Tales From A Win At Wembley

Posted on May 3, 2026 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Leeds United : 26 April 2026.

After the ridiculously poor performance at Brighton on the Tuesday, he didn’t last long. He had to go, didn’t he? I am not going to dwell too much on Liam Rosenior’s ill-conceived stint as Chelsea manager, but my post on Facebook on the Wednesday sums it all up.

“Well, the bloke lost me when he came out with that ‘respect the ball’ line as he tried desperately to defend the huddles in the centre circle. Promoted way too high, he was soon way out of his depth. The circus continues.

A big part of me would love Cesc to return next season, but he would be bloody mad to report to the loons in charge. I’d hate to see his legacy spoiled.

What now, Chelsea Football Club?

And who?”

I just hope that the board’s comment about undertaking a process of self-reflection to make the right long-term appointment is genuine and not a knee-jerk comment to placate supporters.

Chelsea needs an experienced manager – coach – and while we are at it, let’s buy an experienced ‘keeper, central defender, and striker too. But mainly an experienced central defender, just like Enzo Maresca wanted in the summer.

Going into the up-coming FA Cup semi-final with Leeds United, I suddenly felt more positive without Rosenior in charge, which is certainly a sad indictment on his tenure. Calum McFarlane was to be entrusted with first team affairs, and – well – we went to Wembley with double helpings of blind faith.

“Anyone but Liam?”

Sad but true.

The weekend was to be a couple of contrasting days.

On Saturday, Frome Town were up against Portishead Town at home in the last league game of the season. With the league title, and promotion, already gained, this would be a relaxing day of celebration.

On Sunday, the stakes were higher, Chelsea were off to Wembley with a semi-final against a bitter old rival, and I was apprehensive, to say the least, about our chances.

Saturday was a joyful and relaxing day, on a perfect April afternoon. I met up with some friends for a pre-match drink, and a recurring question was about the day’s attendance. For the championship clincher against Shaftesbury a few weeks earlier, the gate was a pleasing 1,096. With promotion already secured, I wasn’t so sure that the gate against Portishead – themselves in a play-off position – would beat that.

In “The Vine Tree” pub, I liked chatting to the son of a teammate from my Oakfield school team from 1977/78. Later at the game, I would chat to Steve and Kev, two other teammates from that same team. I find these links to my childhood one of the most endearing features of my attendance at my local team’s games. There was also a brief chat with Ray, who lived in the same village as me in my childhood, and who reads all these blogs, despite being an Evertonian and not a Chelsea supporter. This made my day.

Greeting us at the turnstiles was my friend Courtney, who had flown in from Chicago’s O’Hare Airport that morning. This has been a tumultuous first season for him as Frome chairman, and after his attendance against Tavistock in August and Hartpury in November, this would be his third game of the season. It’s always a great moment to see Courtney’s smile once again.

Last season, I attended a mighty forty-two Frome Town games, but the last game of this season would only be number twenty-three. Having Chelsea play many more Saturday games did not help my Frome numbers unfortunately. From November to January, I only saw four Frome games. It has felt that I have not been as connected to Dodge this time around, despite the all-conquering season that we put together.

I must do better in 2026/27.

There was an air of celebration in the stadium throughout the afternoon; it felt like a crossover between a village fete and a charity match. But that was to be expected. The pressure was off, and it felt fine.

The crowd was a healthy one, with around one hundred away fans, complete with “Posset” – their odd nickname – flags, but I wasn’t sure if 1,096 would be breached. I caught Callum Gould’s fine early goal on film, but Portishead put up a good fight and won the game 2-1. Frome sadly finished the season with two consecutive league losses, but a total of just four in forty-two games. There was, however, a Somerset Cup win on the same evening that Chelsea was getting stuffed in Brighton. It was the club’s first-ever double.

The trophy lifts were very special moments, and I include a smattering of some of the photos from the Frome game; apologies again for the colour red.

I stayed on after the game for Player of the Year presentations in the clubhouse, thus ending a very enjoyable few hours.

Oh, the gate? 1,095, unbelievably just one shy of the Shaftesbury game.

But this left Frome with a fantastic average of 558 this season. Last season, in a higher level – Step 3 – it was 510. Next season we will be playing more local teams in the Southern League Premier, so I fully expect our average gate to rise to 600.

At Step 3 in 2018/19, we averaged just 234.

My hometown team is on the up.

So, that was the easy bit, the Saturday. Sunday would be a different ball game. I collected PD and LP, and we flew into London for a great pre-match in three venues. First up, the much visited and much-loved “Half-Moon Café” on Fulham Palace Road for a tasty and filling breakfast. There was a brief interchange with a Chelsea fan and his two boys.

Me : “I am feeling nervous.”

Him : “Me too. Fifty/fifty.”

Then a quick flit to “Walham Green”, the pub on the site of the old Fulham Broadway station, where we stayed for a couple of hours. Alan Hudson, who is often seen in the pubs of Fulham, came in and we shared a few words. He was looking very dapper. Now seventy-five, he of course sadly missed out on both games against Leeds United in 1970 due to injury. It was his debut season.

We then caught a cab to Paddington and then an Uber to Marylebone. Here we met up with tons of familiar Chelsea faces inside “The Victoria and Albert” bar and on the pavement outside. There were Leeds fans in the “Station Master” bar next-door. It was all very convivial and – dare I say it – friendly. The dark days of old seemed light years away.

I met up with Nina from New Jersey, who I first met at the tail-end of last season in the US, and met Brenda and Kerry from the US for the first time. Courtney had driven up from Frome the previous evening and had done some volunteering at the London Marathon in the morning but had managed to wend his way west to join us at Marylebone. Like me, he was on a two-game weekend.

With time moving on, Courtney, Paul, Parky and I caught the 1.40pm train to Wembley Stadium. Here, carriages were mixed, and there was banter between the two sets of fans. This would be Courtney’s first visit to Wembley.

