Tag Archives: Kerry Dixon

Tales From The Last Day Of 2011

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Chelsea vs. Aston Villa : 31 December 2011.

A day of poor performances on and off the pitch and a day of quiet contemplation as one year drew to a close, with another one ready to start.

I was back in the hot seat once again. I love driving, to be honest, so it’s never a chore. I pride myself in not knowing anything about cars – I don’t get turned on by engine capacities, turbo systems or leather interiors – but I love driving as a means to travel and as an activity in itself. I love the buzz of driving, the allure of new cities, observing new architecture, and I relish the joy of seeing magnificent countryside as I hurtle past. Combining driving with football is an added perk for me.

You might have noticed.

Of course, if a new ground is involved, even better. I especially enjoyed driving up to Burnley two seasons ago on a bitterly cold day and heading into alien territory. It was one of my very special personal memories from that momentous closing period of The Double season. We have away games at Norwich City and Swansea on the horizon and I am already looking forward to those two; a shame they come within ten days of each other. What is the expression about eggs being kept in the same basket?

Parky had unfortunately missed out on tickets for the away game at Norwich when they went on sale this week, though. The club had stupidly decided not to use loyalty points to decide who gets the chance to apply for this prime ticket and Parky missed out during the mad scramble.

It is my view that the right to purchase tickets for the away games at the three newly promoted teams should always be on loyalty points; this invariably results in the “new ground” scenario. Look how crazy it was for Blackpool away last year; the hottest ticket for an away game for years. Likewise, QPR in October. Tickets went on sale for that game with no loyalty point system in place. Yet another example how out of touch the club is with regards to their rank and file support.

High profile away games really are a mad scramble. For the Norwich City game, Chelsea receives 2,389 tickets. The 550 folks in the away season ticket scheme (of which my friends Alan, Gary and Andy, along with myself, are members) are assured tickets. The remaining 1,839 get split 60-40 amongst season ticket holders (1,103) and members (736). So, around 25,000 season ticket holders got the chance to apply online for just 1,103 tickets with no loyalty weighting in place and is it any wonder that Parky missed out?

Parky and I had a new travelling companion for the game with Villa. Young Jake – he will be known as Young Jake in these chronicles as he is only 23 – is a friend of Parky’s son-in-law Kris and he goes to a few home games each year. We first met him in The Goose at the start of this season. He would be taking Glenn’s season ticket alongside me for this game so I had arranged to collect him in Trowbridge at 9am. A few minutes later, Parky was on board, too.

This would be my 48th Chelsea game within the calendar year of 2011. My highest ever total was 57 in 2009. I can’t see that ever getting beaten to be honest. I briefly looked back on the year. After the euphoria of 2010 (a stunning year for Chelsea, but also a deeply enjoyable one for myself on a personal level), is it any wonder that 2011 has not lived up to expectations? When one considers that the year of 2011 involved three losses at Old Trafford within seven months and three home defeats by Liverpool, it never was going to be a classic Chelsea year. My favourite personal moments of the past twelve months are easy; beating United 2-1 in the league, a great week of the Royal Wedding and victories over West Ham United (the Torres goal still makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention) and Tottenham Hotspur at either end of it, the amazing games in Kuala Lumpur and Bangkok, the noise and passion of the defeat of Manchester City a few weeks ago and – the highlight – meeting my old friend Mario for the Leverkusen away game in November.

Actually – think about it. What fan of Lincoln City, Leicester City or Leeds United would not want to experience what I did in 2011?

We drove in via the M25 and then the A40 again. Jake usually travels up to London by train and so this was a little treat for him. I usually get a little frisson of excitement as I ascend the elevated section of the M4 on my approach to Chelsea, but this other approach is not without merit. In addition to driver, I acted as a tour guide to Jake as I pointed a few sights on our quick journey into London. We passed the art deco magnificence of the Hoover Building and we then caught a quick glimpse of The Shard away on the horizon, amongst the skyscrapers of The City. The Shard will soon become the tallest building in Europe and is designed by Renzo Piano. This architect was first brought to my attention when he oversaw the transformation of the old Lingotto Fiat factory in Turin; the one with the test track on the roof as featured in “The Italian Job” and where my friend Tullio’s grandfather worked.

