Tag Archives: 2008-2009

Tales From The 2008/2009 European Campaign

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Chelsea vs. CFR Cluj : 9 December 2008.

So – with a bit of huffing and puffing, we made it.

I was able to get away from work a little bit earlier than usual. By 3.45pm, I had picked up Parky and his Lucky Crutches from The Pheasant and we were on our way. That extra 15 minutes paid dividends as we were parked up by 6pm. It was constant chatter on the drive up. Non stop – virtually all Chelsea related. Parky dived into his personal treasure chest of Chelsea memories…he mentioned some of the things which Trowbridge Andy ( from Saturday’s jaunt to Bolton ) talked about. Let us not glory in past demeanours, but Parky certainly saw some action back in the old days…he was on the train coming back from Luton in 1975-76 which “somehow” caught fire and he also told a pretty grisly, but also faintly humorous, story about throwing a police dog out of a ( stationary ) train window.

The Goose was temporarily closed, so we met up at the Lillie Langtry, pretty close to West Brompton tube. It was the usual turnout for a CL home game – nice to see the next generation represented in Ed and his increasingly wayward hairstyle ( I’ve got a comb in my bag mate! ) and Milo.

Just time for two pints of Carling, me darling.

Received a call from Beth just as we walked past The Slug at Fulham Broadway. This was her last game of her trip and we agreed to meet up for a drink and meal after. I had Wednesday booked as a holiday and so was in no rush to get back.

Bought a copy of “CFCUK” – a good edition…more than one person questioned the “love” for Anelka and Drogba. Funny – have been thinking the same of late. Personally speaking, I will never forget Drogba’s selfish slouch from the pitch at the Luzhniki in May and I am so very tired of his antics. Anelka seems to be playing reasonably well, but it seems his general demeanour makes it difficult for us fans to get close to him. I don’t think it’s a race issue.

Into the stadium…surprised that 1,500 Romanians were present. It made Bordeaux’ 400 look really paltry. More free scarves. Alan had brought his lucky European wine gums. Mine didn’t work in Moscow, but they usually do. I texted a couple of people that “the wine gums are out” but I think this was misconstrued – I think they thought that I was referring to the demise of Bordeaux. You know who you are – is this true?

We increased momentum and drive as the game progressed and thankfully made it through. The events in Rome were working in our favour, though, so there was never a moment when I felt under real pressure. A snappy goal from Kalou got us on our way, but a lot of our play in the first period was a bit annoying. Yet again, the midfield didn’t seem to want to move for each other to make angles. At one time, the move stagnating, with no movement, I bellowed “MOVE”. You probably heard me in Poughkeepsie and Tallahassee. It didn’t always come off, but at least Joe Cole was involved with runs to lose markers…at least he seemed motivated. Ballack – despite a nice few through balls, didn’t seem too interested…with Frank out, I expected more. I want to see him run our midfield, but he too often hides for my liking. How often do you see him gesturing and demanding the ball, knocking one-twos? Hardly ever.

We missed Frank.

Pete from San Francisco ( who was over for the Roma and Liverpool games in October ) was sitting a few yards away and we met up for a chat at half-time. He is over with work and I will hopefully spend more time with him on Sunday.

For the Expats amongst you, a lovely old Christmas song from 1980 was aired at half-time…Jonah Lewie’s “Stop The Cavalry.” I felt all festive and frosty.

We had a lot of the ball in the scond-half, but – completely against the run of play – Kone scored for Cluj with a great header from a wicked cross. Ho hum.

We made some substitutions…Juliano for Joey, then Drogba for Kalou. I clapped Kaklou off, not so sure about Drogs! Seeing Drogba and Anelka upfront, paired together in a two-pronged attack, I suddenly lost myself for a few moments, fantasising about this ( on paper ) incredible pairing. Who in The World would not want to have these two beggars up front? But still we stick with a 4-3-3. Are we mad not to give this a real go for the rest of the season? Let’s see what Big Phil does. Anelka quite impressed me to be honest – he doesn’t often lose possession. But – oh! – that body language.

A lovely finish from Didier gave us a deserved win…but virtually everybody in the MHU thought it was an own goal. Even when he does score, we can’t love like in days of old!

After the game, Parky and myself met up with Beth outside “Frankies.” I will surely let The Wild One tell the story, but she was not a happy bunny. She had been sat in the front row of the Shed Upper, but a few instances left her fuming…I’ll let Beth tell you all what happened…but she was almost asked to leave! Into “Frankies” for a couple of drinks – this place, which first opened as a Sports Bar in 1997 for regular punters is now an up-market restaurant.

On the site of The Shed. My heart bleeds.

A bit of a natter. Clive Walker called in to chat for a few minutes…1983 and all that. Parky was chuffed. We left there at 11pm, but I am afraid all of the places we tried for food were shutting. I said my “goodbyes” to Beth at Fulham Broadway…”see you in April.”

On the walk up the North End Road, Parky and me nipped into a KFC and it rounded off a good night out. Back home at 2.15am…

Let our 2008-2009 European Campaign roll on.

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Tales From A Special Place

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Bolton Wanderers vs. Chelsea :6 December 2008.

My twenty-first game of the season. This is how it panned out.

Set off from home at 8.45am, the fields and hedges dusted with frost. But a clear, blue sky and that was how it stayed. I drove the ten miles to pick up Andy from Trowbridge, just over the county border in Wiltshire. There are a number of medium-sized towns near me, but I would say Trowbridge has proportionately more Chelsea fans than Frome, Westbury, Warminster, Radstock and the like. Andy ( 48 ) is good mates with Parky ( 52 – the grand daddy of the Trowbridge mob ) who I have travelled up to HQ with this season.

I first met Andy in a Frome pub in the summer of 1984 and although we always say “hi”, this was the first time I really have had to spend an extended amount of time with him.

As we darted through Bradford-On-Avon, past Bath and up onto the M4, we began chatting about our own individual Chelsea histories. The time absolutely flew past, as I am sure you can all imagine. His first game was in October 1971. We swapped stories as we ate up the miles. He still goes to most home league games. His best effort was way back in 1981-1982 when he went to 41 out of 42 league games during a mediocre second division season, notable only for an extended FA Cup run. He used to travel to all of the games my train ( we all did ) in those days – the era of cheaper prices, young persons railcards and Persil vouchers. We both agreed that as a teenager, a train trip from the South West up to Sheffield or Middlesbrough was a major event in those days. He spoke of a few hairy moments from those days – an incident when he found himself, quite innocently, in the midst of Chelsea’s main mob ( Icky et al ) in Middlesbrough, legging it into a pub, then emerging two hours later, buoyed by alcohol, into a waiting crowd of locals…a salvation army band playing, Saturday shoppers fleeing from the fighting.

Then the predictable stories of trains getting bricked by Geordies at Newcastle. I experienced this myself back in 1984 – that story will follow later this season.

As the talk slowed, I put the new Killers album on the CD player.

Before we knew it, we had sped past Stoke and were only 45 minutes from Bolton. We stopped at Sandbach for a Wimpy burger and fries. Wimpy is our very own UK fast food chain and I mention it’s name for all of the Ex-pats…still pretty dodgy and not as good as McDonalds or Burger King. In-n-Out Burger it ain’t!

This was the sixth trip up the M6 for me this season alone. Those motorway service stations fall off my tongue like a mantra…Michael Wood, Strensham, Frankley, Hilton Park, Stafford, Sandbach, Knutsford, Lymm. I was in contact with both Alan and Beth, on separate Chelsea coaches and as we hit the Manchester orbital, I knew we couldn’t be too far behind them.

Indeed, as we exited the slip road for The Reebok, I spotted the Chelsea coaches a few hundred yards ahead. I had made good time – I covered the 211 miles in three and a half hours.

So – Bolton. I still get goose bumps when I think of the name. I was there in April 2005 and every time I go back ( this was my fifth visit to The Reebok ), I think back to that momentous day when I saw Chelsea become league champions. The stadium is quite a way out of town, a good 6 miles, and nestles under Winter Hill, adjacent to a shopping mall. Quite a bizarre location, really, for such a momentous day in our history. At the time, we all acknowledged the significance of winning the league at Bolton. Think back to 1983 and Clive Walker’s goal which fought off relegation to the Third Division ( arguably the most important goal in 103 years ) and therefore provided the lift-off for 1983-1984 and the successes which followed. I remember Alan ( who went to the game ) telling the story of famous Chelsea fan Breda attending the game with four-leaved clovers, rabbits feet, lucky heather and a crucifix. Breda used to look after the disabled section at Chelsea with John Bumstead’s Mum – anyway, all of the various lucky charms worked a treat. I mused on the fact that all of these fans have played such an integral role in our story. In comparison, of all the books I have read on baseball, the only famous fan I can name is the Brooklyn Dodgers’ Hilda Chester and her cow bell. Over here, in the UK, every club has its legion of fans…some more famous than the players! It is this interaction between club, player and fan that you must all find so intriguing.