Outside in the sun, I took a photo of Courtney with the towering arch behind.

A lot had been made of us not selling our full allocation of tickets; a situation that I was uneasy with. This was a game in London. Against Leeds United. Was the “disconnect” between fans and footballers so huge that the tickets did not fly?

My worries about the day continued to flicker in and out of my head.

I had always been concerned that we would not only struggle on the pitch against Leeds – who schooled us at Elland Road on that miserable night in December – but would lose the battle off the pitch too. Their fans would undoubtedly be “up for it” and I was dreading a repeat of the 2008 League Cup Final when we were devastatingly out sung by a baying Tottenham support.

There was also the “Wembley factor.”

I had every right to be concerned about this game since the last time that I had seen us win at Wembley was way back in May 2018 when Eden Hazard’s penalty gave us a 1-0 win in the FA Cup Final. Since then, there had been seven defeats in a row. Sadly, I was not allowed into our semi-final win versus Crystal Palace in 2022 as my Canon SLR was on the prohibited list.

On this day my small Sony “point and shoot” camera made it in with the briefest of security checks, and on another day, I am sure I could have smuggled my SLR in.

PD and LP made their way to their section behind the goal. As luck would have it, Courtney and I were in the same section, just on the corner flag, and both in the first row, and I was very happy with this change of scene and view. From memory, I had only ever been in the lower section along the side of the pitch just once before at the new Wembley.

I was in at 2.15pm.

Disregarding the games against Tottenham when they played home games at the national stadium, this would be my thirty-sixth Chelsea match at either Wembley stadia; nine at the old Wembley and twenty-seven at the new Wembley.

These figures still shock me.

These are huge numbers.

The first thing I noticed is that when both seats of players made their entrances onto the pitch at 2.25pm, the roar for the Leeds players dwarfed the roar for the Chelsea team; a bad omen for what lay ahead.

Lo and behold, on the pitch under the Royal Box, who should be interviewed by the annoying Chelsea PA chap but Alan Hudson. He was questioned about the 1970 final, and the battles between the two teams. Hudson spoke about the Chelsea team as being full of characters. He wasn’t wrong.

Next up was Tony Dorigo, who had played for both teams, and had won the league with Leeds in 1991/92. He mentioned the thrill of scoring at Wembley, and perhaps that was his subtle nod to us; his goal won the ZDS Cup against ‘Boro in 1990.

Our Chelsea team was announced, and Calum chose this starting eleven :

Robert Sanchez

Malo Gusto – Trevoh Chalobah – Tosin Adarabioyo – Marc Cucurella

Moises Caicedo – Romeo Lavia

Pedro Neto – Enzo Fernandez – Alejandro Garnacho

Joao Pedro

Without Cole Palmer and Reece James, this was the best we could hope for, but it seemed a decent enough team to start.

As kick-off approached, the ends erupted in colour.

To my right, banners flew high on the upper balcony.

“WE ARE THE FAMOUS, THE FAMOUS CHELSEA.”

At pitch level, a line from the 1997 FA Cup Final song reminded everyone about 1970.

“WE’VE GOT SOME MEMORIES ALBEIT FROM THE 70’S.”

We were given flags to wave and unlike the generic standard issue ones of before, these mentioned the game and date; a nice touch.

These were waved during “Blue is the Colour”, even by me, I must be getting soft.

At the other end, yellow scarves had been handed out to the hordes from Yorkshire, and they held them high as “Marching on Together” was played on the PA. A line from the song was displayed at pitch level.

It was altogether, at both ends, quite a spectacle.

At 3pm, the game began.

I am not usually a fan of being so low down, but on this occasion, for a change of scene, it was fine. You get a great perspective of Wembley’s height. It was quite breathtaking. In the first few minutes I was mightily impressed with the noise that Chelsea were making, mainly to my right, but it seemed to encompass both the lower and upper tiers, never an easy task. This was very encouraging.

There was a low shot from Pedro Neto that was easily saved by Lucas Perri. Leeds were given a free kick that I caught on film, but which did not bother Sanchez. There was an early knock-down by Joao Pedro that set up Enzo, but his firm shot went wide. Garnacho, testing the Leeds defence but also our patience, was set free but fluffed his shot.

Chelsea had opened the game well, and were on top, and Enzo was directing operations and providing much-needed bite where needed.

But then, after initially swooping in to clear a ball, Chalobah picked the wrong pass and Leeds pounced. We were back-peddling, and the move brought back a host of recent disastrous moments. The ball was worked to Dominic Calvert-Lewin who flicked a defence-splitting pass to Brenden Aaronson. His low shot was on target, but Sanchez did ever so well with his reflexes to divert the ball away with his right foot. I’ll say it again; the bloke is a fine shot-stopper.

Immediately after the shot was blocked, I turned towards the Chelsea fans to my right and caught the reaction on Aaronson’s face on the large TV screen. It seemed to immediately match the face that I was pulling too; one of utter disbelief.

On twenty-one minutes, a fine move involving Enzo and Lavia set up Joao Pedro, who raced in on goal, but the ball flashed wide after smacking the near post.

Being in the front row, there was no real need for me to stand, and I didn’t particularly want to upset those immediately behind me. However, on twenty-three minutes, sensing a great chance, I stood without thinking, as Pedro Neto was played in by Joao Pedro after a long kick out by Sanchez. Neto steadied himself and sent over a cracking cross into the penalty area. Enzo rose and headed down, past Perri, and in.

Get in.

The Chelsea end roared.

On Tuesday at Brighton, Enzo stood in front of the Chelsea support, alone with his thoughts. Now he was celebrating with his teammates in front of the Leeds United supporters. I chanced a photo, full zoom, and it came out OK, with just enough detail to see the glum Yorkshire faces, apart from two lads, who might not have been Leeds fans at all.

We were 1-0 up.

Glorious.

Chelsea continued to dominate, but chances were quite rare. Our support dominated the Wembley arena, and I was stunned with how quiet the Leeds support had been.

