Tag Archives: Carlo Ancelotti

Tales From Our Attempt To Win A Hat Trick Of F.A. Cups

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Chelsea vs. Ipswich Town : 9 January 2011.

What a beautiful sunny Sunday morning. As I left the house, the sky was completely devoid of clouds and there was a lovely bite to the winter air. However, on the 30 minute drive to collect His Lordship from Parky Towers, my car was sliding on black ice. It was the worst I had ever known to be honest.I soon heard on the radio that there had been many accidents overnight and in the first few hours of Sunday morning. My other route up to The Smoke, the A303, was closed in Hampshire due to a smash. Not to worry, once I got onto the A350 and the M4, the dodgy road conditions were behind me.

On the Saturday evening, we had both attended a 50th birthday party for Andy, a Chelsea fan from Trowbridge, who I first met in 1984. He is mentioned, in fact, in my little segment in Mark Worrall’s “Chelsea Here Chelsea There” book. It was a great night and a few Chelsea fans “of a certain age” were in attendance from the surrounding towns…I was flying the flag for Frome, Mark from Westbury was there, plus Les from Melksham, to say nothing of Steve, Ashley, Mick, Shep, Parky, Andy and Ally from Trowbridge. It made me think about my youth as a Chelsea fan in the Somerset and Wiltshire area. Certainly in Frome, there weren’t so many Chelsea fans around. The chosen few certainly stuck together…and once our travels to games broadened our experiences, the other local lads soon became friends. I think this is different to the fans – say, in Frome – of the big two teams of Liverpool and Manchester United. Of a school year of 200 boys, there were probably 20 United fans and I am guessing that, because United fans were so widespread, I bet there was no special bond. Why would there be? Chelsea fans however – rare in Frome, for example – clung together desperately. It was a case of strength in numbers. For example, at Frome College in 1981, there were no Chelsea fans in the sixth form, I was the only Chelsea fan in my year and there were four Chelsea fans in the two years below me. So, only five Chelsea fans in a school of 1,300 kids (there were no Chelsea female fans of course, which goes without saying…it was the ‘eighties.) And we knew who we were alright…Chris, Dale, Richie, Troy and Glenn. The Famous Five.

I saw Troy at our game at Ashton Gate in 1976, I saw Dale at games in the ‘eighties, I sit next to Glenn at games to this day but I think Richie didn’t use to go to Chelsea. But we knew of each other alright. I think fans of “lesser” teams always have that bond. With our appeal so much bigger today, I really wonder if that relationship is there for the youngsters in the Frome area. I personally doubt it. However, for us lot – plus PD, Dave and a few more – we’ll always stick together. I think that barren spell in the ‘eighties helped to forge this special friendship and long may it continue.

For the entire length of the journey to London, the sky remained clear and cloudless. I had a quick breakfast and then joined the boys in The Goose at 12.45pm. There was a good turnout for this F.A. Cup game with Ipswich Town. A few of the lads had their children in tow, lured by the cheap ticket prices. It was £25 for an adult for starters. Surprisingly, my home area was only represented by Parky and myself, but the Midlands was represented by Burger, Andy (plus 2 children), Jokka, Neil, Chopper (plus wife and 2 kids), the Home Counties by Daryl, Simon (plus 1 child), Rob, Russ and Gary and finally The Channel Islands by Chris ( plus 1 child). Towards the end, I met up with four from the North – Phil (plus 1 child) and Malcolm (plus 1 child), lads I see rarely these days, but acquaintances from a while back.

So – 24 all told.

A good show.

Guernsey Chris informed me that his son’s first game was against Ipswich in 2001 and he is yet to see us lose. That just goes to show how successful we have been in that period, eh? The United versus Liverpool game was on TV, but not many were paying too much attention – why would we? I mentioned to Gary that I would be soon approaching my seventh anniversary of consecutive Chelsea home games – the first game in this run was on January 18th. 2004 – but Gary puts me to shame. He has missed just one Chelsea first team home game since 1975. To be honest, there should be an asterisk on my run because I missed the first team friendly against Celtic in August 2006, but I’m not counting that (though, if I am honest, I ought to…) Now I have put all of my Chelsea games on a massive spread sheet, expect more and more of these little statistical nuggets over the season. You have been warned.

I’ve mentioned before that the F.A. Cup does not seem to have the allure of times past; despite which ever TV channel has coverage of the games informing us otherwise. Thirty years ago, F.A. Cup games would warrant an extra 25% on the gate, but these days, it seems that the Cup attracts 33% less. Except at Chelsea, where we play to sell out gates at virtually all games, much to my pleasure. However, this is no doubt due to the cheaper tickets at domestic cup matches…one of the best innovations of recent seasons at Chelsea.

With perfect timing, I reached my seat just as “The Liquidator” was rousing the support – after each musical break, “CHELSEA” was lustily bellowed by all and sundry. This was a good sign. I had hoped that our fans would rally behind the team, putting recent past performances to one side.

The team was a pleasing mixture of old and new. Cech in goal, Boso at right back, JT and Brana in the middle and the promising Van Aanholt on the left, a midfield of Frank, the improving Ramires and young Josh, with Kalo, Anelka and Sturridge in attack. No complaints there. Ipswich had 3,000 away fans but no flags.

The game began and we peppered the Ipswich Town goal in the first fifteen minutes, but Daniel Sturridge in particular was guilty of carelessness in front of goal. We were playing some nice stuff, with a couple of flowing moves and there was a good vibe inside The Bridge. However, Ipswich threatened us on 16 minutes with a quick break down our right. The resultant shot was blocked, but Petr Cech appeared to wind himself in the process. He lay prone for a while, but then rose to a loud roar. On 22 minutes, a lovely move found Studge but he decided to leave it for Anelka who took one more touch than was necessary and his low shot was cleared off the line. I held my head in my hands. Soon after, we got behind them and pulled the ball back for Frank in a Prime Time Position.

Frank slammed the ball over. Oh hell – don’t say it’s going to be one of those games!

More efforts went the same way – shots from McEachren and then Anelka flew over the Ipswich goal. Then, at last, a shot from Anelka and a scramble inside the six-yard box and Kalou prodded the ball over – he doesn’t miss from there!

Immediately after, a lovely early ball – fast and low, just like the doctor ordered – into the six yard box from Jose Bosingwa was adroitly flicked in by Sturridge. Get in you beauty. That goal had the entire crowd on its feet. More was to follow – on 38 minutes, a bad tackle on JT and from the Lampard free-kick, the ball was flicked by an Ipswich Town defender into his goal and we were 3-0 to the good.

Phew – things were going well. The only downer was the relatively tough away draw in Round Four – yet another cup tie against Everton. Why does Chelsea always seem to draw the same teams in all cup competitions? How many more bloody times do we have to play Everton, Liverpool, Ipswich, Watford, Barcelona, Valencia and Porto? I was longing for an away game at Torquay, Orient, Burton Albion, Brighton…or Leeds United.

The bloke next to Alan looked a source of much amusement. As is the way with a lot of our supporters these days, he was silent for all of the first-half…throughout the game, he was listening to a radio via a set of little earphones and of course Alan and I suggested a comic reason for this. You know how we operate by now, eh? I suggested that rather than listen to the roar of the crowd and be involved, he was listening intently to the shipping forecast (probably the most boring piece of radio, ever). That then gave Alan and me the chance to air some truly horrendous puns about the various shipping areas, and out of respect to you all, I won’t repeat any of them.

Ex-Chelsea and Ipswich Town striker Kevin Wilson (Willo) was on the pitch with Neil Barnett at the break.

Rather than sit on our laurels, we kept going after the break and we were soon rewarded with a magnificent goal from Nicolas Anelka. After a quick interchange, he struck a lovely low shot from an angle which entered the goal just inside the far post. A superb goal. Three minutes later, the rarest of things – not only a Daniel Sturridge shot with his right foot, but a Daniel Sturridge goal with his right foot. From a Lampard pass, a delightful curler flew into the goal and the crowd erupted again.

At 5-0, the Matthew Harding serenaded our manager –

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

Despite no Ray Wilkins being alongside to translate, Carlo sheepishly acknowledged the fans.

“CARLO! CARLO! CARLO!”

Then, a period of lovely confident football…McEachren caressing the ball and prompting others, Lampard strong in the tackle and intelligent with his passing, Anelka devilish – the Anelka of old – and Ramires continuing to impress. Over the past five games, I would suggest that John Terry and Ramires have been our most consistent performers.

