Tag Archives: Casuals

Tales From A Quiet Stamford Bridge

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Chelsea vs. Wigan Athletic : 28 February 2009.

Thank heavens for our blue brothers, John Terry and Frank Lampard.

Glenn drove up to HQ for a change. Plenty of Chelsea-related chat with Glenn, Dave, PD and Terry from Radstock, whose normal lift was unavailable. I’ve known Tel for about twenty years and last saw him at passport control at Gatwick on the way to Moscow.

We were soon parked up on an overcast morning and were banging on the side door of The Goose at 11am. Bob from California joined us for the first pint of the day, plus an all day breakfast which went down well. I had to rush down to HQ, though, so I excused myself. I got to the area outside the hotel at 11.45am and met a few people…Chopper from New York ( with his daughter’s bloke Shawn ), Rory from Fort Lauderdale ( with three Londoners ) and Jeff from Orlando ( with his brother in law ). I pointed out that Peter Bonetti was in close proximity and so they all rushed over to get photographs and autographs. We had just missed Ron Harris, though. I picked up my Juve away ticket and bumped into Hoss, who was still reeling from the excitement of Wednesday’s game. I stopped to chat to Mark and Dave at the CFCUK stall and Dave wanted me to do an abridged version of my personal journey into Italian football so he could print it in the next fanzine. Cutting 3,500 words down to 1,000 will be a challenge.

Chopper, Shawn, Jeff ( flrr100 ), Mick and myself had quick pint in The Wellington, presuming Cathy would soon show up. However, Cathy was running late and would meet Chopper elsewhere. This was my first ever visit to The Wellington and it seemed fine. We are so well blessed for pubs and bars around Stamford Bridge, you know. Walking down the North End Road and up the Fulham Road alone, you could have a nice pub crawl from the Seven Stars, The Elm, The Oak, The Goose, The Arbiter, The Cock & Hen, The George, Belushi’s, Havana’s, The Malsters, Brogan’s, Bar 6, The Slug and The So Bar. There must be just as many in the King’s Road. We’re lucky – you go to places like Leeds and there are just a couple of pubs near the ground. I had a nice chat and it was good to meet Jeff for the first time – this was his first game at The Bridge in about fifteen years.

I excused myself and headed on back to The Goose for three more lagers. It was another busy one and there was the usual assortment of friends in our corner. I had left Bob my recently-completed photo album of the 2007-2008 season – it’s bloomin’ heavy and full of around 200 Chelsea photographs. I have been doing these for each season since about 1984-85, apart from the 1990 to 1993 period when I didn’t take my camera to every game. I think I would come out in a cold sweat should I forget my camera these days, though I do have a camera phone should that happen. I popped out into the crowded beer garden to have a few words with Dutch Mick. He told me that the Turkish airlines plane crash at Schipol on Wednesday had caused massive flight delays and so he decided to drive from his home in The Netherlands, through Belgium, to Calais and over on a ferry, not arriving to Chelsea until 6.30pm. A fine effort!

I was chatting with Bob and my mate Rob from Essex. For those of you who have not realised yet, we’re all into the gear at football even after all these years. Both Rob and myself were sporting Lacoste polos…for Bob, these past twelve months have been a personal voyage of discovery – and he was wearing a nice newly-acquired olive green CP shirt. Just don’t tell his wife how much it cost. Rob pointed out that there was a flier doing the rounds which was advertising a ( wait for it ) Chelsea versus Millwall golf day to be hosted by Ron Harris and Terry Hurlock. The mind boggles – forty Chelsea and Millwall loons playing golf…let’s hope that the clubs are only used for their intended purposes!

As usual, 2.30pm came around way too fast and it was time to make a move. I walked down past the street market on the North End Road with Bob and we said our “goodbyes” by the West Stand. I’ll see him in Seattle, hopefully, though neither of us has ruled out the chance of seeing each other in Rome in May. That’s beyond our control, though. Our destiny in the hands of others.

As predicted, Wigan’s away following was pitiful – about 300 maybe. They’re still intrinsically a small club. However, never mind that, they gave us a hell of a run-around in the first thirty minutes. We couldn’t seem to get in and amongst them. We were lucky not to be losing in fact. And I was lucky I saw our goal. I had presumed that Frank’s over-hit free-kick was off out for a goal-kick and so I made my way to the gents…I looked up and saw the ball was still “live” so stopped by Gate 10. The resultant corner was knocked out and JT marvellously scissor-kicked the ball back into the middle of the Wigan goal. The finish was a little similar to Poyet’s goal in 1999.

