Everton vs. Chelsea : 21 March 2026.

The trip to see Chelsea’s first ever game at Everton’s new stadium was our first journey to Merseyside since December 2024. There were no visits in 2025. Sometimes it works out like that. I can’t deny it; I had been relishing this game since we heard of the fixture list back in the summer. A new stadium, a new experience, a new routine; just beautiful.

Despite the chances of others attending, it boiled down to just the three of us. I collected Paul at 8am and Lordy at 8.30am, and we were soon on our way via the usual stop at Melksham for a quick breakfast.

I had worked out the logistics for the day, and I had given myself more than ample time to travel up to Liverpool, meet friends, relax a little, but also spend time checking out the Hill Dickinson Stadium on the banks of the River Mersey. I know that naming rights are “the thing” these days, but what an ugly name. Still, I suppose beggars can’t be choosers in such circumstances. I have heard that some Evertonians have already dubbed it “The Dixie” in lieu of Dixie Dean, and there has already been the typically English abbreviated version of “Hill Dicko”, which just sounds too Scouse, and too ridiculous. I think it will take me a long time to stop calling it Bramley Moore Dock.

However, on multiple occasions during the build-up to this trip, I found myself mentioning the stadium as Goodison, by mistake, so entwined has Everton Football Club been with its old home.

So, that’s the pre-amble, the entrée, and there has been no mention of the actual game. On this occasion, I was suffering from a strong case of stadiumitis and – to be blunt – after our previous showing against PSG, it was probably just as well that I had something else to occupy my mind. The football would take care of itself. And I was hoping that it wouldn’t spoil a good day out.

The weather was grand as we headed north. The skies were clear of rain, with little hint of clouds. I ate up the miles. My first port of call was to be “Ye Old Hole In Ye Wall”, allegedly the oldest pub in Liverpool, a favourite pub among many favourite pubs in Liverpool’s historic city centre, and where we dived in for a pre-match drink on the two previous visits to Anfield at both ends of 2024. The aim was to get there around 1pm.

I was soon heading into the city from the M62, that oh-so familiar route in. I am prone to chatting to Paul and Parky about the sights that we encounter on these football trips, and if I am honest, I am never sure if they take too much notice of my wittering. I was genuinely amazed that when we approached the huge art deco building that used to house the Littlewoods Pools company, and which I have chatted about a few times, PD wondered if the rebuilding – it is set to become a film studio – had started yet.

I wanted to stop and grab his little cheeks and shower him with praise.

“Bloody hell, you do listen.”

Dropping down into the city by car is one of the great moments on my travels, like some sort of modern-day footballing Pevsner, around This Football Land and it didn’t disappoint on this pristine Spring Day. The two cathedrals, the Radio City Tower, the Liver Building and even a glimpse of the river came into view.

I dropped the lads close to “Ye Old Hole In The Wall” at about 1.15pm. It had been about a five-hour drive; I tend not to speed these days. I can’t afford getting more points. I said that I would be back at around 2.30pm.

I then headed up towards the stadium.

There is no doubt that one of the main problems with the placement of the stadium on the river is a lack of close match day parking, and access routes to and from the venue.

Logistics.

Thankfully, I had lucked out. A friend’s daughter lives in an apartment about a twenty-minute walk from the stadium, and I was able to park – for free – in one of the visitor spaces outside. I had to swear blind that I was visiting her to the poor bugger that manned the entrance hut, and who noted some personal details, but I suspect that he knew I wasn’t being honest. I am sure that the visitors’ car park is full to bursting on Everton home games yet not used on other days. Oh well. I was parked up, job done.

I grabbed hold of my SLR and marched north. It was ridiculously warm and I wished that I had not chosen one of the warmer jackets that I keep in the boot of my car.

I briefly looked south and spotted the Liver Bird a mile or so away, facing out to the river, perhaps unwilling to acknowledge the shiny new stadium to the north.

I was soon appreciating the historical nature of the setting. Waterloo Road became Regent Road, and there were red-bricked buildings to my right, and these no doubt acted as warehouses when the docks to my left were in full usage. I started to see that a few of these old warehouses, industrial premises and houses had been turned into watering holes for the area’s new clientele.

It was around 1.45pm, just under four hours until kick-off, but there were supporters already heading up to the stadium. I walked past a couple more bars, including “The Dock Wall” where I would be meeting up with friends later. Just after, I walked over an antiquated iron bridge that links Collingwood Dock and Stanley Dock and couldn’t resist a few photos. The Titanic Hotel, where Chelsea and other teams stay, was to my right. Then, the huge hulk of a former tobacco warehouse, a truly impressive sight, now turned into apartments.

