Luton Town vs. Chelsea : 30 December 2023.

Luton Town, eh? What’s the back-story here then?

“They’ve come a long way, baby.”

Those idiots that think some sort of “closed shop” European Super League is the rightful and logical next step in the evolution of football really miss the point. My plain and simple objection, shared by many, is that it would end the natural and organic progression of teams, such as Luton Town, through national pyramid structures across Europe.

Let us not forget that in season 2008/9, Bournemouth, Brentford and Luton Town were all plying their trade in the old Fourth Division. Fifteen years later, all three clubs are playing in the Premier League, the top table, alongside more established and historically successful outfits. This is to be heartily applauded. Luton Town were even relegated that season and spent the next one in the National League. Their rise through five divisions is a magnificent yet humbling story.

As some sort of comparison, this is the equivalent of Stockport County, Salford City and Forest Green Rovers playing in the Premier League in fifteen years’ time. And here’s the thing; Chelsea playing Stockport County in a regular league fixture thrills me a lot more than us playing Barcelona (again and again and again, ad infinitum, ad nauseam…). I love the way that our football has given rise to a good number of teams that have spent many years in nether regions of the Football League and seen them reach the top division. Since 2010, Chelsea have played regular league games against Blackpool, Wigan Athletic, Bolton Wanderers, Reading, Cardiff City, Swansea City and Huddersfield Town not to mention the three teams already mentioned. These names are not powerhouses. They are small to mid-sized clubs that occasionally have a run of form and get a chance to tilt at giants. I think this is wonderful.

Our game at Luton’s cramped Kenilworth Road would be our third and final game over the Christmas period. The hosts had enjoyed a mini-revival of sorts, winning two games in a row against the two Uniteds of Sheffield and Newcastle, whereas our last two games had resulted in a loss and a win.

We set off from Frome at 7.30am. On the drive up to Bedfordshire, we discussed the game but I was not particularly swayed one way or the other. A win would be lovely, a draw would be bearable, a loss would be disappointing if not totally unexpected.

There were mixed feelings about our last encounter at Kenilworth Road; it came in the FA Cup in March 2022 and although I was excited to be able to tick off a new ground, the news that Roman Abramovich would be forced to sell the club hit the headlines that very evening and dampened the mood. With hindsight, a narrow 3-2 win seemed almost irrelevant that night, despite us all enjoying the win at the time.

The weather was pretty miserable during our three-hour journey. Alongside me were the usual ones this Christmas; PD, Parky and Glenn. A ridiculous amount of time during the morning was spent trying to sort out a ticket for the game for Sir Les from Melksham. There was a spare, but it was stuck in Newport in South Wales. We tried to solve the conundrum. The first thought was for Les to drive over to collect it but there was not enough time. Grabbing at straws, I then sent a photographic image of the ticket, its bar code and also its QR code to Les and left it to him to try to scan it at the turnstiles. I didn’t hold out much of a hope.

I had booked a “JustPark” space outside a nearby house from 11am and I arrived with a quarter of an hour to spare. The weather was still rotten; overcast and drizzly, grey. Luton was grey too. It is not a town to easily admire. Luckily, the ground was only a fifteen-minute walk away. We soon found ourselves outside the away turnstiles on Oak Road. I chatted to a few familiar faces.

I spoke to Andy, who I first got to know almost thirty years ago.

“In our time, in those Second Division seasons, teams like Luton, plus Watford, QPR and teams like that were our main rivals for promotion. And we always seemed to struggle against Luton.”

One Chelsea win in ten Second Division games in the period from 1975/76 to 1981/82 would back that up. In the two seasons that we were in the top flight – 1977/78 and 1978/79 – during those years, they were still in Division Two. They seemed to be perpetual foes. I never liked playing them.

There was no news from Les. I wondered where he was.

I met up with Alan and Gary, alongside Terry Wine Gums, and a few other faces walked past.

I was waiting in the light drizzle for one person in particular. Back in the mid-‘eighties when a whole gang of us used to assemble centrally on the back row of The Benches – Alan, Glenn, Paul, Simon, Dave, Rich, Mark, Swan and little old me – there was another lad who was in our group. Leggo was from Bedford and used to go home and away. He was part of my match-day routine. We were a tight little set. I remember that while he was on duty with Chelsea down in Devon for a pre-season game at Plymouth in 1985 or 1986, he was set upon by local thugs and his leg was broken. He stopped going for a while and then our paths didn’t cross quite so often. I think I stopped seeing him when I went back into The Shed around 1988. I eventually presumed that he had given up going.

Then, in “The Goose” before a game against BATE Borisov in 2018, I happened to spot Leggo. I couldn’t believe it was him. It took a while but we connected on “Facebook” and chatted a little. Like me, he watches his local non-league team. He watches Bedford Town and I watch Frome Town and both teams play at the same level within the Southern League structure. Hopefully we might both get promoted this season and end up playing each other in the Southern League Premier in 2024/25. We were in that division together in 2011/12 to 2013/14.

