Tales From The Return Of The Blades

Chelsea vs. Sheffield United : 31 August 2019.

Sheffield. My first memories of Sheffield football involved United and not Wednesday. Back in the early ‘seventies when I first became enchanted by football, and all that went with it, it was Sheffield United who were involved in the top flight while their bitter rivals and near neighbours Sheffield Wednesday were playing football in the old Second and Third Divisions.

Names such as Tony Currie, Trevor Hockey and Alan Woodward starred for the Blades in that period. They were a mid-table team and, at times, an entertaining team. In those days, Wednesday – even though they were the bigger of the city’s two clubs, with a few more trophies and a larger stadium – were off the radar for me. Wednesday’s plight mirrored that of Aston Villa who were also loitering in the middle two divisions in that era too.

Although Chelsea played Sheffield United at regular intervals in the ‘seventies, we did not meet throughout the ‘eighties. Instead, Wednesday became one of our biggest rivals in that decade. We met United a few times in the ‘nineties, but our last meeting was in the 2006/7 season.

In all of this time, I have only ever seen them play at Stamford Bridge on three occasions, and there has only ever been one trip for me to Bramall Lane.

The first time that I saw Chelsea play Sheffield United at Stamford Bridge came in season 1991/92 in the fifth round of the FA Cup. I remember that Daryl and I spotted David Lee and Robert Fleck enjoying pre-match pints in “The Stargazey” – alas no more – on the Fulham Road before the game. But don’t worry, they weren’t playing. We won a nondescript game 1-0 with a goal from Bobby Stuart. However, the most memorable part of the entire day took place in a pub in Camden several hours after the game had ended when myself and a couple of college mates, enjoying a quiet pint, noticed an influx of United’s lads – the Blades Business Crew – who were evidently playing cat and mouse with Chelsea and also Sheffield Wednesday who, remarkably, had been playing a league fixture at Highbury that very same day. Thankfully, we managed to sidestep any problems that arose that evening, albeit narrowly. The escapades that took place that night have been well documented elsewhere. It was, evidently, quite an evening.

The most famous Chelsea vs. Sheffield United game of the past three decades, however, was the final match of the 1993/94 season. Chelsea, under Glenn Hoddle, had struggled in the first part of the campaign, adapting to a more expansive and possession based style of football – ring any bells? – but had enjoyed a resurgence after Christmas. We had, monumentally, reached our first FA Cup Final since 1970 too. The home game against Sheffield United was to be our final preparation for the Cup Final. All of our focus was on that game. It was, however, to be the final day of The Shed. We had heard that the club was to demolish the famous old terracing during the summer in preparation for new developments.

I remember travelling up with Glenn, meeting up with Daryl and maybe a couple of others in “The Stargazey” but then deciding at the last minute to get tickets in the East Stand Upper rather than stand on The Shed for the last ever time. I remember that it was raining heavily and there would have been no guarantee of cover in The Shed. So, in one of my most shocking Chelsea decisions ever, I chose not to experience The Shed on its final day. I still shudder at this ludicrous choice twenty-five years on.

“What was I thinking?”

As the North Stand terrace had been demolished around Christmas 1993, the only place left to house the away fans was the East Upper. Lo and behold, Glenn and I found ourselves just a few rows in front of the large and boisterous Sheffield United contingent. The Blades were threatened with relegation, though from memory were unlikely to go down as they were several places above the drop zone. Other teams were in the mix too and it never really dawned on me that relegation would be an option for them. Famously, Everton were right in the mire. Jostein Flo – Tore Andre’s older brother – put the away team 1-0 up and the away fans bellowed “The Blades are staying up.” Jakob Kjeldberg equalised, but Glyn Hodges quickly restored the lead. This was looking good for Sheffield United.

“Now you’re gonna believe us…the Blades are staying up.”