On thirty minutes, Chelsea bellowed “YSIFS” – and it undoubtedly was.

Joao Pedro, the definition of a modern number nine, was playing some lovely stuff, and went close again with a lovely piece of close control followed by a volley.

On thirty-five minutes, possibly the best move of the match, but Garnacho’s cross whizzed across the six-yard box but there was nobody on hand to add a touch.

With five minutes of the first half remaining, the folks at the Western end of the stadium eventually found their voices.

“We all love Leeds, we all love Leeds, we all love Leeds, we all love Leeds.”

Then, just after, the first “Marching on Together” since the barrage of noise before the game.

Their quietness had really shocked me. Leeds have always had noisy support, and I wondered if their timid support for most of the first half was due to nervousness.

I remembered their last FA Cup semi-final, way back in 1987, when my college mate Bob joined the Yorkshire team’s support at Hillsborough against Coventry City. Leeds lost 3-2 but my abiding memory from that that day is of the Leppings Lane terrace being absolutely rammed with Leeds supporters. It looked amazing but also terrifying.

On forty-two minutes, Ethan Ampadu – good player, sigh – hoisted a long throw into the box but the resulting Leeds shot flew over the bar.

At the break, we were on top, but I wondered if 1-0 would be enough.

During the half-time break, I noticed that my mate Stephen from New Orleans via Belfast was sitting just a few rows behind me and so I invited him down to watch the second half in the spare seat next to me. I last saw him in the front row at Palace a few months ago.

Chelsea were, of course, now attacking our end, and I hoped for some better-quality photos with the Chelsea players, hopefully, being close by.

In the first minute, after another long Ampadu throw, the ball was knocked around and the ball fell to Anton Stoch who let fly just outside the box. Sanchez did ever so well to parry the shot and his strong wrist deflected the ball high and it dropped, thankfully, on the roof of the net.

Soon after, we drove through the Leeds lines with a lovely break and then with some ingeniously intricate play between Gusto and Enzo. This allowed Joao Pedro a final stab at goal, but he was crowded out and the ball went wide.

I think I pulled that face again.

Not so long after Joao Pedro, so fluid and intelligent, passed to Enzo, then to Garnacho, but his finish was deflected over.

But Leeds were enjoying more of the ball in this half. Just before the hour a cross from their left to an un-marked Calvert Lewin was met with a clean header, but a poor header that Sanchez easily saved.

Then, time for me to roll out my “I hate modern football” catchphrase.

Sanchez went down, the referee blew his whistle, Enzo raced to the manager for instructions, and the Leeds end booed. Inside I was booing too.

This pathetic routine needs to be banished from football.

Leeds were up in arms.

“You cheating bastards, you know what you are.”

We replied with a ditty to the same tune, no names, no pack drill.

On the pitch, Leeds were on top now, but they never really carved out too many chances. It was all about us defending with shape and perseverance.

With sixty-five minutes on the clock, Andrey Santos replaced Lavia.

The game became scrappier. The fans of both teams were experiencing different emotions.

On seventy-one minutes, Cole Palmer replaced Garnacho.

“Great, hopefully some shots of him teasing their full back.”

Well, I took a few, but Palmer never really got in the game, and I was seething when he kicked the ball away, resulting in a very silly yellow.

Chelsea defended resolutely as Leeds kept trying to break through our ranks. The Leeds support went up many notches in that second half; it was quite a turnaround.

Towards the end, though, sensing the players needed the boost, we rallied with some noise of our own.

“AND IT’S SUPER CHELSEA.”

On ninety minutes, the stewards in front stood up, quite unnecessarily really, so we all stood up too.

“Two can play at that game.”

The noise doubled.

“SUPER CHELSEA FC.

WE’RE BY FAR THE GREATEST TEAM.

THE WORLD HAS EVER SEEN.”

We were defiantly loud.

Eight minutes of extra time were signalled.

“OLE OLE OLE OLE – CHELSEA CHELSEA.”

In the final minute, Liam Delap replaced Joao Pedro, who, along with Enzo and Sanchez were the game’s finest performers.

At last, the whistle.

Phew.

Lots of Chelsea smiles, lots of happiness. I tried to catch Courtney’s eye, but he was in his own little world.

As the team walked towards us, we focussed on one player,

“OH ENZO FERNANDEZ. OH ENZO FERNANDEZ.”

And he, once again, focussed on us, standing alone, taking it all in, again alone with his thoughts.

On this occasion, the thoughts were much more wholesome and pleasant, no doubt.

I grabbed my flag – though it will undoubtedly end up with others in a spare bedroom – and walked slowly out to meet up with Paul and Parky.

There was a warm glow. I was just happy to be walking back to Wembley Park after a win at Wembley. It had been eight long years for me. We were in no rush to slowly trudge our way up Olympic Way – not Wembley Way, which is elsewhere – and so we sat for a while to let the crowds disperse.

We were all so happy.

After another crazy season, I summed it up.

“Chaos and Cup Finals.”

We would be back at Wembley in three weeks for our seventeenth FA Cup Final.

Our current record, after years of successes, has now slipped to a record of eight wins and eight losses. Should we beat Manchester City, we would go third in the list behind Arsenal with fourteen and Manchester United with thirteen.

In a moment of ridiculous optimism, I sent a few people this message.

“The last week :

Win the Cup Final.

Beat Tottenham.

Relegate Tottenham.

Beat Sunderland.

On the piss in Newcastle as Arsenal finish second.”

I can dream, right?

While we were waiting, I happened to look up and spot a semi-recognisable figure; well-dressed, smart, a familiar gait, and I told the lads “I reckon that’s Eddie Gray.”

He was around fifteen yards away, and I bounced over.

“I know that every time you come to Chelsea, you get in contact with Ron Harris to have a chat and he really appreciates that. So, thank you.”

The photo I took of myself with a true Leeds United legend, a key player in the 1970 matches, and who was still playing for Leeds United when we beat them 5-0 in April 1984, was almost the highlight of the day. What an honour. And what a lovely man.

