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Tales From The Confidence Game

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Chelsea vs. Aston Villa : 23 December 2012.

This game was all about getting back in to the groove again. After my fantastical flight of fancy to Tokyo, there was a chance that the game with Aston Villa might be a test of my dedication, or at least my enthusiasm. However, this would be my oldest CFC mate Glenn’s first game since Munich, so it was all about getting him back in the groove, too.

Glenn collected me at 11am. This was to be a treat for me; a door-to-door collection and delivery service which would enable me to get a few beers down my neck.

With Lord Parky having an extended leave of absence (he was unable to travel due to a few ailments rearing their ugly head once more), this was just like the old days for Glenn and myself. As he headed over Salisbury plain and past Stonehenge, we chatted about my experiences in the Far East. And we chatted about the past. I have known Glenn since 1977 and started going to football with him in 1983. With a house and mortgage to pay for, he stopped going regularly in 1986 and it was a couple of years before our paths would cross, excepting a few boozy conversations in various Frome hostelries.

In November 1988, with Chelsea starting to find our feet after relegation to the old second division, I was up in London for the game with Sunderland. I was working in the cold store of a local dairy in order to save some money to embark on a lengthy holiday in North America (starting point unknown) but was still going to a Chelsea game every four weeks or so. I had travelled up on the train to Paddington by myself, and was on my way to Fulham Broadway to meet my college mate Ian, who would eventually accompany me on my jaunt around the US and Canada in 1989. It would have been around midday and I was on the southbound district line train, just south of Earls Court. I looked up and who should be standing opposite, no doubt clocking the talent in the train carriage, but Glenn.

“Hello mate. What are you doing here?” I said ironically.

Well, what a surprise. Brilliant. Glenn had travelled up with the folks from his work – a carpet factory – who were off to see the Lord Mayor’s Show. It was a free coach and Glenn took advantage; he, meanwhile was off to see Chelsea. How lucky that our paths would cross on that tube train. It was our first game together since Spurs away in late August 1987. We had a couple of beers at the “Kings Arms” before Ian joined us. We then shot over to “The Black Bull” where Alan was drinking. I was soon off to see Juventus vs. Napoli, so the talk was varied as we caught up with each other’s lives. Alan had season tickets in the front row of the East Upper in those days, but Ian, Glenn and I watched from The Shed. In truth, it was a poor game watched by 19,000. It ended-up 1-1. I always remember that Sunderland went ahead with a fine strike by Marco Gabbiadini. The Geordies used to have a special song for him –

“He is an itsy bitsy, teenie weenie Mackem bastard Gabbiadini.”

Kevin Wilson equalised, but it was a poor game. After the game, Ian and I met up with another mate in the West End and we embarked on a pub-crawl – as was often the case in that 1988-1989 season – before heading back to their gaff in Woking on a late train from Waterloo.

Good times.

Twenty-four years later, Alan, Glenn and I would be drinking and laughing again.

Great friends.

In The Goose, everyone was thrilled to see Glenn once again. As it happened, there was a more than healthy turnout from friends all over England. The Nuneaton posse were well represented. Simon, fresh from the filming of his biggest feature “Still,” was back in circulation along with his son Milo. The filming has gone very well and it is “in the can” awaiting the laborious process of editing. Simon promised us all places at the premier. I can’t wait for that.

Glenn was all smiles as he hopped around the tables, chatting away to the folks who make our Chelsea so special. I know it is the festive season, the time for over-sentimentality, but we are both truly blessed to know so many “top geezers” at Chelsea.

The game was hardly mentioned as we walked down to The Bridge.

I saw that Villa had a block of around 100 seats that they couldn’t sell out of their 1,400 allocation. At least we wouldn’t have to endure their “Have you won the European Cup?” ditty on this day and subsequent others.

Elsewhere, it was another sell-out. I quickly had words with John, Kev and Anna about Tokyo.

“This is all a bit hum drum, innit?”

Anna brought me back a pack of “Chelsea” butterscotch from Japan. I remember that Alan brought us all back the same product from one of his work jaunts to Tokyo around ten years ago.

I suppose that the big talking point was the pairing of David Luiz with Frank Lampard in the defensive midfield positions. Although Luiz is by nature a defender and Frank is more attack-minded, we hoped that this would work. I’d be happy to try out a more attack-minded formation such as this at home games. The pairing of Romeu with Mikel – to use another option – hasn’t worked too well.

Glenn was sat next to Tom – both dressed in light blue jackets, like two peas in a pod – and Alan was next to me. The boys back together once again.

In the first few minutes, David Luiz was charging up field like an unleashed stallion. However, a few errant passes caused Alan to utter –

“Come on Luiz. That’s too sloppy and casual.”

“Like Glenn in the ‘eighties” I responded.

We didn’t have to wait too long for further reason to smile. After only two minutes, Azpilicueta sent over a perfect cross for Fernando Torres to meet it a good 15 yards out. With a header which Didier Drogba would have been proud, the ball was sent crashing into the Aston Villa goal, with Guzan unable to react. It was Torres’ 26th. goal in Chelsea colours. As he raced away to the south-west corner flag to celebrate, I snapped away. In those photographs, there is joy on the face of Torres and his team mates alike. There is no reason to believe that there is “distance” between him and his team mates, despite the rumours amongst our support of him being disinterested and selfish.