But this was anything but good for us. We had lost 2-1 at home to Coventry City the previous Wednesday evening at Stamford Bridge – in front of a miserable 8,923, maybe everyone was saving their hard-earned for Wembley – and now we were losing to a poor team on the Saturday. It was hardly good preparation for Wembley. Then, miraculously Mark Stein – the season’s unlikely hero – scored in the seventy-fourth minute and again on ninety to give us a dramatic 3-2 victory. Elsewhere none other than Bobby Stuart – or Graham Stuart, now that he had left us – had scored for Everton to give them a late win at home to Wimbledon, and – much to my sadness – we soon realised that Mark Stein’s late winner, a poacher’s goal in front of The Shed, had relegated Sheffield United.

The away fans went deathly quiet.

It was a game that we wanted to win for sure, with Wembley coming up, but it was horrible to witness at close hand the absolute sadness being experienced by the Blades fans. Some younger fans were in tears.

It was the first time that they had been in the bottom three all season.

It was a bizarre experience. And, I’ll be honest, I really felt for them.

Glenn and I sloped away, quiet too.

My pre-match activity for the game in 2019/20 involved more history. I joined up with twelve other Chelsea supporters who had signed up for Rick Glanvill’s historical walk along the Fulham Road. Rick is the official club historian and is heavily involved at Chelsea, having written the official book celebrating our centenary in 2005 – what timing, what a year – and writes for the match programme to this day.

From 11pm to 12.30pm, Rick effortlessly guided us from the Fulham Town Hall to Stamford Bridge – the bridge, not the stadium – and from 1905 (and before) to 2019. It was a thoroughly entertaining ride through our history, with fascinating insights into key moments in our formation and subsequent decades. It’s probably best that I don’t report too much detail of the content and undermine Rick’s further tours, suffice to say that I heartily recommend them to anyone with a passion, like me, for social history, geography, football and a good yarn.

Rick painted a wonderful picture of the area before Chelsea Football Club was formed. And there were whimsical stories about the founding fathers, music hall performers, the club’s first official photographer, music studios, a local lad who became one of the first ball boys and the Moscow Dynamo game in 1945.

It was right up my street, or rather Fulham Road.

One of the same I guess.

I met up with the lads at “Simmons” and it was a real pleasure to see Dave once again. Dave now lives in the South of France with his good lady and their young lad – who, with perfect timing – was born a couple of hours before we won the league at West Brom in 2017. And no, Dave’s son’s name isn’t called Michy.

We last saw Dave on a good old pub crawl around the West End before the debacle against Tottenham at Wembley last season.

It was a joy to see him again.

One of our party was missing however, and it felt odd. Parky was recuperating in a Bath hospital after his hip operation on Thursday. After work on Friday, PD and I had visited him and he was doing well, and in fine form.

This is code for “we couldn’t shut him up.”

With or without Parky, everyone was having a blast. I met up with a few of the usual suspects for the first time of the season in “Simmons” and it felt great. It is a very popular little bar among people I know.

To tie things up nicely with Rick’s pre-game tour, the son of our former chairman Brian Mears was in attendance.

I walked to Stamford Bridge with Dave, and the fifteen-minute journey was riddled with ridiculous laughter.

Good times.

On the forecourt, I tussled with my conscience and for the first time ever, I chose not to buy a home programme. I have tended to only flick through them of late, even though they are a good read, but I have crossed the Rubicon. I gave up buying away ones a good few years ago. I haven’t bought the 2018 FA Cup Final programme, nor the 2019 Europa League programme.

There is only so much space in my house for Chelsea paraphernalia.


Once inside Stamford Bridge, I had a few moments to settle and prepare myself for the game, which until then, had hardly entered my thoughts.

I looked over at the away section and wondered where two supporters were located.

On the Friday, I had received a lovely message from my friend Simon, who is a Sheffield United supporter, and who I have known for over three decades. On my only visit to Bramall Lane in the autumn of 2006, I met up with him at his house and we drove in together. It summed up his take on the current regime, and really brought home how lucky we have been as Chelsea supporters over the last twenty-five years.