Whereas Goodison was locked into the terraced streets of Walton a couple of miles away, this new stadium is placed in an area that reeks of the city’s sea-faring past, and it already has an amazing sense of place.

In the distance was the stadium and, against a clear blue sky, it looked stunning.

I noticed that at every break in the Dock Wall, which runs all the way from where I was parked to the south past the stadium to the north, there is a rounded tower, and these are not too dissimilar to the Everton “lock-up” Tower, dating from 1787, featured on their badge.

A nice little synergy, there.

I was soon outside the stadium. I had driven past it on the way to Anfield in 2024, and I had visited it by foot on the first day of the season in 2022. On that occasion the stadium was just being started, with a couple of stands creeping into the sky, but it was mainly a construction site full of cranes.

I include the link to that match report – and photos – later.

My first thoughts?

It’s a stunning piece of architecture, but I find the two distinct parts to the exterior a little jarring.

First there is the red brick façade that houses the stands, the offices, the corporate area, the function rooms, that obviously references the city’s industrial heritage, the nearby warehouses, even the red-bricked terraced streets around Goodison Park. It gives the stadium some solidity, and that’s fine.

Then we have the space-age curves of the roof, that floats above the under structure, and it almost seems that the two different halves of the stadium are too different to completely work as one.

But you have to say, especially on a sunny day when the sunlight is dancing on the steel curves, it’s a physically stunning piece of architecture.

I think I read somewhere that the architect wanted the stadium to have two distinct parts; the lower part grounded in Everton’s local history, but the upper part a reflection of the club’s desire to fly off into unchartered territory as it faces a bold and exciting future.

If that’s the desire, it’s mission accomplished.

There’s just something about it that grates a little.

I guess it’s a typical post-modern stadium.

It just doesn’t look like it ought to.

I took a bundle of photos, and I include some here.

One of Goodison’s trademarks was the criss-cross design on the Archibald Leitch balconies, and while there was to be no permanent mirror of that inside the new stadium, I heard that there would be a section on the outside, on the brickwork, that echoed this. I didn’t see anything. Maybe that’s a task for my next visit. I did, however, spot the famous design atop the fence that marks the southern boundary of the stadium.

I hoped that wasn’t it.

I absolutely loved the mooring bollards that have been left in situ, weather-beaten and rusting. There is also a tower just inside the premises that – I believe – houses an Everton information centre.

I walked under the roof on the South Side and along to the western edge but annoyingly seemed unable to advance any further. It seemed to me that the West Stand, overlooking the River Mersey, was accessible only via a turnstile, somewhere. This was a shame, since I wanted to take photos from the river, looking back at the stadium. Maybe I can make that a goal next time; maybe I missed a secret entrance. I am usually good at the powers of persuasion. I will try my luck next time.

I really wanted to have a little moment to myself, looking out at the river and the surprisingly high land of Birkenhead over the water, and remember my great great grandparents who set off on the SS City Of Philadelphia from Liverpool in the August of 1854, heading out to a new life in the USA. I wanted to stand still and remember them. On 7 September the ship was wrecked off the coast of Newfoundland at Cape Race, but thankfully nobody was killed. It was, unnervingly, its maiden voyage. They went on to live around five years in Philadelphia before returning home.

Maybe I can remember them at that place on a later visit.

Instead, I took some panoramic shots of the sweeping scene to the south, with the Liver Birds still visible if you knew where to look.

At the southern side there are paving stones featuring some Everton greats. These are surrounded by the names of fans on smaller slabs, a familiar feature these days at stadia. I wondered if the Dixie Dean memorial and the Holy Trinity will one day migrate to the new stadium from their current homes outside Goodison.

At about 1.15pm, I hopped into an Uber outside the Bramley Moore pub on Regent Road and I soon joined up with my two mates at the same table that we used in 2024. On that day we were joined by Josh from Minneapolis and Courtney from Chicago. On this occasion, Brian and Kev from South Gloucestershire wandered in and sat at our rather cramped table. Another Chelsea fan – face familiar, name unknown – sat close by too, with his daughter. We chatted to the friendly locals, who were virtually all Evertonians and heading up to the match, and were “made up” that Liverpool had lost in the early kick-off.

At about 3.45pm, we caught an Uber north. At that moment, all the pubs in the city centre were overflowing with punters. This seemed like the first day of Spring. People were everywhere. They couldn’t be all going to the game. However, the new stadium is closer to the city centre than Goodison, so maybe a new switch has been taking place for Evertonians. A lifetime of drinking close to Goodison is in the past. A new regime of drinks in the city centre awaits.

Up, up and away.