From then until Kapo scored a deserved equaliser for Wigan, we seemed to drift along with no real desire to increase our lead. Is our fitness really that bad? Very worrying. We all enjoyed the mad dribble down below us from The Captain. But, really, a lot of poor performances throughout. Yet another bloody hopeless show from Michael Ballack, always playing the easy ball, never dominating. When he broke though late on with a quick burst down the left wing, I thought it was Lampard and was totally gobsmacked to see the number 13 on his back.

We upped it in the last ten and although we should be grateful that we found that extra spirit to dig deep, isn’t that really frustrating? We should have killed the game off earlier. Steve Bruce was moaning about an alleged push on Mario, but Frank’s leap looked fine to me. The ball looped in and we went ballistic, but I soon settled my nerves to take about five shots of the boys celebrating down below us, fifteen yards away. With both Liverpool and Arsenal dropping points, we are looking good for a second place now. Wigan must hate us – they have given us nine tough games since they came up in 2005.

The atmosphere was generally quiet, but the MHL and MHU was stirred to life in the second-half when the PA asked the fans in the MHL to sit down…there was a barrage of booing and “stand up if you love Chelsea” and the place was bubbling along nicely for about five minutes. We ought to get the same bloke to do this every game! It goes without saying that the Liverpool result was met with roars too.

On the drive out of London, I texted a couple of Liverpool “fans “ ( ten games between the two of them ) and then fell asleep, as Glenn battled the traffic.

Not a great game at all, but another three points nonetheless.

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Tales From The Borough

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Fulham vs. Chelsea : 28 December 2008.

There are three professional football clubs in the Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham.

Chelsea, Fulham and Queens Park Rangers all lie within about three miles of each other – the three grounds must be the closest three in all of the UK. I have an inherent dislike of QPR and I know this stems from the brief period of my youth when – despite small gates – QPR were able to Lord it over us on the pitch. That really hurt.

Fulham are a bit different. I, like most Chelsea fans I know, have a genuine soft-spot for them…but that winds the Fulham fans up even more.

You see – they don’t like us. They don’t like us one little bit.

The last time Fulham finished above us was in 1982-83 when they narrowly missed out on promotion to the top division. This is how bad it was – QPR were already in Division One and Chelsea were trying to fight off relegation to Division Three. Yes, dear reader, in Spring 1983, Chelsea Football Club was bottom, by some distance, in The Hammersmith & Fulham League Table. But more about 1983 later.

Craven Cottage, down by The Thames, is one of my favourite away games.

I set off alone – in the end,Cookie was making his on way up with some more friends from Shepton Mallet – at 8.45am and for the first hour it was yet another crisp, clear and sunny winter morning. As I approached Stonehenge, the roads were icy and I needed to slow my speed. I received a call from my mate in Turin, Tullio, checking about accommodation for the Juventus trip – I’m really hoping that both he and Mario ( now residing in Germany ) can get tickets for that one.

Stopped at Fleet for a McBreakfast and had a chat with some Yeovil fans en route to Millwall. Yeovil are Somerset’s only league team and I look out for their results. The weather got a bit greyer as I approached London. Cookie was already parked-up and I gave him directions of how to get to our “meet”, the Duke’s Head in Putney. As I veered off the usual approach to Chelsea, heading south of the river, in through Mortlake, Barnes and Putney, I couldn’t help but notice the huge amount of Young’s pubs. A real London brewery. I parked up at 11am and headed for the pub, wondering if I would be the first one in.

No chance – Alan, Daryl, Ed and Neil were already at a long table in the corner, pints in front of them. Daryl was supping on a Young’s Light Ale. Gary soon joined us. Ed, the youngster – Daryl’s 17 year old son – had been on the ale the previous night and was nursing a hangover…bottled water for him. I bought a pint of Nastro Azzurro and was knocked out by the price – £4.05. Welcome to Putney!

The pub filled up quickly – a mixture of Fulham and Chelsea. My mate Andy from Nuneaton joined us for a beer. He rarely misses a game. Eliot from the New York Blues popped in – he was over visiting relatives for the Xmas period and it was good to see him. I last saw him out in LA, where he masterminded the fans’ football competition. No sign of Cookie!