Just a few minutes later, Stuart Pearce walked past, and I nervously reached out to shake his hand too. He looked in a rush, but we shook hands. Another legend of football.

Alan Hudson, Eddie Gray, Stuart Pearce.

I did well.

We feasted on some sandwiches from a nearby “Tesco” and eventually left Wembley Park at 6.45pm. We were back at Fulham Broadway at 7.30pm, and I shot off to get my car and returned to pick the lads up for the trip home.

On that drive back to Wiltshire and Somerset, we realised that we had not heard – at Wembley at least – those two terrace standards of all previous Chelsea / Leeds encounters.

There had been no Dambusters.

“We all hate Leeds and Leeds and Leeds…”

And no Doris Day.

“And go get your father’s gun…”

It truly shocked us.

I eventually reached home, with pleasant thoughts of the final five matches, and after the past couple of months that has to be a good thing.

Next up, a home game against Nottingham Forest.

See you there.

WEMBLEY

BADGERS HILL

Tales From 1970 And All That

Posted on March 1, 2024 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Leeds United : 28 February 2024.

After the defeat at Wembley on Sunday, we reconvened down at “The Eight Bells” in deepest Fulham – via a pint at “The Sawyers Arms” at Paddington – and although our spirits were low, a decent evening ensued. We spent three hours or so in the company of Johnny Twelve from California and also Rob and Karl from Hersham. Suffice to say, the drinks flowed and the smiles returned. However, on waking in the Premier Inn opposite the pub the next morning, I could not stifle a brief “I hate football” from flitting into my head.

But these were a busy few days for Chelsea Football Club.

Next up was our first FA Cup tie against Leeds United since the 1970 FA Cup Final and subsequent replay. It was a busy time for me too. As Monday passed and as I toiled over the Wembley blog late into Tuesday, I managed to “let go” of the result on Sunday and I tried my best to look forward to the game on Wednesday.

I was in early at work on the day of the game, but I could not get something out of my head. Back in 1986, Chelsea exited both domestic cups within the space of four days; we lost at home to Liverpool in the FA Cup on Sunday 26 January and at home to QPR on Wednesday 29 January. I sincerely hoped that there would be no repeat thirty-eight years later.

PD and Parky had enjoyed a pub lunch and PD had then picked-up Ron Harris at 1.45pm. At just after 2pm, in the car park of “The Milk Churn” pub in Melksham, I stood with Ron as PD took a photo of the two of us. It seemed right that on the occasion of the first Chelsea vs. Leeds United FA Cup game in fifty-four years, we should mark the start of the drive to Chelsea in this manner.

As I pulled out of the car park, I realised once again how absolutely lucky I am to be able to drive our captain from those glory years up to Stamford Bridge.

1970, eh?

While Ron was busy leading the team to those two classic games, I was just starting out on a football life of my own.

I began my school days at the age of for years and nine months, probably just before the Wembley Cup Final on Saturday 11 April. In the ensuing few months, I would choose Chelsea as my team, although the exact reason or reasons are not crystal clear. In my memory, it’s down to a list of a few motives. It has to be said that until school, my parents told me that I wasn’t particularly interested in football.

Maybe I liked the name “Chelsea”. Maybe, after the replay at Old Trafford on 29 April, some school pals told me that “Chelsea had won the cup” (there is no recollection at all of me watching it, sadly) or maybe I had worked out that Chelsea were a good team. In a nutshell, Chelsea were the talk of the town, or at least the school playground, in the April and May of 1970 and I became a fan.

I’ve had quite a journey, eh?

And here I was, aged fifty-eight and seven months, driving the captain of that team to a game against Leeds United so many years later.

As I approached London, I could not resist asking Ron a question.

“Ron. Of the two games at Wembley and Old Trafford in 1970, what is your one stand out memory?”

“After the first game, Dave Sexton told me that I would swap positions with Webby, who had been given the biggest run-around I had ever seen by Eddie Gray, and in the second-game he never got a kick.”

The response did not surprise me at all. It is the classic moment from both games aside from the goals.

The 1970 FA Cup Final is so iconic, so fantastic, and so important to the history of the competition and to Chelsea Football Club alike. But it is, undoubtedly, so important for me too, although I did not even watch the games at the time.

It was a game-changer.

I knew that Chelsea were issuing a programme for the game that would feature a cover photograph of the jubilant Chelsea players at Old Trafford, with Chopper holding the trophy alongside a few team mates, and I liked that. Sometimes Chelsea get it right.

As time moves on, though, it has been sad to see so many players from both teams pass away over the years. Of the twenty-two starters at Old Trafford, only ten remain.

Chelsea.

Peter Bonetti : 20 April 2020, aged 78.
Ron Harris – aged 79
Eddie McCreadie – aged 83.
John Hollins : 14 June 2023, aged 76.
John Dempsey – aged 77.
David Webb – aged 77.
Tommy Baldwin : 22 January 2024, aged 78.
Charlie Cooke – aged 81.
Peter Osgood : 1 March 2006, aged 59.
Ian Hutchinson : 19 September 2002, aged 54.
Peter Houseman : 20 March 1977, aged 31.

Leeds United.

David Harvey – aged 76.
Paul Madeley : 23 July 2018, aged 73.
Terry Cooper : 31 July 2021, aged 77.
Billy Bremner : 7 December 1997, aged 54.
Jack Charlton : 10 July 2020, aged 85.
Norman Hunter : 20 April 2020, aged 76.
Peter Lorimer : 20 March 2021, aged 74.
Alan Clarke – aged 77.
Mick Jones – aged 78.
Johnny Giles – aged 83.
Eddie Gray – aged 76.

I dropped off PD and Parky at the bottom of the North End Road and I dropped off Ron outside the main gates. As I slowly retraced my steps back to my usual parking place, police sirens were wailing.

Leeds were in town.