I was dropped off where my car was parked and swapped my SLR for a smaller camera – I wasn’t ready to risk it at the new stadium, despite never ever being stopped at Goodison – and swapped my warm coat for a light rain jacket. While the other two were taken closer to the stadium, I retraced my steps and headed to The Dock Wall.

From “Ye Old Hole In Ye Wall” to “The Dock Wall.”

The crowds on Regent Road had thickened now, and a huge number of the locals were wearing blue. I wondered what the local scallies back in the late ‘seventies and early ‘eighties would have reckoned to that.

The Dock Wall was packed. Luckily, I soon found the two sets of mates that I needed to see. First up, just outside at the rear by a small car park, were Deano and Dave. They had travelled down from near Lancaster and were happy that I had been able to sort out tickets for them. Deano has just returned from Sri Lanka. Dave told me a very interesting piece of information about the previously mentioned dock wall, that runs the length of stadium to the east. Apparently, it is a grade 2 listed building and so cannot be dismantled and removed.

I also met up with the Brothers Grimm, Tommie and Chris, along with Tommie’s son and daughter. I had met up with Tommie at Wrexham. I was reminded of the fact on the way up that it is not very often that I get to visit two new stadia in consecutive away games.

I have been lucky this season.

Chris is a life-long Evertonian and season ticket holder. He used to have a seat near the half-way line in the Upper Bullens at Goodison. His new home is in the corner of the Upper Tier where the West Stand meets the South Stand. It was Chris who recommended this boozer.

“I came down here a few years back and there was just one pub. Now there are bars appearing all the way down here. But I like this one because they serve the ale in glass pints not plastic.”

It was rammed. I decided against queuing up for a drink. I had a good natter with both sets of mates. Like me, Chris loves Stiff Little Fingers, and I had to comment on the two little badges he had on his lapel.

“SLF” and “UTFT”.

As one we said the same thing.

Chris : “My life.”

Chris : “Your life.”

We laughed.

Chris instigated the famous old Everton fanzine “When Skies Are Grey” back in the mid-to-late ‘eighties, and Tommie has done plenty of work with the Welsh-speaking media channels in his homeland. They are an interesting set of brothers.

I excused myself and headed out. It was about 4.45pm. I was bloody parched though, so imagine my joy when I was handed a small can of Coke by some young’uns on a promotion on Regent Road.

There were discarded remains of blue flares littering the pavement. The local ultras had obviously been putting on a show, presumably on a march to the stadium. I could just about detect the lingering aroma of sulphur.

I am glad Chelsea’s younger element don’t go for this “dress in black, walk to stadium, wave flags” nonsense that doesn’t seem to fit our club. Just have a drink in the pub and sing your hearts out inside.

Simple.

I made my way over the iron bridge again and walked to the final of four gaps in the dock wall that was the designated place for us away fans to enter. This, of course, was the busiest of the four. I walked through a full-size metal detector with my pub camera clenched in my fist and there were no bleeps. I walked on. There was another small queue in the north-east corner, and I was patted down, but no hold-ups and I was in.

I had a seat in Row 6 of the lower tier, but everyone needs to climb a few flights of stairs to access the two tiers of the seating bowl. Both tiers are served with a mid-level concourse. It seemed pretty airy, and decent, a long way from the cramped area at Goodison. I didn’t hang around and soon found my place adjacent to John. Alas, no Gary or Alan on this occasion.

First thoughts?

Steep.

The two tiers are super steep.

It used to be the case that, to save space, tiers used to sit on top of one another, with the lower tier covered by the overhang of the upper. Goodison used to be like this. The North Bank at Highbury used to be like this. The Matthew Harding Stand at Chelsea is like this. I suppose there is a slight overhang in the lower tier at Arsenal. But not at Anfield, in any stand. In these new stadia, with more room, there are tiers in name only. They simply sit higher but are not really attacked.

Therefore, the Everton architect helped with sightlines by making the rake the steepest in the United Kingdom.

But I wasn’t particularly blown away by the interior and found it a little bland. There are no quirky bits, no features that make the place unique. The northern end, to my right, is slightly different in that the upper deck is cut away to enable a large section of glass to be placed at the rear, presumably to aid the growth of the grass on the pitch.

Above, there are a million metal beams holding the roof up. I tried not to dwell too much on that. It’s a really ugly sight.

Chelsea had three thousand fans located in three sections in the north-west corner; all in the Lower Tier.

I was in 118 along the side, 119 was by the corner, 120 was behind the goal-line.

The players, in green, went through their shuttle runs, and I soon spotted my photographer mate David, who was seated behind the advertising boards to my right. I met David at Goodison a few years back as he caught me taking some photos outside. He came over for a nice little chat, and I knew there would be a few candid photos of yours truly coming my way later.