After the close bunching of our goals, two more ensued within a minute…two Frank Lampard strikes (the first from the edge of the box, the second from two yards out) and the place was bouncing. Frank – admittedly against a lower class of opposition – appeared to be approaching his old form and looked a lot more at ease than at Wolves on Wednesday. This is marvellous news. To be quite honest, we could have scored a few more, make no mistakes. I remember Gael Kakuta blazing over towards the end. Shipping Forecast Man decided to leave, not surprisingly I suppose, with five minutes of the game left. I guess he had endured far too much excitement for one day.

So – seven nil.

The seventh time we have scored six goals or more in a game in the last twelve months. It was just good to be back on track, despite the poor quality of the opposition. A win is a win is a win.

I met up with Parky on the Fulham Road and he was rather bemused. Why? He had slapped £3 on us to win 6-0! He had missed out on £100.

A typical drive home – Fruit Pastilles, a Krispy Kreme doughnut and a Red Bull at Heston Services to give me enough sugar and caffeine to get home safe, then some anthems from my youth – Scritti Politti, Japan, China Crisis, Talking Heads, Kraftwork and Ultravox…and Parky asleep – no doubt trying his very best to erase the memory of Frank’s last goal.

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Tales From Heroes And Villains

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Chelsea vs. Aston Villa : 2 January 2011.

It was time for the Three Wise Men to be on the road again. I collected Glenn from Frome at 8am and Parky soon after. With the rest of the South of England recovering from the excesses of New Year’s Eve, never has the M4 motorway been so devoid of traffic. The 110 miles were completed in double-quick time and, at just after 10am, the three of us were tucking into a Full English at the Yadana Café on Lillie Road. Of course, during the previous day, all of our natural rivals had ground out wins (even the lowly but despised West Ham United had won…) and now the focus was on us. On a rare occasion of annoyance with football, I had deliberately avoided the football highlights on “Match of the Day” on the Saturday night – instead I watched a whole night devoted to the much-loved comedy duo Morecambe and Wise on BBC2.

Eric Morecombe is playing the piano.

Andre Previn, the musical conductor – “But you’re not playing the right notes.”

Eric Morecombe – “…I’m playing all the right notes…pause…but not necessarily…pause…in the right order.”

As we wolfed down our eggs, bacon, sausages, baked beans and black pudding, we re-emphasised the need for us to defeat an Aston Villa team which had been on a dire run of form under Gerard Houllier. With Bolton defeated, we were faced with a run of games against teams – Villa, Wolves and Blackburn Rovers – which could and should give us maximum points.

I had recently purchased a new book on Chelsea Football Club, “When Football Was Football – Chelsea – A Nostalgic Look at a Century of the Club,” and I had brought this up on the car ride for Glenn and Parky to take a look at. This book is stacked full of previously unseen photographs from the Daily Mirror and I certainly enjoyed pouring over classic photos of past-players such as Hughie Gallacher, Roy Bentley, Peter Bonetti and Charlie Cooke. If there is one player from our distant past who I would love to know more about, it is the fiery, pint-sized Scottish centre-forward Gallacher. His demeanour in photos suggests a massive personality. The tough Scottish up-bringing, his time on Tyneside, the big money move to London, the goals, the temper, the fall from grace and the eventual suicide. That has to be a story worth telling.

A few photographic highlights from “When Football Was Football” –

1922 – a panoramic view of the wide bowl of Stamford Bridge during the F.A. Cup Final between Huddersfield and Preston.

1924 – the King being introduced to the players of the Chicago White Sox and New York Giants before a baseball game at The Bridge.

1931 – a classic shot of the trio Andy Wilson, Hughie Gallacher and Jackie Crawford in suits, bowler hats and thick overcoats in the London fog on the old forecourt.

1945 – an outside photograph of the swarming crowds locked outside the stadium at the Moscow Dynamo game, with hundreds standing on The Shed roof.

1953 – Chelsea vs. Arsenal – a shot from the dog track – with hundreds sitting on the grass between the old East stand and the pitch…and around fifty on the East stand roof.

1961 – a bemused Jimmy Greaves – in the blue shirts, white shorts, white socks – in the centre circle on the occasion of his last ever game for us, the steep west terrace behind.

1964 – a brilliant colour shot of Ron Harris, aged just twenty, arms crossed, proud.

1965 – a lovely photo of Barry Bridges, Joe Fascione, John Hollins, Bert Murray and Marvin Hinton, sipping coffee in a London café…the old Stamford Bridge Café opposite the town hall if I am not mistaken.

1966 – the look of pain on the faces of George Graham, John Hollins, Terry Venables and Ron Harris as they learn of getting Liverpool in the F.A. Cup.

1967 – the Chelsea wives crying after defeat by Tottenham in the Cup Final.

1980 – fans entering the Shed turnstiles – £2.00 – and an old red / green / white bar scarf being born by a youth in the foreground.

1981 – angry fans on the pitch in protest after the last game – a loss to Notts County – and a broken Shed End cross-bar. We were a right bunch of b******* when we lost.

1984 – Kerry Dixon triumphant, Leeds defeated, promotion gained and shirtless fans celebrating wildly in Gate 13.

It made me realise how I missed the old Stamford Bridge, but these photos vividly enabled me to remember the sense of belonging I used to experience every time my parents brought me up to London in my childhood. I hope that the sense of belonging will never die.

As we finished our breakfasts, I toasted our friendships and reminded Glenn that we travelled up to our first ever game together in November 1983 – a game against the Geordies and we had a cup of coffee in that same café on the Fulham Road as the players in 1965.

The pre-match was a little rushed…down to meet Becky, Rick, Mary Anne and Paul – and also San Francisco Pete, plus Gill and Graeme – at the hotel. I took some photos of them all with Gill’s “Kent Blues” and “CIA” flags. Outside the megastore, I heard one of the most ridiculous comments ever at a Chelsea game…a couple, hand in hand, brushed past me and the bloke said, in a pretentious mid-Atlantic accent “Wow – this is a girl’s paradise…there are guys everywhere.”

I thought like saying “hell – you should have been here in the ‘eighties, mate.”

Then back up to The Goose, where I soon bumped into Burger, Jon and Lee, then Cathy and Dog alongside The Usual Suspects – Parky and Glenn talking to Alan, Daryl, Rob, Andy, Chops…another year, another game, another beer, another pre-match. There was talk in the pub of the Old Firm game taking place in Glasgow – on the fortieth anniversary of the Ibrox disaster. Our mate Ajax would be in attendance.

Reg and Lorraine were manning the bar and had put on a special offer for us hardened Chelsea enthusiasts –

Fosters – £1.49 a pint.

“Here’s one-fifty, Lorraine, keep the change…”

On the walk down to the ground, Daryl commented – “blimey, I’ve had five pints and I’ve got change from a tenner.” In contrast, down at the Chelsea hotel bar, three pints had cost me £12.30.

I reached my seat at 1.15pm and soon noted an abundance of free flags being waved with gusto by the inhabitants of the Shed, East Lower and Matthew Harding Lower. This is the first time I have known free flags for a league game, though it seemed that not everybody got one. I took a few photographs of the new American flags. There were gaps in the Villa section – they only had around one thousand. They soon started their song about winning a European Cup, but it’s a shame they couldn’t sell all their tickets for a game against the League Champions. We soon reminded them about “Wembley 2000.”

The game began and Agbonlahor fired in the first clear chance when he was poorly marked and was able to swivel and shoot. Cech wasn’t troubled but it was a sign that Villa would not lie down. Soon after, an Ashley Young cross / shot was dropping straight into Petr Cech’s goal and our great ‘keeper did well to re-adjust and palm the ball over. Play was even in the first quarter. But we had not really troubled the Villa goal up until then.

After 23 minutes, the ball was lobbed into the Villa box and Malouda stood his ground and then went sprawling. To be honest, I thought that it was a soft penalty, but I wasn’t complaining. I steadied myself and then clicked my camera as Frank slammed the ball centrally into Brad Friedel’s goal.

Great stuff – let’s build on this, let’s go.

Villa were rather loose with their tackles, to say the least, and the yellow cards were stacking up. Yet an errant swipe at John Terry in our own box went unpunished. We thought that the referee seemed out of his depth.