We set off on the twenty minute walk to The Cottage – up and over Putney Bridge, the icy wind blowing off The Thames. My new Victorinox coat was passing its first real test with flying colours. I know that a few CIAers have visited Craven Cottage and it’s a very nice ground…I can’t really call it a stadium as such. It’s homey rather than grand. I am told that the Johnny Haynes Stand – the old one on Stevenage Road – has exactly the same dimensions as the old East Stand at Chelsea – both Leitch stands.

Back in 1983-84, one of Chelsea’s defining moments took place at Fulham, where about 25,000 saw us win 5-3 in the October. Alas – I didn’t go, but my mate Glenn did. Oh – and Daryl, Andy, Alan, Gary and Neil. I was gutted I missed it…”how dare you score five without me being there!”

My fifth trip to HQ in 1983 was for the Portsmouth game on December 27th…I travelled up with my parents…they had seats in the East Lower, but I had decided to get in amongst The Benches, for the first time in fact since my first ever game in 1974. Up until that point, all of my games that season had been in The Shed, but both Glenn ( who was staying in London with his grandparents ) and myself fancied a change. Portsmouth, newly-promoted, brought a good following to The Bridge and we were both looking forward to some banter with the away fans on that huge slug of terrace to our left.

And – it would give us a chance to get in amongst the trendies.

Yep – December 1983 against Pompey was when I was brought up to speed with the football fashions of the time. Both Glenn and myself had entered the season completely oblivious to the movement which had, unbeknown to us, been developing in the main football cities since 1977. Now, many books have been written and many magazine articles devoted to this vibrant sub-culture…”the thing with no name” one Manc calls it…but I can only describe it from my perspective.

Most youth trends are music based. God knows, Britain in 1983, had many – there had been the Mod revival of 1979, skinheads, suedeheads and two-tone / ska boys and girls were in abundance, the punks were still around, the Goths were about, the soul boys ( definitely a London phenomenon ) too…then we had the lighter end of it all – the new romantics, the Duranies, the girls who dressed like make-up was going out of fashion…and hip hop was making inroads too.

But – as Glenn and myself were to find out over the remaining months of that most seminal of footy seasons, here was a movement which was solely based around what young people wore to football. It was a tantalisingly “underground” movement – that’s what made it so amazing to us. None of my friends back in Frome would be clued up about it for years and years – some still aren’t. Not only was Chelsea playing some great football, but I was going to more games and now this.

“What – a totally new way of dressing up, based on football? YES PLEASE! Where do I sign up?”

There’s no point trying to reinvent history – up until December 1983, I really had no clue. However – looking back – I guess by some kind of fashion fluke, I could have been mistaken for a football trendy. I have a photo of myself, taken on holiday in the summer of 1981 in Italy with Tullio and Mario, polo shirt, cords and a pair of Dunlop green flash. If I squint and avoid the glaring mistakes, I guess I could be mistaken for a football trendy. But I’d really have to squint hard. The horrible bog standard English schoolboy haircut gave it away. If I had been in the know, I would have realised that The Wedge was the way forward. There are people in their forties who coolly claim that the whole movement, the whole football thing, began with The Wedge in Liverpool in 1977. Who am I to argue? However, during the summer of 1983, I had helped myself to a great new haircut…before it the standard fringe and hair over the ears…we all had this haircut. Horrible it was. But, I decided to change all that..get a side-parting and sort myself out. Without really knowing it, my transformation from clueless fan to wedged-up trendy was beginning.

So – The Benches 1983 – a crisp sunny winter morning, my first Chelsea Xmas game and Glenn and myself clocking all of the hitherto unnoticed fashions of the time.

Why were those lads only wearing light blue jeans, many with side splits? Look at all those pastel-coloured jumpers! Look – they’re either Pringles ( small lion rampant, how Chelsea! ) or Lyle and Scotts ( yellow eagle )…why are all the trainers either Nikes or – what are they? What make are THEY? Diadoras? Dunno. Never seen them before.

Then the hairstyles…those side-partings, those huge flopping fringes, the famous flick… lads with hands in pockets, posing, walking up and down the Benches like a catwalk…what is that badge…a crocodile? And another! What is that?

John McEnroe’s Sergio Tacchini and Bjorn Borg’s Fila. Desert boots. Scarfs. Ski-jackets. Bright colours. Swagger.