Past the floodlights of Loftus Road to our right and Jake got a proper buzz in being able to see a new stadium, only yards away, for the first time. As we drove past the Westfield Mall, I mentioned that the BBC Television Centre at White City was nearby. I spoke about the classic BBC sitcom “Steptoe & Son” being based in Shepherd’s Bush and Parky piped up

“Oil Drum Lane.”

With that, we treated Jake to a gravelly rendition of the series’ theme tune.

We zipped through Earls Court and I explained how the area’s moniker of “Kangaroo Valley” got its name and then we sped past Brompton Cemetery; the final resting place of the club’s founder Gus Mears. I pointed out the roof supports to the Matthew Harding to Jake as we neared the end of our 136 mile pilgrimage. I thought back to my childhood; seeing the embankment of the old North Stand as the District Line train came out of the tunnel was always a tantalising moment for me on my childhood forays to Stamford Bridge.

I got the feeling that Jake was getting those same feelings.

At the Yadana Café we breakfasted like kings.

Bacon, egg, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes, baked beans, fried bread, black pudding, toast and coffee.

The Full Monty.

Young Jake’s pre-match prediction was of a 3-1 Chelsea win and he repeated this forecast at regular intervals throughout the day.

Jake and Parky popped into The Goose and I flew down to The Bridge. I wanted to take a quick look at what was on sale in the shop. I just bought one item – the book “Chelsea Uncut” – and that was quite enough for me. I rarely spend my hard-earned on club merchandise, though I did see a few reasonable T-shirts on sale, including one which said something about the club being founded in The Rising Sun; nice, a bit different. The place was packed, though. It was too crowded to be enjoyable, though. I only stayed about ten minutes.

I popped up to the hotel foyer, had a quick word with Mick and bought a pint of lager. I noticed that none other than Kerry Dixon appeared with a few guests. Kerry was a big hero for me during his time at the club and I have been very lucky to spend a few hours in his company on two events in the West of England. These were undoubtedly two of the best nights ever. On the second occasion, a friend of a friend took us on to a country pub in his small Vauxhall Corsa. Being wedged in the back seat of a small car next to Kerry Dixon as the driver navigated the narrow country lanes around Farrington Gurney is one of my most surreal memories as a Chelsea fan.

I waited to catch his eye and offered my hand. He wished me a Happy New Year and we both uttered the phrase “always a pleasure” at the same time. Always embarrassing that, isn’t it? The same words. D’oh.

I sat myself down and had a flick through the book that I had just bought and I loved it. There can’t be many Chelsea photographs from our ancient history that I am yet to see, but the book contained several. I especially enjoyed the old black and white photographs from the early years. A favourite photograph is of a Chelsea goalkeeper – almost certainly Vic Woodley – pumping the heavy leather ball up field on a cold and misty afternoon, with the terraces out of view.

There’s a superb snap of Pat Nevin, the dribbler supreme, crouched and about to spin away from a Newcastle defender from “that” game in November 1983.

There is the iconic photo of the substituted Johnny B patiently waiting in the tunnel during the closing moments of the Leeds game later that season.

Photographs of Matt Damon, Raquel Welsh, Tiger Woods, Lana Turner, Kobe Bryant , the New York Giants and the Chicago White Sox.

Superb stuff.

At the bottom of the escalators, I spotted Gill and Graeme and waited for few minutes for the players to walk through.

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v…type=2&theater

I then battled the crowds of match day tourists on my scramble out of Stamford Bridge and back up to the pub. I made my way to the bar and glanced up at the TV screen to see that Blackburn Rovers were winning at Old Trafford.

Get in.

Just one more pint, but plenty of chat with the usual suspects. I welcomed the two Texans Wes and Jeff back to Chelsea; Wes now resides in Southfields, but Jeff was on a flying visit. He was last over two years ago and we spent a few moments dissecting the recent performances of the team. We agreed that – altogether now – this is a season of transition.

It really is.

Does anyone not believe this?

If we have to down before we go up, so be it.