Sure, Torres went through a horrible spell over the past month or so, but so did the whole team. But before that, he was working hard and scoring the occasional stunner, such as the goals against Newcastle and at Arsenal. I’m sure that the Torres of around five years ago, when Liverpool largely played a counter-attacking game – even at home – under Benitez, is long gone. Think of how many times Torres broke through to latch on to long balls from Mascherano, Alonzo and Gerrard and the ball ended up in the Kop net before anyone could blink. Those days are gone. Chelsea have, ironically, too much possession for that style of play to aid Torres. Our build-up is involves more touches. However, Benitez was absolutely correct to say that we need to get the ball up to him quicker.

It makes me chuckle to hear the legions of pro-Drogba / anti-Torres “supporters” in our midst as they complain about Torres’ lack of involvement, lack of desire and selfish and sulky behaviour.

Such derogatory comments were continually-levelled at Didier Drogba throughout every one of his eight seasons with the club.

When Drogba couldn’t be bothered in a game, there was nobody worse. He was the ultimate self-centred prima donna. In his early years, too, he was forever falling over himself and looking for free-kicks. At times, he was an embarrassment to the club. I am sure that a couple of senior professionals took him to one side after the 2005-2006 season and told him sternly “this has to stop.”

From 2006-2007, the diving abated. The petulance and moody behaviour didn’t, but that was Drogba.

In comparison, the shy Torres – a different beast completely – needs support.

And that’s where we come in.

It can’t be easy to be the absolute focus of a team’s endeavours, especially with a £50M price tag and the horrible start he had in Chelsea colours. But let’s continue our support of him. After all, he is a Chelsea player.

It’s obvious to me that Torres lacks self-confidence, but we can help rebuild that. It’s a two-way process. But that confidence is so brittle. At Sunderland, his confidence was at an all-time high when he positively took the ball and struck home a penalty. A week later in Tokyo, he looked like his confidence was shot away completely after missing that one-on-one with the Corinthians ‘keeper.

Let’s rebuild that confidence.

I can well remember a moment in my life as a young footballer when I suffered badly. I was a starter in the Frome College Third Year team of 1978-1979, playing as a right-winger, sending crosses over for a variety of centre-forwards. I thought I did OK. I scored a few goals. Only towards the end of the season did I lose my place and I subsequently played a couple of games for the “B” team. A month or so later, came my report card, which included a damning appraisal of my time in the school football team. Our sports master began by saying “Chris has virtually no confidence in his ability. He has the technique to beat a man, but far too often chooses not to…”

I was mortified. The sad thing is that throughout that entire season, the PE teacher – a Kevin Keegan lookalike called Mr. Freeman who still resides in the town – never ever came up to me to give me a pep talk or to offer advice. A show of support would have worked wonders for me I am sure. The clichéd arm was never put around my shoulder. In 1979-1980, and the subsequent few years, I played for the B team and never regained my place in the first team. My confidence was shot.

Let’s all put our arm around Torres’ shoulder, plus any other player who is suffering through a loss of that vital commodity, confidence. This has always been my view. I don’t go to Chelsea to berate players unnecessarily. Sure, I get exasperated at times, but I just wish fellow fans would offer whole-hearted support at games, rather than become 40,000 critics.

A Luiz free kick seemed to bamboozle the Villa ‘keeper and we were 2-0 up. A scramble from a corner was headed home by Ivanovic and we lead 3-0 at the break. Although there had been a minute of applause for Roberto on 16 minutes, there had been no anti-Rafa noise throughout the first-half.

We live in interesting times.

We played some lovely football in the second-half as Villa’s resistance simply melted away. I caught Frank’s low drive from thirty-yards on film and how we celebrated that. He was replaced shortly after by Ramires and received the loudest bout of adulation all season.

“Super, Super Frank…”

Villa amazingly caused Cech to deflect a shot onto his crossbar, but Chelsea simply carved out more and more chances, too numerous to catalogue here.

I missed the Ramires goal as I was outside on a comfort break, but more goals soon followed.

First, a penalty from Oscar.

6-0.

My personal favourite was the delightful piece of wizardry from Eden Hazard, a few yards in front of me. His skills were lighting up the early evening and his strong dribble into the Villa box was followed up with a strong strike high into the goal.

7-0.

At this point, the Chelsea faithful, who had been watching with growing bemusement and befuddlement, chose to ridicule the away supporters.

“Gone Christmas shopping. You should have gone Christmas shopping.”

Lucas Piazon, making his league debut, was fouled and it was another penalty. After Luiz, Ramires and Oscar, would he become the fourth Brazilian to score? Alas, his strong penalty was tipped over by Guzan.

Amazingly, there was still time for one more goal, when Ramires slotted home after a lovely ball from Oscar.

8-0.

Phew.

After the game, a few of us reconvened over at the Lillie Langtry at West Brompton where we tried our best to quantify what we had just witnessed.

To be honest, we tried and failed.

We surely live in interesting times.

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Tales From The Villa

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Aston Villa vs. Chelsea : 31 March 2012.