“Big match for us tomorrow. Unfortunately, I won’t be there. My brother Chris and nephew Archie will. Either me or Chris need to be around for Mum so it’s difficult for us to go on away trips together. As for the Blades, most fans are in agreement that these last few seasons have been the best ever, certainly in terms of the quality of football and also that Chris Wilder is our greatest ever manager. The season before Wilder was appointed 2015/16 was awful, I remember watching us lose consecutive home games to Bury and Colchester and we finished mid-table League 1. A couple of players from that season are still involved (Billy Sharp and Chris Basham). Before that we had all the Ched Evans stuff, supporters were falling out with each other and it really felt like we’d hit rock bottom. I remember seeing us go down to the old Div 4 in 1981 but this somehow felt much worse. So we’ve come a long way in a short period of time and the pride is back in the club. We’ve made a good start this season and so will be interesting to see how we go tomorrow. Hope you are well Chris and maybe we can meet up at Bramall Lane later on this season.

Best wishes, Simon.”

Since that match in 1994, the two clubs really have enjoyed mixed fortunes, eh?

The place slowly filled up, everyone took their seats. The away team were to be backed by a full three thousand. There weren’t too many away shirts dotted around the away section. I had walked past three Sheffield United fans a couple of hours earlier, each wearing the striped home shirt, looking like they had been refused entry from one pub and were on the search for another. They looked so forlorn. Neutral colours would have at least helped. Some people never learn.

The team was announced and – sadly – N’Golo Kante was missing. No place for Toni Rudiger either, still not match fit. It was a surprise that Tomori started, only his second game for us. Mason Mount was out wide again. Another start for Pulisic. Tammy leading the line.


Azpilicueta – Zouma – Tomori – Emerson

Jorginho – Kovacic

Pulisic – Barkley – Mount


I was a little disappointed that Sheffield United didn’t show up in their famous red and white stripes. Instead, they chose all white with red socks. Their most famous kit of all was the admiral one from 1976, with black edging on the red stripes. I mention this as it is a kit that my home village side Mells & Vobster United  – or at least the first team, the team I never quite managed to play for – used to wear in that same period too.

I can still see Alan Ford turning away, arm raised, after scoring a belting free-kick in around 1977 wearing the Sheffield United shirt.

There were a few banners adorning the away section.

One, half out of view – said “Hated, Adored” and I presumed that the part of the banner out of view said “Never Ignored.”

Stolen from Manchester United.

Must do better.

The game began, and the atmosphere was so-so. But we began well, with almost total domination of possession. It wasn’t as good a start as against Leicester City, but it wasn’t bad. A few chances came and went. There was an early repetition of the move which lead to our first goal against Norwich City with Christian Pulisic knocking the ball out to an overlapping Cesar Azpilicueta, but the firm cross evaded both the on-rushing Ross Barkley and Tammy Abraham. On twenty minutes, a very similar move earned dividends. Barkley won the ball, moved it to Pulisic and then it was played to Dave, who was deeper than before. His cross was headed down and towards goal by Tammy, and the Sheffield United ‘keeper Dean Henderson had great difficulty in gathering the ball. Under pressure from Pulisic, he could only knock it straight into the path of our young striker.

Playing for Bristol City a few seasons back, Abraham was known as “Tammy Tap In” and he lived up to his reputation.

Chelsea 1 Sheffield United 0.


Alan : “They’ll have to come at us now.”

Chris : “Come on my little diamonds.”

Tammy’s celebratory run and slide in front of the away fans was just joyous. It was, of course, his first goal at Stamford Bridge.


We continued to excel.

Ross Barkley was heavily involved in many of our attacks, ably supported by the passing of Jorginho and the runs into space of Kovacic, but very often Barkley simply moved the ball on rather than played an incisive ball into danger. I thought Mason Mount was quiet, and Pulisic struggled to get involved. Kovacic flashed a firm shot past the far post. Sheffield United themselves had a couple of quarter-chances. A quick turn and cross from Chris Basham almost resulted in a stooping headed goal from Callum Robinson

A meek shot into the wall from Ross Barkley free-kick summed up his half.