At about 5.15pm, I popped into an Italian restaurant on the Lillee Road – “Pizza@Home” – for the first time and I enjoyed some lovely food. I then dipped into “Café Ole” at the bottom of the North End Road once more for a large cappuccino. It was all about staying out of the rain for as long as I could. Funnily enough, there was a bundle of friends at “Café Ole” – Pete, Liz, Mark, Scott, Paul, Gerry, Tom, Leigh, Darren – probably all with the same need to keep dry.

I had a nice talk with Tom, the first one for ages.

I was inside Stamford Bridge at about 7pm. PD told me that, should we beat Leeds, we would play host to Leicester City in the Quarter-Finals.

Mixed blessings.

I was angling for a dream draw of Newcastle United at home on Saturday 16 March as it would mark the fiftieth anniversary of my very first game against the same opposition. But I was relatively happy with a home draw. I hoped that the game would be played on the Saturday though. Outside of a home draw, we all wanted Coventry City. Ah well, it was not to be.

PD ran through the team.

“We’re playing with three wingers. Sterling, Madueke, Mudryk.”

I had swapped out with Parky to allow him a seat next to PD in The Sleepy Hollow. There were around six-thousand noisy Leeds fans in The Shed, their largest away following at Stamford Bridge in over fifty-years, maybe ever.

At about 7.15pm, Ron Harris was interviewed pitch side with club historian Rick Glanvil as they spoke about the 1970 FA Cup Final and its place in football folklore. Amazingly, the replay was watched by 28.49 million people. It is at number six in the list of the highest-ever TV audiences in the UK, alongside royal weddings, royal funerals and England games. Apart from the “Matthews Final” of 1953, it is probably the most famous FA Cup Final of them all.

The usual dimming of lights and fireworks, but then the shock of Leeds in an all pink kit, albeit one with a shirt that resembled a polyester outfit from the ‘seventies that Mrs. Slocombe might wear at a Grace Brothers night out.

Hideous.

Time to sort the team out. I had a look.

Sanchez

Gusto – Disasi – Chalobah – Gilchrist

Caicedo – Enzo

Madueke – Mudryk – Sterling

Jackson

I had forgotten that Ethan Ampadu was now full-time at Leeds United after three relegations on loan to Sheffield United, Venezia and Spezia. Eddie Gray’s great-nephew Archie was playing for the visitors. He is the son of Andy Gray, who I remember at Leeds, and the grandson of Frank Gray who I also remember at Leeds.

Conclusion : I am getting old.

The visitors in The Shed noisily shouted “We are Leeds, we are Leeds, we are Leeds” and Enzo kicked the ball back to a team mate.

We were off.

The pink visitors attacked us in the Matthew Harding. Mudryk was in the “Number 10” slot, the space recently occupied by Cole Palmer. We began on top.

I noted many empty seats during the first few minutes but most filled. There were, however a few hundred unused seats in the top corners of Westview all game.

I was just getting settled, making a mental note of all the songs that the visitors were singing at us, when a lumped ball from deep released Daniel James who had lost the back-tracking Alfie Gilchrist. The Leeds player lobbed the ball just wide of the goal frame.

From the goal-kick following this miss, a typical Chelsea disaster of 2023/24 occurred right in front of me. Sanchez played the ball to Axel Disasi who he chose not to clear his lines, no doubt under instruction from the management. He played the ball into the feet of Moises Caicedo, even though there were three opponents close by. Possession was lost, Jaidon Anthony pushed the ball square to Mateo Joseph who slammed the ball past Robert Sanchez.

The away hordes roared.

After just eight minutes we were one-nil down.

The away end went through a few favourites.

“Should I be Chelsea, should I be Leeds, here’s what she said to me.”

“Let’s go fucking mental, let’s go fucking mental.”

“Marching on together.”

We tried to retaliate immediately, with Sterling setting up Enzo but his low effort flew past Ilian Meslier’s post.

On fifteen minutes, we constructed a really fine move down the right, with a smattering of one-touch passes. Jackson back to Disasi, to Gusto, inside to Jackson, to Madueke, to Caicedo and a killer pass to Jackson, who carefully guided the ball home.

Lovely goal.

It was back to 1-1.

Another shot from Enzo, but easily stopped by Meslier.

“Come on Chelsea, Come on Chelsea. Come on Chelsea. Come on Chelsea.”

A slashed effort from an angle by Madueke that only hit the side-netting. Another shot from Madueke was so high and wide that it almost defied description. Mudryk went close at an angle. At a corner, Mudryk took Shedloads of abuse from the Leeds fans.

“You’re fookin’ shit, you’re fookin’ shit, you’re fookin’ shit.”

Leeds countered occasionally. For some reason, their right-winger James (he scored against us in his first game for Manchester United in August 2019) reminded me of Eddie Gray, his build and his running style.

On thirty-seven minutes, another fine move down our right. The ball was worked centrally at first, Caicedo to Chalobah to Madueke. As so often happens, he chose to dribble laterally, but in doing so encountered some space. He pushed the ball between defenders to Gusto on the right. A touch, a prod into Sterling, and a cutback to Mudryk, and a first-time finish, sweeping it low past the ‘keeper. Another great goal.

He stood in front of his detractors.

“Ви казали?”

We were 2-1 up.

The visitors were not impressed.

“2-1 and you still don’t sing.”

Leeds came again and James fired over from a free-kick. Jaidon Anthony ghosted in from the left and thumped one that just missed the far post.

“We all hate Leeds and Leeds and Leeds…”

At the break, it was time to reflect on the first-half. We had scored two nice goals, but some of our build-up play was just too slow. Moises Caicedo was the best of our bunch, strong in the tackle, decent passing, holding it all together. We had done just enough.

Alas, in the second-half, we didn’t do much at all.