I chatted to Andy about the away games at Swansea and Norwich. Andy had decided that he wouldn’t be travelling down on the Tuesday evening for the Swans game, so he sold his ticket to Parky. To complete Parky’s good fortune, Daryl sold him his ticket for the game at Norwich. Parky had a beaming smile after these two transactions.

Excellent.

Andy and I had the briefest of chats about Rangers – he is more a fan than I – and we ended up chatting about the Rangers legend Davie Cooper. I spoke about a goal I saw him score against Celtic in around 1979 in the pre-season Drybrough Cup. I promised to send him a YouTube link if I could find it. It is one of my favourite goals of all time.

The inevitable fight back by United was met with typical groans, but we then exploded when Rovers miraculously went ahead.

Young Jake and I walked down to the ground and we overheard that, indeed, United had been beaten. I quickly texted my Blackburn mate Mark.

“Keen Must Stay.”

We were inside with only a few moments to spare. I just caught Neil Barnett running through the Chelsea subs and caught Neil Barnett saying “Number 27 Sam Hutchinson.”

What a lovely moment for the lad; welcome back, Sam.

Villa had brought down around 800 fans from Birmingham and they didn’t waste too many moments in asking us if we had won a European Cup. Elsewhere, there were empty seats, but the crowd was larger than the Fulham game.

The game? Sigh.

Villa last won in the league at Stamford Bridge in May 2002 and I didn’t expect them to provide a massive threat to us. We enjoyed the early possession but shots from Daniel Sturridge (high) and Didier Drogba (wide) didn’t threaten the Villa goal. Villa had a few chances, mainly involving Agbonlahor on the break. The move which lead to the foul on Drogba was the best passage of play in the game to that point. Drogba seemed to have a verbal spat with Mata over who would take the penalty; there was only going to be one winner, there, with Didi just one goal away from Roy Bentley and Peter Osgood on 150 Chelsea goals.

It wasn’t a clean strike but he scored and I captured it in film.

It was fitting that Didier scored his 150th from the penalty spot at The Shed, in front a banner proclaiming “Born Is The King.”

Bobby Tambling – 202.
Kerry Dixon – 193.
Roy Bentley, Peter Osgood, Didier Drogba – 150.

However, five minutes later Villa equalised with a poorly-defended and scrappy goal from Stephen Ireland. In a poor first-half, our only other chances involved a half-chance from Mata and two free-kicks from Drogba, who clearly fancied himself as the star of the show. Ramires had been surprisingly quiet, but Luiz was steady at the back. Our play was so slow, though, and we didn’t take advantage of the occasions when the play opened up due to Villa’s frequent breaks. At the half-time whistle, there were audible boos.

Soon into the second-half, a lovely run from Juan Mata down below me was exhilarating to observe at such close quarter. I really do have a great seat at Chelsea and Jake was loving it too; his first ever time in the Matthew Harding. On this occasion, Drogba’s run was too soon and the ball rolled away behind him. A Villa free-kick came close, and we had been warned. A Chelsea move broke down and a rapid break from the visitors found the pacey Agbonlahor. We expected the worst, but his weak shot was easily saved by Peter Cech and the covering Luiz averted further danger.

Frank came on for Oriel Romeu and we hoped for the best. How odd it must be for Frank, now, to be limited to rare starting appearances. From that game in 2002, only John and Frank remain. How frustrating for him and for us to watch on as his prolific career undergoes a heart-breaking decline.

Daniel Sturridge was having a very poor game – shirking his defensive responsibilities and rarely threatening up field. He was replaced by Fernando Torres and virtually his first touch almost resulted in a goal. He moved the ball onto his right foot, shaped nicely, then unleashed a cracker which dipped wickedly and slammed against the bar. I know I am biased, but how damn unlucky has Torres been during his Chelsea career? He should be on 15 goals, not 5. If only that first chance in the first-half against Liverpool in February had gone in.

If. The biggest word in football.

The promising Albrighton bamboozled Ashley Cole but Cech saved. A lovely move involving Frank and Fernando set up Drogba, but a week shot ended up well wide and didn’t bother Guzan in the away goal. By now, the natives were restless and the support – hardly ever rising to more than a muffled groan – was now being even more derisive. Chances were as rare as an Arsenal trophy parade.

