’re going to Rome, we’re going to Rome – F your history, we’re going to Rome.”

Soon after, Drogba unselfishly set up Ballack, but the shot was weak. Amongst the goals going in, a few of us had to be reminded of the score…and what the aggregate was. Get that abacus out, boys.

At this point, I wryly noted that the Liverpool fans had changed their tune. Instead of talking of cup glory, they were singing about “winning the league.”

“Yeah, you won’t win that either!”

Yet more drama and a deflected shot made it 3-3. For there to be so many goals was sensational. I was getting texts from the most unlikely of people. Our good friend Tom – who had a heart attack after the semi-final last May – had decided that enough was enough. He left his seat. I wished him a safe trip home to Sutton and watched him head out just as a Kuyt header made it 3-4.

The Liverpool support erupted again.

For a few moments, the highly unlikely ( after the first game, then at 3-2 a mere ten minutes earlier ) was now looking a possibility. I think it was at this moment that we all aged ten years.

NO!

Then, more Chelsea pressure and another Lampard effort. This really is a blur, but I have a memory of the ball coming off a post or the bar or maybe Peter Osgood’s leg. Who knows? And there was Frank, running away once again, this time towards the West Lower, followed by Malouda and then Ash.

Another point heavenwards towards his dear mother.

Alan and myself were gasping for breath and struggling to find the right words to describe what we had just witnessed.

“Best Champions League game ever. Bar none.”

Daryl joined us – I think he had been in The Shed, but couldn’t take much more and so he decided to come and join us for the last few seconds. Approaching the final whistle, the white and blue flags came out and the place was at its photogenic best.

Click. Click. Click.

The shrill sound of the whistle and then a familiar sound.

“One Step Beyond!”

I was one of the last few to leave the stadium. My eyes were moist and I knew that I had witnessed one of the greatest games I could ever wish to see. Another cliché coming up – it was like a heavyweight boxing match…each brave team slugging it out, exchanging punches. This had to be one of my all-time favourites…in fact, the game at Anfield last week was in my top ten. This one had to be in the top two or three. Maybe the best ever.

I briefly dipped into The Goose on the slow, trance-like, walk back to the car. I attempted to have a meaningful chat with a few friends, but for some reason my brain let me down and all I could utter was a lot of banal babble such as “what a game.” I had been sapped of all strength and intelligence, including the art of communication. I had a little chuckle to myself.

“Go home, Chris.”

I left London at 10.15pm. The texts from everywhere slowly subsided and I drove, silently, peacefully, home, totally mesmerized by this wonderful game of ours. Let’s not fool ourselves, there were many defensive frailties in the game, but sometimes you just have to stand back, take a deep breath, and thank our lucky stars for such a monumental match.

Phew.

Tales From The Beer Garden

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Bolton Wanderers : 11 April 2009.

Well, this was a strange old game of football, eh?

In my mind, the league is just too far away and so this game represented a chance for us to just keep ticking over – to fine tune ourselves for the two cup games on the near horizon. Things were really subdued on the car ride up from Frome. It was as if the events at Anfield had sapped all of our collective strength.

Nevertheless, Karen made good time and we were soon scoffing down a breakfast in the café. The towns around Frome were represented by eleven Chelsea fans in the café, to be augmented by three more in The Goose. It was a good showing.

This was a really hectic pre-match in Gooseland. Scouser Reg – the landlord – was subdued…wonder why. I found myself flitting in and out of the bar and the packed beer garden…this was our first home game for four weeks and we had much to discuss. I picked up my semi-final ticket and Rob had tales of flights to Barcelona. Mike from New York was already in the beer garden when we got in at 11.30am – he soon handed out “Sporting News” Baseball Previews to the three baseball fans present ( Neil, Daryl and me ). He also presented me with a Yankees fan guide, to whet my appetite ahead of my two games in July.

