Tales From A Weak Bridge

Posted on April 16, 2025 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Ipswich Town : 13 April 2025.

After the uninspiring 0-0 draw at Brentford, Chelsea’s next match was in Poland against Legia Warsaw. With Chelsea yet to play a competitive match in this country, there was a strong chance that I would have been sorely tempted to go. However, quite some time ago I received a letter asking me to attend Jury Service in Bristol during that week. So, no plans were made. Imagine my annoyance when it transpired that I was not needed in court all of that week.

I watched the game in Warsaw on TV. That first-half was so dire, but we managed to scrape three goals from somewhere in the second period to give us a very good platform to advance into the semi-finals.

My football weekend was again double pronged. On the Saturday, I drove into the northern suburbs of Swindon for Frome Town’s away match at the superbly titled Swindon Supermarine, a team that we beat 3-0 just before Christmas, our first home win of the season. This was another “must-win” game of football for the struggling Robins, and I joined around one hundred away fans in a decent gate of 436. It was the home team’s largest attendance of the season. Alas, despite a strong first-half, Frome wilted in the second period and lost the game 1-0 to a goal from Harry Williams five minutes from time.

With just three league games left, the club are now five points from safety. The marked resurgence in our form from December to March has now withered away with five consecutive 1-0 defeats in a row. The need for a 15-20 goal marksman this season was paramount, but with such players so hard to attain, our survival looks impossible.

Sigh.

As Sunday morning arrived, it was up to Chelsea to give me a little football joy on this particular weekend.

Were we up for the task?

I wasn’t sure.

This was a 2pm kick-off, so I wasted no time in the morning. At 7am I picked up PD in Frome. On the way over to collect Parky at 7.30am, our progress was stopped for five minutes when some escaped dairy cows were herded up on the Frome by-pass. Let’s see if I can include this rather odd escapade into the rest of the narrative.

Am I up to the task?

I am not sure.

The pre-match in various parts of Fulham was typical. There was a tasty breakfast on the North End Road at “The Memory Lane Café”.

You know what is coming, right?

10 April 1985 : Nottingham Forest 2 Chelsea 0.

I was back home in Somerset for Easter when this game was played on a Wednesday evening. I listened along on the radio, and we were 0-0 at half-time. Alas we conceded goals to Johnny Metgod and Garry Birtles in the second period to lose 2-0. The gate was a lowly 14,666.

13 April 1985 : West Ham United 1 Chelsea 1.

I know that my friends Glenn from Frome and Swan from Radstock went up to London for this game, a much-anticipated return to Upton Park for the first time in over four years. I didn’t go. At this stage of the season, I was planning an Inter-Rail trip around Europe in the summer and so didn’t hit too many away games. There was, if I am honest, the threat of trouble at this game too, and I was probably put off from going for this very reason.

This game kicked-off at 11.30am to try to keep alcohol-induced rowdiness to a minimum. It still shocks me to this day that just 19,003 attended this game. David Speedie put us 1-0 up but Tony Cottee equalised. It ended 1-1.

Unbeknown to anyone at the time, an ITV film crew was at this game and would air some footage from Upton Park, and at Victoria and on the District Line, during an hour-long documentary about hooliganism, and the ICF especially.

Later that night, in a Frome night club I met up with Glenn who went through the day’s events, but the night was spoiled when we both got embroiled in an altercation with someone, team unknown.

Let’s get back to 2025.

I moved on and headed towards the area outside Stamford Bridge. I noted that the old ticket hall at Fulham Broadway Station was undergoing some changes and will be opening in June as a new “Wetherspoon” pub.

There is no punchline.

On the Fulham Road, I spotted a sign that I had not seen before.

“Weak Bridge – 330 Yards Ahead.”

It was referencing the physical bridge – Stamford Bridge – that takes the Fulham Road over the railway line, and before that, the small brook called Counter’s Creek.

Stamford Bridge, the stadium, was named after this very bridge.

I thought this was all too spooky for words. I remember when The Bridge was a strong fortress; now there are bloody road signs saying that the bridge is weak.

I spent a few moments chatting to various friends on the Fulham Road outside the tube station. I then caught a train south from Fulham Broadway. It dawned on me at Parsons Green tube station, as I spotted two young gentlemen wearing pink chinos and pink shorts get off the carriage, that the University Boat Race was taking place in this part of West London on this sunny but occasionally cold day.

I wondered to myself if any of the thousands of attendees would be asked by stewards to show them the contents of their wallets.

I guessed not.

I sat with just Parky and PD in “The Eight Bells” as all the other regulars were absent. I heard that Mike from New York – last seen in Abu Dhabi – was at the game but it looked like our paths would unfortunately not cross.