Frank Lampard was taking a few pot shots from distance, but he was not troubling the Villa goal. It has long been my opinion, from when I first saw Frank play for us in Chelsea blue in 2001, that he doesn’t always strike balls that well, especially from distance. He often scuffs his shots, he often gets little power. Alan and I had a little discussion about this and he was in agreement. It’s pretty bizarre when you think about it, considering the amount of goals he scores for us. However, compare him to, say, his nemesis Steven Gerrard – how often does Gerrard strike the ball so sweetly, with his laces, getting his entire body behind the ball? Frank’s sideway scuffs pale in comparison. It might be seem as sacrilege by some, but this is my view. Frank is better with the gentle prod inside the box rather than optimistic punts from way out. I honestly think that one of the reasons why Frank scores so often is due to the vast amount of shots he takes over the course of a whole season.

On 37 minutes, Richard Dunn clipped a ball over Cech’s bar after nobody attacked the ball to clear. Soon after, Paolo Ferreira unfortunately took an extra touch in clearing the ball when a simple swipe would have sufficed. The ball was deflected into the box and Michael Essien was adjudged to have taken the legs of a Villa attacker. It all happened so quickly, nobody knew what was going on. No Villa players appealed, the Villa fans didn’t even celebrate.

Ashley Young repeated Frank’s methodology and hit the ball centrally into Petr’s goal. They all celebrated in our corner, the gits.

I met up with San Francisco Pete at half-time and we had our usual moan – it’s a bit of a lucky superstition now…the five minute moan to each other and then, more often than not, an improved performance in the second forty-five. Didier needed to get in the game, Malouda too. Let’s see what the second half would hold.

Oh boy – after just two minutes we went a goal down. We didn’t stop the cross and a great hanging ball had “goal” written all over it. Hesky jumped against Bruma, but we stood no chance. Villa were 2-1 up.

Hell.

Individually, the three midfielders did some good stuff in the second period…going forward. However, too often that defensive block – that shield in front of the defence – was missing. A nice move involving Didier and Malouda set up Frank, but Friedel saved. Soon after, another defence splitting ball from Frank found Malouda, but the goalie got down to block. We certainly had a spell of domination around the hour mark, but our chances were wasted. Malouda – one of our front three remember – was memorably behind Ashley Cole on a few occasions. He is a player that doesn’t seem confident right now. Carlo rang the changes and we hoped…

Kalou had a couple of mesmerizing runs at the defence before falling over his feet in a heap while appealing for penalties. I think he may well have trademarked that move. Can somebody phone the patents office please?

On 84 minutes, Chelsea pressure resulted in a mad scramble and I was on my toes…I’m not sure how he did it, but Drogba steadied himself and struck low. The ball may well have entered the goal via two Aston Villa defenders.

We roared. We jumped. We screamed.

Well, apart from a row of around eight middle-aged supporters down below me and away to my right…oh dear, here I am moaning again, but why do these people bother? There were just sitting there, stony-faced, hardly moving, let alone applauding. I guess they think that Chelsea owes them something. The rest of the crowd, though – invigorated and noisy – was roaring the team on.

And then it happened – a whipped in cross from Ess, a blocked Drogba header and the ball bounced out to John Terry. John steadied himself and drilled the ball into the waiting goal.

Up we jumped – oh God the noise – and I simply screamed “COME ON – COME ON – COME ON.” My camera was in my hand ( I had clicked on the Essien cross ) and I shot away as JT wheeled away towards the East Lower. We don’t often celebrate there. It was reminiscent of Wayne Bridge’s run towards the Portsmouth fans at Christmas 2004. I steadied my hand and took five or six shots of the players catching up with JT, jumping on him, screaming away, fists pumping. I was aware that the whole team was heading towards the Chelsea bench and took one last photograph of the captain embracing Carlo Ancelotti. The photos are of a scene of wild euphoria amongst fans and players alike – wild times. I could only imagine how Becky, Rick, Mary Anne and Paul were reacting. I envisaged them jumping high and falling out of the Shed Upper onto the fans below.

And there they were – the team celebrating with the manager.

Beautiful.

My spirits were so high, I was even hoping for a ridiculous fourth. Even without this goal, I thought that JT was again our best player. His form has been excellent of late. Then, the cruel twist and the horror of the Villa equaliser – the ball dropping to an unmarked player at The Shed End at the end of a game seems to be such a familiar sight these days.

3-3.

We even had a last minute chance which rocketed past the North Stand goal…Stamford Bridge would have gone into orbit had that one gone in.

It was not to be.

We all met up at the hotel after the game in order for the four American guests to meet, at last, Ron Harris. At the top of the escalators, we stood as Ron gave his own little appraisal of our current woes. The problem I have in discussing the inherent frailties of Chelsea Football Club is that I still maintain that joyful glee that I first experienced on my first visit to The Bridge in 1974. All of the players are still heroes to me and I am still so proud to be able to come to games and witness the team in action. I don’t like hearing negativity. I abhor it to be honest. So, I listened with gritted teeth as Ron spoke about “something’s not right, the youngsters are not up to it, it looks like there is a split in the camp, the punters won’t put up with this for much longer.” The notion of everyone not pulling in the same direction at Chelsea is still something that I have difficulty coming to terms with.

The “split in the camp” angle has been mooted in the UK press for a while – though I don’t always read the papers – but the unity showed by the team after The Captain’s goal would suggest that there is nothing wrong with the team spirit. I know I’m always the optimist, but there are signs we are pulling together…but we are still lacking in confidence. I’m hoping that Ramires continues his improvement and we look a much better team with Frank back in the midfield.

We then joined up with the rest of the boys for a post-game pint in the Lillie Langtry. I was expecting a heated post-mortem, like after our loss at home to Manchester City in February, but the moment had passed. Instead, we shared some laughs and we planned some arrangements for Wolves away on Wednesday and for Ipswich next Sunday. I’m hopeful that a few of the other teams at the top can take some points of each other, that some will go on a rough run of form and that we can slowly rise again.

Damn that optimism.

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Tales From A Night Of Peroni, Pizza, Football And Fireworks

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Chelsea vs. Bolton Wanderers : 12 December 2010.

All together now – “Phew.”

I spent a little time on the internet in the morning, trying to gauge the mood of The Chelsea Nation. Reactions to our loss at Arsenal varied from the pragmatic to the melodramatic. To be honest, I couldn’t stomach some of the more extreme reactions. My match day companion Alan seemed to hit the nail on the head when he commented on “Facebook” –

“Some of these so-called fans who are bleating at the moment wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in the ‘seventies and ‘eighties.”

Unfortunately, my cold had taken a turn for the worse – it was certainly worse than on the visit to Arsenal on Monday evening. Maybe I had been exposed to a new bug in those cold North London streets – Gooneria, maybe. Not to worry – I’d be wrapped up warm. Glenn called by to pick me up at 2pm and we soon started chatting about the current state of affairs in SW6. This would be Glenn’s first game since the halcyon days of October and the 2-0 defeat of Arsenal. Glenn watched the Emirates game in a pub in Frome, seemingly full of Arsenal fans, and was able to add a different perspective to the one that I had from the away section. It seemed that the cameras seemed to dwell on the forlorn figure of our manager on many occasions. He confirmed that our team weren’t working for each other. We seemed to be a pale shadow of our former selves. In the 25 minutes it took us to collect Parky, I had put my cards on the table –

“If this is the season that we have to rebuild, so be it. But it’s never easy to rebuild and stay competitive on all fronts. It’s so difficult to supplement the first eleven – you simply can’t buy all the best players…you have to buy players who are happy to be on the fringe, happy to play that squad role. Think of people like Jarosik, Smertin, Geremi and Belletti. But Carlo Ancelotti isn’t a bad manager – he’s one of Europe’s best. This is just his second full season in England. Let’s give him time. We may not win the league this season, but let’s see what we can do. Fourth is better than fifth, third is better than fourth, second is better than third…I don’t think we’ll win it this season, but let’s see what we can do. Let’s support the team. The one thing we can’t evaluate is what Carlo needs to do to impress Roman. If it was up to me, I’d unreservedly put my faith in Ancelotti and give him time to mould his own team. We are, after all, an ageing team that has peaked. Despite the mammoth goals total in 2009-2010, we won the league by just one point in May. We need to rebuild. But, after the dark days of the latter part of the Scolari regime, I would not have put £1 on us winning the league in less than 18 months of his departure. It just shows the spirit of the senior pros in our squad who pushed on and won at Arsenal, Manchester United and Liverpool last season. We may not see the likes of that again for quite a while. Let’s just get behind the team tonight and sing our hearts out.”