The newly arrived substitute Bosingwa – for Ferreira – gathered the ball from around thirty yards out and I uttered the line –

“Not from there, Bos.”

Well, what do I know? He sent in a wickedly dipping blast which the ‘keeper palmed over. This optimistic effort from distance proved to be our last real scoring chance. In a cataclysmic final ten minutes, we conceded not one but two goals, both from typical Villa breaks. Just after two penalty claims were waved away, Agbonlahor raced through a massive gap in our rear guard to slot cleanly past Cech.

We groaned and I noticed people leave their seats. More and more blue seats appeared and the mood was of dismay and annoyance with the team. Then, the final wound; a wayward Lampard pass and Ireland advanced on goal before squaring for substitute Bent to score. Thousands more now departed and I sat in stony silence. To be fair, the residual 4,000 in the bottom tier of the MHL were stirred with a defiant “COME ON CHELSEA.”

I’m proud of them for that.

At the final whistle, half the crowd had departed and a few hundred around me booed.

I’m not proud of them for that.

As Jake and I walked miserably down to street level, there was a horrible tone amongst the supporters, accusing various players of lack of effort. I hate to hear these words, but I had to agree that our fight was missing throughout the game. In football, you have to fight for the right to play. Once in possession, you have to move and support the man with the ball. There was little evidence of that too.

A solemn day in SW6.

I felt like saying “Good Riddance 2011.”

However, I suddenly remembered Jake’s 3-1 prediction and playfully took a swipe at him.

It was a pretty reasonable journey home – time wise – but it wasn’t the easiest of drives to make. The usual self-inspection after defeat is never easy is it? A double espresso at Reading put bounce in my step, though, and the music emanating from Parky’s 80’s CD cheered us. On the closing moments, we spoke with Jake about his love of the team and also of his past games and we were, at last, able to put things into perspective. His Dad was a Chelsea fan and took Jake to his first game in the autumn of 1998 for a game against ‘Boro. Sadly – and neither Parky nor I knew this – his father passed away three years ago and Jake said that, poignantly, he feels closer to his father at Stamford Bridge than anywhere else. Through a shared sense of belonging amongst friends, at the stadium where his father spent many an afternoon no doubt, Jake felt better placed to cope with what life could throw at him.

I returned home at about 8.30pm and hated the idea of seeing our game on “Match of the Day.” I watched, through fingers covering my eyes, as our team was taken apart by Alan Shearer and Mark Lawrensen. How typical for Lawrensen to incorrectly miss-read the muted celebrations after Drogba’s penalty as a sign that he was off, siting his solemn waving to the crowd as a “goodbye.” The truth, of course, was that he was showing considerable class in pointing to the penalty spot where The King Of Stamford Bridge lies…

Just before we hit 2012, I quickly scanned the internet for that Davie Cooper goal. While Scotland was celebrating the alcohol-fest that is Hogmanay, I watched open-mouthed as the great Rangers left-footer continuously juggled the ball against Celtic at Hampden Park in 1979. Cooper was a “tanner ball” player in the mold of our own Scottish dribblers Charlie Cooke and Pat Nevin and I just couldn’t resist playing and re-playing that amazing clip time after time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=js4PK73nIRs

Superb stuff.

A trip to Molyneux awaits. Let’s hope that 2012 starts in decidedly better health than which 2011 ended.

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Tales From The Unbeaten Run

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Chelsea vs. Tottenham Hotspur : 30 April 2011.

Another amazing game, another wonderful day in London, another busy day with friends. If there is a slight chance that these days, these games and these match reports get to sound eerily similar and contain the same happy themes, I for one will only be too glad. It would be churlish for anyone to complain. Chelsea Football Club – or, at least this current team – continue to surprise me with their spirit and determination. Who knows where this will end this season? Just two weeks ago, we travelled to West Brom with no thoughts of the title. Now – who knows?

Admittedly, we got two massive pieces of luck against Tottenham, but we were due our little piece of good fortune.

The Journey.