I was lucky enough to get hold of a spare ticket for the Luton game and, since Leggo lives in Bedford, I offered it to him. He was so happy. I was pretty sure that Glenn had not seen him since around 1986, and Alan a few years later. I sincerely hoped that this reunion of sorts would be a lovely end to 2023.

I saw Leggo slowly walk up Oak Road. Alan greeted him and they gave each other a lovely big hug. It was a very special moment.

I darted inside, keen to start snapping away, but I was well aware that I didn’t really want to replicate every photo that I had taken on my one and only previous visit almost two years ago. I made my way through the security and bag check, then through the turnstiles. The gate was manned and I had to show my ticket rather than scan it. I quickly messaged Sir Les to tell him. This would not be an easy manoeuvre for him at all. I feared the worst.

I made my way down to the unreserved seats. I caught up with PD, Parky and Glenn. They were a little more centrally positioned than for the FA Cup game in 2022. Alan, Gary and Leggo joined us. Five of us in a row, with Alan and Leggo stood behind.

The Magnificent Seven.

I had a chat with a few others. All the usual faces were here. How many tickets did we have? Around one thousand I believe. We took up two thirds of the Oak Road Stand.

At midday, with half-an hour to go, the pre-match PA started. “I Predict A Riot” by the Kaiser Chiefs was first up. I raised my eyebrows. Mention Luton Town to many football fans and a few key words roll off the tongue.

“Millwall riot, plastic pitch, all-ticket, David Evans.”

For a while, Luton Town – despite their fine football under David Pleat – were a very disliked football club. The Millwall riot pushed them into a corner and their chairman David Evans instigated a “members only” scheme, which did not sit well with the football public at the time. There were claims of an unfair advantage, especially when this home-only support was combined with a plastic pitch that suited Luton more than their visitors.

In light of all this, “I Predict A Riot” was a rather tongue-in-cheek start to the day’s events. We were then treated to twenty minutes of standard stadium / dance music crossover, from “Freed From Desire” to “Insomnia.”

Still no news from Sir Les. I wondered if he was near.

“In the pub, leaving now.”

Our team seemed half-decent.

Petrovic

Gusto – Silva – Disasi – Colwill

Caicedo – Gallagher

Madueke – Palmer – Jackson

Broja

Ross Barkley was playing for the home team.

As he walked over to take his place on the subs’ bench, Alfie Gilchrist was serenaded.

“He’s one of our own.”

Then came the entrance of the teams. Unlike in 2022 there was not an overly raucous atmosphere. Two years ago, Luton’s game with us in the FA Cup was a high-water mark for them, but there are high-water marks every month at Kenilworth Road this season. Maybe their poor season, until of late, has drained some of the buzz out of them.

Their tight stadium, hemmed in on all sides by terraced streets, has been altered since our last visit. To our left, a decent new stand, but only five or six rows deep. There was a small section of fifty away fans closest to the Oak Road Stand. I recognised a few of them.

Cathy, Dog, Pete, Nick, Robbie, Donna, Colby, Robert, Pam, Sam.

The main stand to my right was a very odd structure. It is cranked at each end, giving the impression of three separate sections. The end seats, tight above each corner flag, must be excellent places to watch the action. They reminded me of old bandbox baseball stadia like Ebbets Field where spectators could hear the cursing of the batter or the thud of the ball in a catcher’s mitt. Those seats overlooking the away end were festooned with many flags of St. George and I expected some noise from the locals within.

The Luton home shirt now has a vertical white stripe, harking back to their much-loved kit from the mid-‘seventies. This year’s kit has black shorts, not navy, though and I am not sure why there is that misfire. Unlike in 2022, we had decided against our home colours and were kitted out in the mint green away colours.

At 12.29pm, a message from Sir Les.

“In mate.”

Bloody hell.

Before the game, with every team having played nineteen games – the half-way stage – we were in tenth position. A win would keep us locked in that position. There is no punchline.

The game began.

We started brightly, attacking the other end, and we began noisily.

“Until you’ve taken my Chelsea away…”

Noni Madueke, after his fine cameo against Palace, wriggled on the right and set up Conor Gallagher but his shot was blocked by the Luton ‘keeper Thomas Kaminski.

Despite an early kick-off, the floodlights were on, and the sky was Tupperware grey. The noise from the thousand strong away support continued nicely. At the FA Cup game in 2022, bodies were crammed everywhere. This time it wasn’t so bad.

Cole Palmer launched an early sighter at the Luton goal but cleared the target.

With Nicolas Jackson employed on the left-wing, at times not so far away from us, I sensed that he seemed a little more effective. In those early exchanges he seemed to be playing with a little more nous. On twelve minutes, a searching ball from Palmer set Jackson free and he was allowed to advance down the left. His shot from an angle was saved easily but the Luton defence did not clear the ball. It ended up at the feet of Palmer who did not need much time to drill it low and in at the far post.

GET IN.

The Chelsea support screamed and shouted.

Phew.