This is my view on things – though I doubt very much if it mirrors that of Roman Abramovic.

Glenn was buzzing to be going up to Chelsea again after a break of two months, eager to see our mates in The Goose, eager to see the team. His next comment warmed me …

”I’ll never stop going – what’s the worst that can happen? We can lose.”

Big deal.

“Yeah mate – and we’ve seen a lot worse, eh?”

Parky was collected and The Three Wise Men were on our way. Some awful fog in Berkshire slowed the normally speedy Glenn, so we didn’t reach our usual parking spot until about 4.30pm. We hot-footed it to our favourite restaurant on Brompton Road where we had arranged to meet the four American visitors. Becky, Rick, Mary Anne and Paul had just arrived and Salvo was soon fussing over all of us like long-lost friends. If The Goose has acquired the unofficial status of “CIA pub”, then Salvo’s has become the CIA restaurant in London. The list of CIAers who have passed through the doors goes on and on…Teri, Starla, Beth, Danny, Burger, Julie, SF Bob, Detroit Bob, Jens, Danielle, Wes, Scott, Lalo, Farmer John Schaeffer, David from Houston, Hoss, plus Mike and Chopper and afew of the New York Blues.

Pizzas were ordered and three bottles of Peroni didn’t touch the sides. Despite the loss at Arsenal, the four visitors still loved the match day experience and – of course – were besides themselves with joy at the thought of their first ever game at Stamford Bridge. We moved on to The Goose and I pointed out all of the Chelsea watering-holes along the way.

The pub was packed of course and the Americans loved the fact that it was full of devoted Chelsea supporters. We got the beers in and spoke about all sorts of nonsense. Michigan Kev arrived at about 6pm and joined the fray. He made a bee-line for Parky and the banter commenced. With The Ashes regained, Rick asked if any of us were cricket fans. So I spoke a little about that – there are a few cricket fans in my group of mates…Gary is a Surrey season ticket holder, Daryl watches a few games every summer…I used to like cricket before baseball took over my affections. I even played for the school team during one summer. Rick also asked about rugby. No – a resolute no. None of us are rugby followers. In fact, I joked with Rick that our little conversation about “egg chasing” was probably the longest conversation I had ever had in The Goose about that particular sport.

We spoke about all sorts in The Goose pre-match. I spoke to Rick about that magnificent book “Soccer In A Football World” (which details the history of footy in the USA) and in particular the appearance of our player Alec Jackson in the Bethlehem Steel team back in the 1920s. Amongst other things, Klinger from “MASH” and his favourite team the Toledo Mud Hens also got a mention. To say nothing of my mates Andy and Jonesy singing “One Man Went To Mow” at Detroit’s Tiger Stadium in 1984…and the Tigers fans looking on, quite befuddled. Talking of people looking befuddled, the visitors from the US had the pleasure of meeting “permanently confused” Wycombe Stan, a man who has a “Facebook” page devoted to him. After our little chat, he pottered off, probably unaware of who I was or even who he was. It always amazes me how he finds his way to Chelsea every few weeks.

I personally could have stayed there, chatting and drinking, all night. But the kick-off was approaching though and we needed to move on.

“See you on Sunday boys – Happy New Year.”

On the walk past The Cock And Hen ( the site of my first ever pint at Chelsea, April 1984 ), I again reminded Mary Anne that Chelsea isn’t really a football club at all – it’s a social club and we meet up every weekend at a football ground. As we passed The Malt House, Paul suggested that we called in on the off chance of bumping in to a girl from Cleveland Ohio who was with a couple of the CFC Fancast gents. While my back was turned, Parky and Kev had decided to get a pint in, despite it being about 15 minutes from kick-off. Not to worry – everyone happy, everyone smiling. I said to Mary Anne that the little dip into The Malt House encapsulated what supporting Chelsea is all about – bumping into Chelsea fans for the first time, handshakes, smiles, laughter and Parky getting a sneaky beer in.

After all these distractions, I got into my seat just in time for the kick-off. Beth had texted me to say that a few of the CIA banners were on show in the East stand. A quick look around – around 750 away fans.

Anelka in. Ramires in. Bosingwa in.

I’m not sure if anyone else has ever noticed, but at Stamford Bridge, in the south-east corner, there is often a plume of smoke which appears from a mysterious location behind the East Stand. Maybe from where Ken Bates’ old office once was. Not for the first time, I joked with Alan that it looked like the elder members of the Vatican had decided on a new Pope – better look out Carlo, it might be that Roman has decided on a change of manager – whereas Alan thought that it meant that chain-smoker John Neal was in the car park.

I didn’t have my big lens so was unable to spot all of the CIA banners. However, I did spot these –Chelsea In America, North Texas, South East Blues, Boston Blues, Texas, OC Blues.

It wasn’t a great first-half was it? We had the usual pass-pass-pass possession, but it was the away team who had the best chance in the opening period. Former Pompey midfielder Matt Taylor was left exposed but he dragged his shot narrowly wide. There was certainly the usual mumbling and grumbling throughout the first-half. The crowd began reasonably well, but the noise soon quietened. Our chances were rare and unconvincing. The referee Mike Jones was annoying the hell out of all of us – on three occasions he decided to blow up for free-kicks in our favour when advantage should have been played. Nothing annoys me more than that really – I wish referees would let the game flow anyway – and I vented my frustration at the referee. These were anxious times. For the first time in ages at Chelsea, I stood the entire game. I wanted to feel involved – standing helps, don’t ask me why.

I couldn’t help but think that the pre-match was far outweighing the game – but how many hundreds of times has that been the case, anyway? The referee blew up for the break and boos could be heard.

At half-time, right at the start, the PA played a few verses from a Howard Jones song from 1984, imploring us to “throw off your mental chains.” How apt, I thought. It’s what we needed to do – miraculously regain our collective self-confidence. I was hoping Carlo was weaving some magic deep in the bowels of the East stand. During the break, I had time to glance through the programme and there were a few previously unpublished black and white photographs from the Bolton away game in 1983, where Clive Walker scored and…oh, I’m sure you all know by now. If you don’t, it’s time you did.

Half-Time Quiz –

1. What is Chelsea’s biggest home win over Bolton Wanderers in the Premier League era?

2. Which player scored his first-ever Premier League goal for Chelsea in the first of those meetings?

3. Which player netted the winner in last season’s meeting against Bolton at The Bridge?

4. Which Brazilian centre-back had a spell with the Trotters, having previously represented Chelsea?

I looked back on the first period. JT, for me, was our best player. Frank was only making short runs into space – he had no space, to be fair, but he seemed to be playing within himself. Malouda quiet, Drogba quiet.The usual stuff.

Soon after the re-start, a sublime ball (one of the best of the season if I am honest) from Frank cut right through the Bolton defence and found Didier who advanced in the inside-right position. We were all prepared for a goal – but the firm strike hit the far post and rebounded to safety. We kept getting caught offside, but at least we were showing a greater willingness to attack the Bolton rear-guard.

On the hour, we broke through again and we all thought, to a man, that Didier was offside. However, I looked across at the retreating linesman, below the OC Blues flag, and he memorably kept his flag down. In a moment of high drama, Didier crossed the ball into the box and the advancing – and unmarked – Malouda slid the ball in.

The Bridge erupted – it is quite some time since a goal against a team outside the top five or six was met with such loud and happy delirium. Alan and I calmed ourselves and – after quite a few games since the last time – we uttered the famous…

“They will have to come at us now.”

“Come on my little diamonds.”

As the second-half continued, I have to say that Ramires, our little number seven, got more and more into the game…chasing people down, keeping the ball in tight areas like Makelele, getting stuck in. It was so pleasing to see – long may it continue. Carlo obviously rates him – that is good enough for me. Definitely his best game for us, by a mile. We carved open a few more chances, but Bolton were still in the game. On 76 minutes, Cech showed much agility to tip over a rasping drive from Holden – the arc of his rising body was a picture. From the resultant corner, we were lucky to stay 1-0 up as a header fell at the feet of a defender who hacked the ball away.