As I drove north on The Fosseway, past the towns of Malmesbury and Cirencester, I admitted to Parky that I was finding it hard to get “up” for the league game at Villa. What with our extended runs in the Champions League and the F.A. Cup this season, I have a feeling that if the Chelsea section of my brain was to be analysed, it would show something like this, as of the morning of Saturday 31st. March 2012 –

Champions League 50%
F.A. Cup 40%
Premiership 10%

But that is not to say that I always rate these three competitions in this manner; far from it in fact. Given the choice of one trophy each season, I would always choose the domestic league. Why wouldn’t I? I spend countless days following Chelsea’s pursuit of league points throughout the season. It’s just that as we are at such an advanced stage in both of these tough cup competitions, it is only natural for me to devote more thoughts to these two trophies. Or more importantly, if the truth be known, not the matches at all, but the whole”Chelsea-Matchgoing Experience” for the games in those competitions.

Firstly, let’s think about the F.A. Cup. Daryl kindly bought tickets for a few of us on Friday so that we can all sit together on that Sunday in April. All of us want to expunge the sour memory of the 2008 Carling Cup final from our minds. Thoughts of the pre-match at a sun-drenched Duke Of York near Marylebone and then a game against the team I like to beat most (well, them and United, it’s a tough call.)

Then we have the return leg against the eagles of Benfica on Wednesday. That promises to be another superb night of European football at The Bridge (and let’s not mess it up, eh Chelsea?). Should we be successful, we will then reach our sixth CL semi-final since 2004. That’s an amazing achievement, isn’t it? For all the new fans out there, you are lucky beggars. It took us 49 years for us to reach our first CL semi-final (Monaco, 2004) and we have reached four more (Liverpool, 2005, Liverpool 2007, Liverpool 2008 and Barcelona 2009) since then. It is no wonder that my head is full-to-bursting with European day-dreams. Should we put Benfica to the sword, we meet the favoured Barcelona or the under-dogs Milan. To that end, I have gambled on a cheap flight to Barcelona from Bristol; just £28. It would, as they say, be rude not to.

The weather was overcast as I headed north on the M5. Parky wisely commented that the colour of the sky blended in seamlessly with the colour of the road ahead. Only the occasional blush of gold from roadside daffodils and forsythia added the slightest hint of colour to the view.

Villa, eh?

I was well aware of our recent poor run of form against them. Since our classic 3-0 win at Villa Park in the Spring of 1999, we had won just once; Guus Hiddink’s first game in charge on a ridiculously warm and sunny day in March three years ago. I had been present at both of those games, but for many years, the thought of visiting Villa Park did nothing for me. From 1995 to around 2005, I only used to be able to afford to go to around 6 away games each season. I would rotate the grounds I visited, but would tend to steer clear of Villa Park. Sure, our record wasn’t great there, but I am not a fan of Birmingham in general. From March 1999 to January 2007, I only visited Villa Park once – a 2-1 loss in 2003. One of the worst ever Chelsea performances I can remember took place at Villa Park, too; a 3-0 defeat just after Christmas in 1994. Driving home that night, the rain lashing against the windscreen, my friend Glenn fell asleep in the back of my car. I always remember him waking from a dream in which he had witnessed Paul Furlong paying the ultimate price for a dreadful performance by being guillotined.

This would be my thirteenth visit to Villa; we had only won three of the previous twelve games. I guess this is the real reason for my ambivalence to visiting the place.

And yet, Villa Park is a grand dame amongst football stadia. Aston Villa were formed in 1874 and have played at Villa Park since 1897. When I first became entranced by football in the early ‘seventies, Villa were a third division club and were off the radar. They rose through the league system and were promoted to the top flight – alongside Manchester United – in 1975. They won the league under the stern authoritarian reign of Ron Saunders in 1981, famously using a first team squad of just fourteen (yes, fourteen) players. They won the European Cup the following year. They were a good, if not great, team, playing a very British system, full of tough-tackling midfielders like Dennis Mortimer and were spearheaded by the twin strike force of Peter Withe and Gary Shaw. At right back was ex-Chelsea midfielder Kenny Swain (whose league debut I witnessed in my very first Chelsea game in 1974.)

I remember my grandfather saying that he followed – though with not the passion of his only grandson – Aston Villa and Newcastle United in his youth. I have a feeling that Villa was his first love, with Newcastle only gaining his attention via a family friend – a local vicar – who resided for many years in Newcastle. I know that he once visited Stamford Bridge, the only football stadium he remembered visiting, when he was a young man. I begged him to tell me more of this sole visit, but his memories of that one game were not great. He went with his great friend Ted Knapton, but that is all he knew. I like to think that both of them visited Stamford Bridge for the Aston Villa vs. Huddersfield Town Cup Final at Stamford Bridge in 1920. There is every chance that this could be the case; both of them (they were both called Ted) were stars of the village football and cricket teams. As was the way in days of yore, county football associations would always get tickets for the F.A. Cup Final and I like to think that in 1920, the name of Mells & Vobster United was drawn out of the hat and the two stalwarts of my village’s sporting scene were justly rewarded. Apart from a win in 1957, that victory in 1920 was Aston Villa’s last F.A. Cup triumph.