On a more sombre note, let us also remember our league cup game at Bolton in 1996 and the helicopter crash which robbed the club of Matthew Harding.

Bolton plays a significant role in our history. More so than any other city in my opinion.

I parked up at the stadium and walked towards The Beehive pub, where we were joined by Alan, Gary and Beth. We stayed there about an hour. A couple of pints. Thank heavens Beth is over here – I think her recent spending spree in London has boosted our ailing economy. A quick chat with the Nuneaton boys.

I had a quick word with Ron Harris outside the entrance to the away seats…he was up to do an evening at a local club. He often goes to away games. Made my way up to our seat in the top tier…we had amazing seats…as central as it was possible to be, the very back row. Alan, Gary and me stood the entire game. The self-appointed “John Terry’s Barmy Army” were in front of us. It was still sunny – and not too cold either.

I snapped away as the teams came onto the pitch. I noted many St.Georges cross flags at the other end, but also a Stars and Stripes…a large flag was hoisted over the Bolton fans – “We are the one and only Wanderers.” Dave Johnstone’s Chelsea away flag passed close by too. The war of the flags! One massive Bolton flag intimated – via symbols – that they love gravy. This comes from the “Soccer AM” show in which “Northern boys love gravy.”

Quality!

OK – game on. Let’s see if we could get our eleventh successive away victory. Beth ( along with Andy, Rey and Cynthia ) was present for the first one, way back at Manchester City in April. By a twist of fate, the top three clubs were all playing within 40 miles of each other…Liverpool up the road at Blackburn and Manchester United at Old Trafford. Our formation seemed to be 4-1-3-2…with Mikel deep and Kalou upfront with Anelka.

Before we had a chance to settle, Davies ( always a blooming handful ) had headed over an easy chance. Thankfully, a lovely cross from Bosingwa found Anelka and we were 1-0 up. Then a lovely Deco goal soon after. We were coasting. Not great noise from our support from us to be honest…we had 2,800 up there, but it wasn’t brilliant. The Bolton mascot was getting on my nerves, but also amusing me at the same time – he rolled over on the floor, imitating Bosingwa’s reaction to a foul, then I saw him flicking Vs at other Chelsea players. He was strutting around, not happy at all. Pretty funny.

Bolton came back into the game after the break, but despite a few half chances, they never convinced me that they would score. Cech, despite some woeful kicking, played well with some timely saves. After last week’s poor show, Deco impressed me immensely, controlling the midfield, pushing the ball around intelligently. Did anyone spot McCann and Ballack getting very close while play was stopped, eye to eye, giving verbals to each other? Soon after, Ballack was smacked and had to wear a bandage.

I thought he resembled Sesame Street’s Bert.

The final whistle and we quickly reached the car, only to be sat motionless for twenty minutes until a few cars in front left. We heard that Liverpool had won, then listened to the United game on Five Live. As I passed through Birmingham, Vidic poked home a late winner and I smacked the car door in frustration.

Never mind. Our eleventh away league win on the trot. Happy with that.

On the way home, my NYC correspondent texted me to say that Roman was at “Nevada Smiths” in NYC.

I dropped Andy off at Trowbridge and then drove through a deserted Frome – the credit crunch was hitting, all of the pubs seemed deserted. I stopped off for a Chinese takeaway. It was freezing outside.

Home at 9.15pm. The big game against Cluj awaits.

Bring it on.

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Tales From The Fortress

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Chelsea vs. Arsenal : 30 November 2008.

Fortess Stamford Bridge – yeah, big joke, eh?

I’ll try to keep things nice and concise for this report, but will be referring back to 1983 at least once, and to Friday a few times too.

Fasten your seat belts – it’s gonna be a rough ride.

A late start from Frome, where we had sleet and snow as we departed at 10am. I had watched the highlights of Saturday’s games on “Match Of The Day” and rarely had the weather at all of the games been so bad. The poor souls at Sunderland looked frozen. As we teared past Stonehenge, I did wonder what weather the Gods would throw at us again. I’m fed up with all of this football in the rain. Sad to report that Dave and PD aren’t getting much work still – this, along with the utterly depressing performance from the boys on Wednesday, gave the trip up to London a bleak feel. Even six hours before kick-off, we were all fearing the worst.

Anyway, into the café on the Lillee Road and a gorgeous fry-up again. Now then, the first reference to Friday. For the first time in my life, I attended an official Chelsea Football Club function – the 2008 CPO Luncheon at the Hilton, Park Lane…Beth always goes and she coerced me into going this year. We met up at Stamford Bridge at 9.15am and – until we departed our separate ways at 11pm – had a fantastic time. I won’t mention every minute detail, but my mate Glenn, from Frome, was a big Marcel Desailly fan ( he favours Milan, too – the poor misguided soul ) and so I presented Glenn with a signed “Desailly 6” photograph I had for him. He was well chuffed.

Into “The Goose” at 12.45pm and a few pints of lager. Some of you will remember that we bumped into Pat Nevin, amongst others, in Moscow…well, I knew that Wee Pat would be at the CPO Lunch and so I got him to personally sign two 8 by 10 photos of Pat with both Alan and Daryl. This was a surprise for my two mates, so they were pleased too. I must have around ten to fifteen close Chelsea mates, but I would describe Alan, Daryl and myself as the Inner Circle…between the three of us, all the important decisions are made!

To be fair, the mood in the boozer was quite subdued. The Bordeaux game was the topic of conversation. I guess any team is only as good as their last performance and ours was flat and lifeless. So – lots to groan and moan about. Daryl voiced the opinion that getting Eidur back from Barca wouldn’t be a bad move come January…a fine idea. Rob arrived and was full of chat about France…he had met up with Alan and Gary out there. After a shedful of beers one night, they found themselves drinking the almond liquor amoretti.

After six of these, Rob was leading the singing of “Chelsea Amoretti.”

The pub got busier and busier. I was wary I had to meet Beth at some stage…I owed her some money, £20 of which was for a bet I had lost with her. I had bet her that she would show at least one former Chelsea player at the lunch on Friday her new silver CFC belly button ring. The plan didn’t work and, despite a plan I had hatched with Clive Walker, Beth won her bet. Beth was doing a mini pub crawl by the sounds of it and I eventually met up with her in La Reserve, where she was enjoying a quiet drink with Mark Coden ( if that is possible…)

Into the ground nice and early for once, thus avoiding problems at the turnstiles.

Arsenal had the usual 3,000, but only two flags…a poor show. One of them was quite simple and effective – The Arsenal – but I knew this would wind Alan up as he hates the way Arsenal are sometimes referred to in this manner, like as if they are The Bank Of England or The Royal Family or something. For virtually all of their history Arsenal Football Club have hosted some of the most pragmatic and boring football teams to come out of these Isles…only since Wenger took over, in 1996, has the more expansive style of football been evident. Tell that to the JCL Gooners in America…they were called Lucky Arsenal in the thirties because they only did “enough” to win, nothing more…1-0 To The Arsenal is about right. The football Arsenal played in my childhood and youth was dire, with Liam Brady a rare entertainer.

A nice atmosphere to start – this is more like it…the extra hour in the various bars and pubs that surround Stamford Bridge on match days seemed to have a nice effect. In between Chelsea attacks, I spoke to Alan about some of the events on Friday…the highlights were nice chats with Paul Canoville, Bobby Tambling, Ken Shellito, Ken Monkou, Colin Pates and Tommy Hughes. I think I worked out I managed to say a few words to 19 of the 63 former players present. I batted .332 – pleased with that!

I thought we were fine in the first half and played the nicer stuff. After a barrage of abuse at the start, Gallas got away quite lightly really. However, it was so funny when there seemed to be a bizarre reaction when Bosingwa’s fine cross was put into his own net by Djourou – it seemed that the whole ground thought that Gallas had scored. There were almost boos when we heard that #20 and not #10 had scored! Hilarious. Even more hilarious was Alan’s off the cuff comment…”when it comes to crosses, I’m like a midget nymphomaniac…I like them low and hard.”

To me, the formation resembled 4-4-2, rather than 4-4-3, with Deco very withdrawn and Kalou quite central. What did anyone else think? Although we were playing some reasonable football, I was concerned that the Chelsea players weren’t getting very close to the Arsenal midfielders. Thought Fabregas was being given too much respect. Why not man mark him? He was always going to be their main threat.