We had a few more chances – the ball was worked rather cleverly to Essien but he shot wide. Essien had not had the best of games, but one trademark hustling run sticks out.

Perhaps the highlight of the second period was, in my mind, the rousing roar that the crowd gave Ashley Cole after his sprint for a 50/50 ball…his desire, his pace, his perfectly timed tackle. Moments like that can galvanise an entire football club. Players and fans together.

Thankfully – and with great relief and pleasure – the much maligned referee blew up and The Bridge roared. I exchanged a few happy texts from Chelsea fans from near and far. I liked Beth’s comment about Ramires –

“He is a feisty little guy and I like that.”

I was so happy that the four Americans’ inaugural visit to Stamford Bridge had resulted in a much-needed win. Three points to The Champions – phew, indeed. Of course, the news that Arsenal had dropped points at Wigan added to our glee as we left the stadium and hustled down the Fulham Road. I caught up with Parky who had somehow managed to tangle his crutches up with his jacket sleeve – the beers were having an effect. Overhead, in the dark London night, the sky was lit up with a succession of fireworks, cracking and sparkling away.

It was a perfect moment.

Not for the first time, I wish I could have stayed on in London – to meet up with Becky, Mary Anne, Paul, Rick and Kevin to hear about their experiences in The Shed. I can just picture the glee on their faces as Malouda struck. The noise really was fantastic.

We got back to Glenn’s car and we all admitted that it felt like a large weight had been lifted from our shoulders. One win does not a season make, but let’s keep going. Let’s beat Villa on Sunday and let’s win at Wolves on Wednesday. Let’s get a run going.

Come on Chelsea – let’s go.

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Tales From Eastlands

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Manchester City vs. Chelsea : 25 September 2010.

Another early kick-off, another early start. I left my home village at 7.15am and I was soon texting Alan that I was on the road.

“Jenson Button.”

The Formula One World Champion spent his childhood just a mile or so away from my home – as I never tire of telling the world. The two villages of Mells and Vobster have always been separate but the now redundant Vobster church used to be within the Mells parish, plus the Mells village football club is officially entitled Mells And Vobster United. My grandfather Ted played for the team back in the roaring twenties, while I played a handful of games for the reserve team in the early ‘eighties, before my love of watching soon over took my love of playing.

As I headed past Writhlington School, I was reminded of the tough battles that my school teams used to have against that school when I was a right-winger for Oakfield School, then Frome College. I remember a tough-tackling left back, who resembled Malcolm MacDonald the Newcastle striker, who I always seemed to be up against.

I then drove through the old mining town of Radstock – a little piece of Northern England transplanted into north Somerset, complete with terraced houses and slag heaps of coal waste – as the low morning sun lit up the houses. The rain which had been forecasted was nowhere to be seen and it was a beautiful start to the morning.

With the ground of Welton Rovers to my right, I remembered the game I watched there the night after Barca beat us in the CL semi last year – Frome Town came from a goal down to defeat local rivals Paulton Rovers in the Somerset Senior Cup Final…a game watched by over 1,000.

I then passed through Farrington Gurney and I thought back to a brilliant night I had enjoyed back in 2006, just after our back-to-back title, when I met up with Ron Harris and Kerry Dixon at a charity event at the local golf club.

At Pensford – home of ‘sixties musician Acker Bilk – I drove past a pub called “The Travellers Rest” and it brought back beautiful memories of Chelsea’s 2005 League Championship, when three very contented Chelsea fans called in for a celebratory pint on the drive back from Bolton.

It then suddenly dawned on me that I had been driving for just fifteen minutes, but yet my mind had been swamped by football memories from my past and it seemed to sum it all up. Wherever I go in Britain, there are football memories nearby , just waiting to be exposed. I had a little laugh to myself and thought “enough!” – I still had four hours of driving to do before I would reach Manchester…I’d best start thinking about “other stuff.”

I soon reached Bristol – and that’s another story.

Via a chain of events too complicated to retell here, I managed to get tickets for both Burger and Julie, now residing in Stafford and so the plan was to collect them en route to Manchester. Parky, meanwhile, had some great news during the week – he wasn’t originally able to afford to go to the game, but a gang of Chelsea from Trowbridge had hired a stretch limo for the day and one chap – Shep – was unable to attend. So – in lieu of the many pints that Parky had bought Shep in their youth, Parky was called in as a last minute replacement and it was all free-of-charge…happy days indeed. I wondered how they were all getting on in their white Hummer…I kept a look out for them as I headed north.

I stopped at Strensham to refuel the car and a Subway breakfast roll, the Malvern hills to my west, the Cotswolds to my east and the sky completely devoid of clouds. I passed a Bath City coach on its way to Fleetwood Town.

At 9.45am, I had navigated the tight narrow streets of Stafford town centre and was parked up outside Burger’s house, as surreal an experience that I have had in the past few years following Chelsea. Who would have thought that when we all met up in New York last summer and caught the train down to watch the boys play in Baltimore, that just over a year later, they would be living in Staffordshire and I would be taking them to a game at City? A cup of coffee was waiting for me and I was given a brief tour and history of the house…it’s lovely and Julie is especially thrilled with her little English cottage. Burger is equally chuffed with the Bear & Pheasant pub, just five doors down, where he is already one of the locals.

Proper Burger. Proper Chelsea.

It didn’t take long to reach to reach Manchester – the time soon passed as I spoke about my history as a student in Staffordshire and Burger spoke of his life as a student in Toronto. We exchanged stories on the drive through the flat Cheshire Plain.

The time was shooting by, but I wanted to give them both a quick taste of Manchester before we parked-up. I drove in past Old Trafford and momentarily parked outside the forecourt so Burger and Julie could see the Munich Clock, the Sir Matt Busby and Holy Trinity statues. I quickly spoke about the match-day experience at Old Trafford – the pubs, the rituals, the colour – but was soon on my way again…a quick glimpse of the Imperial War Museum North on the banks of an old wharf at Salford Quays, then into the city centre. As we slowly drove past impressive red brick buildings, Julie commented that she was reminded of the financial district of downtown Toronto.

At 11.30am, we were parked-up at Piccadilly and we fastened our jackets for the swift walk to the stadium, out past some Victorian canals and new apartment blocks.

Before we knew it, we had met Lovejoy and Burger had collected his ticket…he would be sitting ( or rather standing ) in the lower tier, while Julie’s ticket was, bizarrely, the row in front of my ticket. Alan and Gary were talking to birthday boy Andy, but Julie and myself soon shot into the stadium to tie Burger’s flag to the balcony wall, dead centre…job done.

This was a milestone for me in my Chelsea life – Game Number 800 – and I got Alan to take a photo of me for posterity. Looking back through the years, it’s clearly apparent that my attendance at Chelsea is a result of my salary increases…if I had my way, I would have reached 800 years ago.

Game 1 16.3.74 Chelsea 1 Newcastle United 0
Game 100 21.3.87 Chelsea 1 West Ham United 0
Game 200 4.2.95 Coventry City 2 Chelsea 2
Game 300 5.3.98 Real Betis 1 Chelsea 2
Game 400 31.3.01 Chelsea 2 Middlesbrough 1
Game 500 9.9.04 Chelsea 3 Real Zaragoza 0
Game 600 5.12.06 Chelsea 2 Levski Sofia 0
Game 700 29.10.08 Hull City 0 Chelsea 3
Game 800 25.9.10 Manchester City vs. Chelsea

The way I am accelerating away, I’ll soon be seeing games before they are played.

The stadium, an oasis of sky blue, slowly filled up and I again noted that City have a lot of permanent banners on show at Eastlands.

“We’re Not Really Here.”

Just before kick-off, who else but Parky, plus a few other familiar faces from West Wiltshire appeared and sat a few seats away. I’m just glad they made it intact. Parky was predictably wobbly…and reeking of alcohol, bless him.

During the opening passage of play, City had more possession and were constantly exploiting our right flank, where Branislav Ivanovic was constantly finding himself marking two attackers. On a couple of occasions the midfield man ( Mikel then Essien ) did not shift over and close down the man with the ball, leaving Ivanovic covering both once the ball had been played to the wide man Milner. I clearly saw Ivanovic shout at Mikel the word “speak!” when this happened the first time. I’ve often said that we aren’t a great team of talkers, JT excepted.