We were parked up at around 12.45pm and the two of us spent ninety minutes in a relatively quiet pub a mile to the north of Villa Park. The “Crown & Cushion” allegedly used to be one of the Villa firm’s main pubs back in the rough-and-tumble of the ‘eighties. We have never experienced trouble there, though there is no doubt that Parky and I were the only away fans present. The pub is run by West Indians and the menu behind the bar detailed such delights as jerk chicken, mutton stew, ackee and saltfish and the like. Parky and I were not tempted. We decided to stick with pints of Kronenburg 1664 amidst talk of plans for upcoming Chelsea matches. Parky reminded me that his daughter Jade once played as a goalkeeper in one of the Aston Villa women’s teams a few years back. She lives in nearby Tamworth.

Parky shot off inside the away end while I spent twenty minutes or so taking a few shots of the area by the Trinity Road stand. Much to many Villa fans – and certainly my – consternation, the original Trinity Road, complete with red brick façade and Edwardian towers and gables, was demolished in around 1999 and was replaced by a hulking mass of steel-cladding and little charm. Part of the stand now runs over the road which it gives it its name; the tunnel is not on the same scale as at Atletico Madrid’s stadium, but is a unique feature in the UK. One of these days I will visit the red brick Aston Hall, which resides atop the park to the south of Villa Park. Outside the stadium, there was the usual hustle and bustle of a match day which I find so beguiling even after all these years. A Villa fanzine seller was vitriolic in his comments about current Villa manager Alex McLeish. At centre-stage in front of the stand was a simple statue of a bearded man, who I knew to be the former Aston Villa chairman who helped form the Football League in 1888.

His name was William McGregor and I guess we owe him an awful lot.

As I re-traced my steps towards the away entrance on Witton Lane, I heard the chants from opposing fans.

Chelsea : “One team in Europe, there’s only one team in Europe.”

Aston Villa : “Have you won the European Cup, the European Cup, the European Cup?”

I made it inside the upper tier seats with only a few minutes to spare. I was alongside Alan and Gary, high above Parky and others in the lower tier. If I am honest, I am still getting used to the new 4-2-3-1 formation, but it is one that I have long admired. I seem to remember Liverpool using it well a few years back. No need to guess who the “1” was in that team.

What a crazy game. We should have been well clear at the interval and Fernando Torres could easily have bagged a hat-trick. He has endured the most awful luck in our colours, but as Alan said, we would rather he was getting himself in positions to miss rather than not getting into positions in the first place.

An early Torres chance was spurned but then a cross from Ashley Cole found the on-rushing Juan Mata. He aimed for Torres, but his shot from close in was inevitably blocked. It fell to Daniel Sturridge who poked home. A long distance blooter from Mikel was slightly deflected and was saved by Shay Given. Soon after, Mata delicately lofted the ball goal wards but the ball hit the base of the far post.

On 19 minutes, the home fans stood and clapped in order to show solidarity with the Villa captain Stiliyan Petrov, diagnosed with leukaemia just 24 hours previously. We soon joined in. I honestly wonder why people are surprised to see how football fans behave at moments such as these; we’re not animals, you know.

We had impressive ball retention and occasional chances; we were clearly the better team. The Villa fans were very quiet and there were gaps in the Holte End and the Trinity Road. Villa Park usually hosts full-houses. Seeing so many empty seats was a new experience. The Chelsea fans taunted the gaggle of noisy youngsters in the North Stand –

“Your ground’s too big for you.”

They responded –

“If Torres scores, we’re on the pi55.”

Despite our superior play, Villa had a few late chances as the first-half ended. Sturridge lost possession deep in our half and Cech did well to save a shot from Agbonlahor with his foot. The ball flew up against the bar and we exhaled a collective “phew.” Luiz was replaced by Gary Cahill just before the break.

We all agreed that we should have been well ahead during the interval chat amongst friends. A few mates from Nuneaton called by; they had gambled on flights to Barcelona too. Nuneaton is only 25 miles away from Villa Park and Andy was dreading anything but a Chelsea victory.

“All my mates are Villa – maybe a few West Brom, a few Blues, but out of 100, maybe 70 are Villa.”

I love info like this. I love the changing face of football support throughout the UK. In my home area, Newcastle United fans were very rare as a child, but they are one of the top ten supported teams in the Frome area of late.

The second-half was a corker; a roller-coaster of emotion, a classic game of heart-in-mouth football. A Mata corner was poked home by Ivanovic and it was plain sailing. Torres headed over and the Villa fans were sniggering again. They were roaring soon after as two goals in quick succession brought the score, incredibly, ridiculously, level at 2-2.

We stood in silent disbelief, but the other stands were roaring. I will not lie when I say that the Holte End did not utter a single audible song during the entire first-half. Once their second goal was scored, though, the noise was very impressive. A flare was thrown on to the pitch from the unruly home section down below me. Its sulphurous aroma permeated the early evening air.

Chelsea responded again.

Another corner on the opposite side, this time for the substitute Malouda, was flicked on by Torres just as I snapped by camera…the ball ricocheted to the lurking Ivanovic and he reacted very well to guide the ball in, past Given.

We roared – and with more intensity than with the first two goals.

Then, a Villa move broke down and the ball was moved quickly to Studge. We all saw Torres breaking to his right and we begged for Studge to release the ball. Thankfully, the ball was played with perfect pace.

One touch, moving the ball on, then a low strike past Given and the net bulged.