At half-time, I noted in the programme that Chelsea have recently tied up a deal with Los Angeles Futbol Club in which training programmes will be set up with Chelsea, plus coach-exchanges. They will be known as LAFC Chelsea. They play in Simi Valley. Anybody heard of this club before?

Of course, we all know what happened after the break. We did let Arsenal have a bit more of the ball, but at 1-0 I still didn’t see a real threat from them. The first goal did look a bit close to being offside from my position – admittedly many yards away – and this was borne out on TV. The calls went against us, no doubt. But we threw the game away in three crazy minutes. I was standing the entire time – evidence I wasn’t happy.

Too many players had poor games – Deco especially, but nobody came out with too much credit. However, fair’s fair – again thought Ivanovic played well. A solid performance from the man with the 1980 haircut. We had a good viewpoint of Terry’s awful two-footed challenge which should have resulted in a red. He’s having a patchy spell right now, no doubts.

At this point, I go back to Friday night – and also 1983-84 again. I had a lovely few words with Colin Pates, the captain of that fabled team and I made the point to him that in those days the fans weren’t experts on formations or playing systems – we just had ten pints in the pub beforehand and sung our hearts out. Colin laughed and agreed that there really wasn’t too many tactics in those days. A far more simple era really, though we didn’t realise it at the time. Players played – supporters supported. Easy.

Now then – excuse me while I get on my soap-box here. I have often lamented – at length – the decreasing levels of our home support of late. At times, I get so frustrated with the lack of effort, I honestly feel like only going to away games. With Chelsea 2-1 down to Arsenal ( Arsenal FFS! ), not only did our team not react in the right way, the home support simply did nothing. It’s like my car at the moment – the turbo is broken – and we just couldn’t get that extra boost…I was putting my foot to the floor, but not getting a response. My mate Daryl has commented to me today that we all thought that the Carling Cup Final in February was a low point, but yesterday was just as bad.

It grieves me like you can not imagine.

I noted the three lads – in their forties, been going for years, been sat behind them since 1997, but they rarely sing – just sat, arms crossed, not even talking, let alone singing and clapping. I leaned forward and said –

“Is there any chance you lads can start putting your hands together and supporting this team of ours?”

Albert turned around, annoyed with me, claiming he does support the club.

“Yeah, whatever mate, whatever.”

Of course, I felt bad about it on the drive home, but please tell me – who is right?

Managers manage. Players play. Supporters support.

We support – we don’t spectate.

Of course, things got very frustrating and Deco became the poster boy for the hate and derision raining down from the stands around me. I have a rule here – and I try my hardest to keep to it. When a player miss-hits a pass, or skies a shot, I try my damned hardest to say nothing, to stay silent. Not the fans around me – in the last horrible twenty minutes, with the noise getting louder and louder with every poor pass, I had to wonder what was going through the collective minds of those around me. If they truly love the club, why the hate towards certain players. One guy behind me was truly venomous. It made me feel sick.

On one occasion, JT lofted a lovely pass into the pass of Ash down below me and not one clap…not one. These people make more noise when players play badly than when we play well.

Can someone please explain that to me? I just think us Chelsea fans have been spoilt rotten and as soon as a defeat is on the cards, suddenly implode. We can’t cope. We blame referees. We blame the coach. We pick on players. We behave like petulant kids.

Not my Chelsea.

Back in 1983-84, my fourth game of the season was a horrible 1-0 defeat a home to Manchester City…twenty five years ago on Wednesday.

In 1983-84, I was gutted we lost. In 2008-2009 I am gutted we have lost our support.

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Tales From The Blank Saturday

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Chelsea vs. Newcastle United : 22 November 2008

Well, that was a strange one, eh? The weekend that never was.

I have a feeling this won’t be a very extensive match report.

Glenn had to work, Karen had to oversee some builders at her new house, so the Frome Gang Of Five had been clipped to just three – Dave, who drove, PD and me. For someone who doesn’t particularly like driving, Dave made light work of the 110 miles. We were parked up at 11.15am. I shot off down to “Lloyds” in order to meet Beth and Jamie. “Lloyds” is the large bar at the top of the escalators at the Fulham Broadway complex…we used to go there a few years ago…but it gets too busy after 1pm. I’m tempted to use the old Yogi Berra ( or was it Casey Stengel? ) catchphrase…”nobody goes there anymore because it’s too crowded.”

I ordered a pint and a £4 breakfast. Jamie was the first to arrive – she had just got back from the Germany vs. England game in Berlin…had enjoyed Berlin, but was glad to be back in an English-speaking city. This was her last game of her stay in London. Beth arrived at about midday…great to see her again. I gave her my Bordeaux ticket. I’m not going, but Beth will be in good company as Alan and Gary are going. Seems that virtually everyone is going on the Eurostar. It will be like a Chelsea Special. Beth and myself are going to the annual Chelsea Pitch Owners Lunch on Friday – this will be the first ( and possibly only ) official Chelsea function I have attended. I can’t wait – it will be a great day I am sure. Beth passed over a couple of items from the Presidential election for me…one badge had the phrase “Yes We Can” and I did wonder how bizarre it was that Obama had pilfered a Bob The Builder catchphrase. Wasn’t there a Joe the Plumber involved in the election campaign too? Anyone care to explain to me what it all means?

We spoke a little about the presidential campaign, but I felt my eyes glazing over…I bade a fond farewell to Jamie and told Beth I’d see her on Friday.

After calling in on Andy at “The Jolly Maltsters” to pass over Glenn’s ticket to one of his mates, I made it back to The Goose for 1.15pm. It was well-packed and so ordered two pints at the bar. Just as I headed over to join the boys, Mike from NYC was on his way to the bar too. He had flown in for the game – had arrived Heathrow at 9.30am and was going back on Sunday afternoon. Great to see him again. I surely should be on a commission the amount of US trade I drum up for The Goose. Chatted mainly to Mike and my mate Rob, who mentioned that he is thinking about making it over to NY / NJ should Chelsea confirm plans for the American Tour in 2009. The more the merrier.

Rob is a chap I only have got to know over the last year…he lives out past East London and mentioned he tries to go and see as many of the youth games as he can. We spoke about what the club means to us and I understood completely when Rob said that he doesn’t really care about who is or isn’t in the team or who we are meant to be after in the transfer market. He’s Chelsea regardless of any of the on-field stuff. It’s something which goes deep. I’m sure Rob will be at The Bridge forever and a day.

Proper Chelsea.

More ridiculous queues at the turnstiles, so I got in five minutes late. Yes, a very odd game. There is a part of me that thinks that I should say that it was “just one of those games” where we just couldn’t score, despite embarrassingly high possession. But that wouldn’t tell the whole story. I’m writing this after having had the benefit of having read the Sunday paper and so I need to agree with the match reporter…we don’t seem to have a Plan B, especially prevalent at home these days. I don’t understand why Scolari only made two substitutions. I don’t know why Ballack was only given ten minutes. Without Drogba ( who offers a vivid variation to our slow build-up play ) we seem to want to pass pass pass forever. We clearly lack width. Apart from one great run when he came through the middle, Malouda was again poor. And Deco seems to get worse with every passing game.

The Geordies were singing “The Blaydon Races” in their corner. Our noise levels weren’t great. At half-time, former player Chris Garland was introduced to the crowd by Neil Barnett. Garland played in the very first game I ever saw – against Newcastle United in March 1974. He has suffered with Parkinsons in the past and I think he isn’t too bad now. Apart from Liverpool, I think I have seen Newcastle play more times than any other team – we couldn’t even escape each other when we dropped down into the old second division. Our last home league defeat against them was way back in 1986…we have a great record against them.

If we were on top in the first-half, the story of the second-half was really amazing. I think I’d struggle to remember a more one-sided 45 minutes of football. Alan and myself were celebrating “the goal that wasn’t” for what seemed like ages before we realised Joe was offside. Pah. At that point we should have realised it wasn’t to be our day.

As the chances came and went, I stood up, leaning against my seat back – always a sure sign I am not pleased! As always, Alan and myself tried to entice our fellow fans to get behind the team, but The Sleepy Hollow were deathly silent. One passage of play was met with moans, groans and boos and made me very annoyed. In the second-half, a rare Geordie attack was broken up by Anelka ( of all people ) who intercepted the ball, controlled it and laid it off to a defender. This was met with howls of derision…presumably because in the eyes of the fans Anelka shouldn’t be back defending. Some players just can’t win, eh?