I was inside the ground with half-an-hour to go.

The sun was out, but it was cold in the shadows. The 3,000 away fans – many wearing the pink away shirt – seemed to be a riot of colour.

The team?

Sanchez

Chalobah – Tosin – Colwill – Cucurella

Caicedo – Fernandez

Madueke – Palmer – Neto

Jackson

I spotted that Liam Delap was only a substitute for Ipswich Town.

After “The Liquidator”, we segued into “Blue Is The Colour” and this again set things up nicely with the Stamford Bridge purring along to the famous lyrics.

In the first attack of the game, Cole Palmer received the ball in a good position but took a while to decide what to do. The chance to take aim and strike the ball at goal came and went, and the move ended with an overhit ball to Enzo Fernandez.

I muttered to myself “a move without menace” and wondered if it would set the tone for rest of the game.

Soon after, shambolic distribution from Sanchez had the home crowd howling. As the away fans watched their team in all pink try to get into the game, they sang a song at us.

“Football in a library…”

To be fair, they had a point.

The first quarter of an hour belonged totally to Chelsea. Nicolas Jackson was set up via a good cross from Enzo but his shot was unfortunately smacked against the near post from close range. Then a flurry of chances soon followed. Enzo thumped a shot over the bar, Noni Madueke’s shot was blocked and Trevoh Chalobah’s drive was saved by the Ipswich ‘keeper Alex Palmer.

From a Madueke cross, Levi Colwill forced a fine save from Palmer in The Shed End goal and Marc Cucurella slashed a follow-up effort over the bar.

At this stage, there were little complaints from the home support, although the stadium was hardly making much noise in support of the team.

However.

On twenty-one minutes, the visitors broke and scored with their very first attack. George Hirst did well to escape being hemmed in and broke centrally. I didn’t like the way that Colwill let him run, and when the ball was pushed out to Ben Johnson, Cucurella had to divert his attention from one player to the other, from Hirst to Johnson. He just missed a blocking tackle, and we watched in horror as a cross was nimbly toe-poked into our goal by Julio Enciso.

I said to the boys “watch us go into our shell.”

However, the immediate response from the home fans was good.

“CAM ON CHOWLSEA – CAM ON CHOWLSEA – CAM ON CHOWLSEA – CAM ON CHOWLSEA.”

The Ipswich fans were full of it, of course.

“Can we play you every week?”

There was, sadly, no immediate Chelsea response on the pitch and the mood in the stands deteriorated.

Into our shell we most definitely went.

A “play it out from the back” move much beloved by…er, not many…broke down and Ipswich went close.

The atmosphere blackened.

Ipswich came again just after and I thought that the ball out wide to Enciso looked offside. His cross found the leap and the head of Ben Johnson and we were 2-0 against Ipswich for the second time of the season.

Not even a VAR review could save us.

It was fractured stuff in the closing fifteen minutes of the first period. I loved a fantastic pass from Palmer, reminiscent of similar jewels before Christmas, that set up Cucurella but the move broke down.

Madueke – one of our better, more positive players – drilled a shot over the bar, the reliable Moises Caicedo shot wide, and after a beautiful dink from Enzo, Jackson’s intuitive lob was well over.

The skies were darkening over Stamford Bridge as the first period came to its conclusion.

At the half-time whistle, boos.

During the break, unsurprising moans.

Enzo Maresca made a substitution, though not one that many would have predicted. On came Malo Gusto, off went Tosin. Chalobah moved alongside Colwill in the centre.

The second half began with my friend Alex appearing next to me and demanding a selfie. I promised her that if we came back to win this one, we’d do “come back selfies” at all other games in which we were losing at half-time.

With that, down on the pitch, Madueke burst forward down the right, made the goal line, passed low, and a lunge at the ball by Cucurella forced Axel Tuanzebe to push the ball into his own net.

I laughed and turned around to see Alex’ reaction.

Smiles all round.

Barely twenty seconds of the second half had elapsed.

The vibe inside the stadium certainly improved and we were attempting to grab, at least, an equaliser.

A Pedro Neto shot was aimed right at the ‘keeper. But then Hirst had two decent chances for Ipswich. He was just wide with a shot, and then from a fantastic cross from their right, his stooping header just went past the post.

It was an open game.

Another Neto shot at the ‘keeper, and then a delicate Neto cross towards the far post that evaded everyone.

A change on sixty-seven minutes.

Jadon Sancho for Madueke.

Neto was moved over to the right and Sancho appeared down below us on the left.