We roared again – and it was undoubtedly the noisiest exclamation of support from our packed section of the Witton End all day. Torres reeled away and was mobbed by players. I roared and then gathered my senses to record the celebrations on film.

Superb.

I commented to Gary that the Torres goal was just like the ones he used to dispatch with aplomb for Liverpool; head up, laces through the ball, utmost confidence, the ball in the net before the ‘keeper was able to move.

At the final whistle, the Chelsea fans were exuberant and it wasn’t long before our number nine was serenaded.

And quite rightly, too.

https://www.facebook.com/video/video…50768850082658

I’ve been present at all the games in which Torres has scored; I guess I’m not the only one, but I have a sneaking feeling I will be a little sad when this record comes to an end. Wink.

I hope he starts on Wednesday.

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Tales From Brum

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Aston Villa vs. Chelsea : 14 October 2010.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only a pound – hurry up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sit daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.”

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

“One-nil to the Chelsea.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I could hardly believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Tales From Our Second Home

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Chelsea vs. Aston Villa : 10 April 2010.

At work on Friday, I received a few emails and texts from a few mates, everyone anticipating the build-up and the game at Wembley. If had been a tough old week at work and nobody was looking forward to the day more than myself. With a full day of beer ahead, Parky and myself booked ourselves onto a train so that I didn’t have to worry about the drink / driving problem. I was relishing it all – I was buzzing on Saturday morning.

Clear blue skies, lovely weather – even at 8am.

We caught the 8.29am train from Bradford-On-Avon to Bath, then the 9.13am from Bath to Paddington. I very rarely catch the train these days, but it brought back some memories of those 1981-1984 games when I would catch trains from Frome and Westbury up to London. To be fair, it’s a lovely journey, passing through some nice countryside along the way. We expected the train to be full of Chelsea, but we were the only ones. We spotted two Villa in the next carriage. At Chippenham, we noted about ten young lads get on the train – all clobbered up, wearing football gear – but we couldn’t work out who they were supporting. We hadn’t seen them at Chelsea. We wondered if they were Swindon lads. It brought back memories of train trips down to London Euston from my college town of Stoke, when there were clearly football fans on the train, but nobody gave anything away…save for the odd half-inch pin badge, much beloved by all at the time.

Heading in to Reading, we passed along the side of the River Thames and it was a lovely scene, full of rowers, barges and riverboats. We spotted a football ground, enclosed and well appointed…it was the ground of Reading Town, a team I had never heard of. At the train’s busy station, more Chelsea joined us. Reading has always been a Chelsea stronghold.

Heading into Paddington, the spindly floodlights of QPR were spotted. I was remembering all of the sights from those trips on this line from my youth. I had a word with those ten casuals and it turned out that they were off with Swindon Town to Colchester United. They were good lads and were keen to hear of our views on the atmosphere at The Bridge these days, plus our general take on a few topics. They all came from Calne, a few miles from where I work, and clearly loved their footy – and their labels. Parky and myself saw a bit of ourselves in them.We wished them well.

Steve Azar, met us at Paddington and we were soon tucking in to a large breakfast at The Tyburn pub on Marble Arch. A few of the boys – the lads I often write about, the members of The Bing – were already there…we could feel the buzz of anticipation in the air already. Rob was already passing around the amaretto.

Wes soon joined us and we then headed off to the Duke Of York, ten minutes away, the classic London boozer on a street corner. It was a predictably enjoyable pre-match…we love this pub. It never gets too busy and the landlord always looks after us. More and more troops arrived. Chelsea historian Rick Glanvill was present and I had a quick word. I spent a large proportion of my time chatting with Steve and Wes about my particular take on what being a Chelsea supporter should be about. I think it’s my favourite subject. The previous weekend’s game at Old Trafford acted as a good reference point and a catalyst for some good blue-blooded discusion. Looking at the assembled masses flooding the pavement outside the pub, of around thirty people, only one replica shirt ( worn by a young boy ) was on show and Wes asked for Steve and my opinions on this. Clearly, the sub-culture of football in the UK is well-developed , getting fine-tuned and altering with each passing season. I joked with Steve that the first thing a new Chelsea fan wants to do is buy a replica shirt these days. I’d prefer new fans to buy books, buy DVDs, talk to fellow fans…find out what it really means to be Chelsea. I retold the story of a friend of a friend who met us at a pub in Frome to watch the Liverpool vs. Chelsea 0-0 game in 2005. He hadn’t been into football much as far as I could tell and clearly wanted to impress the three of us…he showed up wearing a Chelsea shirt. The look I gave my mate Glenn said it all. Suffice to say, this chap hasn’t shown any interest in going with us to games since, save for one solitary trip to Cardiff for a Community Shield game.

Beers were being ordered, conversations buzzing away, more friends were joining us. It was a lovely time.

Lacoste Watch

Milo – royal blue.
Andy – dark blue.
Simon – white.
Steve – white.
Daryl – orange.
Lord Parky – lemon.
Chris – buttermilk.

Wes darted off to meet Mo to collect his match ticket. We were then joined by Ashley – from San Jose – and her friend James – currently studying in Dirty Leeds – and I could relax. Everyone was accounted for. I dished out the remaining match tickets. James was 7-0 watching Chelsea…great stuff. We then made our way to Marylebone, a ten minute walk away. I raced ahead and took an “Abbey Road” photo of everyone crossing the road…or was it more like “Resevoir Dogs.” I said to Steve that we hadn’t spoken about the game once.