Just outside of Frome, I dropped in to a farm shop and bought a few pints – in a clear plastic container – of Somerset Scrumpy for Michigan JR, who had expressed an interest in this lethal drink last week against West Ham. Soon after, I collected Lord Parky at just after 10am and it was a perfect drive in. We commented that we could hardly believe that there were only four games left in 2010-2011. The time has flown by these past few weeks. The end is in sight, damn it. The skies were lovely and clear. A slight breeze. Not so much traffic. Good vibes. We briefly discussed the team and possible formation. We wondered if Carlo would go with a 4–4–2 and employ Ramires wide right to counter the threat of Gareth Bale. However, 4-4-3 has worked these past two weeks, so big decisions for Carlo.

The Music.

New Order from 2001 and The Killers from 2004.

Lloyds.

We were parked-up at a quiet Chesson Road at bang on midday. With five-and-a-half hours to go until kick-off, we were well ahead of the game. Just as well, we had lots to do. You know how it is. We raced down to Fulham Broadway and met up with some friends from North America. Beth was there with Dave from Toronto (formerly from Essex) but also the lovely Texas JR – and his wife, Grace – from San Antonio. JR is the elder statesman of CIA and is well respected. I brought ten old Chelsea programmes, dating from as far back as 1947, to show the guests from across the pond. JR was lapping it up, commenting on former players Roy Bentley and Len Goulden. Next to arrive was Ben (nuhusky13) from Boston, via Poughkeepsie, along with Steve and Darren Mantle. A big welcome to him; this would be his first ever game at The Bridge after arriving on Friday. He was clearly buzzing and it was lovely to feel his enthusiasm. Steve and Darren had a treat for him – they went off to find Dave Johnstone and help realign some of the match day flags and banners which give The Bridge such a distinctive feel.

The veterans from last week, Anna, Dennis and JR, then arrived and joined us for a few drinks. I don’t often go into Lloyds, but it’s not a bad place. Lloyds is just one of the 25 or so pubs and bars which are within a 15 minute walk from the stadium. We’re pretty lucky with respect to that. Lots of cafes and restaurants too – many have gone upmarket of late, but that’s typical of England.

Ben came back to join us and he had another Stella. However, I was concerned that we needed to move on. I gathered the troops and we set off.

The Hotel.

Thankfully, we just managed to grab a few special moments with Ron Harris in the hotel bar. I took a couple of photographs of Ben with Chopper and then sat down beside them briefly. Ben is a fellow Yankee fan and I had been wearing my NYY cap. I placed it down on the table in front of us.

“There you go Ben. You’ve made it to Stamford Bridge. You’re sat next to Ron Harris and there’s a Yankee cap right in front of you.”

Ben quickly replied – “It would be better if Chopper was wearing the Yankee cap.”

Everyone laughed and – for a split second, I toyed with the idea of getting Ron to put it on. I quickly decided against it. I slipped off to the bar and left Ben to chat with Chopper. I’m not sure what was said, but I am sure Ben has some extra special memories of those five minutes. Again, he repeated the comment that “this just wouldn’t happen” in America. It would be like myself sitting down next to Yogi Berra for a quick natter at my first ever Yankees game.

“Yogi – hiya, mate. I’ve got this Chelsea cap…”

We met Gill and Graeme again – always a pleasure – and then we just happened to be at the right place at the right time as Kerry Dixon arrived downstairs. Another photograph with Ben. Lucky boy. Just before we left the hotel, Hilario appeared and posed for a photo with Gill. It was now 3.15pm and we needed to move on again.

The Pelican.

Parky, Michigan JR, Ben and myself slipped down to another boozer, The Pelican, positioned halfway between the Fulham and Kings Roads. I had arranged to meet my good pal Pete – from San Francisco – who I first met at the Chelsea vs. Bluewings game in LA in 2007. Sadly, Pete lost his father last week and I just wanted to personally pass on my condolences. I needed to make a phone call, so just popped outside for a split second. I looked up and saw the face of an old mate, Roger, suddenly appear. I used to work with Rog about 15 years ago in Trowbridge and we went to a few games together. I had lost contact with him and – get this – he presumed I had stopped going. What a lovely moment. He was on his way to The Imperial but spent ten minutes with me, catching up. He now lives down in Exmouth. Great to see him.