Alan and I were stood around four yards apart and so our “THTCAUN / COMLD” routine took on a new look. We improvised a rather nifty mime and we had a proper giggle.

Ross Barkley, already showing that he was the main playmaker for Luton, blasted over from a free-kick.

After twenty minutes of play, the home support was still quiet. It came as a shock. I had expected more from them.

Thiago Silva inadvertently flicked on a cross from the Luton right but there was nobody gambling to take advantage. Luton had a little spell, but we kept them out. I lost count of the number of times that Barkley rolled his studs over the top of the ball before shimmying and losing a marker. Glenn shouted over :

“Barkley is running their show.”

Andros Townsend was coming in for a bit of stick from the Chelsea support but he took it well.

Gallagher ran off an injury to his leg after seeing his shot blocked. Moises Caicedo gave away a brainless free-kick but thankfully Barkley misfired again.

A chant from the travelling support :

“You have to stay here. We get to go home.”

On thirty-seven minutes, we purred at a really fine counter-attack down our left. Colwill to Jackson to Caicedo – one touch football – who then released Colwill down the wing. His first-time pass was hit square to Palmer. He took a touch but moved it on intelligently to Madueke in the inside-right channel. He danced and shimmied a little, knocking his marker off balance, before slamming the ball into the roof of the net.

You beauty.

The rest of the half was a little scrappy and with lots of free-kicks. A Chelsea effort seemed to be cleared off the line.

At half-time, we were happy.

“All players 7/10.”

At half-time, I saw Liz, Pete, Margaret and Roy appear in the side seats.

An exciting early break from Malo Gusto down the right looked like causing a threat. However, with four team mates in decent positions, the right back took it too deep and a defender blocked the final ball. Tahith Chong – with the Cucarella locks – ran unhindered at us and played the ball out wide. Townsend was unmarked but thankfully Silva was able to block when the ball eventually dropped at the far post. Those in the away end began tensing up a little.

The home team had more of the ball in the second-half and we were not as potent on our rare breaks.

I noticed planes ascending through gaps in the cloud and waited for a perfect shot of Djordje Petrovic taking a goal-kick just as one flew overhead.

The Chelsea support were a little quieter.

We watched as a whipped-in Luton cross from their left rolled tantalisingly through the six-yard box but missed everybody.

Phew.

On the hour, Christopher Nkunku replaced Broja who had not really been too involved. I would later comment on the drive home that he had spent a lot of his time on his arse. Jackson stayed out wide. There was a decent run and shot from him.

With twenty minutes remaining, a super move. I often want early balls played centrally by the defenders and Axel Disasi, taking a free-kick, spotted Jackson spare and so drilled the ball to him. He did well to spin away from his marker and played in Palmer. I saw him advance, roll his studs over the ball to glide past the ‘keeper, but could not see the finish.

I heard the roar.

Luton Town Chelsea 3.

The players celebrated wildly with the fans in the front row just yards away. Great scenes. At least one of the several photos that I took paid off.

“Sign him up for eight more years. Chelsea boys are on the beers.”

And then it all got a bit crap.

Another cross from their right and Elijah Adebayo headed home. Groan. But then VAR was consulted and the goal was cancelled. No cheering from me.

Madueke hit over.

I got my “up, up and away photo” at last as Petrovic launched one.

A cross from the Luton right now, and a header from Adebayo that rattled the bar. It rattled us too.

“Come on Chels!”

Alas, from a corner that quickly followed, Barkley glanced a header in.

Game on? Maybe.

With ten minutes to go, Enzo replaced Madueke. I thought to myself “if only Enzo could dominate the Chelsea midfield in the same way that Barkley dominates the Luton midfield.”

There was yet another cross that caused us worry. This time it came from the left foot of Alfie Doughty from a free-kick. Carlton Morris connected but his header came back off the bar, though I suspected that Petrovic had managed the slightest of touches. Our goal seemed to be living a very charmed life. A two-on-one down our left and a low cross was cleared. Then, Chelsea defending so deep now, the ball was crossed from the Luton right. It was dinked up. A header at the far post from Doughty. I expected a goal. Petrovic scrambled over to save but the ball was knocked in at the far post by Adebayo.

Fackinell.

Game on? Yes.

Luton had scored goals in the eightieth and eighty-seventh minute. This was quite ridiculous.

“Come On Lu’-on, Come On Lu’-on, Come On Lu’-on, Come On Lu’-on.”

Six minutes of injury time were signalled. Our nerves were being stretched out of shape. This was a tough final few minutes.

Alfie Gilchrist replaced Palmer.

The minutes ticked by. Alan showed me “five minutes” on his stop-watch. The game continued. One final punt up field and it came down to a battle of the two Alfies. Their Alfie dallied and our Alfie pounced. The ball was won and then hacked away. There was a roar from the thousand. And there was another roar when the referee blew up just after.

Phew.

Next up, a good old-fashioned FA Cup tie against another of the lowly teams that float up and down the Football League.

Chelsea vs. Preston North End.

See you there.