We caught the train from Marylebone to Wembley Stadium and this only takes ten minutes. I was nicely buzzing. We heard a few new Chelsea songs – pretty original actually – from a group of lads. On that slow walk up to the turnstile entrances, I found myself walking alone amidst some Villa, with some Chelsea lads to my right. All of a sudden, a shouting match started, then some pointing and gesturing, then a lone Villa fan waded into a group of Chelsea. The police – on horseback and on foot – arrived too late and I think the Villa fan came off the worse for wear. This sort of incident – spur of the moment, unplanned – is pretty rare these days. I went over to talk to one of the Chelsea involved –

“Come on mate, you’re too old for all this nonsense.”

I met Jonesy outside Entrance A and handed over the very last of my match tickets. We ascended the many flights of stairs and I then had to walk up to row 42 to reach my seat. We were four rows from the very top, along the side, opposite the royal box. My goodness, we were high up.

I was sat alongside Walnuts, Parky, Alan and Gary, friends from 1984 and onwards.

That first-half was tedious. As dire as it gets. I remember two Joe Cole efforts, lots of passing, no pace. Lots of players were slipping on the greasy surface.

The Villa fans were outsinging us. Lots more pointing and gesturing.

“Have you won a European Cup?”

“Where were you at Stamford Bridge?”

Lots and lots of empty seats…great clumps of empty seats in both Villa and Chelsea sections. The corporate areas were only 75% occupied. The FA should be proud of themselves.

At half-time, we heard rumours of the grass being kept long in order for a Saracens rugby union game next weekend. This was met with howls of complaint…Wembley is a football stadium…why can’t club rugby be played at Twickenham? The grass was kept long but then watered in order to allow the ball to be zipped, despite the long grass, but the result was a slow game with players slipping. All for rugby game in a week’s time. Pathetic.

I noted that it wasn’t until the 51st minute that the whole Chelsea support rallied as one –

“We All Follow The Chelsea – Over Land And Sea – And Leicester
“We All Follow The Chelsea – Onto Victory.”

To be fair, I got the impression our section was trying to get the singing going, but Villa were definitely the noisiest. Memories of that hideous 2008 Carling Cup Final.

Gary was berating a few players, frustration was creeping in…he mentioned the quoted Ancelotti game plan of waiting until Villa tire on about the 70th minute.

Well – game plan or not – it worked.

Goals from Didier Drogba ( how he loves Wembley ), Florent Malouda ( his second Wembley goal ) and Frank Lampard ( how he loves Wembley – his third Wembley goal ) gave us a 3-0 win in those last tewnty minutes. The first was a poke in from close range after a corner, the second was from the best move of the game and a sublime Ballack cross, the last one a classic Frank finish, cooly finding time for an extra touch before blasting home. The Villa support was silent after Didier’s goal and swathes of their support departed after Malouda’s. However, a few thousand Chelsea decided to leave at 2-0 too.

You can imagine my views on this. The five stalwarts in Row 42 glowered at those who “excuse me’d” past us.

It was a poor game, but we deserved to win it. The realisation of us getting to another FA Cup Final hit home and I was loving it. A few team photos, everyone happy. Parky and myself slowly walked down to the front rows of the upper tier and took a few cheesey photos of each other, bathing in the early London evening sun. We were some of the very last to leave.

We bumped into Steve, Ashley and James ( 8-0! ) outside and the usual hugs and kisses.

The line for the train was long, but the time soon passed. By 8.15pm, we were back in The Duke Of York, where the post party was in full flow. I was gasping for a drink and chose a couple of double G and Ts for a change.

How refined!

Rob was tucking into some nachos, Parky was hopping about, guzzling some Staropramen, plans were being made for The Final. The texts had been arriving too…”see you for the final,” “can you get me a ticket?”, “where are we sitting?” We spoke of The Double.

The Double!

Good times, everyone, good times.

We got back in plenty of time to catch the 9.30pm from Paddington. A couple of Villa fans were singing…I said to one –

“You outsung us, but we outplayed you.”

“Fair comment mate.”

Parky still had time to have an altercation with a trappy Millwall fan on the platform. Oh well. The mood was of quiet euphoria on the return back to Wiltshire…one more G and T, a chat with two Newcastle United fans who had been to Toon Town…Chelsea and Villa mingling in the buffet.

It had been a long day, but start making plans for Saturday 15th. May.

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Tales From The Frank Fest

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Chelsea vs. Aston Villa : 27 March 2010.

What an amazing week. I don’t mind admitting it, I was quite deflated on the drive home from Blackburn last Sunday. In my mind, the two upcoming games with a spirited Portsmouth and a resilient Aston Villa would represent a tough challenge for us.

Little did I know.

The pre-match was as per usual…Lord Parky, Folsom Steve and the usual suspects enjoying pints and chat in The Goose. However, on this occasion, we were joined by another Northern Californian visitor, San Francisco Starla, who flew in for the Villa game on Thursday. It was great to see her again. She joined in the pre-match banter as we giggled away like fools. We took a few photographs outside the stadium – a Starla Rose between two thorns – and Steve led her away to pick up her match ticket, albeit for the silent wilderness of the West Lower.