In Chelsealand, it’s never a small world.

The Goose.

We eventually made it to The Goose at 4pm and I was just happy to have completed my circuit. Another Coke, photos with Ben and JR in the packed beer garden, chat with the boys. The usual mix of replica shirts for some, designer gear for others. None of my mates were wearing The Crocodile – Lord Parky in a black Fred Perry, myself in a light orange Boss – but I have to say that I saw many lads sporting the classic polo of Rene Lacoste on this most summery of days. Even after all these years – in football circles, 1981 to date – there is nothing like the sumptuous quality of a Crocodile.

Ben was now in Chelsea Heaven, sipping on another Stella. A quick chat with Neil about baseball – Mickey Mantle, no relation of Steve and Daz, I guess – just to make him feel at home.

Good times.

No – the greatest of times.

Let’s just take a moment to reflect.

A sunny day in London. In the beer garden with ten or so of my very best mates. Lads I can trust and rely on. Mates who share a common bond, but also the same sense of humour, the same outlook on life, the same joy of sharing our friendships with others. Six years ago to the day, we were all together at Bolton watching our beloved club of illustrious underachievers, much maligned for decades, finally put the ghosts of 1955 behind us and lift the League title once again. On the day that our captain, derided by many, loved by us, would be playing his 500th first-team game. Ah, these are good times. Don’t let the nay-sayers tell you otherwise.

I walked JR and Ben down to the Fulham Broadway at about 4.45pm and pointed them in the direction of HQ. Fulham Broadway – formerly Walham Green, to give it the former name – is our own little Piccadilly Circus and Times Square rolled in to one. It’s where five roads converge and it’s where I watched on with joyous glee as our 1997 and 2000 F.A. Cup victories were gloriously celebrated. It’s where thousands of Chelsea fans alighted at the old red-brick tube station and then imbibed gallons and gallons of beer and spirits at the immediate vicinity’s three or four pubs. From there on in, the Fulham Road is closed to thru-traffic and you get a real sense of place walking past the Hammersmith & Fulham town hall and the CFCUK stand to the right, Bob the T-Shirt’s stall to the left, Chubby’s Grill to the right. Fanzines and scarves, charity collections, voices, songs, laughter.

There had been rumours of a Spurs presence on the North End Road, but nothing materialised. JR had asked me in the pub where away fans drink and I had to tell him that I really didn’t know. Up by Earls Court, maybe. As I approached the West stand, I realised that I hadn’t seen a single Spurs fan all day.

No last minute downpour this week.

I reached my seat at 5.15pm. Not a cloud in the skies. A very slight breeze. Chelsea weather. A bloody perfect day.

Neil Barnett spoke of the anniversary of the 2005 title – with a few pointed barbs aimed at the away fans, 1961 and all that – in the far corner and the two Lampard goals were shown on the big screens. Surprisingly, the crowd didn’t really react and this saddened me.

“Oh God – I hope we are up for it today. This is Tottenham. Nothing else matters.”

Zoom lens out, I tried to locate Ben, JR, Beth and co, but no luck.

The teams were announced and I took a few moments attempting to work out if we were going back to a 4-4-2.

The Game.

We began brightly, but the first real chance fell to Pavlyuchenko, who shot wide after Ivanovic slipped. Didier, playing wide it seemed, played in Frank but his shot was deflected wide for a corner. I took a photo of Didier about to slam a viciously dipping free-kick which slammed against the bar from a good 35 yards out. Gomes got a touch, but only just. However, a little bout of tardy marking from a throw-in presented Sandro the ball and he unleashed an unstoppable effort which crashed past Petr Cech. As the ball dropped down inside the net, I could hardly believe it. The away team ran off to celebrate with the Spurs management team and it was a hideous sight.

“OK – let’s keep going. We have ages to equalise. Keep calm.”

Fernando Torres, playing in a variety of central positions – sometimes in the hole, sometimes on the shoulder of the last man, sometimes in the channels – was full of energy and seemed revitalised after his goal last week. Some of his passing was sublime. However, a lot of the balls needed him to be on the end of…

Essien headed over and, from the corner which followed, a glancing header from Drogba bounced up at Torres, who could not react quick enough and headed over from close in.