I noted that amongst the food outlets at the new Yankee Stadium there was one called “Otis Spunkmeyer” ( freshly-cooked cookies ). There, in a nutshell, is the reason why baseball will never make it in England…it just doesn’t translate.

Mike was joined by a few of his NYBs – Curtis, Karen, Keith and Carrie, plus Dave who I last saw in LA ( he was the one trying to get everyone to do the conga at the Galaxy game ). Then we had Dutch Mick too. One of Mike’s friends was introduced to me – Guido, from Berlin, who comes over for about 12 games preseason. He chatted with my mate Glenn who knows Berlin very well. Parky arrived a bit later, with a lad who was at his first Chelsea game…and I believe he “entertained” Carrie and Karen for a while. It is amazing that I had time to drink anything – a season high seven pints at that. All too soon it was time to set off for The Bridge. I walked down with Henry, a guy I met in NYC last June who know lives in England again.

What were we doing twenty-five years ago? Something similar! Chelsea played Fulham at the Bridge and this was my ninth game of 1983-84 and I travelled up by train with Glenn. In those days, we never went into pubs before the game, mainly due to lack of finances. We used to head for the forecourt and just enjoy the pre-match buzz. Even at that stage, we got to recognise a few familiar faces at every game…some of which I haven’t seen for ten years or more. What happened to them? Priced out, I guess. Before this game, I managed to get Pat Nevin to sign my match programme and I even had the briefest of chats with him. It would be my only chat with my hero until we met in Moscow last year. In 1984, it went something like this.

“Hey, I’m taller than you, Pat!”

“That’s not hard.”

During that season, we advanced from The Shed into The Benches and we would always be one of the first ones to get to these unreserved wooden benches. On that particular day, we were right at the back – prime seats – and on the half-way line. I think I may have mentioned before that Glenn had been talking to some lads coming back from the Newcastle game a few weeks earlier. As luck would have it – fate? – these same lads were now sat right in front of us. The crowd that day was over 31,000. How amazing…what were the chances? Those lads were Alan and Paul, friends to this day. I think that they were a bit miffed that they had been shunted out of their usual seats to be honest! In that game, twenty-five years ago, Colin Lee scored after the first attack of the game and the duo of Dixon and Speedie had grabbed a goal apiece to give us a 3-0 lead at the break. My man Nevin made it 4-0 in the second-half. It was an easy victory.

It left Chelsea top, ahead of Sheffield Wednesday and Newcastle United on goal difference, but Wednesday had played two games less. Manchester City were seven points adrift in fourth place.

Back in those days, I lingered long and hard at our potential. If we managed to attract 31,947 for Fulham in a Second Division game, how many would we get in the top flight? To be honest, our support turned out to be quite fickle over the next season with many gates below 20,000. How big was Chelsea? Potentially massive…I hoped. Fast forward twenty-five years and we drew 41,000 for a home game yet again.

I noted the New York Blues flag draped over The Shed wall, next to a Canadian flag – I believe it said “Brantford Ontario” or something similar. Also present for the first time was one of the smaller away flags – “Chelsea FC Pride Of London” which was pinned against the grey wall of the Shed as it abuts the West Stand.

The game followed the Fulham game of 1984…4-0 up and coasting. What happened in the last twenty minutes, I have no idea. We just defended awfully.

Of course, I am sure the fact that Liverpool needs to score three goals, yet we let Bolton score three in nine minutes is not lost on anyone. Maybe it can act as a kick-in-the-pants we need.

The crowd seemed quite subdued, apart from when we sang the usual assortment of anti-Liverpool songs. Of course, Ivanovic got a thunderous reception.

On a closing note, the comment of the day came from Alan. He was getting frustrated with Kalou’s participation in the game and his reluctance to play the early ball…

“Kalou wants more touches than Michael Jackson on a sleepover.”

Tales From Heaven

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Liverpool vs. Chelsea : 8 April 2009.