Glenn and myself were hooked. Funny – at the time, it really was the cult with no name. Glenn called them “trendies”, quite correctly as it happens…but the cult was never really sure of itself…I would learn later – after much research! – that “the football trendies” were known as “casuals”, “scallies”, “perries”, “dressers” and “trendies.”

And here’s the thing – it was all about the football, the terraces, the away games, the specials, the buzz, the noise, the colour, the lifestyle.

Chelsea versus Pompey at Xmas 1983 opened my eyes. The game ended 2-2 and was notable for two things…Kerry Dixon missing two penalties and a lone Pompey fan, high on the terrace, hanging on to a fence, gesturing to us down below…dressed in pink.

The Benches were roaring…”who’s the poser in the pink?”

But deep down – we all knew.

Fast forward twenty five glorious years and the assembled ranks of Chelsea Football Club, all 4,000 of us, were making a racket in the Putney End. Alan, Gary and myself had seats high up in the middle, sat alongside John Terry’s Barmy Army, with Big John bashing the wire mesh every few minutes to our left. Fulham – bless them – had given out several thousand cardboard concertina’d noise-makers. The Fulham fans vigorously used these, but the resultant “noise” was pitiful.

Sod that – we’re Chelsea and we’ll make our own noise.

The game was so frustrating. We had a lot of the ball in the first half, but fell to a poor bit of marking to go 1-0 down. The fans weren’t happy. Thought Joe Cole was poor, but Mikel was doing OK. He has been my player of the year – I think – so far. We had a few chances, but it wasn’t convincing at all. Gary was having a go at Joey – a bit unfair I think. I noticed that “Familiar Fan Name Unknown” was glaring at Gary in these moments.

We played a lot lot better in the second-half. Very encouraging – I couldn’t doubt the team’s spirit. A quick move, a blunder from the ‘keeper Schwarzer and Frank is there to knock it in. Get in, you beauty…I took a few shots of the resultant aftermath, fans’ arms flailing, Frank running to the corner flag. “Familiar Fan Name Unknown” was yelling at Gary “JOEY COLE, JOEY COLE, JOEY COLE!” with a look of aggression…Joe had certainly upped his performance in the second and was having a blinder. Bizarrely, Joe was then subbed and this was met with boos from us. I took a few more snaps, but then – with typical bad luck – put the camera away just before Frank lined up a free-kick. I was right behind the flight of the ball and Schwarzer really should have done better. Yet more wild celebrations. It reminded me of his free-kick at Fulham in 2004 – virtually the same place too. Surely we would score more. Drogba was leading the line well and the Chelsea fans were rewarding him with his song. I – notably – was clapping along, but not singing his name. I remember Moscow.

We had heard of Liverpool’s win – we needed these points.

Dempsey’s goal at the death knocked all of the stuffing out of me. Silence in our section. Disbelief.

But then one last, agonising, chance for Frank at the end, but a double block. A mighty groan.

A damned fine game of football – but not good enough.

“Happy New Year – see you on Saturday.”

I walked briskly back to the car, over the Thames, the floodlights lighting up the winter sky. The Fulham fans were bubbly, the Chelsea fans were downbeat.

At 3.30pm, we were singing “There’s only one team in Fulham” and at the final whistle, it was their turn.

Pah.

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Tales From The Halfway Point

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Chelsea vs. West Bromwich Albion : 26 December 2008.

So, nineteen games down, nineteen to go.

There is always something really lovely about a Boxing Day game at Chelsea. There’s just something in the air.

The Frome Five set off at 8.30am…a crisp, sunny, winter day…blue skies overhead, no clouds to be seen. Just perfect. Mixed fortunes on the employment front – work still scarce for Big Dave, but PD now has a new job to go to in January. We updated each other with Christmas Day tales on the drive up. Unfortunately, Glenn’s daughter Amelia has chicken pox. I had a quiet Christmas day really.

Karen made great time and we parked-up at 10.20am…actually, there were four cars from Frome on this occasion…a good turnout! Twelve of us all told. We weren’t prepared for the biting wind that met us as we got out of the cars…The Goose wasn’t open until midday and so we decamped to the Lillie Langtry…we defrosted ourselves and waited for the troops to arrive. Daryl and Ed were joined by Daryl’s Mum, his brother Neil and his fiancee Joy…Alan arrived…we were all together, drinking, happy.