“Oh when the Spurs…”

On 34 minutes, a lovely shimmy from a rampaging Ivanovic fooled the entire 41,000 but his brave run into the box was snuffed out. Yet again – despite tons of possession – we appeared to be over-passing and the crowd were again restless. After a bright half an hour, Torres was now quiet. With the half-time break approaching, the ball broke to Lampard.

“Go on Frank – shoot.”

Thankfully, he took my advice and hit a low swerving shot straight at Gomes. The Spurs ‘keeper, always prone to horrendous gaffs, did not stop the ball and it seemed to go through him. Despite a desperate lunge to keep the ball from crossing the line, the crowd were up and celebrating, claiming the goal.

Time stood still.

I looked at the linesman, who didn’t seem to be doing anything. The Chelsea players seemed to be hounding the referee. What was going on? I wasn’t sure, but there was a sudden roar from the Chelsea fans. A massive sigh. We’ll take it.

Amazingly, Malouda was through – one on one – just after but couldn’t connect. As the players strode off at the break, the home fans were baiting the Tottenham ‘keeper, with echoes of chant with which we serenaded David Seaman in 1995 –

“Let’s all do the Gomes” (with flailing arms).

The texts had arrived at the break to say that the goal hadn’t completely crossed the line. Oh well – even better! After the World Cup debacle in the summer, Fat Frank was entitled to a little luck.

As the Spurs ‘keeper took his place in front of the baying Matthew Harding Stand at the commencement of the second period, the Chelsea fans applauded him wildly and he looked bemused…or confused. I don’t know – the bloke looks flustered and confused all the time if you ask me.

Another bludgeoning run from Ivanovic caused problems for the Spurs defence, but he was stopped short with a decidedly dodgy tackle. I took another photograph of a Drogba free-kick from way out and this one again dipped. This was straight at the nervous Gomes, but he just stuck out his hands and never really attempted to save it “properly.” The ball bounced down, but nobody could get on the end of it. We sensed Gomes’ fear and we wanted his blood.

“Let’s all do the Gomes.”

Ramires on for Essien. Maybe a knock, but happy with Ramires joining the fray.

On the hour, the Chelsea crowd – at last – sang as one and the noise roared around The Bridge.

“Carefree – Wherever you may be. We are the famous CFC.”

Torres, jinking here and there, such lovely close control, was looking good, so it was a shock to see him replaced by Kalou.

I had a feeling that the referee had been told that the Chelsea goal “wasn’t” during the break and so would be loath to reward us any 50-50 decisions in the second period. On 68 minutes, we broke into the penalty area – contact.

But no penalty.

The Bridge – me included – was incensed. We howled and howled.

I remained confident that the goal would come. I was nervous that Jermaine Defoe came on as a Spurs substitute and I was hoping that Modric would not feed him. However, Spurs rarely threatened Pet’s goal in that second-half and we continued our assault on Gomes’ goal. A Lampard shot flew wide after nice interplay between Didier and Nico, now on as a substitute.

The clock was ticking.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

A move down below me and we suddenly had extra blue shirts everywhere. We watched on as the ball was played in to Didier and he had his typical run with the ball – shielding it well. Anelka made a move, but almost got in Didier’s way…oh boy! Thankfully, Didier remained in control of the ball and sent the ball in to the six yard box.

An outstretched leg – Kalou – and the ball was played into the goal. The ball hit the back of the net – what a gorgeous sight – and The Bridge went wild.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

Such noise. Such joy. Tottenham – we’ve done you again! I picked up my camera and snapped the Chelsea players down below me. The expressions on their faces were euphoric. David Luiz was screaming with ecstasy. A lone Chelsea fan raced across and jumped on Frank Lampard. The celebrations continued, but the stewards were now trying to get the fan off the pitch. Luiz and Lampard pleaded with the stewards to be lenient with the fan – there was obviously no malice – and were doing their level best to calm the fan down, too.

Calm down? Easier said than done.

Alan – “They’ll have to come at us now.”
Chris – “Come on my little diamonds.”

Down below, three rows in front of me, Big John began banging the metal hoarding of the MH balcony and the whole Matthew Harding, and then what seemed the entire ground joined in.