One moment frustrated us all. The fall fell to Jorginho, centrally positioned and within sight of the goal. Rather than look to fire an effort in on goal, he lofted a pass over the heads of everyone, including the intended Tammy, and the attack died. I commented to the lads that there just must have been something in Jorginho’s footballing DNA – after years of behaviour-inducing drills – to stop him from shooting.

The away fans were relatively quiet all first-half.

Alan and I spent a few moments chatting about the wonderful Ronnie Barker in “Porridge” and we quoted some pearls.

“What, from here?”

“With these feet?”

“It was a green one.”

“He’s doing rather well.”

On the pitch, we were in command, but drifting a little, hence the brief comedic diversion.

Thankfully, with two minutes to go before the break, Jorginho lofted another high ball towards the box and Tammy pounced after a blunder from two of United’s three centre-backs, and picked up a loose ball. He found space well, picked his spot and although the ‘keeper touched the ball, the pace beat him. It crept in, lovely stuff.

Chelsea 2 Sheffield United 0.

“That’s all Tammy has to do, just keep hitting the corners.”

I captured his run and jump on film too.

“Four goals in three starts – love it.”

And all was well with the world at half-time. Dave came over to join us, we took some photos, happy days indeed.

Sadly, the second-half began awfully, and it brought back shocking memories of last season. With less than a minute played, they moved the ball far too easily down our right flank. Enda Stephens wriggled past a non-existent challenge from Dave, and his pacey low cross was flicked home by Robinson. The away end erupted. They were back in it.

We sighed.

The away fans were now ignited and there was a slight whiff of “A gallon of Magnet”, one of the best football songs ever.

“You fill up my senses
Like a gallon of Magnet.
Like a packet of Woodbines.
Like a good pinch of snuff.
Like a night out in Sheffield.
Like a greasy Chip Butty.
Like Sheffield United,
Come fill me again.”

The sky turned darker, to match the mood, and there was a surreal quality of light as rain fell.

We countered relatively quickly. Some gorgeous control from Dave and an intelligent ball in to the box – the epitome of the word “dink” – resulted in a side-footed stab at goal from Tammy that was clawed away by Henderson, down low, and close to him. It was a brilliant save.

Sadly, this was a very rare attack for us in the second-half. The away team sensed that confidence was seeping out of every pore of our being and grabbed hold of the game. They moved the ball well, and we lacked leadership. We looked a poor team suddenly. A couple of chances were exchanged. On the hour, Barkley was replaced by Willian, and we hoped for a far better performance from the Brazilian than against Leicester City. Mount switched inside, surely a better position for him.

Our attacking play was immediately bolstered by a couple of energetic runs from Willian, but that didn’t last. Sheffield United looked the more likely to score and the atmosphere within the stadium became rather tetchy. A lone chance fell to Kurt Zouma but he headed over from a corner. I can rarely remember a half of football which included so many mis-placed passes from so many different players. It was a shock to the system; a visual clue that confidence was low.

Michy Batshuayi replaced the impressive Kovacic, and Billy Gilmour – surprisingly – replaced Tammy Abraham.

I caught Gilmour’s first touch on his debut; a header.

Our attacks stumbled along though. It wasn’t cohesive. I didn’t like the way sections of the crowd grew noisily restless with every miss-placed pass. Rather than a cheer of encouragement there tended to be noisy swearing.

Not good.

Not good at all.

We know our role this season, don’t we?

Shouldn’t we be supporting the lads a little better?

I think so.

Mount went close with a volley. At The Shed End, a timely block from Tomori and we reacted with our heads in our hands.


Sadly, sadly, sadly the game ended as we had perhaps feared.