The Chelsea chances continued to pile up; a Palmer effort was deflected wide, a Neto volley just over. Sancho sent in a low cross and it was touched towards goal by Enzo, but Conor Townsend managed to hoof the ball out and away from goal. Then another shot from Enzo, but another save from Palmer.

Fackinell.

On seventy-nine minutes, Palmer played a short corner to Sancho. He sized things up, and shot, and I shot too. The ball flew fast and seemed to dip before it nestled inside the far post.

GET IN YOU BASTARD.

Snap, snap, snap, snap, snap.

Phew.

I looked around and caught Alex’ eye again.

I have stopped worrying about us obtaining a Champions League place this season. It won’t happen. I am not sure how far up – or down – the league table we will finish this year, but while there are points to be won, Chelsea have my attention.

Could we grab a winner against lowly Ipswich? This was now my focus, and it did make me squirm to realise that this would be a pretty decent achievement in the circumstances.

On eighty-five minutes, Chalobah came close with a high leap at the far post that I managed to capture on film but the ‘keeper somehow managed to block.

Somehow.

A shot from Palmer was flashed over.

With four minutes to go, the much-maligned Christopher Nkunku replaced Jackson.

There were six minutes of time added on at the ninety-minute mark.

We kept going.

A low curler from Palmer was pushed around the post by his namesake.

The last chance of the game came from Enzo, who smashed a ball at goal but the bastard Ipswich ‘keeper again made another phenomenal stop.

It ended 2-2.

As we made our way out, the away fans were singing “We Support Our Local Team” and their players stood in front of the packed away end, as one.

I thought to myself : “fair play to them.”

Walking up towards “The Wolfpack” with my head down and pacing forlornly, I suddenly looked to my right and spotted Mike from New York. It was lovely to see him once again, an unexpected pleasure at the end of a rather disappointing and disjointed performance from the team.

This is becoming another tough season.

Despite the frustrations of the domestic campaign, there is our increasingly advanced participation in the UEFA Conference League.

However, as I drove home from London, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to attend the game against Legia Warsaw on Thursday.

And I still don’t know who won the boat race.

Tales From Two Firsts

Posted on January 1, 2025 by Chris Axon

Ipswich Town vs. Chelsea : 30 December 2024.

This was a new ground for me. In my fifty years of following Chelsea at various locations, I had never yet ventured as far as Portman Road in the Suffolk town of Ipswich. In fact, I had only ever visited the town twice before, for work in 2003 and 2009, and on both of those occasions I was based to the south of the town, so this was to be my first visit to the town centre itself.

Once it was eventually decided when the game was to be played, I booked up a hotel close to the stadium. I didn’t fancy an “in and out mission” on the day, and I also fancied a drink. This would be my first domestic drink-up at a game since Newcastle away last season.

A few years ago, the two biggest stadia within the English and Welsh professional pyramid that I had not visited were Ipswich Town and Huddersfield Town. I crossed off the latter on opening day 2018, and now it was the turn of Ipswich. What are the remaining major stadia that I am yet to visit? Notts County, Bradford City and Millwall immediately spring to mind as being the three biggest on the list.

Talking of “firsts”, there was a huge “first” that occurred just over forty years ago on Saturday 29 December 1984.

On that day, I saw Manchester United play for the very first time.

Following our promotion to the old First Division in May, Chelsea were starting to find our collective feet in the First Division. Although there had been dropped points along the way, there had been an excellent away win at Everton, creditable away draws at Arsenal, Tottenham and Sheffield Wednesday, and two fine home wins against West Ham United and Liverpool, amongst others.

This was a glamour game for sure. Although United had last won the league in 1967, they were the biggest-supported club in the country and were a decent-enough team at the time. From a fan’s perspective, I was very keen to see how many supporters they would bring and how the numbers would compare with Liverpool who had visited three weeks earlier.

It was a familiar routine for me for my pre-match; a visit to West End shopping areas – purely window shopping – and a spin down to Fulham Broadway. My diary informs me that I darted into the long-gone Pie & Mash shop at the southern end of the North End Road, and I then met up with two pals outside the ground who advised me to nip along and buy myself a Benches ticket for £4. I have no recollection of this. I imagine I was previously unaware of the need to get a ticket. Was the Benches ticket-only for this one game? I am not sure.

On a cold day, we were inside as early as 12.15pm. There was no spare money for pre-match drinks in those days. I was a poor student, but just happy to be at Chelsea as often as possible.

There were nine of us in a row at the very rear of the Benches.

My diary called us “the Back Benchers.”