Arranged to drive up with Cookie ( a lad I have known since school days in Frome – a good footballer in his time ) for the Fulham away game.

Glenn, PD and myself were the last to leave the pub. As we approached the area behind the Matthew Harding – not our usual approach at all – eveything was still…everything was quiet. I had to pinch myself to remember we were in the heart of London. Bought the latest CFCUK and the programme.

Without wishing to be disrespectful or sacreligious, I texted a few CIAers with the message “Jesus was born on Christmas Day so Chelsea can play on Boxing Day.”

It was bitterly cold, but with brilliant sunshine. I noticed a few empty seats around me – Boxing Day can be a difficult game for many fans to get to, with very limited public transport on offer. Noticed many empty seats in the away section.

We got off to a great start – a lovely deep cross from Joe and a big strong header from Drogba. We were buzzing in that first period and surely more goals would come. After a few half-chances, though, our play reverted to type and it seemed no more goals would follow until the second period. West Brom were offering nowt up front. With virtually the last move of the half, Frank walked the ball in and we were happy again.

My – it was freezing. I noticed an article about Mickey Thomas in the programme ( he has a column in CFCUK, too ) with a photo from 1983-84.

Ah yes – Twenty Five Years ago…let’s have a recap. By the middle of December, I had been to four Chelsea games…wins versus Derby County, Cardiff City and Newcastle United, plus a horrible defeat to Manchester City. On Boxing Day 1983, if memory serves, we won at Shrewsbury…a game, of course, I didn’t go to. I was on the dole and was limiting myself to a game each month. My Xmas game would be on December 27th against Portsmouth. That’s right – two games in successive days. I’ll go to town about that encounter later.

However, it was at around this time that I was getting clued-up about the sub-culture existing in football at the time…my mate Glenn had mentioned to me that he was talking to some Chelsea fans who spoke to him about all of the expensive gear that the cockneys were wearing. This was news to us…we were oblivious to all this, living in a small Somerset town, miles – and some might say – years away from London. I remember an article which must have appeared in The Mail On Sunday magazine ( which I still have – I must hook it out one day this season ) around December 1983 in which the reporter went into a great degree of depth about football fans from the main cities eschewing the stereotypical jeans / Dr Martins / skinhead look of the days of old in favour of a wide range of labels and styles.

I remember one photo, taken on an Inter-City train, of four spotty Scousers wearing Lacoste, Lyle & Scott, Benetton, Sergio Tacchini and Fila.

A whole new world was about to open up for me.

It would begin – for real, in full colour – at the Pompey home game.

Twenty five years on, I still adhere to the lessons learnt in December 1983. For the Chelsea versus West Brom game at Xmas 2008, I was wearing Nike trainers, Boss jeans, a Lacoste top, a Schott jacket and an Enrico Coveri scarf.

If it matters (…and it so obviously does. )

The second-half flew past, with a succession of chances being missed. I tried to keep warm, but failed miserably. Only our fourth home league win of the season…more to follow?

The Shed, previously quiet, got lively towards the end, with a little battle between The Middle and the West Side…you probably heard this on TV.

Sleep on the way home – back to Frome at 5.30pm.

The troops will be reassembling at The Duke’s Head in Putney for the sojourn to Fulham…the story of 2008, plus 1983, to be continued.

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Tales From Italy

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Roma vs. Chelsea : 4 November 2008.

Part One.

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

Part Two.

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

Part Three.

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

“Arrivederci Roma.”

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Tales From The Fulham Road

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Chelsea vs. Liverpool : 26 October 2008.

So, the match report I was hoping I would never have to write.

But let’s not be too down-hearted. Think back on those 86 games and I think I can remember a few where we were a little lucky to escape with this beautiful record intact. How about being 0-2 down against Villa last year – or United just a few games ago? I personally think that this record will stand forever. It will go down in the record books as one of the great records, akin to DiMaggio’s 56 games hitting streak.

So, let’s take a moment to look back in wonder on this record – and a grateful word of appreciation to every Chelsea player involved.

Thank you.

The gang of five left Frome at 9am and, via a coffee stop on the A303, we were in the café for 11am. A horrible rainy old day in deepest London. The news about Harry Redknapp jumping ship and joining Spurs was the main topic of conversation. I was amazed, but – after a few moments – it makes sense. How far further could he take Pompey? I like Redknapp to be honest, but this will have to be put on hold while he is at Tottenham for a year or two.