We then enjoyed more of the ball, but there was a distinct lack of movement upfront. On 27 minutes, Drogba took a short corner and I shouted “what is the point?”, only for the resultant cross to be headed across goal by Nico for Ivanovic to head against the bar. Chuckles from Alan and myself…” I’ll keep making the wrong call, if it leads to more chances, Al.”

This seemed to be the quintessential Italian game, with Signori Ancelotti and Mancini in charge, the former Milanese managers transplanted to these shores, but reverting to type. We had more and more of the ball, but less and less chances…the Chelsea support was getting frustrated. The support wasn’t great either, but it’s difficult at City as the away support is split in two. To be fair, the home fans weren’t too vociferous either. The warm sunshine which had greeted our arrival in town had disappeared in the cold shadows of the stadium and everyone inside looked freezing…jackets buttoned tightly, caps on.

The first song on the PA at half time was the Joy Division classic “Love Will Tear Us Apart.”

Either that, or James Milner, I thought.

We began the second period brightly with Anelka soon forcing a save from Joe Hart. The Chelsea support was roused and we got stuck in. However, we easily lost possession and the ball was worked by City to Carlos Tevez. With both JT and Ashley Cole backing off, I screamed

“One of you go to him!”

I’m sure the same sentiments were shared by Burger in the Lower Tier, Andy in Orange County, Bob and Pete in San Francisco, Gumby in Texas, Rick in Ohio and Steve in South Philly.

An excellent strike by Tevez and were were 1-0 down.

This was always going to be a tough game – City will be in the mix at the end of May – and I would have been content with a draw going in to the game. Now, our powers of recovery were to be tested. Could we do it? We still had a lot of the ball, but we were limited to long shots from Essien, plus a couple of free headers from Alex and Ess. Sturridge took lots of abuse from the home fans and didn’t provide much final product when he was brought on for the surprisingly quiet Drogba.

I thought John Terry was our most consistent player on the day and his “never say die” spirit was encapsulated in the last minute when he won a tackle by stooping to head the ball on the ground, with City boots swinging around him.

City had defended well and their team had showed more fight, spirit and passion. It was a strange Chelsea performance and our squad looks a little on the thin side with no Frank, Yossi or Kalou. The sight of the massive bulk of Yaya Toure against the slight Ramires will be my abiding memory of the day.

Throughout the game, fellow spectators in our row were constantly getting up to go out to use the toilets…up, down, up, down, “excuse me, ‘scuse me”…”weak bladder mate?” Up, down, up, down. It was annoying the hell out of Gary, who chirped

“F – ing hell, there’s more movement in this row than there is in our f –i ng team today.”

Howls of laughter.

That good old gallows humour always helps.

Julie and myself were almost out when I suddenly remembered “Burger’s Flag” and we had to fight the descending Chelsea fans all of the way back up the stairs. There was Burger, with a “face on”, standing in the lower seats. I’m not sure if he was unhappy with the team or for me for forgetting his flag.

Wink.

We slowly edged through the terraced back streets of the City heartland of South Manchester – Longsight, Burbage and Didsbury – and were buoyed by the goals being scored at the Emirates and Anfield, but the mood in the car wasn’t great. We had a brief post-mortem. However, Burger and myself shared a few inevitable laughs and by the time I had reached Stafford at about 5pm, with Arsenal’s demise taking the sting off our defeat, things were back to normal…we were planning our next trip together, and even thinking of potential away games in the F.A.Cup…

“Number 54 – Stafford Rangers…will play…Number 11 – Chelsea.”

It was lovely to spend some time with Julie and Burger – great to see their infectious enthusiasm for my country and their plans for the future. I was almost jealous of them – they are able to look at England with fresh eyes and a thousand days of new towns, new villages, new experiences ( to say nothing of Chelsea gamnes ) lie ahead for them both.

After 390 miles, I reached home at about 8pm and watched the highlights of the game on the English institution that is “Match Of the Day.”

It was – of course – a bad day at the office, but we’ll bounce back.

We do a lot of bouncing at Chelsea.

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Tales From The Lily Tandoori

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Chelsea vs. Internazionale : 16 March 2010.

This was a tough day at work and a tough day at play.

I had booked a half-day holiday and just knew I’d struggle to get everything finished by 1pm. With this in mind, I came in to work early at 7.30am and just wanted to get my head down…try not to think too much about the game…get stuck in. However, the best laid plans of mice and men…when I pulled up at half-seven, Pat Nevin was on the radio, enthusing about the return of Jose Mourinho. I couldn’t escape. It seemed the whole of the UK was waiting for this classic match-up.

For half-an-hour, my head was full of doubts and worries about the game in the evening.

By 8am, work was getting worse…however, the problems I was encountering were at least taking my thoughts away from the match.

By 1pm, I should have left Chippenham.

By 1.30pm I did.

Phew.

I then faced a horrible trip up to London, caught in roadworks and traffic jams. I eventually reached Base Camp, aka The Goose, at just gone 6pm. I gulped down two pints and chatted excitedly to some mates from near and far. I made the point that it was such a big game, it seemed only right that the eventual winners be handed a place in the final, not just the last eight. People were nervous. I wasn’t sure which way it would go.

We walked down to the ground, then split up as we all had seats in various locations. I was sitting in the Shed Upper with Danielle.

Thirty-six years ago to the very day – March 16th 1974 – I had seen Chelsea play for the very first time. What fates would befall me, 700-odd games on?

There was an eery air inside the stadium as I chatted briefly to Danielle before the entrance of the teams. In the pub, my mate Alan had passed me a packet of “European Game Lucky Wine Gums” and had cheekilly commented “there you go son, use them if you need to.”

The Inter fans to our right were singing, but their chants were muffled, with so many home fans standing in the way. I’m sure they appeared louder back in from the Matthew Harding. The teams had been announced, the changes noted. Neil welcomed the Inter management team back to SW6. The CL anthem and the teams walked on to the pitch. A lot of the fans had been given flags and these were waved enthusiastically. For some reason, the cardboard cut-outs in the East Middle were given bar scarves instead. Nobody waved these. Why would they? They just sat like statues the entire game. Danielle and myself matched each other photo for photo. A quick chorus of “Jose Mourinho” and I snapped our former idol wave briefly to the Matthew Harding.

The atmosphere was strange. It seemed tense. In the first twenty minutes, the crowd reached 8/10 noise levels, but quickly faded to the 5/10 of a normal league game.

The first-half rattled by with predominant Chelsea pressure – going nowhere – interspersed with rapid breaks and crosses from Inter. I liked the look of our options down the left, with Malouda and Zhirkov beginning to threaten. I snapped a couple of long-distance photos of Mourinho, gesticulating to his attackers. In one uncanny photo, he appeared to be annointing the famous Lovejoy ( who sits right behind the away dug-out ) – his finger appearing to touch Lovejoy’s head as he stretched out his arm.

We had a couple of half-chances as the first-half ended…shots from Malouda and Anelka painfully blocked.

Just one goal!

What was up? Our approach play was stilted, Frank was playing too deep, Anelka and Drogba were too far apart. There was no intensity. No pace.

The crowd seems to fade away. We tried our best in The Shed – a few songs…I always try – but nothing constant. Nothing like those historic European nights against Bruges, Vicenza, Barcelona and Liverpool. I had my camera to my eye when the Drogba rugby tackle took place and only saw the aftermath, but the shouts of “penalty” from The Shed were testament enough to the vailidity of the claim. Danielle was swearing like a trooper. The frustration rose.

A youth in the seat in front disappeared off for a few minutes as the second-half began. Who is more worried about getting pies and coffees than watching Chelsea in the Champions League?

As he bit into a pie, I bit my lip.

I said to Danielle “in desperate times, come desperate measures” and opened up the wine gums. We needed all the good luck we could muster. After an initial flurry, we couldn’t raise our game to the necessary level. We just couldn’t do it. Ballack was woeful and was replaced by Joe Cole, but he flitted around like a butterfly on the periphery.

No sting.

What a shocking second-half. Our best player by a mile was Malouda, but the manager swutched him to left-back. I don’t understand that. The Inter goal – that fellow Eto’o slamming home from a ball from the impressive Sneider – came as no surprise. Eto’o put us out in 2006 and he did the same, at the same goal, in 2010.

The mood deepened and I sat silent, only rousing myself to sing a couple of defiant songs once Drogba had been sent-off. Many fans left before the end. This report is not dedicated to any of them.

At the whistle, a roar from the Interisti and a song

“Bye bye Carletto – bye bye Carletto.”