From the North to the South :

Paul from Brighton, Alan from Bromley, Dave from St. Albans, Richard from St. Albans, Simon and his brother Andy from Sandridge, me, Leggo from Bedford, Mark from Sunbury.

Simon and Andy were momentarily famous twenty years ago when the video of them at Highbury for the Champions League Quarter-Final went as near to viral as 2004 would allow.

I still see all eight lads at Chelsea to this day.

Us in 1984?

Niedzwiecki

Wood – Pates – McLaughlin – Joey Jones

Nevin – Keith Jones – Spackman – Thomas

Dixon – Davies

My notes said that United brought about 4,000 but Liverpool had brought more. There was a little “mixing” in the centre pens and a few punches were inevitably exchanged. It’s sad to admit to it now, but I remember being awkwardly thrilled to see the red shirts of the United players as they walked out from the East Stand tunnel.

Chelsea began on top in the first twenty minutes. The ex-United midfielder Mickey Thomas set up Gordon Davies who volleyed home. Mass celebrations, what noise, another scalp for this exciting team?

Sadly, the visitors went 2-1 ahead by half-time. Frank Stapleton crossed for Mark Hughes to head home and then Bryan Robson slipped a pass through to Remi Moses who slotted the ball in. David Speedie came on as a substitute for Keith Jones at the break. A scrambled third goal by United, with Frank Stapleton getting the final touch, was met with groans, and there was added ignominy as Kerry Dixon missed a penalty with ten minutes remaining. My notes said that Mike Duxbury should have been sent off at least twice and that our best player was, perhaps, Nigel Spackman.

In Frome that night, I bumped into PD and Glenn, and I am not wholly sure why Glenn didn’t join us in the Benches. He travelled up with the Frome / Manchester United coach though, so he may have arrived late. He told me that he almost got hit as he approached the United coach after the game by some Chelsea lads.

So much for 1984.

With dropped points against Everton and then Fulham, I set off for Suffolk rather concerned for our health, despite Ipswich still waiting to win their first game at home in the league this season.

I called for PD bang on 7.30am and I called for Parky not long after. There was a sub-standard breakfast at McDonalds in Melksham, but we were on our way.

On this day, Chelsea was set to announce loyalty point thresholds for access codes for the FIFA World club Cup games next summer. These were to be shared at 9am.

At 9am, I stopped at Membury Services in Wiltshire and my 110 points meant that I was to be given a 10.30am time slot. At 10.30am, or rather just a minute after, I was stopped at South Mimms Services in Hertfordshire where I accessed the Chelsea ticket page.

I was in.

I hoped that the rest of everything else Chelsea-related would go as well later.

The drive to Suffolk was fine. The M25 was clear, the A12 was clear. The skies were clear too. It was a glorious Winter Day. It felt good to be seeing different roads for a change, different scenery. We drove right past Colchester United’s stadium by the side of the A12.

At just after midday, I was parked up at our hotel around half-a-mile from Portman Road.

I had been given a seemingly decent plan of pubs by a friend, Rob, who would meet up with us later. We caught a cab down to the marina and at just after 12.45pm we were supping our first lagers of the day at “The Lord Nelson.”

On the trip to Ipswich, I had tried to think of players that had played for both teams.

Colin Viljoen. Kevin Wilson. Jason Cundy. Craig Forrest.

I posted this on “Facebook” and a few more followed.

Omari Hutchinson – oh damn, of course.

Mark Stein – I had forgotten that.

Trevoh Chalobah – and that.

“The Lord Nelson” was a great little pub, and it dated from 1652.

I began with a couple of “Amstel” lagers.

From there, we trotted over to “Isaacs” on the marina. Just as Kevin, a Chelsea fan from Ipswich itself, came out to take a photo of us outside the glass-fronted pub, Kalvin Phillips waited behind the wheel of his huge car. His career stalled after his move from Leeds United to Manchester City and he is now part of Keiran McKenna’s squad at Portman Road. He is the player that Gareth Southgate pined for recently.

Yeah, I know.

We met up with Noel, Gabby and Paul, enjoying the mid-afternoon sun as the “Madri” lagers went down well.

Next up, at 3.45pm, was “The Thomas Wolsey”, another decent pub in the town centre. This one used to be run by Alan Brazil. The pubs were not, yet, particularly busy, but that did not matter.

“A Cruzcampo please barman.”

From there, a five-minute walk to “The Plough” where we arrived at 4.15pm. There were a few familiar faces here; Lee from Essex, Jimmy the Greek, Dave and Glenn the brothers, Liam and his father, Pete – last seen everywhere – but pride of place goes to Rob, the guy in charge of the pub crawl, and our mutual friend Steve, who goes all the way back to that 1984/85 season as he was on the very same Human Geography course as me in Stoke-on-Trent.