Another raid down our right, another “after you Claude” moment, and another whipped-in cross. I could not discern who managed to get the final touch – it was evidently Kurt Zouma – but the ball flashed high into our goal.

This time, the away fans really exploded.


Another second-half meltdown had left us all rather shell-shocked. As I made my way out, alongside fellow fans who were pursing lips, shaking heads and muttering, I looked up and saw the away supporters enjoying their moment.

Remembering 1994, I clapped too and whispered “well played Sheffield United.”

There was the usual “Bramber Road to Barons Court Post Mortem” in the car, and we honestly wondered if the two late substitutions were wise, but I then reminded ourselves that Frank Lampard OBE has forgotten more about football than the three of us combined will ever ever know, so we quickly shut the fuck up.

To cheer me a little, I heard that my local team Frome Town had gone top of their division with a fourth win out of four, and to cheer us all up, we had heard that Parky was home from hospital.

It was turning into a good day after all.

Chelsea under Frank Lampard is clearly a work in progress. I am not going to waste any time, effort and words on those in our midst who are unnecessarily negative.

Let’s all move on positively.

I will see some of you at Molineux.


Tales From The Second-Half Show

Chelsea vs. Portsmouth : 8 January 2012.

In the early rounds of the F.A. Cup, it is all about getting the chance to experience new stadia, or at least getting the chance to venture to towns and cities which have not been visited for years. This has been a relatively new scenario; not so long ago, all we wanted was a home draw against a lowly team in the hope of progressing. However, when Chelsea was entrenched in the old second division, the focus was on getting a big team, with all of the inherent anticipation that went with it. It’s funny how the focus has shifted over the years.

In 1982, all we wanted was Tottenham, Liverpool or Manchester United at home.

In 2002, all we wanted was Plymouth Argyle, Crewe Alexandra or Lincoln City at home.

In 2012, all we want is Bury, Exeter City or Hereford United away.

Over 700 teams from across England and Wales enter this competition each year. The diversity of clubs taking part is quite staggering. My local team Frome Town lost in a replay to Basingstoke Town from Hampshire back in the autumn. In fact, Frome’s most famous game in its 108 year history was an F.A. Cup tie with Leyton Orient in the early ‘fifties. Over 8,000 attended that game at Badgers Hill. Not bad for a town with a population of around 14,000 at that time. I won’t dwell too much on how the F.A. cup has seemingly lost most of its lustre over the last 25 years, but it is something that does sadden me. The competition does, at least, open up opportunities for the match-going supporters to get their road atlases out as teams from across the spectrum of league and non-league football are paired together. Maybe this is the lasting legacy of this storied competition; the F.A. Cup Final itself has diminished in importance, but the journey to the final has remained as exciting and as romantic as ever. For example, recent seasons have seen me travel to Barnsley, Coventry City and Preston North End on the F.A. Cup trail and all of my mates crave fresh fields. I don’t expect I will ever reach the vaunted 92 club – I think I’m currently up to about 60 league grounds – but I certainly hope to visit some new stadia over the next few seasons. I’ve never seen Chelsea at a non-league venue (our game at Scarborough in 2004 was our only such game in recent memory in fact) and so I was secretly hoping for an away game at a non-league venue. Salisbury , only 40 miles away in the heart of rural Wiltshire, fitted the bill perfectly.

If not Salisbury , an away game at Fleetwood, Crawley, Bristol , Cheltenham, Wrexham, Milton Keynes or Brighton would certainly suffice. Imagine my disapproval when we ended up with a seemingly boring home tie with old adversaries Pompey in our first game of the 2011-2012 competition.

Oh well – maybe more enticing draws will await our advancement as the cup progresses.

Just the two of us made the trip for the game; I collected Parky at 9am and we were in the café at 11.15am. We were joined by a few friends and Daryl commented that it was 34 years to the day since we defeated European Champions Liverpool 4-2 in the F.A. Cup. Why would Daryl remember this? It was only his second ever Chelsea game. He’s entitled to remember dates like that.