I stood up and shouted “don’t have a go at him – he’s back defending – FFS! He’s done well there. You lot make more noise when we do something wrong than when we are playing well.”

I was told to calm down by a bloke. I smiled. But seriously – at times at Chelsea, we hardly applaud a corner, but the boos echo around when a player does something wrong. It’s pathetic. Whereas in around 2000, the West Lower was a bastion of noise, these days they watch in silence. Do I sound like a broken record?

Well, we heard that The Goons had lost and then, as we exited down the stairs we were told Liverpool had only drew. So a tangible bit of relief there.

Villa grabbed a point off United as we sped back home. Thank heavens.

At least it didn’t rain.

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Tales From The Corner Flag

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West Bromwich Albion vs. Chelsea : 15 November 2008.

Just another day in paradise – or the heart of the West Midlands, to be precise.

A late kick-off was good for me, as it meant I had no rush to get up. I was even able to pop into town to run a few errands. Saturdays are usually completely devoted to Chelsea, which can cause problems!

Glenn kindly volunteered to drive the 110 miles up to Birmingham – this gave me free reign to relax and have a few beers. Frome stalwarts Dave and Paul were also travelling with us.

We left my village at 10.45am. Five of the boys were heading up from Marylebone in London and we had arranged to meet at a pub near Snow Hill station.

Our route again took us through Bristol. On the elevated section of the M32, to our left, there is an IKEA warehouse. This was built in around 1996 on the site of Eastville, the former home of Bristol Rovers. Seems that every Chelsea fan of a certain age from the West Country was at the 3-0 loss we suffered at the hands of Rovers in February 1980. An infamous game – it ultimately cost us promotion and was memorable for the police horses trying to control the fans…the horses were even on the terrace at the Tote End at one stage. I remember watching from the North Stand seats, looking around and seeing Glenn and his grandfather a few rows behind us. 28 years ago – oh boy.

It was an easy trip up. Glenn is a bit of a speed merchant.

Chris “Ralphie Schumacher.”

Alan “Dionne.”

Glenn was given a driving assessment during the week – he ferries youngsters around as part of his new job. He passed but was told “too fast and too close.”

“Yeah, mate – that’s what your wife says, too.”

Talk was of Glenn’s new job. He thought he had it tough with the banter from the non-Chelsea supporting lads at his old factory, but the youngsters at the care home he works at are much much worse!

As chat quietened, Keane were on the CD player. At 12.30pm we parked up at a hotel just off the M6.

Chris “Frank Skinner.”

We had a quick pint at the Park Inn bar, then quickly walked past The Hawthorns to catch a metro train into the centre of Brum. By 12.45pm, we had exited the train and were sat in “Edmunds” bar – formerly The Corner House. I have hardly ever been out drinking in Brum city centre before. We ordered some beers ( Becks Vier to start, but I then spotted some Staropramen…nice.) After about twenty minutes, the London Boys ( Alan, Daryl, Gary, Simon and Milo ) arrived. Milo ( aged 10 ) and Gary ( aged 11, sorry 43 ) had been playing Chelsea Top Trumps on the train up. Food and more beers were ordered. I had brought up the photos from Rome – all 150 of them – and these were handed around, with comments from myself. The texts to and from America began! I heard that about 30 Chelsea were meeting up in Stamford, CT, for a game at a bar…a nice thought…them on their road trip, us on ours.

As usual, the banter was great – the beer was flowing and it was all good. I commented that – for one game only – The Bada Bing were The Bada Boing.

I had a text from Connecticut that The Goons had lost. Superb.

At about 4.30pm, we retraced our steps to Snow Hill and caught the train to The Hawthorns. It was only a seven minute trip. A few Chelsea were onboard. A few songs. There was steady rain as we queued to get into the away end.

The nine of us were spit into two groups. Alan, Gary and myself were right down the front by the corner flag, second row. Lovejoy was in the front row. But really disappointing seats – we are all away season ticket holders and we usually get allocated the prime seats. Not on this occasion. We mumbled a few grumbles of complaint. The other six lads were way back in LL. We had a good 3,000 turnout and we had all been drinking by the sounds of it!

Another wet Chelsea game – at least we were undercover, not like in times of yore. I like the Hawthorns – a good, compact ground now that the corners are all connected. It always was a good ground – the new stands have retained its character I feel. We settled ourselves down for the game. Chelsea in all yellow – maybe they took my advice from Blackburn. The entire Chelsea contingent stood the whole game. No bickering stewards asked us to sit, thank heavens… but I was involved in a war of attrition the whole game with stewards who kept asking me not to take photos. I do have a big old lens and was asking for trouble…but with the flash off, I managed to take about 15 shots.

I texted a few people to tell them to keep a look out for me on TV.

I thought West Brom began well and caused us a few problems. We seemed to take an age to get into our normal rhythm…however, once we scored, we looked good – for eleven minutes! What a finish from Bosingwa – one of the best players on the day. And what lovely finishes from Anelka too…being so low down, our perspective on the action at the far end was really poor…on seeing the replays on TV, I realised how cool he had finished. A great ball from Kalou on the third goal.

Behind me, in the concourse, at half-time, it was going mad. About 300 Chelsea were doing the “Bouncy Bouncy” ( a Rangers song, adapted by us – having a pop at Tottenham ) and then the “Juliano Belletti” song. It was crazy. I felt old!

To be honest, we were expecting a hatful more goals in the second-half and were a bit dismayed that no more goals ensued. And despite the beer being topped-up at half-time, and the 300 being in good voice at the break, the noise levels weren’t that great in the second period. If anything the home fans – next to us in The Smethwick End ( louder than the Birmingham End ) – were outdoing us. I quite like West Brom as a club, but fear they might not stay up this season. Bumped into Mark Coden on the way out.

“Too easy.”

A wet walk back to the car…I bought a hot dog and onions ( which I later regretted! ) to sustain me…the rain was still falling, the cars were leaving the ground in fits and starts, the streetlights reflecting on the roadside puddles…a typical scene…the home fans silent, the away fans an extra bounce in our step. Listened to BBC’s “606” and a call from a West Brom fan really annoyed me. He hadn’t been to the game, was relying on the local radio coverage, but still felt so aggrieved that he had to phone “606 to vent his feelings. We all agreed that West Brom had played alright – they had been a bit unlucky. Why did that bloke have to moan and complain? Go and support the team next time, mate!

We reached home at 10pm…it had been a very quiet trip back really.

I think we were a little deflated that we hadn’t scored a few more goals…football fans – we’re never happy are we?

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Tales From 1983 And 2008

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Chelsea vs. Burnley : 12 November 2008.

I have to admit that I wasn’t particularly overly-excited about this one.

This would be my seventeenth game so far this season and my lack of enthusiasm did trouble me. But, I guess, once I see as many games as I do, I suppose it is natural for there to be occasions when I get under-whelmed. The Carling Cup is certainly priority number four for us all this season. Should we progress, I was already writing off the chances of me going to an away game.

Time and money.

Parky from Trowbridge had made his way to Chippenham and we departed at 4pm. Constant chat on the way up – he loves to rabbit. Talk was of Chelsea, work and a fair bit of time remembering Remembrance Day. Parky had been in the army and had actually visited The Cenotaph in London on Tuesday.

We hit a bit of traffic around Hammersmith and reached The Goose at 6.30pm. It was pretty quiet – only five chaps from our lot were there…Alan, Daryl, Ed, Rob and Gary. Just time for two pints and a few memories of Rome shared with the boys – and a few preliminary plans made for Saturday…West Brom away, ten of us meeting up for our biggest away gathering of the season. Looking forward to that one.

I had already exchanged emails with Daryl during the day about the events of Saturday 12th. November 1983. Daryl is the other great “historian” amongst our little group and we have been chatting all season about 1983-1984. Daryl still contends that this is his favourite season ever. So let’s re-cap on 1983.

I was unemployed throughout the season…but had been to the home games against Derby in August and Cardiff in October. The biggest game of the season was to be against Arthur Cox’s Newcastle United. They were the favourites for promotion and had Keegan, McDermott and Waddle. A good team. I had travelled up alone for the first two games, but had arranged to travel up by train with Glenn, from Frome, for the first time for the Geordies’ game. We would have reached Chelsea at about 10.30am and I distinctly remember having a cuppa in the old “Stamford Bridge Restaurant” with him. Two Geordies were sitting with us.

“Keegan will score a hat-trick today, like.”