“Peroni please barman.”

Apparently, this pub was meant for “home fans only” but I didn’t see any signs. Everyone was on fine form, what a great pre-match.

Incidentally, talking of “firsts”, Steve – with his twin brother Sean – travelled up with me in 1986 from Stoke for my first-ever visit to Old Trafford, but that’s a story for another day.

At about 7pm we strolled off to the game. It was only about a fifteen-minute walk.

On the drive up to Ipswich, I had joked with the lads that despite us arriving in Ipswich at around midday, we should not be too surprised if we were huffing and puffing our way through the turnstiles with five minutes to go before kick-off. Well, on this night, we surpassed ourselves. Despite a delay getting in, I was inside with a whole fifteen minutes to spare.

Portman Road was as I expected it really, although the double-decker stands behind each goal have been additions since the team were in their heyday in the late ‘seventies and early ‘eighties. My mate Steve has a season ticket at Portman Road these days, although I am sure he won’t mind me reminding him that he favoured Derby County when I first knew him.

Chris : “More clubs that Jack Niclaus.”

Steve : “More clubs than Peter Stringfellow.”

Rob : “More clubs than Tiger Woods.”

Before we knew it, Portman Road was engulfed in the heavy sulphurous fumes from the fireworks that seem to be a pre-requisite of many top-level match days in 2024.

We had none of this shite in 1984.

Portman Road was full to the rafters, just a little shy of 30,000. It’s a nice and neat ground, well-proportioned, and – whisper it to Steve – not too dissimilar to Derby County’s old baseball Ground.

Us in 2024?

Jorgensen

Disasi – Colwill – Tosin – Cucarella

Caicedo – Enzo

Madueke – Palmer – Felix

Nkunku

I loved the Ipswich Town pinstriped shirts, so reminiscent of the good old days of clean and crisp shirts by Adidas and Le Coq Sportif. This one is by Umbro, and it’s a cracker.

We were in a solid block of three thousand in the upper tier of the East Stand, the Cobbold Stand. I was stood with Gary and John, just a few rows from the front, a fine view. This stand was named after the family who presided over the Alf Ramsey League Championship season of 1961/62 and the Bobby Robson cup triumphs in 1978 and 1981. However, I always think that unless we are behind the goal at away venues, the involvement – and noise – is never as good. It’s just something about being stood en masse at one end.

We looked a bit edgy – “not at the races” – and it was the home team that forced the upper hand in the early exchanges.

After twelve minutes, the ball was pushed forward by Leif Davis, whoever he is, and it met the run by Liam Delap, who pushed the ball past Filip Jorgensen. To our horror, the referee John Brooks pointed to the spot, and Delap drilled home the ball into the left-corner, just beyond Jorgensen’s dive.

Fackinell.

Ipswich Town 1 Chelsea 0.

Jorgensen made an absolute stunner of a save soon after, tipping a rasping effort from that man Delap over the bar.

Halfway through the first-half, a sweet low curler from Cole Palmer smacked the base of a post from a free-kick, and the ball was hacked away before a Chelsea player could pounce.

A cross from Palmer cut out everyone and Joao Felix smacked the ball in to the goal, but our celebrations were cut short with a signal that we all dread : VAR check.

A long wait.

Sigh.

No goal.

Chelsea created a few half-chances, but the home side dug in and covered space, tackled hard, and looked more organised. Marc Cucarella shot wide, Moises Caicedo shot over.

Another Delap and Jorgensen shoot-out, thankfully our ‘keeper saved.

Delap was a real handful though.

Just before the break, a curler from Palmer was expertly saved by Christian Walton in the home goal.

The first half hadn’t been great, and I was frustrated with our support, many of whom were standing in silence. It reminded me of the League Cup tie at Middlesbrough last season and we were along the side on that night too.

Sigh.

What of the second-half, then?

We actually began strongly, with efforts from Felix and Madueke.

Alas, on fifty-three minutes, a disastrous pass from Axel Disasi was intercepted by Delap who kept the ball before passing to Omari Hutchinson. Our former youngster cleanly wrong-footed Jorgensen with a drilled shot back across the goal.

Ipswich Town 2 Chelsea 0.

Oh God.

The rest of the game was a blur really.

55 minutes : Nicolas Jackson for Joao Felix.

Christopher Nkunku had looked ill-placed to play upfront, to lead the line, and he hardly got a sniff, and we hoped that Jackson might inject some life into the team as Nkunku was shifted wider.

We just looked tired and jaded, without ideas, without energy.