We trudged the few yards to The Goose. Only time for three pints this time – another reason why I yean for 3pm kick-offs. One of these days, maybe when the match report is of a particularly poor game, I will go into some length about my closest CFC mates, about how we all met up.

Let’s have a roll-call though.

Frank, Andy and Mark were already in The Goose. The Frome Five ( Dave and Karen, Glenn, Paul and myself ) arrived, soon to be joined by Daryl, Simon and Milo, Rob, Walnuts and Gary. Plus there are a few Goose regulars we know, but not really in our crew…Dutch Mick and his mates Nish and Gary, Zigger Zagger Martin and his lot, Alan and Bob from Eastleigh, plus a few we “nod” to, but don’t really hang out with. A simple “alright mate” is enough in some cases. It’s a good crowd. Many a happy hour has been spent within those four walls. It has been our regular at Chelsea since we moved out of The Harwood in about 1999. And it’s cheap. A round of four pints cost me just over £9.

On Friday afternoon at work, Daryl, Alan, Andy ( oh – one of the Nuneaton lot, some six or seven strong, but they frequent another pub ) and myself were having a great email session at work. Like me, Daryl appreciates the significance of the 1983-84 “Silver Jubillee”. He, too, has a great memory for Chelsea facts and figures. However, on this occasion music and not football was the topic as we discussed the music that was in the charts 25 years ago. I correctly guessed that “Karma Chameleon” was at number one, but then the email thread hopped about all over the place. Some fifty emails later, we departed for our respective homes, but our memories of that 1983-84 season had been refreshed by the kaleidoscope of musical memories from 1983.

Music and football – the twin staples that got us British males through our teenage years.

Anyway, this discussion was continued in the boozer, along with a colourful discussion on the terrace fashions of that time, inaugurated by the presence of Glenn’s new pink Robe Di Kappa polo-shirt.

Damn, the time flew past and it was time to get ourselves to the game. Sometimes you just wish these pre-match chats could go on forever.

The rain had continued unfortunately. Into the ground and we wondered what fates lay ahead.

I guess you all saw the game. I think that Liverpool, as the away team, deserved the win. Too much of our approach play was laboured, but Liverpool did not make it easy for us with a packed midfield. Again, I thought John Obi Mikel played very well – our best player. But too many players underperformed – Deco, Malouda and Kalou especially.

Gerrard bossed the midfield as much as it hurts me to admit it.

I met up with Pete from San Francisco again at half-time…his season ticket seats are in the back row of the MHU in the next section over. We were a bit disgruntled to say the least. He has promised me that he will get involved with the CIA site and will try to get his little gang of West Coast Ex-Pats involved too. They were at all of the California games last summer. He comes over a few times each season and will be back again for the West Ham home game before Christmas.

We had a lot of possession over the course of the whole game, but how many times did we really threaten? Liverpool’s shots on goal seemed to be nearer the mark.

Our support was very poor.

Hardly heard The Shed Singing Section. And I swear that the 12,000 in the West Stand never sang once. Pitiful. We clearly dislike Liverpool, but I – for one – won’t join in with the “Murderers” or “You Killed Your Own Fans” chants which get louder and louder every time we play them. Whoever was responsible for Hillsborough ( and the Liverpool fans do not come out blameless ), I feel it dishonours the dead and does nothing for us as football supporters. Just my opinion. Please respect it.

So, the game drifted away from us. The Scousers were singing. We were silent.

The final whistle and – for the first time since February 2004, a home league defeat. I wonder how my mate Russ feels ( he is on holiday in NYC and Vegas this week and rarely misses ANY home games ). He will be thinking it’s all down to him.

I spotted Daryl queueing up for a burger along the Fulham Road.

“See you at Hull.”

“Yes, mate.”

I texted a few people – got my “congratulations” in first to a couple of Liverpool fans. Glenn and me were very philosophical about the defeat. Let’s not be too downhearted. I texted Teri in LA with a comment about Rudyard Kipling’s wonderful poem “If “ and I love the lines about “treating the two imposters the same!”

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son!

Back to Frome at 6pm, just in time for five-a-side. As fate had it, three Liverpool fans were on the opposing team and I did my best to “out-skill” them.

I did OK.