I remember we got inside the ground when the gates opened at 1.30pm. Even to this day, I can remember peering out on a misty Stamford Bridge, Eurythmics playing on the pre-match show, in amazement how many people were “in early.” By 2pm, The Shed was getting very full. Back in those days, we were used to average gates of around 12,000 in the Second Division. In April 1982, we infamously only drew 6,009 for a league game. In the First Division, in 1983-84, even champions-to-be Liverpool only drew 32,000. Football was at a bit of a low ebb. The recession was biting. After narrowly avoiding relegation to Div Three in May, however, Chelsea were rejuvenated in the first few months of 1983-84 and the Chelsea support was rallying around the team. We drew 30,000 for the Newcastle game in November 1983…a monster gate, when the average Div Two gate was around 11,000. We watched from The Whitewall.

Chelsea slaughtered Newcastle 4-0 and I fondly look back on that game as one of my favourite games ever. We absolutely dominated. Mention this game to anyone who was there, though, and they will say two words.

“Nevin’s run.”

Just before half-time, with us leading 1-0 , ( and my memory is still strong ) Pat Nevin won a loose ball from a Newcastle attack in the Shed penalty box on the West Stand side. I read a report from “When Saturday Comes” founder Mike Ticher that Pat nut-megged Keegan ( but I can’t confirm this ) and then Pat set off on a mesmerizing dance down the entire length of the pitch, around five yards inside the West Stand touchline. This wasn’t a full-on sprint. Pat wasn’t that fast. At five foot six inches he was the same height as me. Pat’s skill was a feint here, a feint there, a dribble, a turn, a swivel, beating defender after defender through a body-swerve, a turn…it was pure art, a man at his peek…he must’ve left five or six defenders in his wake and I guess the whole run lasted around 20 seconds…he may well have beaten the same man twice…each time he waltzed past a defender, the noise increased, we were bewitched, totally at his mercy…amazingly he reached the far goal-line…a dribble of around 100 yards. He beat one last man, looked up and lofted a ball goalward. Pat’s crosses always seemed to have a lot of air on them, he hardly ever whipped balls in…his artistry was in the pinpoint cross rather a thunderbolt…a rapier, not a machine gun. The ball was arched into the path of an in-rushing Kerry Dixon. We gasped…we waited…my memory is that it just eluded Kerry’s head and drifted off for a goal-kick, but Gary reckoned Kerry headed it over. Whatever – it didn’t matter. On that misty afternoon in West London, we had witnessed pure genius. I loved Pat Nevin with all my heart – my favourite player of all time – and most Chelsea fans of my generation felt the same. When I met him in Moscow in May, you can not comprehend my happiness.

So, on the walk to the ground – 25 years on – Pat Nevin was remembered with affection.

Into the stadium. Another full house. Burnley had 6,000 noisy fans in The Shed.

“Stand up if you hate Blackburn.”

We had a poor start, then got into the game. This really was a B Team for us. We had a lovely move down the right, but Kalou took an extra touch. Often he will do that. Carlo fluffed a catch and was lucky to escape unpunished. Burnley were neat. Belletti went off injured and Frank came on. I noted that every time Frank gets rested, he always seems to have to come on early to cover an injured player. But he certainly lit up our play. A lovely finish from Drogba ( our reserve striker? ) gave us a 1-0 lead. Ivanovic then hit the bar after a sweet fee-kick from Malouda.

I noted six red-coated Chelsea Pensioners in the East Middle. Chelsea have always given the Royal Hospital free tickets for the Pensioners as far back as I can remember. I think that’s fantastic. A lovely little piece of Chelsea History. I have noted, though, that whereas in 1983, their tickets were right on the half-way line, every year they seem to get shunted further towards the wings. A shame.

I noted every Burnley pass was enthusiastically cheered by the away fans. How odd that Blackburn and Burnley share the same song…”The Wild Rover” / “No Nay Never.” But with vastly differing words. Blackburn in reverence, Burnley with animosity.

At half-time, I popped over to see Jamie – she had a fantastic seat in the front row of the MHU, right behind the goal. The news came through that Spurs were 3-0 up.

Mikel came on for a poor Deco. Thought Mikel was great, actually.

Burnley is a small town in Lancashire ( population 77,000 ) and like Rovers, does well to sustain a relatively big club. In the ‘sixties they were a great club with a good team. Believe it or not, this was my first sighting of their famous claret and blue. I wondered that if the Burnley flags might possibly reflect the very parochial nature of their support.

Not so much “Manchester Clarets” and “Burnley – London Branch” as “19 High Street Clarets” and “Burnley – Top End Of Our Street.”

For the first time since the shame of Moscow, I clapped the substituted Drogba. However, soon after, Burnley scored through Akinbyi ( a well-travelled gun for hire if ever there was ) and things looked ominous. The away support erupted. Our support – typically – was quite subdued all night. Lots of kids around us, but a lot of people sat on their hands, not involved.

Extra-time and Di Santo had a knock…down to ten men. Another ominous sign. We went to 4-3-2, but unfortunately this left the night’s two most ineffectual players ( Malou and Kalouda!! ) upfront. Not good. With six minutes to go, Alex ( one of the few plusses ) skied it over from right in front of the goal – and Jamie. Oh hell. Then a Burnley chap was sent off for a second yellow.

Ten versus ten, but it didn’t help us. The inevitable penalty loss was oh-so predictable…our last success was back in 1998 apparently…six failures since. Are we England in disguise?

Let’s move on. A poor performance, but we could and should have easily won. Fortress Stamford Bridge is beginning to sound like a sick joke.

Due to the prolonged game, didn’t get home until 1.30am.

Good job we are at The Hawthorns on Saturday. Mow That Meadow.

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Tales From Lancashire

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Blackburn Rovers vs. Chelsea : 9 November 2008.

I had arranged to meet up with Jamie ( aka Crowtrobot ) at her hotel in Blackburn before the game. I knew there wouldn’t be much for her to see in Blackburn on the Saturday. I texted her to let her know that if she was struggling to find something to watch on TV, maybe The Remembrance Service from the Royal Albert Hall would be worth watching. I always like to catch this every November. I think it is something that the British do so well – nice and understated, but rich on ceremony. As a child, I always used to keep a watch out for the Chelsea Pensioners ( just the sound of the word Chelsea used to make me go all goose-pimply ). Then there is a moment when thousands of poppies are released from the rafters, each representing the life of a serviceman or woman lost in the defence of the things we hold dear.

“At the going down of the sun – and in the morning – we will remember them.”

I do like the idea of Pensioners leading us out for home games.

I set off for Blackburn – the stereotypical Northern town – at 7.45am…a sunny start to the day, the beech trees looking especially golden as I headed towards Bristol. Every time I drive through Bristol, I think back to 2006 and Jenni’s ( aka BlueBelle ) first ever Chelsea game up at Wigan. Jenni was staying with friends and I collected her en route. I’m lucky to be able to share all of these experiences with you lot.

This will make you laugh – as I drove past Bristol Temple Meads station, I glanced up at a billboard for the forthcoming pantomime at the local Hippodrome. It was starring none other than Mickey Rooney! 88 years old ( I’ve looked it up! ) and still working. Amazing! I told a few mates this at Blackburn and they responses were “are you sure?” I then doubted my sanity for thirteen hours until I spotted it again on the way home at 9pm. It certainly is a mad, mad, mad, mad world – I loved that film!

Lovely sun on the M5, zipping up past Cheltenham, but then – ominously – clouds at Birmingham, then rain at Stafford, then atrocious rain at Stoke.

I stopped for a coffee in the dry at Sandbach. Alan and Gary were en route too…they had left Chelsea at 6am. Depeche Mode gave way to the Cocteau Twins. As Winter Hill to my east was spotted – it overlooks The Reebok – I mused on the importance of a few venues in the North West to Chelsea Football Club…1905 – first ever league game at Stockport…1970 – first ever FA Cup at Old Trafford…2005 – first League title in fifty years at Bolton.

At last the roads were dry at Wigan. Darwen Tower was spotted ( looking like a ‘fifties space rocket ) and as I approached Blackburn, I saw signs for Burnley too, their hated rivals. Burnley is just 11 miles to the east, nestled under The Pennines, almost on the border with Yorkshire. I have a good mate who comes from Darwen – Mark is a Rovers fan and has told me Rovers don’t object to Bolton or Preston – they just abhor Burnley, or “the bastards” as he calls them.

I made good time and reached the Premium Lodge, just a mile south of Ewood at 11.15am. Time for a coffee with Jamie – I had brought along my 2007-2008 photo album to show her…around 220 photos from that emotional season.