Cilla Black, Ken Dodd, Lily Savage, Arthur Askey, Bobby Grant, Jimmy Tarbuck, Ringo Starr, Alexei Sayle, Margi Clarke, Phil Redmond, Derek Hatton, John Conteh, Dickie Mint – We gave your boys one hell of a beating.

And I thought last season’s game was good!

My colleague Paul was unfortunately made redundant last week and so I have been working solo this week. I am based at my client’s premises and so I did originally think that I may not be able to go to the game as I might be needed to cover the latter part of the afternoon. However, with a bit of trickery and polite conversations with the client, I was cleared for take-off at 2.30pm. I had been in early at 7am anyway – and work is quiet at the moment. I was sorted.

I don’t need to bore you all to death with details of my drive up the country to Liverpool – God, it’s a familiar one of late. I think I have overdosed on Scouse these past four years. Haven’t we all? I went to the knock-out semis in 2005, 2007 and 2008 but didn’t go to the boring group phase game in the autumn of 2005.

In all the visits to Anfield with Chelsea, I have seen us win there just once – that memorable game in 1992, when I got in free and watched, silently, on The Kop. But that’s another story.

I made good time until Birmingham, but from there on in, the traffic was horrific. There were lots of road works, lots of delays, lots of stopping and starting. Andy had downloaded some of the recent CIA Podcasts for me and from Bromsgrove to Knutsford, I listened to the Ken Shellito and Paul Canoville interviews. I really enjoyed them. Lots of great stories. It occurred to me that the history of Chelsea – thousands of players, millions of fans, characters, cups and disasters – were all behind us and that the game at Anfield would be the next instalment in this story…and I took a great deal of pride and satisfaction in the knowledge that I would be part of it. At the cutting edge of this club as it grinds its way into the future.

We all live for the present to a certain extent, but this notion really got to me. I was being part of it. I thought of the – let’s say – millions of people who would be watching on TV around the World and I would be there at the game, within the cramped claustrophobic stands of Anfield. I briefly pondered that my decision to attend was through my fanaticism but also because my finances and health allowed it.

I was very grateful.

The cloudy skies gave way to blue skies over Liverpool as I began the approach into the city at around 6.15pm. It had already taken me much longer than I had hoped. Thankfully, I wasn’t too tired. I texted my mate Alan that I would be in the ground at 7.30pm. Too rushed for my liking. Believe it or not, until I got to within about five miles of Anfield, I had only seen one Chelsea car and two Liverpool cars en route…and the way I identified them? Air fresheners! As I turned onto Queens Drive, I took my Chelsea and Juve air fresheners down – just in case the locals took exception.

I was parked up at 7pm – I thankfully found a space – and the 200 miles had taken me four and a half hours. Up the hill of Utting Avenue, past a busy pub and a few “chippies” and “offies.” There is something hypnotic about joining hundreds of football-goers on the final approach to a game…it’s a clear link to the past. How many millions have walked these same streets. I marched towards the ground. I didn’t want to be late. I was walking in front of a Scouse couple who were having a discussion about the year in which the two clubs first met in the CL. I found it hard to believe that they were unsure. I turned around and said to the woman –

“It was 2005, love.”

I thought that they were the ones who knew all about history. I tutted to myself as they overtook me.

Chatted to a couple of lads from The Goose – Alan and Nish. There was Lovejoy, as ever, in the middle of it all. Then the two Neils, Sophie, then Alan, Ed and Whitey.

“Alright boys?”

Sam Allardyce walked past – funny, he had been mentioned by Ken Shellito on the podcast, the Bolton game of 1978 et al.

I got inside Anfield at 7.38pm. Just in time. As I walked up the steps, more familiar faces. “You’ll Never Walk Alone” was in full flow as the pitch appeared before me. The usual riot of colour, but with a fair smattering of blue in our section. More scarves than normal. I noted a new Liverpool flag – as we all know, Scousers see themselves as a pretty political bunch – they are red in more than one dimension. The flag said “Scouse Solidarnosc” – after the Polish Solidarity party of around 1981. Quite clever I thought – if you like that sort of thing. I add this, not to make a statement, just to add colour.