I momentarily had to focus on the game. Bollocks.

Our team?

Robert Sanchez

Malo Gusto – Wesley Fofana – Jorrel Hato – Marc Cucurella

Moises Caicedo – Romeo Lavia

Cole Palmer – Enzo Fernandez – Pedro Neto

Joao Pedro

With about five minutes to kick-off, I was dismayed to see cheerleaders to my left doing whatever it is cheerleaders do. What a load of old crap.

I noticed that on a couple of occasions the advertising boards flashed with some Evertonian phrases and chants :

“The People’s Club.”

“Up The Toffees.”

“Come On The Blues.”

And also, the LED version of the Leitch crosshatch.

Oh, that looked lovely, combining old with new faultlessly. I had heard whispers of this a few months ago. I hoped that it would reappear many times during the game.

“It’s A Grand Old Team To Play For” was bellowed by the home fans as it came on the PA.

Then, the big moment.

The sirens, then the drums…I captured “Z Cars” on my phone and immediately shared it on “Facebook.”

I looked up to where Chris would be sitting, way up to my right, and momentarily Goodison Park entered my head.

It’s the only stadium that my Dad visited before I came along, and jolted his life with my love and football, and Chelsea, and Chelsea games.

Goodison will always be a part of me.

Back to the game.

At 5.30pm, it kicked-off.

Everton were attacking our end, Chelsea the South Side. The early afternoon heat had subsided, and I needed my rain jacket to keep warm. The first ten minutes or so didn’t amount to much on the pitch, and I spent a few moments eying up the various parts of the new stadium and wondering if the home fans would ever get going. The atmosphere wasn’t brilliant. I spotted a fair few empty seats opposite in what looked like a corporate zone. I had heard rumours that this was the case at the new stadium, and that Evertonians were far from happy that seats were appearing on third party sites way too easily. Sound familiar?

There was another in the long line of Sanchez mishaps after ten minutes as made an absolute balls-up of ushering the ball to a colleague, but thankfully, he was able to scramble the ball clear before Beto could cause the ultimate embarrassment. The away end howled their derision.

We were playing our usual slow build-up in which the two central defenders touched the ball more than our more creative players. I moaned to John that “football has got right up its own arse the past few years” and I hope we – somehow – return to a looser style of play.

With twenty minutes on the clock, and with just a lazy shot from Caicedo that had drifted wide to our name, it was all Everton. They were sharper on the ball and sharper off it. A shot from James Garner, whoever he is, was cleared by Gusto.

A voice behind me, booming out so that everyone could hear him, was winding me up. His voice was loud and boorish. He was calling several Chelsea players the most hideous of names. I bit my lip until I could bite it no more. I turned around.

“Listen mate, I admire your passion, but you can’t say that word here.”

It was a word that I had not heard on the football terraces ever before, nor outside of football – in polite society or not – for decades. My comment had riled him, and he then used several other unpleasant words over the next fifteen minutes or so with the sole intention of winding me up. I did not turn around. I did not react.

I was tempted to get out of the stadium, defeated. But I stayed, resolutely. I didn’t want this person to win.

Our play then improved a little for a few minutes, and we managed to conjure up a flurry of shots from a variety of players, all of which were blocked on their path to goal.

Sadly, on thirty-three minutes, out of nowhere, a lightning break caught us flat-footed at the back, and we all sensed danger. Garner sent the ball through for Beto, who had out-raced and out-thought Fofana, and he dinked the ball perfectly over Sanchez. It was a gut-wrenching sight to see the ball end up in the net with thousands of Evertonians behind the goal cheering along.

Fackinell.

Everton 1 Chelsea 0.

We hadn’t created too much from open play, and our best chance came soon after the Everton goal when Neto floated a corner in from the far corner, but Jordan Pickford flapped. The ball fell nicely for Enzo to smack the ball goalwards. However, Pickford threw up an arm and managed to palm the ball over. It was an amazing recovery and a fine save.

A chance fell for Lavia, from an Enzo cross, towards the closing moments but his header went wide.

By now, the bloke behind me had disappeared.

At half-time, I spoke to a woman in front, who was watching with her young son, and I mentioned to her that it was the look of pure disgust on her face that had prompted my words. She mentioned that the woman in front of her had reported the bloke to the stewards. He didn’t return for the second half.

A bloke to my left had a little word about the two goalkeepers.

“Imagine if we had Pickford in goal. Not Sanchez. The calm it would create in the defence.”

I had to agree.

At half-time, there was more Leich “criss-cross” being flashed on the advertising areas, but there had been nothing during the game, which was a shame from my perspective. Why not display this famous design a few times for a few minutes each half?