65 minutes : Jadon Sancho for Nkunku.

Moving Nkunku out wide had not worked. If anything, the ever-willing Cucarella was more of a threat.

The Chelsea fans had almost given up by now.

To be fair to Sancho, he looked the liveliest of the lot during his cameo.

77 minutes : Malo Gusto for Disasi, the less said the better, and Pedro Neto for Madueke, average at best.

We conjured-up a couple of half-chances, no more than that, and there was still time for a lung-bursting run from Delap down in front of us, as if to rub it in. It has been a while since I have seen such an old-fashioned striker ply his trade in the topflight.

It ended 2-0 and we sloped off into the night.

Outside, next to a statue of Sir Bobby Robson, we gorged ourselves on hot dogs and burgers. We needed to be warmed-up, somehow.

Chelsea vs. Manchester United :

Pre-Game :

Ipswich Town vs. Chelsea :

Post-Game :

Postscript 1 :

After I had dropped Lord Parky off on Tuesday afternoon, and only around six miles from home, I was zapped by a policeman with a speed gun in the village of Rode. It was just what I needed. After our terrible results over the past ten days, I turned to PD in the passenger seat and said :

“Well, it looks like I will end up with more points than Chelsea this Christmas.”

Postscript 2 :

Well, I finally got through those nine Chelsea games in December. Five trips to London, one to Southampton, one to Almaty, one to Liverpool and one to Ipswich. I’ve seen the games, I’ve taken the photos, I’ve caught the flights, I’ve driven the car, I’ve written the blogs. It all resulted in over 10,000 views in one month, by far the highest monthly total since this site hit the newsstands in July 2013.

Thank you all so much.

See you at Selhurst Park next Saturday.

Tales From Two Trips

Posted on November 2, 2024 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Newcastle United : 27 October 2024.

This was the oldest fixture in my particular book of Chelsea games. My first-ever game was Newcastle United at home in March 1974. This one would be my forty-third such fixture. In all of those previous forty-two matches, Newcastle’s record at Stamford Bridge has been wretched.

Chelsea have absolutely dominated this fixture.

Won : 28

Drew : 10

Lost : 4

Unlike my record at Anfield the previous Sunday, this was championship form.

With a 2pm kick-off at HQ, we were headed to Stamford Bridge once again. At 7am, I collected PD and Glenn. Alas, Parky was unable to join us on this occasion.

This was would be home game number 878. If I stop and think about the magnitude of those numbers, I feel slightly light-headed.

For a change, I drove up via the “southerly-route” to London, skirting Warminster, over Salisbury Plain, past Stonehenge, onto the A303, onto the M3 and in to London itself, past Twickenham, past Rosslyn Park rugby, past the Marc Bolan memorial at Barnes, and over Putney Bridge, where I dropped the lads off at around 9.10am. I was parked up at 9.20am, just two-and-a-half hours after leaving my house in Somerset.

There was a quick breakfast at “Café Ole”, and I then joined PD and Glenn in “The Eight Bells” at just after the 10am opening time.

During the Anfield report last week, there was talk of PD and Glenn and the Southampton away game in 1984. That loss, on the back of another loss against Watford and a draw at Millwall, meant that I was starting to get a little concerned about our form. Whereas we had stormed to promotion from the Second Division previous season, our early 1984/85 performances were rather mixed.

Forty years ago, again to the day, on Saturday 27 October 1984, Chelsea played Ipswich Town in a First Division game at Stamford Bridge. Thankfully, we won this one 2-0 in front of 19,213. I didn’t attend this one. I spent the day in Stoke, and heard about Kerry Dixon’s two second-half goals on my pocket radio. Darren Wood, one of only two signings since the previous campaign, made his debut in this match. On the same afternoon, Everton beat Manchester United 5-0 at Goodison, and the football world sat up and took notice. They had won the FA Cup against Watford in May and were starting to impress.

Soon after I arrived in the pub, the first of a few mates called in. Johnny Twelve, from Long Beach in California, fresh from the game in Athens, squeezed his considerable frame alongside us. With Johnny a Dodgers fan, and me a – rather lapsed – Yankee fan, there was a little talk of the World Series which was being played out in Southern California and the South Bronx.

Luke called by. Then Jimmy The Greek, full of interesting tales of his recent holiday in Sicily. Then, Tim from Melbourne, deep down in the Southern Hemisphere, accompanied by his mate Nigel from the slightly nearer Southern reaches of Merton. It was fantastic to see Tim again – another Yankee fan – after a few years. Glenn and I had met him over in Perth for our game in 2018.