I was three or four rows from the rear, just inside the penalty box. A good seat. I stood the entire game.

A terrible start, eh? For the first fifteen minutes or so, our defence were pulled out of shape and a few key errors took place. The midfield were giving the advancing Liverpool players far too much room. I was not alone in my desperate shouts to “close them down!” Ballack – as always – the main culprit. The goal from Torres…horrible. I tried not to watch the home sections leap to their feet, but I couldn’t avoid it. There is some macabre fascination watching other fans go wild at our detriment. Hateful. Before the game – if I was to be pressed – I feared a 0-2 or even 0-3 loss.

“Come on Chels – step up.”

And, guess what? We did.

From the sixth minute, our possession increased and we knocked the ball around purposefully and I was amazed with the movement of people like Malouda. For once, chances were being created at both ends and it was a gripping encounter – so unlike other CL games at Anfield. A Cech save down low in front of us, then two Drogba gilt-edged chances in front of the red wall of The Kop. When the second one was blazed over, we gulped in astonishment…not that he had missed, but that we had almost scored!

“We can do this – COME ON!”

Chances were exchanged. I was getting carried away, but the bloke next to me was trying to reign in my wild enthusiasm. When Liverpool attacked, we did look a bit suspect. A great game.

Then, a corner – into the near post and a blue player headed home…I thought it was JT to be fair, but who cares? Wild celebrations – an away goal! Behind me, a bloke I had sat next to at Watford – we hugged and yelled wildly. Next to him, I noted a West Country accent – a chap from Swindon.

At half time, word got out that Ivanovic had scored. And Barca were 4-0 up. Gulp.If the first-half was good, the second-half was even better. It was all a bit of a blur really – I hadn’t been drinking, but I was getting carried along on a wave of pure adrenalin. I was getting hot in my warm coat so I took it off and stood in my shirt sleeves. After the equaliser, the home support wilted. Whereas in 2005, when 75% of the Scousers stood, only The Kop did so this time.

I took a few photos of a few attacks. Then another corner down below me…I pointed the camera at the melee of players in the goalmouth. I heard Frank strike the ball and I saw players move. I snapped, then saw the ball thunder into the net, on a trajectory aiming straight towards me. Reina was beaten.

We were 2-1 up. Unbelievable. Un – SWEAR WORD – believable. Our fans went crazy and – I don’t know how I do this – I remained steady enough to take a couple of shots of what I call the aftermath…players hugging on the far touchline, with fans’ arms thrusting in the foreground.

This was unbelievable. What a game. Our movement was brilliant. Even Ballack was doing well. Gerrard was quiet…I have to admit, I wasn’t aware Esien was shackling him man to man. Sometimes aspects of the game pass me by. We were dominating. Then a dream move to my right. We stood on tip-toes as Malouda played the ball in and witnessed Drogba arrive to sweep the ball I with a clinical finish.

Too much.

I turned around and looked the two guys behind me in the eyes. We were both screaming, mouths wide open, like an incarnation of Munch’s “The Scream.” We kept our gaze going for a few seconds.

My name is Chris and I am an addict. I am a goal addict.

Oh man – isn’t that why we go to football? That moment when we are just transplanted to another place, when our heads just explode.

Chills just thinking about.

In the last quarter, we could have scored more. Liverpool were devoid of a plan and on many occasions they lost possession…and there was Frank, running the game from midfield, probing away. I have never seen Florent Malouda play better. Big Pete was as good as any.

“We’re Going To Rome – We’re Going to Rome…F Your History, We’re Going To Rome.”

Still more chances, but then – shame! – the final whistle. The home support drifted away and we were kept in for a few minutes. By the time I left – I was one of the last few hundred to leave – the home stands were empty, completely devoid of life. We sauntered out into the night and I hugged a few Chelsea acquaintances, names unknown.