Hull on Wednesday will be a corker.

Let’s move on.

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Tales From Raintown

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Manchester City vs. Chelsea : 13 September 2008.

I picked up my good friend Glenn at 10am. I was a bit surprised he was wearing a lovely sky blue Napapirji sweatshirt – maybe he was hedging his bets for later in the day.

On the way to his house, I drove past the Frome Town ground…for over a century it was known as Badgers Hill. This season, a sign of the times if ever there was, it has been renamed after a local firm. Yes, Frome’s ground is now known as the Alder Smith Stadium. Corporate-naming rights hits the Screwfix League. Ridiculous. However, my mate Steve, who follows Frome home and away, tells the story that the stadium is now known by his cohorts as the “ASS” and it is now common practice for Steve to ask of his fellow fans “are you taking the wife up the ASS next week?”

Glenn has recently chosen a new career path – working for the same care company as Judy actually – and we talked about this for the first hour as we drove through a few towns on the way up to the motorway. It will probably mean he will miss more games, but there aren’t as many jobs around these days. He’s looking forward to the change anyway.

Glenn has been going to Chelsea with me since 1983. We looked back on those days. In my year of 200 fellow pupils at school, I was the only Chelsea fan. He knew of two more Chelsea fans but we were a bit of a rare breed in those days. We talked about other games involving Manchester City. I will often speak of the 1983-1984 season in these reports as that great season is a full quarter of a century away now and we talked of the home game against City in December of that year. We pummelled their goal, but lost 1-0 to a Jim Tolmie free-kick. What I remember more than anything from that game is looking down at the City bench from high up in The Shed and seeing comedian and die-hard City fan Eddie Large sat on the City bench! I can just imagine Bates telling him to get lost when he asked for a complimentary seat in the East Stand.

I lent Glenn last season’s “Blue Pride” DVD, plus the “Blue Revolution” one…should keep him occupied. I also lent him Phil Thornton’s “Casuals” – a thorough book which sums up the rise and spread of casualdom over the years. Looking back to that 1983 season, both Glenn and myself, living in Somerset, were blissfully unaware of what had been going on in Liverpool, Manchester and London over the previous six seasons. I think Glenn, on an away trip up to Carlisle, began talking to some Chelsea dressers on the special and had reported back to me about this “new trend” – actually, he probably spoke to me about this on the train on the way up to that City game in December 1983. I have the feeling we hunted around the “Mod” shops in Carnaby Street on that day and Glenn was wearing a “no-name” polo-neck shirt. He was a bit of a Mod back in those days, so his was an easy transition. By the time of the Pompey game just after Christmas 1983, I was like a kid in a toy shop, suddenly now able to spot all of the labels on display in The Benches. I was on the dole that season, so my time would come…my priorities were to see the games, not dress up too.

Anyway, I digress.

Stopped at a couple of service stations on the way up north, listening to Five Live on the radio…we were dismayed when Tevez put United ahead, but we then punched the air as Liverpool equalised. Into Manchester, through the notorious Moss Side district, a stone’s throw from City’s former home Maine Road…rows and rows of red brick terrace houses to the right and a newer, but still foreboding, estate to the left. I wondered how odd it must be for a club’s home to be transplanted to a different part of the city. How strange it must be to have to give up your favourite drinking establishments for some new ones three miles away. Let’s hope it doesn’t happen to us.

I thought back to a classic City vs. Chelsea game in March 1989…both teams in the Second division again, we took 10,000 up to City, we won 3-2 and it was mad. I remember United were playing Forest in the Cup at the same time…90,000 fans in the city on the same day…I arrived by train at Piccadilly and we were told to make our own way, by foot, to Maine Road. We were dead lucky not to have been run all over Moss Side. This game was at the height of the inflatables craze, initiated by those mad fans at City and their bananas…crazy days.

Parked up at Piccadilly…couldn’t believe the weather – hot and sunny. We popped into a restaurant for an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, accompanied by a couple of beers. The food was not only cheap, but bloody gorgeous. That set us up for the evening’s game. We popped into a nearby “Hurley’s”, a famous chain of Manchester menswear shops, to view their latest clothes on offer. Although not as marked as in the ‘eighties, there are still subtle differences between fans of the NW teams and the London teams. I’ve always said the London teams dress to look smart, but the originals from Manchester and Liverpool dress to be different. There was a whole room devoted to the wonderful Italian brand “Paul And Shark” and it was all good stuff. A couple of my mates, Daryl and Rob, have a few items, but “Paul And Shark” is still mostly favoured by the Mancs.