Breakfasts were wolfed down and I decided to head on down to Stamford Bridge once again.

As I passed the Fulham Broadway tube station, I stopped and had a word with the chap who runs the programme stall. By some bizarre quirk of fate, my old school mate Steve happens to be his postman in deepest Somerset and had often mentioned him in despatches. I introduced myself and we spoke for a few minutes about an event which is planned for Friday 13th. January. None other than Ron Harris is appearing at a fundraiser for Frome Town’s new stand appeal and this chap – another Steve – was thinking about attending. I glanced down at all of the various items of Chelsea memorabilia on display and I thought back to my football-crazed youth.

Although I was an avid programme collector in my schooldays – we all were – I limit my purchases to games that I attend these days. I buy every home programme (I must have over 500) but I have stopped buying programmes from most away games. I suppose I must have around 1,500 programmes in total. In those halcyon days of my youth, I used to collect all sorts of bizarre programmes. Amongst others, I have a programme from the 1976 US Bicentennial Tournament and the 1980 Russian Cup Final, plus most F.A. Cup Finals from 1970 to 1982. I have around five Chelsea home programmes from the ‘forties and several more from the ‘fifties. My friend Rick, a Pompey fan, bought me the Chelsea vs. Portsmouth game from the championship year of 1954-1955 as a fortieth birthday present. When I used to travel up with my parents from 1974 to 1980, I always used to disappear inside the old Chelsea Supporters Club premises at 547 Fulham Road (the site of which is now where Mark Worrall has his match day stall.) Amongst the usual array of Chelsea souvenirs (silk scarves, rosettes, pennants, bobble hats and gloves) were hundreds and hundreds of match programmes. I have many from the mid-‘sixties through to the present day, but I stopped buying back copies in around 1980. Maybe I should start up again. Daryl has two complete sets of home programmes from that 1954-1955 season, plus one set of away programmes. Gary , too, has thousands upon thousands of Chelsea programmes. My private collection is miniscule in comparison.

I noted that there was a home programme from the 1954-1955 season on sale for £25. It made me smart. Even my small collection must be worth around £3,000. I can’t imagine how expensive – or rare – programmes from before the First World War must be. My maternal grandfather attended a game at Stamford Bridge in the ‘twenties; I have a suspicion that it was one of the three F.A. Cup Finals held at The Bridge in 1920, 1921 and 1922. If only he had kept the programme.

I used to subscribe to the home programme in the early ‘eighties and I fell in love with the articles written by the late Scott Cheshire about our history. I look back on those days as the start of my fascination past Chelsea players, teams, games and folklore. Through him, I learnt about such players as Tommy Law, George Hilsdon, Hughie Gallagher, Alec Jackson, Vic Woodley and Len Goulden. His words were so evocative and helped me to fully appreciate the trials and tribulations which have so often befallen Chelsea Football Club. Rick Glanvill lovingly continues this fine tradition in the current match programmes.

I bought a copy of “CFCUK” and then a match programme. With Pompey fans mingling with tourists outside the West Stand, I headed up to the hotel foyer, where I had promised to meet up with Gill and Graeme. Young Jack – he of the wonderful match reports and of the “shouty voice” – was also in attendance and it was great to witness his enthusiasm for the club. Gill and I briefly discussed the US Tour and when the club will eventually announce tour dates; it can’t be long now. I briefly chatted to Ron Harris about the Frome Town “gig.”

The Peter Osgood statue stood proud in front of the West Stand.


Kerry Dixon rushed past on his way to a corporate engagement.

I then retraced my steps all of the way along the North End Road and couldn’t believe how busy The Goose was. The Mancunian derby was on the TV and had everybody’s attention. United, of course, stormed into a 3-0 lead. It seemed to be a cracking match and I fully expected United to be hell-bent on getting some revenge for their 6-1 mauling in October. I expected further United goals in the second period.

What do I know?