Heading down Utting Avenue, past the Chelsea coaches, I pulled up my coat collars. I gave the thumbs up to some Chelsea fans in one coach, then looked towards the back of the coach as a few lads were banging the window. There was Gary and Ed giving me the big one. I punched the air and smiled the widest of smiles.

The traffic was slowly edging past me and within a few moments, as I headed towards my car, the night fell silent. It was eerily quiet, save for my phone jumping to life every minute with incoming texts from England and various parts of America. I got back to my car at 10.15pm and my mate Glenn phoned me. He is always concerned for my safety in Liverpool. Yet more horrendous traffic leaving Liverpool, but I didn’t care.

I headed out onto Queens Drive. Depeche Mode were on my CD.

“Enjoy The Silence.”

It was tough going on the way home. I had to buy two Red Bulls to fend of the tiredness enveloping me…they worked. I was euphoric, but well aware that I probably felt just as happy after the Riise game last year. Thoughts were of Barcelona and Rome. What a life.

I eventually got home at 3am, knackered but happy

Liverpool?

We murdered ‘em.

Tales From The Sporting Weekend

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Newcastle United vs. Chelsea : 4 April 2009.

This was another of those games that snuck in under the radar.

My head has been full of work and other issues of late – to say nothing of the upcoming cup encounters with Liverpool and Arsenal. Once I had the travel arrangements sorted out, I wasn’t able to dwell too much on the game up in Newcastle.

Of course, the appointment of Shearer as the new Geordie manager upset the apple-cart a little…would he be able to inspire them? I doubted it. Newcastle have been really poor of late.

I set the alarm for 5.30am and set off on the long road north at 6.15am. Alan and Gary were travelling up on the official coaches and Al had to leave his flat in South London at 4am!

Chris – “Wor Jackie Kerouac, Like.”

Alan – “Wor Reggie Varney.”

I again drove up the Fosse Way, the old Roman road linking Exeter and Lincoln. It’s a great road, just as long as you pay attention to the speed cameras. Rather than think about the game at St. James’ Park, or even the cup games, I found myself thinking about the summer beano in America. This will be the ninth year in a row that I have headed over The Pond. I enjoy the anticipation and planning just as much as the actual trip.

The plan, like last year, was to drive to Nuneaton and then my mate Andy would drive up from there. The 640 mile round trip is just too daunting, even for me and my love of the open road. After a quick McBreakfast just south of the town, I was at Andy’s house just before 9am. His daughter Sophie was in the front seat and I made myself comfortable in the back seat. We soon picked up Woody in Atherstone, but then had to double-back on ourselves to collect Lovejoy from his gaff in Coventry. We set off at 10am.

Lovejoy – and his lady – had just got back from Miami. I’m surprised that it didn’t make the news headlines! He appreciated the “sights” on the beach.

“You wouldn’t believe the Jack & Danny out there – talk about taking coal to Newcastle!”

While he was over in Florida, he found himself eating at the same restaurant as Jenson Button, the Formula One driver who had just won the first Grand Prix of the season. We found ourselves listening to “Five Live” – the UK’s best sports radio station…Pat Nevin was on, there was a lot of talk about Shearer’s first game in charge and the Grand National horse race from Liverpool was on at 4.15pm. The Malaysian GP was previewed too – Button was in pole for that…he’s quite a hero as he comes from Frome, my small Somerset town. Quite a weekend of sport – more of that later. There were sunny skies overhead, but also a few clouds.

We had heard that there had been an accident on the A1 just near The Angel Of The North, the huge piece of public art which welcomes drivers to Tyneside. Our plans were to stop off at a pub for a meal and we hoped that the tail-back would have subsided by the time we had finished. We polished off a lovely plate of grub at the Toby Carvery in Washington – splendid fayre and only a fiver.

“A table for five, but food for ten please.”

The pint of lager went down well too. We asked a couple of the bar staff for alternative routes into the town, but ( accent apart ) they weren’t the most knowledgeable of people.