We then parked up and made a beeline for The Fernhurst, the focal point for all Chelsea fans, as it is one of the few “away fans” only pubs in England. Unfortunately it was mobbed and it took ages to get served. The Nuneaton lot were well represented – about ten – and Lovejoy was right in the middle. I introduced Jamie to him. I had sorted a ticket for Mark Coden via one of the Nuneaton lot…said “hi” to a few people…then outside to meet up with Alan and Gary, nursing pints, in the porch. Cathy and Dog were nearby. We wondered if the eastern-European girl who was with Lovejoy in Rome was still around. Gary said he thought her Visa had run out. I replied that it was Lovejoy’s Mastercard that had more likely ran out!

The weather was shocking as we trudged to the ground. Bumped into Mark’s mates Lee and Jon. Good lads.

I demolished an excellent steak and ale pie, then found my seat, halfway back, behind the goal.

So – the same team as Rome, except Kalou in for Joe. A lot was made of the “poor” 20,000 gate on the radio, but – to be fair – Blackburn only has a population of 105,000. I think 20,000 is a fine effort to be honest. London’s eight million and its eight teams – the same pro rata figure would be gates of 200,000!

I made the point that I did wonder why, on such a dark day, we were wearing the all black kit. Received a text from Bob – now in Paris – saying exactly the same thing.

The conditions really were atrocious in the first-half…rarely have I seen the ball “hold up” on the pitch like it did. But I think we adapted a lot better. We had all of the play in the first-half and the much derided Paul Robinson made many crucial saves. Anelka was Anelka – good one moment, lazy the next. What an enigma. I was losing my patience with him…was just about to shout “Anelka – move!” as Bosingwa shot from a distance…it hit Anelka and just about made it over the line…much laughter. Me and my mouth! He had stayed completely still and had scored. I will shut up next time.

I guess we had around 2,000 at Blackburn…maybe a bit less…quite a few empty seats. Jamie was ten rows in front and loving being so near the players. The singing wasn’t great, but I think the damp conditions were to blame…pretty poor though, really. One or two nice “ZZs” from Martin.

The second half was a bit more open – and the rain had slowed – but we still had the edge. I thought Mikel and Alex – big men, not hindered by the greasy conditions – were our best players by a mile. Cech played well. But Deco was poor – really poor. Good 6 and 7s out of 10s for the rest.

A nice move and a slick finish from “Doves” and it’s looking great…safe. Say what you want about Anelka, but ten league goals so far! He should have scored a third, eh?

By the way, referee Chris Foy was awful…I commented that he seemed to be making decisions on things which had happened five minutes previously. What about that foul throw?

“Have another go, son.” A joke.

The final whistle…our sixth away win out of six…goals for 16, goals against 1. Just beautiful. We love it up north.

Jamie and myself raced back to the car and I dropped her back at Blackburn train station. Left Blackburn at 4pm…listened to the Spurs game…pah! Annoyed they took 3,000 to City. I guess they are all euphoric about moving out of the bottom three…ho ho ho.

I stopped for food at Knutsford – saw Mark, Jon, Lee – but was feeling really tired, so caught thirty minutes sleep in my car…the weather was awful on the trip south…there were signs for spray, wind gusts and standing water. Not enjoyable. It was really tiring. Had to stop for another coffee, but eventually reached a windswept Somerset at 9.45pm. Time to see the replay on “MOTD2 “ but I soon crawled to bed…

Rovers’ rivals next!

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Tales From Italy

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Roma vs. Chelsea : 4 November 2008.

Part One.

Greetings From Rome. Just time to post a few things before we soon set off by cab for the Villa Borghese – all of the official coaches are shuttling us up from this park area to Stadio Olimpico from 5pm onwards… Actually, just before I logged on, we had a ridiculously intense rain shower, with deafening thunderclaps echoing around the city streets. Let’s hope we don’t get too soaked tonight. I have my VINCI PER NOI banner with me, but doubt if I will take it to the game – too concerned that the police will steal it. It has been a nice and realaxing time. The weather yesterday was phenominal – we took a nice leisurely stroll down to The Coloseum – weather in the ’70s, blue skies…then a saunter around a few shops, then a lovely meal on Via Sestini in the evening. I am here with Alan and Gary – but Bob from California is staying in the same hotel as us…he is here with his wife…and enjoying every minute of it. The weather was worse today…grey skies, but at least not cold. We did a bus tour from 11am to 3pm – delayed by two hours as the bus driver hit not one, but two, cars within the first 30 minutes. Typical Italy. We hardly saw any Chelsea yesterday – maybe 10 the entire day…the troops are gathering though…we had a beer near the main train station at 3.30pm and we were joined by about twenty Chelsea towards the end. Chelsea – the players and management – are staying at the Waldorf, across from the Vatican, apparently. Hell – it’s raining again. Best go back upstairs, sort out my matchday clobber and arrange to meet Bob and the boys. Hopefully, a great game and a victory report to follow later…

Part Two.

A great trip – apart from the football – but when has Chelsea ever only been about the football? Back at the hotel for a quiet hour before we catch the airport express from Termini. Not much to be pleased about from last night…I have just purchased the pink Gazetta sports paper and they gave the best marks to Frank and JT…both with a 6. It is so typical for the Italians to not get over-excited with their player rankings…I have been following Italian football for the best part of thirty years and you hardly ever see a 9, let alone a 10…virtually a perfect performance. Whereas, in the UK, you often find 9s and 10s all over the place. The Italians – for once – quite conservative and pragmatic. My top mark went to Frank – always involved. Thought Alex was OK. But Roma’s attacks seemed to flow a lot better. No, I’ll leave the match reports to others. Seriously – it HAS been a good trip, and one which I will hopefully type up in greater depth tomorrow, probably quite late on. We reckon only about 1,200 Chelsea came out…always lovely to see a few familiar faces though. Following Chelsea away in Europe is like going en masse with some weird family every few months…all the odd aunts and uncles, the boistourous kids, the characters…we don’t always get on, but we always look after each other. One of the first faces we saw out here, down by The Coloseum, was Lovejoy – and after a very full and comical build up to this living and breathing Chelsea legend, Bob eventually got to meet him at the game last night. We’ll let Bob comment on all that! The weather has been great again today – blue skies and sunny weather…we had a mooch about the area by the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain…and I had the most luxurious chocolate ice cream ever. Dipped into a nice clothes shop on the walk back up to our hotel – and all three of us have picked up some cracking bargains, which will be worn as soon as possible at Chelsea with any luck. In closing this second section, with a nod to the events in America, let’s just say that at least one Blue Team had a successful result yesterday.

Part Three.