Leeds began the stronger and after a while it dawned on me that we had hardly strung more than two passes together. On fifty-eight minutes, with the Chelsea crowd not involved and docile, Ampadu swung a long cross over to Anthony. I was dismayed that Gusto did not make a stab at the ball, allowing a long cross towards the far post where Joseph was able to leap, totally unmarked, and head down and in.

It was now 2-2.

On sixty-one minutes, a double substitution.

Conor Gallagher for Madueke.

Ben Chilwell for Gusto.

Chilwell to left-back, Gilchrist to right-back, Gallagher to the middle, Mudryk to the left, Sterling to the right.

Our play went to pieces.

“We’re second-best here.”

A shot from Anthony was deflected but its trajectory stayed close to Sanchez.

Our passing was off, our intensity had slowed, we had stopped doing the small things. We looked so tired.

Mudryk crossed high but Jackson was always underneath it.

On seventy-four minutes, more changes.

Levi Colwill for Gilchrist.

Cole Palmer for Sterling.

Disasi to right-back, Colwill in the middle, Palmer on the left.

We still struggled. We all began to wonder about extra-time and penalties, another late night.

On the ninetieth minute, there was really fine play from Enzo who fought to retain possession on the left and he scurried forward. He spotted the run of Gallagher and slotted a beautiful pass into him. Gallagher’s touch was exquisite and despite being squeezed by two Leeds defenders, he lifted the ball over Meslier.

Get in you beauty.

Now it was our turn to scream and shout.

Stamford Bridge roared, but how I wished that it had been roaring all night.

In injury-time, a debut was given to Jimi Tauriainen, whose first moment of action was to foul a Leeds defender; obviously he had read the script.

Chelsea 3 Leeds United 2.

At the end, “Freed From Desire “ and “One Step Beyond”

We can’t really grumble about getting home draws all of the way through the two domestic cups this season can we? Eight out of eight.

Wimbledon.

Brighton.

Blackburn Rovers.

Newcastle United.

Preston North End.

Aston Villa.

Leeds United.

Leicester City.

During the day, I had joked to a few people about the game against Leeds.

“Yeah, looking forward to it. But what’s the end goal? Get to another Cup Final at Wembley and lose that one too?”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Outside, mobs of Leeds made their way back to waiting cars and coaches. I had not seen so many police at Chelsea in years.

On the walk back to the car, Ron Harris explained that Eddie Gray was with the Leeds board at Stamford Bridge and had asked to be linked up with his old adversary from 1970. The two former players spent thirty minutes in each other’s company. In fact, Eddie Gray did the exact same thing on his last visit to Chelsea last season. I admired that. These old warriors must love to meet up and share stories of that game and others.

“How old is Eddie Gray, Ron? Same age as you?”

“Couple years younger, I think.”

“Right.”

We walked on.

“Oh yeah, I remember now. When he played against you in 1970 he was younger. But after the replay, I heard that he aged significantly.”

Ron smiled.

I soon escaped from London and for the first time that I can remember I didn’t stop once until I pulled up at “The Milk Churn” at about midnight. I was home by 12.40am, a relatively early night.

Right then, back to the league now. Brentford on Saturday. See you there.

Tales From Tier One And Tier Eight

Posted on January 1, 2022 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Brighton And Hove Albion : 29 December 2021.

Over Christmas 2021 and into New Year 2022, I was planning to attend six games. The over-riding question mark over these games was of course COVID19. Let’s have a re-cap.

22 December : Brentford vs. Chelsea – check.

26 December : Aston Villa vs. Chelsea – check.

27 December : Frome Town vs. Melksham Town – still on.

29 December : Chelsea vs. Brighton And Hove Albion – still on.

1 January : Paulton Rovers vs. Frome Town – still on.

2 January : Chelsea vs. Liverpool – still on.

So, after the fine win at Villa Park on Boxing Day, I was a third of the way through this feast of festive football.

Thus far the Football Gods were defeating the Covid ones; long may it continue.

Next up was a widely anticipated local derby involving a home game for my local non-league team Frome Town and local rivals Melksham Town. Back in August – the Bank Holiday Monday – I attended the away game and was happy with a 3-0 win for Frome in front of a fine gate of 491. Frome Town’s home attendances have been exceptional this season, averaging over four-hundred, and this is in comparison to an average of around two-hundred a few seasons ago, before COVID19, before abandoned seasons, before lockdown. In a nutshell, the people of Frome have massively backed the local team, quite possibly to the detriment of some of the local professional teams. All along, I was telling friends that the local derby with Melksham could well break the one thousand mark. The team’s first league game of the season against Highworth Town drew a massive 867 although there is a sizeable asterisk against this game as a local company paid for all attendees to watch the game for free. However, against Oxford City in the FA Cup in September, the gate was a hefty 586. It was agreed that the Melksham Town game would easily draw 600, probably 700 and possibly even more. In the back of my mind, I was holding out for one thousand.

On the morning of the game, in a wet but mild Frome town centre, I met up with two of the “Villa Park Five” and we embarked on a mini-pub crawl involving five of the town’s pubs.

PD, Glenn and I would help to bolster the attendance. I have known Glenn to attend the occasional Frome Town game with me over the past ten years but PD is a very rare visitor to Badger’s Hill. In some familiar watering holes we spoke about Villa the previous day and a little about the upcoming game later.

As we walked towards the main turnstiles, there was a queue of around forty people at around 2.30pm with still half-an-hour to kick-off. This, believe me, is unheard of.

Once inside, I stood with my usual Dodge pals Louise, Steve and Fran. I was told, proudly by Fran, that he had entered by the very rarely used second turnstile, wherever that is.

I looked around. There were people everywhere. There were even people sitting in the small cluster of open air seats next to the fully packed main stand. That never happens. What a lovely sight.

“Easily a thousand.”