Into the stadium and Alan told me that Didier was on the bench…not quite sure what I made of that. I noted a huge area of around 750 empty seats in the Shed Upper, in the Villa section. I would imagine that the “Villa faithful” ( ha! ) had decided against coming down for two Chelsea games in a fortnight. I was far from impressed. The sad thing of course is that no CFC fans could use those empty seats due to segregation.

In the match programme, I spotted some CFC / Emporio Armani charity T-shirts on sale for £20. I would surely buy one. To avoid it would be akin to King Canute trying to stop the tide.

The game began in nice sunshine, but with clouds present too.

In the first-half, there were predictable grumbles of discontent when Chelsea appeared to be unable to unlock the Villa defence. I noted that with Deco, Joe and Malouda playing, we would be OK for creativity, but the play was over-elaborate…pass, pass, pass…and we noted that the attacking six were often ball-watching ( a cardinal sin in my book ) and unable to free themselves into space.

However, Malouda worked some space well and rifled in a low ball into the danger area. Frank was on hand to toe-poke it goalwards and we breathed a sigh of relief. Villa’s attacks were quite rare, but we didn’t close Young down and his cross was tucked in by Carew, who did appear to be in an off-side position.

Damn it.

More of the same for the rest of the half…Chelsea pressure, Villa resilience. That man Malouda then played Zhirkov in…a trip and the referee pointed to the spot. From 100 yards away, it appeared to be a dodgy penalty. Not to worry, we’ll take it.

I steadied my camera and Frank slammed it high past Friedel. I snapped his high leap and spin of celebration, down in the SW corner…Parkyland.

At half-time, the grumbles ceased.

We noted Arsenal were being held 0-0 in the Second City.

Deco had enjoyed a few nice touches in the first-half and the crowd continued to warm to him after the break. He started a nice flowing move through the midfield, then pinged a sublime through ball through to Zhirkov…I was in line with its trajectory and it really was a perfect ball…heavenly. The ball was played in to Malouda and he stroked the ball in. The crowd erupted…3-1.

Didier had been warming up on the far touchline and Malouda ran over to celebrate with him. It was heart-warming to see their little victory jig. Meanwhile, the sky turned darker…

However, Chelsea provided a great antidote for the grey skies and another “give and go” involving our Russian left-back resulted in another poor Villa challenge inside the box. The referee pointed to the spot again and we held our breath. My camera was at the ready as Frank approached the ball.

Strike. Snap. Goal.

Frank lept to the air once more, fingers pointing heavenwards…how many photos of this personal celebration do I have? Special memories. The PA quickly announced that Frank Lampard had now scored 150 Chelsea goals and The Bridge roared in adulation. Some achievement.

The Chelsea choir wound up the Villa contingent with a pre-semi final rendition of “Che Sera Sera.” Aston Villa had a few half-chances, but were repelled by our defensive line. One resounding tackle, perfectly timed, by The Captain was met by thunderous applause.

More goals followed. Frank selflessly set up Malouda with a pass and our much-maligned Frenchman depatched it into the goal past Friedel. Like last Spring, Malouda’s form is now a joy. I didn’t capture his celebrations on film, but just stood and watched him give “high-fives” to about ten lucky Chelsea fans in the front fow of the MHL. I was smiling, lapping up the moment. It was a perfect moment of players and fans together, as one. To be honest, it left me quite giddy and I had to sit for a few seconds.

5-1.

We couldn’t believe it.

The heavens opened with quite a deluge and we wondered if Lovejoy, sitting in the front row of the East, would run for cover. We then serenaded Villa with –

“Are you West Ham in disguise?”

We then heard that West Ham were losing…fantastic. However, the Goons had scored a late goal.

Nicolas Anelka, who was working tirelessly all afternoon, did so well to hang on to the ball before setting up Salomon Kalou to rifle home.

6-1. This was getting crazier by the minute. Even Kalou had scored.

There was then a lovely moment. For a while now, the manager’s abilities have been debated and concerns have been raised. I have always said he needs time. My tune hasn’t changed. Others haven’t been so forgiving. So – out of the MHU came a lovely chant…

“Carlo – give us a wave, Carlo, Carlo – give us a wave.”

He responded.

“Carlo! Carlo! Carlo! Carlo!”

The PA announced “another four minutes” and I whimsically commented “enough time for at least two more then.”

Sure enough, Frank blasted in a loose ball and the stadium roared once more.

7-1. This was totally overwhelming stuff. As someone once said…”Football. Bloody hell.”

Who would have thought that – after the disappointment of Ewood Park – we would respond with twelve league goals in four days. I wondered if we had ever scored twelve in two consecutive league games ever before. Surely not. And yet – bizarrely, magnificently – this had been the second time we had scored 12 in consecutive games this season, having followed up the 5-0 bashing of poor Watford in the FA Cup with the 7-2 annihilation of The Mackems in January.

On a day when Super Frank blitzed his way into the upper echelons of top Chelsea scorers behind only Bobby Tambling and Kerry Dixon. For a midfielder, this is some achievement. And on a day when John Terry crept past Ron Harris in total appearances as Chelsea captain.