At just before 2pm, with about five miles to go, we set off. Thankfully, the route was relatively clear. The road took us through Gateshead, then Dunston ( the home town of Paul Gascoigne – that most typical of Geordie stereotypes ), then over the River Tyne, with the massive white steel understructure of St James’ Park dominating the city skyline at the top of the incline to the north.

Newcastle United – I don’t mind admitting it, I always used to have a soft spot for them. My first ever Chelsea game was against them in 1974 and our paths used to cross in the old Second Division back in the ‘eighties. When Keegan first took over in 1992, the whole club was re-energised. During the 1992-1993 season, when Chelsea enjoyed a particularly flat season, I even went to three Newcastle away games with my good mate Pete…at Brentford, Swindon and Bristol City. One of my favourite images is of a packed Gallowgate in around 1983, the rain peeing it down on the 10,000 drenched souls, but hundreds of Geordies stood on crush barriers, steam rising off them. It encapsulated the passion of that wild town on the banks of the Tyne.

I have already detailed my trip to Newcastle in 1984 in another report – but it needs re-stating that it was a massive game in 1984. I have never heard more noise from a 36,000 gate at a game in England. Great memories. Talking of 1984…

My next game after the trip to Newcastle was an away game at Cardiff City. Let’s talk about that one.

Saturday 31st March 1984…my eighth game of the season. I had passed my re-taken “A Levels” in the November and was applying to study geography at a few polys…meanwhile, all other energy was devoted to following the team on their triumphant march out of the Second Division. Around about that time, I had purchased two iconic albums…The Smiths debut album and the second Cocteau Twins’ album “Head Over Heels.” For those of you who listened to the Pat Nevin podcast, you will remember that my question to him was about his favourite Cocteau Twins album…it was “Head Over Heels.” Just another example of 1983-1984 coming back to haunt me twenty-five years on.

I had also purchased my first casual garment, a Gallini sweatshirt, around that time. However, it wasn’t really a known name…although I had seen a few Gallini items at Chelsea, it wasn’t on the same scale as the other names of the time. At least it was a start.

I remember the trip to Cardiff so well. We were going by train from Frome and I had arranged to meet Glenn at the Wallbridge Café opposite the station. As I walked in, I scanned the busy scene. Glenn was there with Winnie, a Leeds fan from my year at school, but so too were three of the town’s known ne’er-do-wells…two of them weren’t even Chelsea…they had obviously come along for a bundle.

I met a mate from Frome at the station in Cardiff – he was a Pompey fan who was at college in the “delightful” valley town of Pontypridd. He was lured into Cardiff for the game, but for some reason chose to watch from the Bob Bank, the large home terrace. We avoided going into any pubs as we were sitting targets. We made a bee-line for the ground. As I remember it, I was the first Chelsea fan on the away terrace…I was with Winnie and Glenn. The other chaps from Frome had splintered away from us by then. Good luck to them, I thought.

Well – believe it or not, we played awfully. Cardiff were no great shakes, but they raced to a 3-0 lead. This was not on the cards at all. This was going to be our worse defeat of the season by a mile. There must have been around 5,000 Chelsea in the 13,000 crowd and during the last quarter of the game, the lads in the front were pulling the fences down. I was watching from the rear in the middle. There had been outbreaks of trouble in the main stand too.

With six minutes to go, we pulled a goal back to make the score a bit more respectable. Then Kerry scored a second…game on! The Chelsea support urged the team on and in the last minute of the game we were awarded a penalty.

Pandemonium.

Nigel Spackman slotted it home and our end went mental…hugs, kisses, shouts, screams, arms thrusting heavenwards, our voices shouting and singing roars of triumph.

As we marched out onto the bleak Cardiff streets, we were invincible.

What a team. My team. Nothing could stop us.