Next to arrive was Rob from Hersham. I was only with Rob last Tuesday. He had driven down to Frome with two mates to attend the Frome Town vs. Walton & Hersham game. I met up with them in an old hostelry in the town centre and we then watched a thoroughly entertaining match. Frome went 1-0 up, only for the away team to equalise and then go ahead. As the fog descended, Frome kept going with dogged perseverance and, backed by the noisiest crowd this season, grabbed a deserved equaliser via Curtis Hutson. The gate was only 294, but the noise of the crowd and the commitment of the players produced a life-affirming moment. The clawing fog added to the drama. I really enjoyed this match.

This was followed by an away game on the Saturday at Merthyr Tydfil in South Wales. Pen-y-Darren Park, which hosted Football League football in the ‘twenties, has been on my list of “must-do” football venues for a while. On a gorgeous autumnal day, I appreciated the drive over the new Severn Bridge and the drive alongside the River Taff – parts of the scenery reminded me of a few drives through Appalachia – and I enjoyed the stadium even more. It is a beauty, and a monster of the non-league scene.

Believe it or not, as the weekend was approaching, I mentioned to a few close friends that I had been looking forward, in all honesty, to the trip to Pen-y-Darren Park more than the trip to Stamford Bridge. I am not sure if it shocked me, but I think it shocked them.

This was to be visit #1 versus visit #878, after all.

I think that helps to explain it a little.

Alas, Frome succumbed to four second-half goals to lose 0-4, and to cause more tremors of concern for our future in our current division. As if to rub salt in the fresh wounds, I had to endure “Liquidator” as we exited the deep terraces of that classic non-league ground. The locals had been friendly enough, though. Walking back to the car, I chatted to two Merthyr stalwarts about the game and as I stopped to get inside my car, one of the old chaps offered me a few “Roses” chocolates for the return drive home. You don’t get that at West Ham or Tottenham.

Rob and Johnny Twelve were joined by the other Rob – they come as a pair, these two lads – and Jimmy was joined by Doncaster Paul and his son. Lastly, Josh from Minneapolis appeared for one last pint before it was time to leave.

The more the merrier, I say.

At just after 1pm, were soon on the District Line train to Fulham Broadway.

This was another beautiful day, and the sunshine was a lovely addition. There were a few noisy Geordies making their way to the away section as I made my way in. I reached my seats at 1.40pm, just right.

This was a busy day of football in the nation’s capital.

Arsenal vs. Liverpool.

Chelsea vs. Newcastle United.

Crystal Palace vs. Tottenham Hotspur.

West Ham United vs. Manchester United.

London’s five biggest teams, plus the powerhouses from the north-west. I have a feeling that this series of fixtures would not have been similarly scheduled forty years ago.

Our team?

Sanchez, Gusto, James, Chilwell, Fofana, Lavia, Caicedo, Madueke, Palmer, Neto, Jackson.

Of course, the big surprise was seeing Reece James at left-back.

In the away team were our former players Lewis Hall and Tino Livramento.

The usual three songs were played.

“London Calling.”

“Park Life.”

“Liquidator.”

The twenty-eighth anniversary of the passing of Matthew Harding occurred during the week and so a large flag was displayed in the stand that bears his name.

RIP Matthew.

Never Forgotten.

At 2pm on a beautiful Sunday in SW6, the game began.

Soon in to the game, there was advice from Alan sitting alongside me to Noni Madueke, who had been set up by Nicolas Jackson.

“Cut inside and ping it.”

The shot was fired at the ‘keeper Nick Pope.

Soon after, just as PD and Alan were reminiscing about Phil Driver and his best-ever Chelsea performance in the 6-0 win against the Geordies in 1980, Jackson slid the ball to Cole Palmer, who – from a difficult angle – managed to gently steer a low shot in off the far post.

I celebrated, I took photos of the celebrations, but Alan was stalling his celebrations for the moment.

VAR.

A wait.

No goal.

Hmmmppphhh.

It annoyed me that a detailed explanation of the VAR decision appeared on the TV screens a full ten minutes after the event.

Not to worry, we were playing well and dominating the game.

On eighteen minutes, I was watching through my camera lens and was able to take a succession of key photos as a dreamlike move developed. Malo Gusto won the ball and played it to Palmer. Our kingpin, our sublime orchestrator, turned and soon spotted the forward movement of Pedro Neto. His pass dissected not only two Newcastle defenders but the space-time continuum. In fact, the space-time continuum has still not recovered, and has been scratching its head ever since. The ball was played to perfection. However, Neto needed to ride a possibly wild tackle from Fabian Schar and then took one touch before gliding the ball across the penalty box, thankfully devoid of defenders, and the perfectly-time run of Jackson resulted in a solid first time prod into goal.