Liam Rosenior replaced Malo Gusto with Alejandro Garnacho and it took me and the bloke to my right a few moments to work it all out.

“Who has gone off” he asked.

“Looks like Gusto. Caicedo to right back” I replied.

That didn’t feel quite right to me, shades of Michael Essien filling in at right back in 2008. But it also meant Enzo sitting deeper and Palmer coming inside.

Everton still looked hungrier, with more energy, while we looked lazy and lethargic, a horrible combination. Chances were at a premium.

On fifty-seven minutes, Andrey Santos replaced Lavia, who still hasn’t got close to a full game for us.

Well, for a while we improved slightly and Enzo conjured a shot on goal, a curler that Pickford saved well.

Then, on sixty-two minutes, another quick break after Idrissa Gueye picked up a loose ball. He played the ball into the path of Beto – this had “goal” written all over it, that footballing sixth sense – and he sped away before slamming a low shot at goal. From a hundred yards away, we saw the ball emerge past Sanchez, and there was a futile attempt to hack it away. But the line had already been crossed.

Everton 2 Chelsea 0.

The replay was shown on the big screen, and there were howls from the away end as we saw the ball squirm under Sanchez.

Fackinell.

The noise, that had been simmering all afternoon, now took over the steep-sided stadium.

“Everton. Everton. Everton. Everton.”

It was loud as hell.

Chelsea carved out a rare chance after a neat Enzo one-two with Joao Pedro, but his lifted effort was well-saved by Pickford again.

The manager changed things again. On seventy-minutes, Estevao replaced Neto. His brightness down in front of the away support brought an up-turn in our noise, though in all honesty it felt that the game was well gone by this stage. He certainly added some zip to our play. One corner that he whipped in came crashing down onto the bar with Pickford for once well beaten. There are few players in this squad that I have a rapport with, but Estevao is one of them. His smiles are refreshing, his skills are lovely, his whole demeanour is of a “nice kid.”

A second corner was whipped-in, and that caused a problem too.

I chirped to John that “Estevao our best player and he’s only been on the pitch for five minutes.”

Alas, with fifteen minutes remaining, Everton moved the ball to Beto, who passed it on to Iliman Ndiaye. Bizarrely, I found myself leaning forward to get a good look at his approach on goal. I might have preferred, perhaps, to look away, or to move back. I saw the player curve a magnificent shot past Sanchez. I watched it every bit of the way.

Ugh.

Everton 3 Chelsea 0.

There followed more incredible noise from the Everton faithful. I would read a few days after the game that many Everton fans thought that the new stadium “came of age” against us. Some even said that it was on a par with some of the noisiest days at Goodison Park, notably the ECWC semi-final against Bayern Munich.

It might be the only honour we get this season.

Our section then thinned out steadily for the remaining minutes. On seventy-eight minutes, two more substitutions.

Tosin Adarabioyo for Moises Caicedo.

Liam Delap for Joao Pedro.

Yep, proof that Rosenior has a sense of humour.

At the end of the game, only around 20% of the 3,000 Chelsea supporters were still in the stadium. I must be a glutton for punishment as I was one of them. I stayed to see the reaction by the players to the supporters and from the supporters to the players.

It was grim stuff really. I think I momentarily clapped for a few seconds. The players faces were stern. At least they didn’t all sprint off down the tunnel. Rosenior clapped us, and I didn’t know what to think. But I do think that it was important that they stared down our bleak expressions.

If that miserable moment helps them understand our pain, then so be it.

The tide has turned against Rosenior. There are no more “Liam” chants at games. It seems that the bloke is out of his depth. He did relatively well in France at Strasbourg, but that is a relatively weak league where one team dominates and a few lesser protagonists jostle for scraps. I suspect that Madame Cholet could successfully manage a team in France.

I met up with the lads, and we took the lift down to ground level. Everyone around us was irritable and fed-up. We slowly walked out towards the exits, and we eventually shuffled through one of the four exit gates. Four exit gates for 52,500 seems crazy; the place needs more. We then began the – very – slow walk south. The walk back to the car took the best part of an hour. I suppose we pulled out of my parking spot at around 9pm.

To be fair, the car journey through the city and out to the M62 and then the M6 was surprisingly quick. We stopped off in Kensington, unlike the London version, a very low rent part of the city, and wolfed down some burgers and a kebab. Then, the long road south.

I eventually made it home at 2am.

Gallery

Staring Us Down

Goodbye

Hello

2022

Tales From Difficult Shapes And Passive Rhythms

Smiles Before Kick-Off

We Will Be Back