I was – what’s the word? – gutted, but I’m used to all this by now. Danielle collected a load of flags to take back to Orange County and I bade her a fond farewell and safe travels.

“You make sure you come back.”

I bumped into a stern Tommy Langley outside the megastore and he was lamenting the poor showing of our big name players. We both agreed that Malouda was the only one who appeared to be on song. Too many stars had gone missing. Outside the Kings Arms, a blockade of police on horseback were guarding several hundred Inter fans who had obviously watched the game on TV in the pub. A few shouts and scuffles. On the walk up the North End Road, I felt sick at the sight of many Chelsea fans smiling and laughing. Where is the hurt you fools? Where is the pain?

I met up with Steve Azar, Mike Neat, Bob Clark and Joe ( from San Antonio – his first ever game ) outside The Goose and we sloped over for a curry at a nearby Indian. Dutch Mick was already eating. A friendly smile from Mick – he’d seen it all before, too. There was a funereal air for the first twenty minutes, but Joe’s high spirits took our mind off the dire game we had sadly witnessed. We devoured our curries and eventually we spoke of the match. No positives. Not this time. We need to refresh the team in the summer. It then dawned on me that my Euro travels were over for another season, but with probably no US Tour either. Further groans. Joe is over for about a week and is soon off to Manchester. I ran through a few tourist options for him. However, when I told him that we would be playing at nearby Blackburn at 4pm on Sunday ( his flight leaves on Monday ), his eyes lit up. In one moment, despite the pain of Mourinho’s return, I had moved on and was making plans for Ewood.

Screw the JCLs and the cluless “fans” who so annoy me. Let’s get myself amongst the 3,000 loyalists.

Blackburn Away – Mow That Meadow.

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Tales From The First Premiership Game Of The Season

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Chelsea vs. Hull City : 15 August 2009.

Pre-Match One.

On Friday, six of us ( Rob, Glenn, Andy, Daryl, Alan and myself ) were having our usual weekly / daily email chat about all things Chelsea and touched on a variety of topics…concerns about the lack of width in Carlo’s preferred Diamond, the loans of Mancienne and Stoch, Chelsea subsidised away travel, the realisation that most of our new supporters are middle-class and quiet…and the feeling that Chelsea’s main push is growing the Global Brand ahead of getting the “next generation” of local youngsters to games. The six of us, with around 6,000 games between us, agreed on virtually every point made. Chalk it up – this rarely happens.

Pre-Match Two.

On the BBC evening news on Friday, there was a three minute news story about the Premiership’s appeal throughout the rest of the World. It emphasised that the EPL is the real global game. There was a section involving a stadium full of Korean Liverpool fans singing “You’ll Never Walk Alone” and then action from a few games from last season. Frank’s goal at Manchester City was featured ( and yes – there was Lovejoy in the crowd yet again…or ought that to be Chris De Burgh? ). The last section involved film of us in Baltimore – match action, close-ups of Frank and JT and – inevitably – a few seconds of the CIA section on the TV screen at the stadium…with Burger prominent, as always.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/footbal … 199528.stm

This was a nice pre curser to our opener against Phil Brown’s Hull City on Saturday lunchtime.

We set off from Frome at 8.30am and it was a blustery morning, with slight drizzle. Lots of chat about the Community Shield and the new season ahead. We made our predictions. I think that the Premiership splits into two and I think that the top half will consist of Chelsea, Manchester United, Liverpool, Manchester City, Tottenham, Arsenal, Aston Villa, Everton, Fulham and West Ham. I had Sunderland down as my dark horses – or dark cats – to break into the top half.

Before we knew it, Karen was parked up at 10.30am. I shot off down to the ground as I had to get a replacement season ticket – I don’t know how I had managed it, but I had already mislaid my original one. The replacement cost me £25 – drat. However, box office manager Eddie Barnett ( who gets a bad press, well justified ) thanked me for my honesty and gave me back the £25. Nice one. Just outside the Megastore, I saw Neil Barnett approach. I caught his eye and said “here we go again”, not really knowing if he would stop and chat or give me the time of day. His reaction was nice – he gave me a hug and we chatted very briefly about the tour, before his attention was taken up by Lorrie Fair…I can understand this. I would rather talk to Lorrie Fair than me.

The next lovely surprise was inside the match programme – a small photo from the game in Pasadena with nice close-ups of Danny, Jeremy, Mark and Rick. The programme is in much the same style as last year’s edition…in fact, all of the ones since 2003 are very similar in design. There was a nice piece by Ric Glanville about the Chelsea vs. Arsenal game in 1935 ( the 83,905 game ) with comments from a 91 year old fan who was present. I love stuff like that. I bought a copy of “CFCUK” and hot-footed it up to The Goose for 11.15am. I passed lots of Chelsea supporters wearing the new away kit and every time I had a mental picture of Cary. Have you taken it off yet, mate? I also noted the new Hull City shirt and it is pure retro from 1982. A shame – I thought their kit from last season was one of the most distinctive in the league.

I only had time for three pints in The Goose beer garden and it was much too rushed for my liking. It was all very manic. I showed a few of the lads my photos from America. There was a battle royale of 1930’s tennis players taking place – Daryl and Rob sporting Fred Perry polos with Lord Parky and Jocka sporting those of Rene Lacoste.

It was deuce.

I bumped into Carrie from Manhattan, having last seen her in Baltimore. She had just flown in from Dublin and was talking with an Irish brogue which I found amusing. After the game, she was off to see U2 at Wembley. We had a nice chat and I reintroduced her to a few of The Bing. Glenn got “one last pint” in just as the pub began to drift off to the game. We were up against it. I bolted the beer down and left at 12.20pm.

We reached the entrance by the North-West corner at 12.35pm, but there was yet another new scanning device being used. Everyone tried blaming the delay on that, but we all knew that “one last pint” was to really blame. At 12.46pm, we heard an “ooooh” from inside the ground and this was unnerving.

“Don’t score yet – I’m still outside.” This, of course, was the miss from the boot of Didier Drogba.

Anyway, I got inside at 12.52pm and settled as quickly as I could…I had a game update from Alan, clocked the line-up ( no complaints ), texted a few people, took a few snaps and sat back to enjoy the league opener. I noted a couple of new flags draped over The Shed balcony ( Chelsea Teeside and Chelsea Bristol And Bath ). I really should have taken up “Vinci Per Noi” to welcome Carlo Ancelotti to SW6, but clean forgot. There seemed to be no structural or cosmetic changes to the stadium over the summer. It seemed as if I hadn’t been away to be honest. We created a few half-chances in the first period. I got back from a quick visit to the loos to see Stephen Hunt ( of all people ) knock in a goal for the visitors. The amber away section went mad and taunted Ancelotti with a chant about “getting sacked in the morning.” How we laughed.

Not long after, we were awarded a free-kick about 25 yards out and I went for a wide-angle option as Drogba shaped to take the kick. He struck the ball and, a moment after, I snapped. The ball dipped and ended up in the goal and I was pleased I had captured League Goal Number One on film. Shame I chose the wide-angle, though. I thought we had struggled a bit in the first-half to be honest, but was impressed with Drogba. I made the point to Alan that I wished that ( at least at the very start of the season ), Drogba and Anelka would play closer together…if anything, just to get to know each other…there were very little “diagonal” / off the ball / crossover moves between the two. We need that relationship to develop and I don’t think it can if they are continually twenty yards apart.

Definitely room for improvement in the second-half.

I looked around as the second-half began and realised that the place had been pretty quiet. These 12.45pm starts are always the same. A few more pints would have loosened us up more. “The Shed Singing Section” clearly weren’t. I noted swaths of replica shirts in the lower tiers of both side stands, plus all of The Shed. Conversely, not so many in the Matthew Harding Upper. In my own “Sleepy Hollow” section by Gate 9, I counted just two replica shirts in the thirty closest spectators. It has always been the same. However, perhaps inspired by me in Baltimore, I did note two other replica shirts ( originals, not copies ) from 1983. Nice work.

What with Hull’s amber shirts and Phil Brown’s permatan, I did wonder if Ray Wilkins might have thought he was in the middle of another Tango advert.