Is anyone still reading this? So – my three days in Rome…what else to say? Firstly, some background – this was about my eighth trip to The Eternal City. First visited in 1986, Inter-Railing, slept at the train station…the things you do when you are young, eh? I travelled extensively on the European train network between 1985 and 1990 – my wanderlust years – but I can’t ever remember being so excited about visiting a new city as that first arrival in Rome on a summer evening in 1986. I can still remember standing in the train corridor, peering out of a window, the cypress trees and the tower blocks, glimpses of ruins here and there. I only stayed about twenty hours that first time…Coloseum, Vatican, Olympic Stadium…I knew my priorities alright! So fast forward twenty two years. Gary, Alan and myself caught the 7am Easyjet from LGW and were soon booking in to the hotel near the Termini station…not a very salubrious part of town in past years…the homeless and the helpless used it as a base…drug addicts, trannies, prostitutes. It seemed a bit better in 2008. Despite warnings of severe storms, the weather on Monday and also Wednesday was sublime…temperatures of around 70 degrees. On Monday lunchtime, we walked down to The Coloseum, the number one location in my book. We stopped off at a café in a piazza and had a couple of very expensive sandwiches ad beers apiece. We fell in love with virtually every woman we saw. Black still seems to be the colour in Italy. We noted black leather boots being worn by many of the signorini. Oh my goodness. The Italians dress with such style. I said to the boys – “no girls wearing tracksuits, trainers and a complete absence of the colour pink.” They can teach us all a lesson. Virtually the first person we saw from the Chelsea family – right outside The Coloseum – was Lovejoy, with his “girlfriend” ( cough, cough ) on tow. Of all the people. He recommended that we visit the restaurant I have mentioned – on Via Sestina, between Piazza Barbarini and the Spanish Steps – it was owned by a Pavarotti lookalike. Alan and Gary popped into The Coloseum – I had visited it in 1990, so just stayed outside, watching the sights wobble past. The Coloseum is right in the heart of the historic epicentre of the city, adjacent to the Forum and the Circus Maximus. I just sat and daydreamed. “Rome – it’ll be nice when it’s finished.” We returned back to the hotel, showered, met up with Bob and his wife – then caught a cab down to Barberini at 7.30pm. We immediately spotted said Luciano lookalike outside his restaurant, enticing punters in. The restaurant was cozy and crowded…we were ushered into a little room, through the kitchen, right underneath rows of wine bottles. The waiters were ebullient and charming. Luciano was wearing a Burberry hat, so I christened him “Chavarotti.” We had a lovely meal – pasta, pizza, Peroni – and Alan regaled Mr and Mrs Bob with humorous Chelsea anecdotes, most involving Lovejoy. Great times. I first met Bob in Palo Alto in 2007 – who would have thought his fifth ever Chelsea game would be in Rome? After the meal, we met up with Rob down by the Trevi Fountain, then spent a few minutes trying to locate a cheap bar. There were hardly any Chelsea around to be honest. Two other lads – Andy and Davey – joined us…as the night wore on, the Chelsea stories got funnier, then serious, past games were recounted…but the focus was on us, the fans, rather than the players. This is typical. Davey said he had been outside St. Peter’s with two friends…when, with perfect timing, a geezer in a Spurs shirt walked by…”has the pope told you to fuck off mate?” they shouted. The beer was bloody expensive, though…maybe just as well…at least we weren’t hungover the next morning. We got a cab home. Big Al had bought some grapes and was reclining on his bed eating them. He only needed a toga to resemble a modern day Caeser. “When in Rome.” Up at 9am and a breakfast in the hotel. We decided to take a double-decker bus tour for 18 euros…this was great, but we were delayed by 90 minutes when our coach hit two vehicles. Just typical. There was pure street theatre on the second one – the young driver of the BMW was full of Latin gestures and not wishing to back down because he was with his, lovely, girlfriend. It took ages to resolve. “This place wasn’t built in a day you know.” We went past all the main sights. It was a grey day, but still warm. I saw a lot of Rome I hadn’t previously seen. We had a light meal, then met up with Bob at the hotel. I posted “Part One.” The heavens had well and truly opened. Incredible sight – and sound. We got a cab to an area of parkland to the immediate north of the centre called Villa Borghese. Around 15 coaches were waiting for us. We arrived there at 6pm, but didn’t leave for the stadium until about 7.45pm. The rain was still falling – we heard rumours of a pitch inspection. A tense time. Met a few faces. Eventually, the coaches set off and, with police van sirens wailing and motorbikes zigging in and out, we set off through the wet Roman streets for the Stadio Olympico to the north of the city. We passed through two long tunnels…we were taken way north of the stadium, then into a secure area behind the Curva Nord ( the Lazio end. ) On my only other previous visit to Rome for a game, in 1999, we had played Lazio and had been allocated the other end. Still the rain fell. At last Bob was able to meet Lovejoy, who was holding court outside the entrance to the seats. I took a few nice shots of us all, with the glow of the floodlights behind and above. I was told to sit down by two chaps behind me as the game began. Ho hum. We only had about 1,200 present, but I recognised loads of faces. I began texting a few folk. Thought our support – in terms of the singing – was poor. Saw Cathy and Dog arrive. With about twenty minutes gone, around 50 of the firm arrived en masse and around five had bloodied faces, the victims of a police onslaught. The sight of these chaps, in their fifties a lot of them, bloodied and bruised, cast a dark shadow for a few moments. They weren’t paying too much attention to the game. Thought the boys had a lot of the ball in the first half – we had a few corners, eh? But there was no cutting edge. I was sat with Bob and I could feel his frustration. Unlike the Lazio game in 1999, there wasn’t much of a re-game show from the ultras in the Curva Sud. A few stray firecrackers, with billowing smoke. A cheesey club anthem on the PA. A banner which said “F*ck The Queen.” Terrible marking and Panucci, of all people, scored. We then imploded and were as poor as I can remember for quite a while. But I was disappointed with the lack of support from us in our high section on the NW curve. Our performance, like the night, was a damp squib ( whatever a squib is…) I was hoping for a pulsating game for Bob, with both sets of fans in good voice. Even after the catastrophic third goal, the Roma fans weren’t exactly bringing the house down. The JT goal, the Deco sending off – the game going away from us. We played the last ten minutes with only two at the back. My two “friends” behind hadn’t uttered a word of support the entire game, had talked about rugby, motor racing, work and cameras throughout…and left with 20 minutes to go. Why do these idiots bother? We were kept in for a full hour and forty minutes at the end of the game. Roma kindly played us the 2007-2008 season DVD while we were waiting, minus the sound. There was a fleeting, haunting image of Mourinho on the screen, high above rows and rows of royal blue seats…a surreal sight. Back to Termini on a convoy again. The 1,000 Chelsea fans fled into the night. We made a half-hearted attempt to find a bar to ease our spirits, but gave up. Bed at 1am. The last day was spent eating more glorious food – a wonderful ice cream – chilling out, wandering the busy city centre streets. We ended up in a great shop on the Via Nazionale and we all came away with bargains. I bought a couple of super-light cotton CP Company shirts for 70 euros each…just the ticket. We heard Bob had raided the very same shop earlier…he was by now en route to Barcelona, the next city on his mini tour of Europe. I posted “Part Two” in the hotel foyer and we then caught the airport train just as the sun was setting over the seven hills.

“Arrivederci Roma.”

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Tales From A Wet And Windy London Town

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Chelsea vs. Sunderland : 1 November 2008.

So – Game Number 701.

The weather was pretty miserable on the drive up from Frome…or “Dodge” ( as in Dodge City ) as a few people now call it…a bit of a Wild West town, we like to think.

It’s the usual drive up to London – through the rugby heartland of SW London, past Twickenham ( England play there ) and the home grounds of Harlequins and London Scottish. As we approach Chelsea, we drive past Queens Club, home of the pre-Wimbledon tennis tournament. We drive along Lillee Road, too – one of the original sites of the F.A.Cup final, way back in the nineteenth century.

I had arranged to rendezvous at the Chelsea Hotel with Bob from Fremont, CA and Jamie from Richmond, VA. We arrived at 11.30am – and I soon spotted Bob outside the Megastore. I had arranged a little treat for Bob and Jamie – Ron Harris used to live near us in the West Country and we got to know him over the last 14 years. I had spoken to him on Tuesday and he was happy to meet them in the hotel bar area. Bob was “in” on this, but Jamie ( this was her first ever Chelsea game ) wasn’t. I waived to Jamie for her to come upstairs to join us.

A “proper” Chelsea welcome!

Glenn and myself chatted to Ron, catching up on a few things, and Bob and Jamie were photographed with Ron. As luck would have it, Bob was able to purchase a Ron Harris testimonial programme from one of the stalls on the Fulham Road – which was duly signed. Ron signed Jamie’s match programme. With these formalities finished, Glenn disappeared off to The Goose, while I popped into the lovely Fox & Pheasant pub, just over the railway bridge. I usually take visitors on a circumnavigation of the ground, pointing out various things, but as the weather was so poor, we headed inside. I did have time to point over to The Butcher’s Hook pub, opposite the main gates, where our club was formed in 1905.

I was kinda falling over myself with “Chelsea Facts” – trying to make Jamie, especially, feel at home. Maybe I should think about pre-printed fact sheets to hand out!

Then the long march down the Fulham Road to Fulham Broadway, then up the North End Road to The Goose. It was packed, everyone squashed together, chatting and drinking. There really is no better place to be. I rentroduced Bob to the members of the Bada Bing Firm, as we humourously ( ? ) call ourselves…Bob had met all of the boys before the ill-fated Carling Cup Final last season. Jamie stayed for one drink, but – not surprisingly – wanted to get inside the ground nice and early. I will be seeing Jamie again at Blackburn and so will be able to bombard her with more Chelsea trivia then!

Bob had been present at the Paul Canoville book signing on Friday and very kindly bought me a signed book. I was well-pleased! I am relishing reading this book – it was shortlisted for the Sports Book Of The Year, but I heard it missed out on the final six. A shame.

Anyway, needless to say that there was the usual barrage of blokey, jokey banter during the two hours ” pre-match.” Bob secured a ticket for the game in Rome on Tuesday – he is travelling out ahead of Alan, Gary and myself, but we are all staying in the same hotel.

Alas, it was soon time to leave the warm confines of the pub. We did up our coats and battled against the elements as we re-traced our steps back towards the ground. I bought Bob the latest copy of CFCUK – an article by Clint Steele struck a chord with me…he requested that we petition the club for a different Chelsea pensioner to lead the team out each week. A fine idea.

As Bob and myself went our seperate ways – “see you in Rome” – he commented that it seemed almost wrong for people to be allowed to have this much fun. I knew exactly what he meant.