On the train back to Frome, we regrouped, but two of our party were missing. Dave and “Gulliver” had been knicked for something or other. It had to happen. They were dressed in boots and jeans – sitting ducks for the Welsh OB…me and Glenn were a bit more street-wise. On that train home, I met Paul ( PD ) for the first time and he was a fearsome sight…real Old School Chelsea…twenty five years on, Glenn, Dave, PD and myself go to Chelsea together.

Beautiful, eh?

Back to 2009. The area around St James’ Park was swarmed with cars parked everywhere – and I mean everywhere…but thankfully Andy managed to find a spare place up on a kerb. By 2.45pm, we had ascended the 140 steps. This season, we were in a new part of the stadium – not in the corner as before, but at the end of the northern section…still top tier, though. Alan, Gary and myself were in Row B, but there was nobody allowed in Row A. That’ll do!

For the last few minutes, the PA boomed out a few Newcastle anthems, including the wonderful “Blaydon Races” but I thought how symptomatic it was of the modern game. In 1984, the supporters would have sang their own songs…they wouldn’t have needed any promptings.

“Howay the lads, ye shud only seen us gannin’,
Passin the foaks alang the road just as they wor stannin’;
Thor wes lots o’ lads an’ lasses there, all wi’ smiling faces,
Gannin alang the Scotswood Road, to see the Blaydon Races.”

As the teams entered the pitch, way down below me, the crowd made a fair din, but I have to say I was sorely disappointed for the rest of the game. 1984 and 2009 simply did not compare. The 3,000 Chelsea fans were in good voice and it seemed that our support was boosted by a few Rangers fans – Rangers were due to play on Sunday. I noted a few home fans with “A Wise move – Shearer’s coming home” T-Shirts. Of course, the Dennis Wise / San Siro song got a few airings!

Newcastle were as poor a team as I have seen this year. We never looked in doubt really. I managed to capture on film the lovely celebrations after Frank’s goal right down below me. It was what we deserved. Frank was the star yet again, buzzing around…however, Essien and Anelka were quiet. For the second year running, Malouda scored the second goal of the game and we celebrated wildly. The game was safe. We could have scored a few more actually. Franco De Santo really impressed me when he came on for Anelka.

It seemed odd to only get inside the ground at 2.45pm and then, barely two hours later, leave to return south. All that way for ninety minutes of football. What does it all mean? Am I mad? I did think that it was all a bit of a dream – too easy, no atmosphere, quite dull even.

The nerve-tingling excitement of 1984 seemed a long way away. Another world.

We inched out of the streets as the Geordie Nation quietly wilted away. I was tempted to call in on the Toby pub and ask the youg lad who had struggled to give directions…

“Sorry mate – was it second left at the roundabout?”

After a few moments in the car, I fell asleep for an hour. We listened to the commentary of the Fulham vs. Liverpool on Five Live – and I squealed when the Scousers scored a painful winner on 93 minutes. That hurt. It spoilt our day.

We reached Nuneaton at 8pm and I dropped Lovejoy off in Coventry on my way home. I eventually drove into my driveway at 11.30pm. With Liverpool away coming up on Wednesday, it would be over one thousand miles following Chelsea in five days.

On this sporting weekend, spare a thought for my mate Pete – my Geordie friend…( who was at that fabled game in 1984 ). Pete also follows Bristol rugby ( they were relegated on Saturday ) and his home-town Scunthorpe United ( they lost at Wembley yesterday – he was there with his daughter )…quite a weekend, all three of his teams lost important games. At least Lovejoy’s mate Jenson Button won again.

Liverpool next!

CHELSEA/esque

A Blue World In Black And White

Tag Archives: 2008-2009

Tales From The Singing 3,000

Tales From The Heart

Tales From Chelsea In America On Tour

Tales From Green Street And Fulham Road

Tales From The Dress-Rehearsal

Tales From Section 131

Tales From A Shaking Matthew Harding Upper

Tales From The Beer Garden

Tales From Heaven

Tales From The Sporting Weekend