The game continued and Drogba looked the liveliest Chelsea player by a mile. We had lots of possession, but were playing into Hull’s hands. We had no width in the final third and our fears about The Diamond were being realised. I thought back on the two other periods when we have played this system…1976-1977 with Ray Lewington holding, Butch at the apex, but genuine width with Ian Britton and Garry Stanley…1993-1994 with Steady Eddie at the rear, Gavin Peacock in the hole and Craig Burley and Dennis Wise out wide…not so effective. At this early stage, it seems that the defence and attack is sorted…we just need to pick the correct four in the middle.

A real conundrum for our new man.

I was getting frustrated with our lack of incision into the Hull defence, but also with the lack-lustre support. We seemed to have around four or five headers which went over during the game. With six minutes of extra time signalled, I noted a few Chelsea fans leaving and I shook my head.

On 92 minutes, Drogba crossed into space and we could not believe it when the net bulged. Oh you beauty.

Mad celebration and I looked over to Alan. We broke the protocol and both said, in perfect unity, with beaming smiles –

“They’ll Have To Come At Us Now – Come On My Little Diamonds.” It was a perfect moment. We hooted with laughter.

I thought back to our game against Hull last November. On that occasion, Frank’s delightful chip was intentional. In this game against Hull, Drogba’s chip clearly wasn’t. At long last, the Chelsea support got it going and the noise echoed around the MHU. It was a long time coming, but it felt great.

Sunderland – minus me – next!

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Tales From The Duke Of York

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Chelsea vs. Manchester United : 9 August 2009.

Yet another lovely day out in London and – start counting – our second piece of silverware of the season.

Now, I don’t remember being too excited about the most recent Community Shield games in 2005, 2006 and 2007 – not sure why. However, I was chomping at the bit this time around. I couldn’t wait to see what team Carlo would decide to put out. Of course, I was also keen to see if we were a match for United, now that a certain playboy was no longer in their ranks.

The Frome Fun Boy Five were down to just two for the trip to London – Big Dave and myself – plus Lord Parky from Trowbridge. We set off at just after 8.15am, the sun shining, the chat constant with football banter and the occasional update on how we have all been coping over the close-season. Our route takes us up and over Salisbury Plain, past Stonehenge and onto the A303, the M3 and eventually the A316 into South west London. It’s a route well-travelled. We were parked up at Chelsea at 10.15am and we caught the tube from West Brompton to Marble Arch. I noted that the Imperial Arms opposite the Lillie Langtry was serving beer and brekkies at 10.30am – we may start off there next week against Hull.

The meet was arranged for The Tyburn at 11am. We arrived bang on time, but a few others were already there. Handshakes with Daryl, Ed, Alan and Rob – soon to be augmented by Gary. Daryl, Ed and Rob are from Essex, Alan and Gary from Sarf London. What better a way to begin the domestic season than with a £4.49 breakfast blowout?

Bacon, sausages, eggs, baked beans, tomato, hash browns, toast and butter and HP sauce. Thank you very much nurse – I feel a lot better.

We then sped on to The Duke Of York on Harrowby Street. We were last all together at this old-fashioned pub after May’s Cup Final and we love it. It didn’t seem real that we were last there ten weeks ago…how the time flies. We spent two hours there, sat outside in the sun. They have a nice range of draught ales and I got stuck into five pints of Staropramen at £3.50 a pop. A few others arrived – Andy, Ronnie, Fiona and their Torino supporting mate Roberto. With me being a Juve fan, I said to him, with a smile

“Well, it’s good to meet you but you know we’ll never be friends.”

I chatted a bit about the trip to America, Gary moaned about the England cricket team, Parky told us how he contracted swine flu, Daryl chatted to me about the Yankees, Rob spoke about his holiday in Spain ( accumulating brownie points with his other half ahead of European travels this season ) and Alan made us laugh with his impersonations.

The usual stuff – lots of micky-taking.

Lacoste Watch

Porky – Lime green
Daryl – Navy
Rob – Mid Brown
Ed – Dark Brown

The only concession to the world of adidas and Samsung amongst about twenty of us were Daryl’s shorts and one of Ronnie’s Rangers mates’ shirt. I was wearing a pale green Henri Lloyd polo shirt and Parky and myself looked like two peas in a pod. We saw no United fans walk by. Good.

We caught a train from Marylebone up to Wembley Stadium and who should be in the same compartment but Cathy and Dog. The train was full of Chelsea and we joined in a few songs, setting the tone nicely. There was a lot more venom than in America and I was back in the groove. As we reached the top of the steps to exit the station, former Formula One team owner Eddie Jordan was standing by. I shook his hand – as did many more – and I wondered why he wasn’t already inside the corporate areas. Anyway, despite his Irish leanings, he’s Chelsea. We got inside the stadium with about ten minutes to spare I guess – a slight improvement than the FA Cup Final.

Most people I have spoken to have mixed opinions about new Wembley. I’ll make a couple of points. Once inside, the concourses are roomy, but there are no photos, signs, displays or hints as to where you actually are. As a comparison, in new Yankee Stadium, there are untold images of former players and games, banners and features built into the bricks and mortar. Wembley is just an expensive shell. Why can’t there be displays from England’s famous games, photos of Cup Finals, themed food courts and themed bars? There might be in the corporate areas, but for the common fan, it’s all very stark and joyless. We couldn’t buy any programmes before the game and were told to call back at half-time. We did so – but there were none available. We were told there would be some outside at the end of the game. There weren’t. Pathetic. There were massive lines for the toilets at half time.

Our seats were high up in row 35 on the north upper tier – the same side as the royal box. Another moan – I wish the FA had chosen a more neutral colour for the seats. Red is just too noisy. A cool cream or light green, maybe a light grey would have been a lot more subtle.

The teams walked onto the pitch and stood in the centre while the 85,000 spent a minute acknowledging the life and career of the late Sir Bobby Robson. He will be missed, that is for sure.

Our team contained few surprises and we began well. My first ten minutes was spent taking photographs, texting a few people, looking out at the stadium to see how the support was looking and sorting out the formations. It’s always the same – I need ten minutes to settle. Unfortunately, it was possibly our brightest spell of the entire game and I missed chunks of it. The beer was leaving me light-headed too.

Concentrate – concentrate!

Rob made a comment about closing Nani down as “he always cuts in and shoots.” Lo and behold – he did, and put United 1-0 up. This was not on the cards and United, with Rooney buzzing around relentlessly, gained control.

Anelka seemed to be unwilling to close players down. We seemed to be off the pace. At half-time, some fool was muttering about Ancelotti being “Scolari in disguise.” Good work mate – you have formed an opinion after only 45 minutes. Sometimes the views of fellow fans leave me so puzzled.

We equalised with a cool finish from Riccy, rather against the run of play. I noted less fans getting “up” in the corporate level for our goal than United’s. So be it. However, there were noticeably more empty seats amongst United’s “half” than our “half” and that was a nice sign. I remember the shame of Cardiff 2006 when only around 20,000 Chelsea showed up in Cardiff against Liverpool.

Generally speaking, the support was rather subdued all game. Not just us, but United too. Blame it on the warm weather.

After our equaliser, we bossed the rest of the second half, I thought. Another cool finish from Super Frank, albeit with Evra lying on the floor after that challenge from Herr Ballack. I thought Ballack and Deco played OK to be fair, stroking the ball around nicely. It was a bit of a choker to see Rooney equalise so late on. He had been United’s best player by far. I still don’t know what people see in the languid ( ie – lazy ) play of Dimitar Berbatov ( or Ray Reardon, as Gary called him…)

I captured most of the penalties on film – and was chuffed that I clicked just at the time Petr Cech grasped United’s first penalty.

We won 4-1 on penalties and we were loving it. It doesn’t make up for Moscow – a hundred Community Shield wins wouldn’t – but it was still good to see.

We are now 2-2 against Manchester United in the Shield…losses in 1997 and 2007, wins in 2000 and 2009.

Straight back to The Duke Of York for two more pints. Good times. It actually felt like an end-of-season game, but I think this was more to do with the location as it reminded us all of our post-FA Cup Final celebrations in May. On the tube, we spotted a bearded passenger who bore an uncanny resemblance to New Order base player Peter Hook. We serenaded him, while humming the riff to “Blue Monday.”

More like a Blue Sunday.

We got back to West Brompton at 8pm and I was starving. Only one thing for it – a large doner kebab.

I have been on a diet since the end of last season.

Now, after one game into the new season ( a fry up, seven beers and a kebab ), I fear for my health!

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