I guess you all saw the game. We overpowered Sunderland and completely dominated. Has there ever been a game in which all five Chelsea goals came from virtually inside the six yard box? I have to say, though, after watching the highlights on TV, we did ride our luck…the second goal was offside.

The Shed definitely won the singing – the Matthew Harding seemed quite subdued. I noted a fantastic new banner draped over the Shed balcony…an image of Peter Osgood with the simple message…

“BORN IS THE KING.”

Classy and a lovely tribute.

From a personal perspective, and Alan agreed with me, this game ( once we were 3-0 up ), this seemed like an appetiser ( an anti-pasto ) for the mammoth game in Rome.

Good to see Drogba return.

I took a series of photographs of Frank celebrating his 100th league goal right in front of us. Keep a look out for those on my Facebook page.

Bob texted me ‘training session” and I knew exactly what he meant.

We had heard that the Goons had lost at Stoke – STOKE! As Karen battled against the driving rain on the drive home, Glenn and myself fell asleep in the back seat. I was awoken by the commotion of a Spurs equaliser against Liverpool…only to be bettered by the late winner. Good old Tottenham!

I texted everyone –

“CHELSEA – TOPOTHELEAGUE.”

A lovely result – our goal difference is now superb – and I’m off to Rome on Monday morning.

Life is good. Life is very good.

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Tales From The Roman Road

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Hull City vs. Chelsea : 29 October 2008.

Another lovely Chelsea away game.

As one record comes to an end, maybe we can seriously consider going on a long league unbeaten run, but away games this time. When was the last defeat away from SW6? Arsenal away last December. Let’s go for it – that will certainly make up for the sadness of losing the home record at 86 games.

Due to another “blip” on the Premier League fixture list, I had to take a day off to accommodate the 450 mile round trip to the delights of Humberside. Well, that makes it all sound like a bit of a hardship, but nothing can be further from the truth.

I had a leisurely start to the day and left Frome at 11am. I had decided to give the motorway network a miss for once and travel up to Hull via the “back roads.” For some games in the North, I travel up over The Cotswolds and I had decided to continue this route up to Lincoln and then take an A road up from there. I just get bored with the monotony of the M1. The road I join just north of Chippenham is the A429 and runs on the course of the old Roman road from Exeter to Lincoln…the Fosseway. It’s a beautiful road, linking a lot of gorgeous market towns in Gloucestershire. From Lincoln, I would then head north on the A15, which is another Roman road…Ermine Street. It’s pretty amazing to be driving along these oh-so straight roads, knowing that in around 50BC, centurions were marching up and down these same routes. In some sections, the route of the original Fosseway disappears for a few miles.

With all this in my mind, I had to smile when the first track on my car CD player, as I set off, happened to be the Depeche Mode version of “Route 66.”

The sun was out, blue skies ahead – a perfect day for driving. I called in to work for twenty minutes to check emails and a coffee refill, but was soon on my way. However, the weather soon clouded over as I hit Malmesbury, but there was no rain all of the way north. As I hit the Fosse just north of Cirencester, I switched to a Japan CD…those synthesisers from 1980 and 1981 seemed to be a bit incongruous as I drove past hundreds of orange and red autumnal trees…but it was a perfect mix for me. A bit stark. Very atmospheric. How I love life on the road.

The Cotswolds towns came and went…Stow On The Wold, Moreton In Marsh, each with buildings made of gorgeous yellow stone.

My mates Alan, Gary, Ed, Simon and Milo were travelling up to Hull on the free Chelsea club train.

Alan and myself text each other with cryptic clues of our whereabouts and so it began like this –

Chris “Jack Kerouac” On the road
Alan “Casey Jones” On the train

As I neared Warwick, the Cotswolds yellow stone gave way to red Midland brick and I spotted the remnants of the previous night’s snow along some hedgerows. I was making slow progress, so avoided Leicester by taking the M69 up to Leicester. By the way, Leicester City’s original name was Leicester Fosse.

Chris “Piggott” Leicester
Alan “Monsters Of Rock” Knebworth

I joined up with the Fosse again just north of Leicester, making good time now.

Chris “Pork Pie” Melton Mowbray
Alan “Eczema” Hitchin

I was really enjoying this trip. I had only ever travelled on this road once before – the same time of the year in 1973, when my parents and myself drove up to stay my half-term week with Grimsby with friends. Thirty-five years ago. Unbelievable.

Alan “Barry Fry” Peterborough
Chris “Graham Taylor” Lincoln

I bypassed the historic city of Lincoln ( I was tempted to write “Abraham” but continued the football manager theme ), the towers of its cathedral visible to my right. I was now travelling due north on Ermine street, heading for Scunthorpe and Hull. The sun was disappearing behind some clouds to my west, the Lincolnshire Wolds ( hills ) were to my east, I drove over the Humber Bridge, just as Alan texted me again.

Alan “Thatcher” Grantham
Chris “4” Hull

Ah, Hull – the great unknown city. Until this season, it was allegedly the largest conurbation in Europe which had never hosted top flight football. I had only visited it once during that 1973 trip. It has certainly been more of a rugby league city in the past…( Hull – or intriguingly known as Hull FC – in the west and Hull Kingston Rovers – or Hull KR – in the east…big rivals. ) Hull FC share the KC Stadium with Hull City, Hull KR have their own, shabbier, stadium, still. The main approach into Hull is named after one of the city’s leading rugby heroes, Clive Sullivan.

Alan “Osmond” Doncaster

I parked up. Hell, it was cold. It had been a perfect day thus far and there was a special reason I was pleased…this game would be my 700th lifetime Chelsea game and so I was happy it was all going to plan. I was in no doubts we would come away with the three points.

Alan “Get Some In” Selby

I only think that Expats will be able to “get” a few of these cryptic teasers!

Sat down at “Nandos” for a 700 Game Meal. The business. Then out into the cold and the twenty minute walk to the bright lights of the KC Stadium. The locals were warming their hands as they were eating some fish and chips outside a chippy. As I approached the stadium, I heard a local speak in the very quaint East Yorkshire vernacular –

“Half-time draw tickets – win yoursen a thousand pounds.”

Into the stadium and I nodded a hello to a couple of acquaintances before spotting Alan, Gary and the boys. Team photos. As luck would have it, my decision to avoid the main roads paid dividends. We heard that the three free Chelsea coaches had been stuck in a massive tail-back on the M1. Eventually all three arrived, but our mate Mark only got in at 8.15pm. And he left Chelsea at midday!

Like a lot of new grounds, there doesn’t seem to be a home “end” at Hull – think also Bolton, Wigan and Manchester City. The most vociferous section from the home stands was the 1,000 strong kiddies to our left. Overall, the Hull support was very poor. But this is the same everywhere now, with away fans ( the 3K die-hards ) out singing the home fans.

The 3,000 Chelsea loyalists stood the entire game. We had good, central seats. I kept a few of you lot in touch with the events by texts – you know who you are…all part of the service!

What a goal from Frank – I amazingly captured this on film…just beautiful. A great start. However, Hull did well not to capitulate and had a fair share of the ball in that first period. Cousin hit the post, Cech made a few good stops. We had a few chances too, of course, but the usual suspects didn’t appear to be playing too well. We were begging for a second goal.

At the break, I handed out a few doughnuts to the boys – the Game 700 Meal overspill!

A much better team performance in the second-half. Hull gave Frank too much space and I thought he ran the game. He has been great this season. All of the first-half under performers stepped up in the second 45 – Anelka after his goal especially…the chances came and went…one miss from Malouda especially. However, it ended up 3-0 with the much-maligned Frenchman touching home.

I couldn’t understand a lot of the Hull songs to be honest. You had to admire their cheek, though, because they serenaded us with a song about fcuking off back to our 5hit hole! The cheeky young whippersnappers!

Three-nil – job done!

Walked back to the car park, where a breathless attendant told me of the ridiculous goings-on at Arsenal.

As I listened to “606” as I drove out of the city centre, couldn’t help but think – with Liverpool and United winning too – it’s going to be a great, exciting season.

Stopped for a coffee at Woodall services, then charged down the M1. Unfortunately hit some sleet at Tamworth, which made driving tiresome, and the rain stayed with me until I reached home at 2.15am. It had been a long day…but, you know, just perfect.

For the record – my first 700 games.

Won – 396
Drew – 171
Lost – 133
For – 1211
Against – 646

Hopefully more landmarks lie ahead. You know it!

Dedicated to my good friend Glenn’s grandmother, who sadly passed away last Sunday, aged 90. Rest In Peace.

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