This match, though on a much smaller scale of course, reminded me of my “guess the gate” game at Stamford Bridge in my childhood and youth. These days, this would be a pretty dull game; every game is a 40,000 sell-out. But from the late-‘seventies to the early-‘nineties, our crowd capacity was around the 45,000 mark. More importantly, our gates varied wildly, often within the same month, often the same week. However, the wildcard in our gates involved the club – a bearded chairman is usually quoted – shaving off thousands in order to keep money from the taxman. This made the guesstimating a little difficult. But, let’s take an example; Chelsea vs. Leeds United for the promotion decider in April 1984. Previously, our highest gate was 35,147 against Sheffield Wednesday. I think I can remember talking to the lads on the car ride to the Leeds game – PD and Glenn again – that the attendance would easily breach the 40,000 mark. In fact, the publicised gate of 33,447 fooled nobody at all. The place was rammed. I am sure it reached 40,000. But at virtually all home games in that period, I tended to not “guess the score” but “guess the gate” and I am sure I wasn’t alone.

Back to 2021 and back to Frome Town.

In a wet and blustery first-half, Frome looked sluggish and succumbed to a goal in the thirty-fourth minute. It hadn’t been much of a first-half. A real shame for the bumper crowd. While I was queuing for half-time beers in the busy clubhouse – seventy-five in the line at the bar, bloody hell – the game had evidently re-started and I was told that Melksham had doubled their lead.

A Frome fackinell was muttered as I waited for beers.

On fifty-five minutes, crowd favourite Jon Davies pulled a goal back with a shot lashed in from twenty yards. Frome were reacting well and the crowd were getting behind the team. On seventy-three minutes, an equaliser from Rex Mannings was met with wild cheers. We were back in this. To our horror, just three minutes later the visitors scored again on a rare break. In the first-half, we were sheltered under the roof along the side of the pitch. In this second-half we were amassed with hundreds of others in the packed Club End.

Towards the end, the PA announced the attendance.

1,103.

Bloody superb.

The noise levels increased. Frome hit the post. Unbelievingly, in the ninety-third minute, Alex Hallett slotted home, though from my vantage point – low down, behind many – I didn’t see the ball go in, I just saw the reactions of the players and spectators nearer the pitch.

Get in.

The place erupted.

What a lovely afternoon. Not only an entertaining game and a frankly unreal attendance, but also a few hours among people who I hadn’t seen for a while. I lost count of the number of people that said “hello Paul” to PD. Frome maintained pole position in the Southern League Division One South, down at level eight in the football pyramid.

Back in one of the two pubs that we would continue our drinking, there was a little reference to Chelsea.

“1,103 today.”

“Maybe PD, Glenn and I were the three.”

“Back in 1976 – forty-five years ago to the day in fact – Chelsea played at home to Fulham in the Second Division and the gate was 55,003.”

I remembered how my mate Alan always says “I was the three.”

55,003 in 1976.

1,103 in 2021.

It’s a toss-up which has made me prouder.

The rather inclement weather that had spoiled the game at Frome to a degree was in evidence as I set off from my house at around 11.15am on the morning of the Brighton game. I soon called in to collect PD in Frome. Thankfully, the blustery wind and rain had abated by the time I reached the next passenger. A soggy Chopper is a horrible thought. I had been hoping to take him to the Leeds United game a few weeks ago – 1970 and all that – but he had made his own way up to London on the Friday.

Ron soon told us of a nice incident that had happened during that game though. Midway through the game, he was summoned to the boardroom and was introduced to former Leeds United player and manager Eddie Gray. The former winger apparently travels to all of Leeds’ away games, looking after some executive club members, and I suppose this mirrors the job that he carries out at Elland Road. The two former combatants must have enjoyed a few fine words.

Ron told of us of a gig that both attended “up north” a few years back. Gray stepped forward and presented Ron with a small gift.

“This is a stud that they have just been finally able to remove from my knee from the 1970 FA Cup Final.”

Ah, that tackle. After giving David Webb the run-around at Wembley, Dave Sexton chose to let the Chelsea captain man mark Gray at Old Trafford. Chopper did not disappoint.

Incidentally, I always find it hard to believe that Eddie Gray – at thirty-six years of age – took part in the afore-mentioned game at Stamford Bridge in April 1984. He was their player-manager at the time.

We collected Parky at about 12.15pm and we were on our way. Thankfully, the traffic wasn’t too busy and I made good time on my way in to London. At around 2.30pm I deposited PD and Parky outside “The Temperance” at the bottom of Fulham High Street. They would soon be knocking back a few pints at “The Eight Bells.” I dropped Ron off at the bottom of the North End Road and he made his way to the stadium.

I parked-up in my usual spot, then made a leisurely walk down to Stamford Bridge where my friend Ben from the Boston Blues enjoyed a little chat with a few former players. I then caught the tube down to Putney Bridge and joined PD and Parky – and also my friend Andrew, once of the New York Blues but now living in Brighton of all places – in the cosy confines of “T8B” which was full of its usual regulars. Andrew would be sitting alongside me in The Sleepy Hollow. PD, Parky and I were starving so we each indulged in a burger and chips. My good pal Mac – a Brighton season ticket holder – arrived with two, then three, of his friends and sat alongside us.

At the same time it was a busy yet relaxed pre-match and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Brighton lads spoke to me about their manager Graham Potter. They had started to get a little irritated with the way that Brighton would always seem to play conservatively and without risk, and that many fans were wishing that there was a change of plan. Only a few times in recent years have Brighton “gone for it.” Mac recollected that when they travelled to Manchester City in the early weeks of 2019/20, Potter had thrown caution to the wind, and although Albion had lost 4-0, Mac had loved it. It was an interesting comment. It brought make an eerie reminder of Frank Lampard at Old Trafford the same season. I didn’t enjoy that one quite so much. But we chatted about how so many teams “shut up shop” these days; I told them that I longed for the days when football didn’t resemble a game of bloody chess.

One of Mac’s friends – Chris from Somerset, confusing isn’t it? – asked me what my preconceptions were of Graham Potter.

I felt like saying that I knew more about Harry Potter. The Brighton manager surely has to be one of the most unassuming men in the modern game.