Found a local boozer, with some City lads spilling out onto the pavement…I popped in to get some San Miguels, only to spot Cathy, Dog and Mark sat right outside the door. We had a few laughs with the city lads at the expense of United, who we had discovered had lost 2-1. Oh joy of joys. Glenn, in his sky blue top, was getting asked by the City boys if he thought City would win and Glenn, not being too diplomatic, replied “no, I bloody hope not.” He was talking to a couple of chaps about the same age as us and they mentioned how great the 1983-1984 season was…four massive clubs ( us, them, Wednesday, Keegan’s Newcastle ) were locked in a battle-royale all season to get out of the division. Brilliant times, remembered with reverence and awe by all of us. They mentioned the game at Maine Road, Chelsea’s first-ever live game on TV, on a Friday night…we won 2-0 and the City fans said that they had never seen so many away fans at Maine Road.

We caught a cab to the stadium and I thought back to the game in April when Beth, Andy, Rey and Cynthia were with us. Spotted many City fans wearing towels on their heads – they were certainly getting into the spirit of things. Rather than buy a match programme, I decided to get a copy of the City fanzine “King Of The Kippax.” Back when fanzines came to the fore in the 1987 to 1989 period, I often bought other teams’ ‘zines…they were usually pretty funny and were more relevant to me than the bland programmes of the time. I wanted to get a City fans’ view on the Abu Dhabi takeover, especially since we had experienced a similar thing back in 2003.

The Kippax was the home of the city die-hards at Maine Road – along the side of the pitch, rather than the ends like The Shed, Kop, North Bank, and I noted that City’s most vociferous fans at Eastlands are along the side, too. By chance?

Soon into the stadium and I met up with Gary and Alan. I was gagging for a coke – while lining up at the kiosk, I wondered if they were selling milk-sheikhs.

This was a great Chelsea performance. Typical of Robinho to score, but the wall seemed to be ragged and too stretched out. Immediately after, Petr and JT were going at it hammer and tongs. The City fans erupted with Robinho’s strike, but thank heavens we weren’t put off. Thought we controlled the entire game and, after Riccy slammed the ball home, we could’ve been 3-1 up by the break. By the way, Glenn missed the equaliser – on the way back from the gents, he had been stopped and searched by the OB after a steward had claimed Glenn was on drugs! This is just crazy and typical of the stuff that us fans still have to go through after all these years.

We purred in the second period…thought Ashley and Bosingwa were great again, but my man of the match was Carvalho…a goal, plus several timely blocks. The man is wonderful. The only players not to perform, in my book, were the inept Malouda ( I was heard to shout “Go past someone – you’re a winger!” ) and Anelka, who seemed incapable of making the correct run at the right time…apart from the goal.

I took some nice snaps of the goal celebrations at our end and I will post some photos from the game on my Facebook page later in the week.

Joe Cole’s Dad was sat five rows in front and, as is always the case, once Little Joe was subbed, he left! But he’s always there when Joe plays, supporting his son. Top man!

City were in great voice for twenty minutes, but their support soon fell silent as our dominance continued. We were getting behind the team well – never easy at Eastlands, with our support cut in half, being in two tiers.

A few lads near us got the “Scolari – Scolari” chant going, but after a minute of that, God it hurts…that “hard C” really takes it out on your throat!

Met up with Glenn outside – he had been watching in the lower tier, quite near Lovejoy and Andy’s daughter Sophie. We had a nice chat with a City fan as we walked back to the car. We talked about the expectations that City fans now have. I was very pleased to hear him say to us “well, you lot are well liked up in these parts.” That was nice I thought – hands across the blue ocean.

We got back to the car in twenty minutes and I pulled out of Piccadilly at 8pm. Glenn soon fell asleep, until Brum, but I had New Order on the CD player to accompany me on the long drive south…I thought back on what had been a near perfect day out…and how I would chose which things to write about in this match report!

I dropped Glenn off at 11.45pm – the time had flown past. Home at midnight, a very happy Chelsea fan…a year ago, across Manchester at Old Trafford we were a club in disarray…in September 2008, at Eastlands, we showed we are once again a confident club, ready for any challenges that lie ahead.

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