Both were enjoying the celebrations at the end of the game, soaked to the skin, but so, so happy.

What a perfect afternoon. However, as we were still smiling from our win, the PA announced –

“Birmingham City 1 Arsenal 1” and The Bridge bounced again. I punched the air and let off my biggest roar of the whole day.

The texts of stunned exhileration started to fly around and I joined the slow-moving tide of euphoric Chelsea fans walking slowly down the Fulham Road. My face was aching with all of the smiling. I spotted a cute WPC a few yards ahead and how I never planted a kiss on her cheek I will never now.

We met up back outside The Goose and I gave Folsom Steve a bear hug. He couldn’t belive what he had just seen. We thought of Starla, 7,000 miles for one game, and we wondered how she was coping!

A while back, I asked the question “is our cup half-full or half-empty” and although I still don’t know the answer, be sure of this.

The next six league games ( three at home, three away ) will be some of the most exciting any of us will possibly witness.

We’re lucky people.

Our game at Old Trafford next Saturday is already dominating my mind. The next week will be full of conjecture, banter and excitement. It reminds me of the week before the FA Cup Finals of old.

Fasten those seat belts, everyone.

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Tales From Balti Land

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Aston Villa vs. Chelsea : 17 October 2009.

Well, that new away kit is turning out to be a bit of a jinx so far this season. Let’s wear the all-white one for the next colour clash. Hell – there wasn’t really a clash at Villa was there?

Like the match against Villa in February – Guus Hiddink’s first game in charge – this was a 12.45pm start and so this meant that there was no chance of a good pre-match in a local hostelry. I collected Parky at 9am and drove up to Birmingham, aware that a few mates from London were travelling up by train. Their pre-match would be in a central Brum pub – ours would be half a mile to the north of Villa Park in a down-at-heal pub called “The Crown And Cushion.” We used this pub before the 2002 F.A.Cup Semi Final and it used to be the main pub of the Villa firm in days of old.

We sank a couple of pints of Red Stripe and noted the barmaid “of a certain age” arriving for her shift. We both mentally dressed her and then set off for the stadium. I commented to Parky that, save for a very brief mention by me of Petr Cech being back in the team, there had been not one single comment about the match all day. This is often the norm.

I have been to Villa Park on umpteen occasions and it’s a rather grand place. However, all of the stands have been redeveloped apart from the North stand, which always used to house the away fans. These days, we occupy the north section ( upper and lower ) of the Doug Ellis Stand. Everywhere around Villa Park is red brick – the stonework of The Aston Hall pub on the corner, the houses nearby and the old tram sheds adjacent to the stadium. The old Trinity Road stand, so beloved by connoisseurs of stadia design was a red brick masterpiece, with steps and gables, until its sad demise in around 2000. Villa have tried to recapture its presence in the remodelled Holte End, but it just isn’t the same.

On the way in, I spotted Dave Johnstone and purchased the latest “CFCUK”” in which there were a few wonderful obituaries for dear Vic who so sadly died on the evening of the Stoke game. How ironic the last ever goal of Vic’s beautiful life would be that oh-so dramatic winner.

Gary and Alan joined me in the middle of the upper deck just before kick-off and it seemed ages since our last game.

I thought we began pretty slowly and Villa had the best of the early exchanges. It took me a while to get into the game too – maybe I need the regular fix once a week more than I thought. Didier’s goal came out of the blue and Friedel really ought to have done better. Apart from a great run-and-shot from Ash and a shot from Didier, we laboured for the rest of the half. Villa were no great shakes and we ought to have seized the opportunity to kill them off. Unfortunately, I had a great view of Frank’s unfortunate flick which set up Dunne to equalise. The home support had been truly docile all of the half and the goal woke them momentarily. Our support was buoyant in the first period. We stood the entire game.

I looked around the stadium and noted gaps in the upper corners of the Holte End and the new Trinity Road stand…the gate was 3,000 below capacity. During half-time, I had a chat with six Chelsea fans from Belgium. They had six season tickets between them…good stuff.

I spotted a flag on the Holte End balcony wall –

“Villa – Stella – Balti” and it made me chuckle. It reminded me of the infamous United banner “United – Kids – Wife – In That Order.”

I wondered what a similar three-word phrase could sum up Chelsea Football Club.

“Celery – Bouncy – Underachievement.”

As the second-half began, the sun became brighter, but the support died a bit. Gary was giving John Carew loads of abuse, likening him to Bernard Bresslaw, but nobody else cottoned on to this. Poor marking at a corner gave Villa an easy goal, but still Villa’s support seemed muted. Was it something they put in their Balti pies I wondered? We toiled in vain for the rest of the game and, despite enjoying 67% of possession, the equaliser never came. We looked tired and out-of-sorts. Very often the players seemed crowded. Drogba had no support when it mattered and our shooting was poor. However, Villa weren’t exactly on fire. It was a game we so easily could have won. Frank seemed quiet, but Malouda was non-existent. We couldn’t fathom why Joe was brought on so late. Only once or twice to Villa’s support roar.

As we exited the stairs, there was frustration amongst the away support and one fan was complaining of a lack of a desire to change things. Scolari was mentioned.

Groan.

I waited for Parky to show up and noted that the Villa fans must surely be the ugliest in the Premiership.

At least Liverpool lost.

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