With the kick-off at 7.30pm, it was time for us to set off. It was a stupidly mild evening in old London town as PD, Andrew and I turned into the West forecourt and waved an “adios” to Parky as he wended his way to The Shed.

Here was the team :

Mendy – Azpilicueta, Christensen, Rudiger – James, Jorginho, Kovacic, Pulisic – Hudson-Odoi, Lukaku, Mount.

This was again a case of Thomas Tuchel having to shuffle an increasingly depleted pack of cards. But, on paper at least, it did look a half-decent team. Of course, we would miss the energy of Kante and the crafted calmness of Thiago Silva. Sadly, Ben Chilwell is gone for the season, while others are clearly not at full fitness levels. But a “plus” had to be the presence of Romelu Lukaku in the starting line-up. We just had to engineer a way of getting the ball up to him, or for him to attack. That was our huge task as the clock ticked towards kick-off.

The two teams appeared in what looked like a training game from c. 1987 with Chelsea in royal blue and the visitors in an all jade Chelsea Collection number. Brighton had a solid three-thousand in their half of The Shed, but not one flag nor banner. Must do better.

On a day when it was announced that John Terry was returning to the club in a coaching role at the academy – a move that really surprised me – a large “Captain. Leader. Legend.” Surfed over the heads in the home section of the Shed Upper.

Right, the last game of 2021, another bloody crazy year in the history of Chelsea Football Club, but one which turned out to be so typical of modern day Chelsea. For much of 2021 it was the same old song; supporter unrest, managerial problems, silverware, big name signings, glimpses of success, supporter unrest, repeat to fade.

Would I have it any other way? Yes, probably.

However : [clears throat]

“Let’s Go To Work.”

As usual, we attacked The Shed in the first-half. A few early forays hinted at good things. However, the first piece of action got the pulses racing was a full throttle race down our left involving former Chelsea youngster Tariq Lamptey and our man Reece James. Thankfully, that particular tussle ended in our favour.

The boisterous away fans went for an early dig.

“Tariq Lamptey, he left ‘cus you’re shit” and how we laughed.

After an early effort from Callum Hudson-Odoi, Lamptey attacked and struck a shot that did not bother Edouard Mendy. But their right back was looking effervescent. A corner from our right was not cleanly gathered by Robert Sanchez in the Brighton goal, and Cesar Azpilicueta swung a leg and the resulting shot cannoned off the near post. The ball bounced away and James swung it in again. However, a header from Antonio Rudiger was easily saved by the Brighton ‘keeper.

A clean move involving a run and pass from Mateo Kovacic to Romelu Lukaku set up Mason Mount but his shot was saved by Sanchez.

Sadly, we spotted that James was rooted to the turf on the half-way line. He was completely still. We all feared the worst. His walk off, supported to of Chelsea’s medical team, was the slowest I have ever seen. He was replaced by Marcos Alonso.

A Mason Mount corner was swung in and the ball perfectly met the free leap from Lukaku. The ball went crashing down and past Sanchez.

Get in.

After his excellent performance at Villa, it felt that he was the man of the moment.

There was a tough tackle in the midfield and the away fans did not like it.

“You dirty Northern bastards” caused a smirk from Andrew and myself in The Sleepy Hollow.

Brighton had caused us a few moments during the first-half and they had grown stronger as the game developed. Apart from our opening half-an-hour, we had drifted. The atmosphere wasn’t too special. The night was mild, on the pitch and off it.

“We’re hanging on a bit here” I said to PD.

However, I thought that Andreas Christensen had enjoyed a fine half, often intercepting and tackling with aplomb. It was just typical that he had taken a knock and was replaced at the break by Trevoh Chalobah. Our injury woes were getting worse.

Brighton kept up their pressure from the first-half. A cross from Solly March was met by Jakub Moder and his effort dropped – just – over the bar. Shots followed from Alexis Mac Alister and the very impressive Yves Bissouma.

Ten minutes into the second-half, at last, the home crowd got it together and a loud “Chelsea, Chelsea, Chelsea, Chelsea” enveloped the stadium. Just after, there followed a rare Chelsea attack. Hudson-Odoi broke from deep and advanced. Mount was in a good position, racing away too and square, and Callum decided to pass rather than shoot. The pass was poor and a defender intercepted. The howls of derision boomed around the Matthew Harding. Brighton immediately attacked and the atmosphere was suddenly red hot. Mendy blocked Mac Allister and Rudiger blocked Maupay. Other chances came and went for Brighton. We had nothing in response.

I messaged Mac : “Your boys are doing you proud.”

Lamptey was nicely applauded by us when he was substituted with half-an-hour to go.

Just after, N’Golo Kante replaced Hudson-Odoi.

We hoped that this would steady the ship. And this seemed to be the case. We even enjoyed a few half-chances with headers from Rudiger and Chalobah giving us a little hope for a second goal that would give us some security. There were further half-chances, nothing more, from Lukaku and Kante.

But I was surely not the only one who was half-expecting a late Brighton equaliser.

Four minutes of added injury time were to be played at the end of the ninety.

After just one of these, Marc Cucarella dropped a cross onto the head of a rising Danny Welbeck and the ball nestled in at the far post.

The players – far from jaded – raced away, the away hordes jumped and jumped, a blue flare was thrown onto the pitch. This was their moment.

Sigh.

We sloped away amidst comments of “this feels like a loss” and “they deserved that.”

Just as I was nearing my car, with PD and Parky already waiting, Nice Guy Kenny spotted Chopper walking alongside me and asked for a photo with his young niece. At least one Chelsea supporter left SW6 with a nice feeling.

Nobody likes dropping points of course. And this is a testing time for us all. But there is no doubt that our once vaunted squad is currently stretched. The immediate over-reaction by sections of our support was to be expected these days. All was rosy after Villa Park. One game later, not so.

I made good time on my return and I was home just after midnight.

Next up, Paulton Rovers away and Liverpool at home.

On we go.