I reached my seat in the Matthew Harding at 2.40pm, just in time to witness the players going through the last of their pre-match drills. Pompey had brought 3,000 (they were entitled to 6,000 if they wanted them) and were going through their usual, limited, song selection; the famous “Pompey Chimes.”

“Play Up Pompey, Pompey Play up.”

The manager had decided to play an experienced team and I approved. Juan Mata played wide right in Studge’s role, with the recalled Florent Malouda out left. Portsmouth almost scored after just 30 seconds when the flame-haired Dave Kitson (one of the few Portsmouth players that I recognised) raced past a faltering David Luiz but dragged a shot wide of Petr Cech’s far post. Despite a few nice touches from Fernando Torres, the first-half was a very drab affair indeed. Our Spanish centre-forward flashed a header towards the Shed End goal on 12 minutes, but the effort was saved. We passed and passed, but with little invention. A wild shot from Ramires on the half-hour and a strong run from Frank Lampard before the break were the scant highlights. Portsmouth had a rare shot between these two Chelsea chances, but this was skewed wide. Again, I could not believe how often Torres went wide, straying from the centre. I couldn’t believe how laboured our play was. I know that if I was a midfielder in that Chelsea midfield, I would be hitting Torres, or at least hitting the space beyond him, every single time. Too often, Torres stood separate from the action. The bloke needs to be more involved.

The Portsmouth fans were in fine voice and had the best chant of the half –

“We’ll take you on loan, we’ll take you on loan.
Fernando Torres – we’ll take you on loan.”

I think that was the highlight of the half.

Garry Stanley, one of the midfield stars from Daryl’s second game in 1978, was on the pitch at the break. I avoided the temptation to yell out “get yer boots on.” All was doom and gloom at the break; the first-half had certainly been a shocker.

The second-half was better, but it couldn’t have been much worse.

After only a few minutes, a lovely run by Florent Malouda (possibly the first half’s worst performer) deep into the Portsmouth box was followed by an intelligent ball back into the path of Juan Mata. Our little Spaniard slammed the ball in and we were on our way.

The next major incident occurred when David Luiz lost possession on the edge of the box. A shot reigned in, but Petr Cech parried. Ward was able to head back towards goal and we all expected the worse. Miraculously, John Terry scrambled back to clear off the line. I’ll be honest, both Alan and I thought that it was handball. For a few minutes, JT lay hurt having collided with the post. I knew that Parky was watching from the front row of the Shed End and I joked with Alan that His Lordship should have lent over the advertising hoardings and offered up a crutch to our captain.

The highlights of the rest of the game?

How about some mesmeric shimmies from David Luiz on the left wing down below me? It was gorgeous to watch, but what was our central defender doing ten yards from the corner flag? Best not answer that really.

Fernando Torres then headed back for the energetic Ramires to stoop and direct a diving header, but the effort was saved.

In the last ten minutes, we scored three times and gave the game a rather lop-sided scoreline. Mata crossed for Torres to head down and Ramires was able prod in from close range. Soon after, Torres set up the advancing Ramires who adroitly flicked the ball in with the outside of his boot. With only seconds remaining, Frank Lampard found a spare yard to turn and guide in at the near post.


I was more than happy that all four goals had been scored at the Matthew Harding end and I was able to take photographs, of varying quality, of each of the four sets of celebrations.

Back at the car, Parky was soon to tell me that he had been seated adjacent to the away fans, right behind the Shed End goal, and had been engaged in friendly – and unfriendly – banter with Pompey throughout the game. I just pictured the scene. Soon after, heading out towards Shephards Bush, we listened to the draw for the fourth round –

Milton Keynes Dons or Queens Park Rangers vs. Chelsea.

There’s that away game we wanted. I hope it’s at Milton Keynes.

People might see QPR as “revenge” but I just see loads of aggravation, hundreds of police and tons of nonsense. I hope the “Dons” win the replay and I get to cross off another ground on the list.