GET IN.

The talk of 1980 had probably been working away subconsciously, because I immediately likened it to the Gary Chivers goal, played along vaguely similar lines, from that 6-0 game in October 1980.

Alan and I were bubbling over.

“They’ll have to come at us now, pet.”

“Come on my little diamonds.”

Newcastle briefly threatened, but we kept going. Neto shot at Pope, and then did ever so well to dig out a cross that Gusto failed to convert.

The away team improved a little and enjoyed a few chances, and just after the half-hour mark we allowed the Newcastle team far too much space. A move developed down below me. Harvey Barnes passed to Hall and his low cross was touched home by Alexander Isak, who had not been spotted by Reece James. Had the captain, recently under fire, switched off? It would appear so.

Bollocks.

VAR could not save us.

It took over ten minutes for the explanation of that decision to appear on the TV screen.

I loved the way that Moises Caicedo won a tackle, got a give and go with a team mate, and rampaged forward before shooting over. These rare displays of direct football are a nice change to the lateral pass-pass obsession.

If there is space in front, exploit it.

Who can forget that ridiculous touch from Palmer on the half-way line that almost defies description? This was another time/space mystery as he poked a ball past a defender, into space, only for him to carry on with the ball as if the defender was invisible.

What a talent.

During the half, which was extended by a mighty seven minutes, there had been two instances of utterly woeful distribution from Robert Sanchez. I wonder if that man has shares in the company that makes defibrillators.

There was, also, one memorable occasion when he rushed out to head a bouncing ball away, but we all expected the ball to bounce over his head, cartoon-like.

Oh boy.

It was 1-1 and tantalisingly level at the break, though I thought we had edged it.

Soon into the second-half, the impressive Romeo Lavia nicked a ball from a Newcastle player in the centre-circle. Alan had just offered me a bar of chocolate, but a good Chelsea move was developing here. The ball was now at Palmer’s feet, not so far away, and he took off. I had just broken off a chunk of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, and was just about to pop it into my mouth, when I had a brain flash.

“If we score here, either that chocolate is going to fly out of my mouth or I am going to choke.”

I threw the chocolate to one side.

With that, Palmer nonchalantly drilled the ball in between Pope and post.

GET IN.

What a goal from Cole.

Stamford Bridge was noisy again.

At least I caught his celebrations on film.

Soon after, a fine cross from Noni but a header from Neto hit a post, though I thought that it was excellently saved by Pope at the time.

Madueke drove inside from the right but a shot was saved easily by Pope, who was the busiest ‘keeper at this stage.

There were a couple of substitutions.

Mykhailo Mudryk for Madueke.

Enzo Fernandez for Lavia.

On seventy minutes, it appeared that luck was on our side as a header from Isak ended up at the foot of a Chelsea defender who was on hand to clear. Soon after, a similar goal-bound effort was hacked away too.

Marc Cucarella for Gusto.

Christopher Nknunku for Jackson.

In exactly the same way that I appreciated the songs and chants of encouragement from the Frome die-hards against Walton & Hersham, I loved the fact the Chelsea support reached a crescendo in those last fifteen minutes when we could all see that the away team were searching for a way to get an equaliser. That is what support should be all about.

It’s not rocket science.

Isak, after another “episode” from Sanchez, really should have nabbed that equaliser as he rounded the ‘keeper with an open goal ahead of him. Thankfully, the combined forces of Colwill and Caicedo saved the day.

Stamford Bridge roared its approval.

In the closing moments, nobody around me expected VAR to uphold a penalty decision after Nkunku went down.

No penalty.

In the last moment of drama, deep into a further six minutes of extra time, Joe Willock rose at the far post but his header back across goal was headed dramatically over his own bar by the returning captain, James.

Phew.

On a day of lovely losses for both Tottenham and Manchester United, Chelsea momentarily appeared in fourth place. And although, I had been looking forward to the trip to Merthyr marginally more than the trip to London, there is no doubt that I was more emotionally involved in the Chelsea game than the Frome one. If we had conceded a late equaliser, I would have been crushed.

This was a fine win against Newcastle. All of the plaudits were for Cole Palmer but I loved the way Lavia and Caicedo dominated the midfield. Praise for Jackson too, once again a scorer.

A quiet week lies ahead for me, with no trips to Brislington with Frome nor Newcastle with Chelsea.

I need the rest.

Next up, for me, two aways at Sholing near Southampton and at Old Trafford, near Manchester.

See you in the away ends.

GOAL ONE