“BANG BANG – CLAP CLAP CLAP – CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP – CHELSEA.”

The final whistle and we were bouncing. Another Chelsea win over Spurs at The Bridge. Lovely, lovely stuff.

The Chelsea PA played the new crowd favourite “One Step Beyond” and for a minute or so we all bounced along…as it played out, the last bars fading, we were left with the sound of the Matthew Harding singing, deep, resonant, defiant…to the sound of “Tom Hark.”

“We hate Tottenham, we hate Tottenham, we hate Tottenham, we hate Tottenham.”

I spotted JT, his 500th game over, and he was caught up in the moment. Screaming at us – screaming with joy.

Smiles all over my face at the end – “see you at Old Trafford, Al” – and my immediate thoughts were with young Ben, over there in the Shed Lower. I really wondered if he was still in orbit. I bounced down the Fulham Road and Big Pete told me that Kalou’s goal was offside.

“Even better. Happy days.”

Back at the car, I handed over the container of Scrumpy to JR and I realised that he had just enjoyed a week that he would never ever forget. He took a swig of the potent, smoky brew and said –

“Wow.”

Wow indeed.

The Journey Home.

We pulled out of Chesson Road at 8pm and Parky could hardly speak. What a fantastic week it has been. A coffee stop at Heston and some Stranglers for the rest of the journey home. Since 1990, we have now played Tottenham at home in the league on 21 occasions and we have remained undefeated in every single one of them.

1990 to 2011 – and so it goes on.

I reached home at 10.45pm just in time to see the “Match of the Day” team dismissive of our 4-3-3 shape and apoplectic about our two goals.

You know what? I couldn’t care less.

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Tales From Big Brother vs. Little Brother

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Chelsea vs. Fulham : 10 November 2010.

After the misery of Liverpool, I was happy that we would be able to get back into the swing of things with two home games in five days against teams which we ought to beat.

That was the theory. How about the practice?

Andy from Trowbridge accompanied Lord Parky and me up to London. There was no tube strike-induced mayhem this week and so I was parked up at about 6.15pm. We quickly called in at the pub and the usual suspects were all clustered in a group. I spotted that more than a few were wearing the popular Royal British Legion poppy / Chelsea crest pin badge, no more than two centimetres in length. Remembrance Sunday is just around the corner after all. I remember when small beautifully crafted pin badges such as these were all the rage in the mid-‘eighties. They would often be the only sign of what team you were supporting. I often used to wander back from the buffet on trains down to London from my home in Stoke and eye-up which badges were on show. In those days, not even scarves tended to be worn. I often used to wear my Chelsea pin badge on the upper part of my pullover sleeve.

In those days, less was most definitely more.

I spoke with my mate Russ and predicted “a poor first-half, undoubted discontent and possible boos at the break, we’ll be out sung by the Fulham fans, but we’ll scrape through 2-0.”

I had to shoot off early and meet Paul, a friend of a friend, who was using Glenn’s season ticket for the Fulham game. We met by the Peter Osgood statue in front of the West Stand. He was impressed with our seats – my season ticket is in the fourth row of the “wraparound” of the Matthew Harding Upper, as it curves towards the West Stand. Alan, Glenn and I have had these three seats since 1997 and I wouldn’t swap them for the world. We briefly spoke about the rumours about Chelsea moving into a new stadium at nearby Earls Court. That’s the toughest question ever, eh? However, before we get swamped down in discussions of the pros and cons, it is worth pointing out that there were many empty seats on show for this encounter with Fulham. Don’t be fooled by the full house figures. I suspect there were a few thousand empty seats. Chelsea, like many clubs, perpetuate the myth of sell-out crowds at The Bridge, thus fuelling false demand, by publishing total ticket sales rather than spectators through the turnstiles.

Alan and I discussed the team. Drogba back in from the start, but Nico out. Bosingwa in and so Ivanovic alongside The Captain in place of Alex. I noted two new supporters club banners on show in the East – the Channel Islands and South Dorset ( which I believe is based in Weymouth ). It took me a few moments to realise that the Fulham number 16 was Duffer.

As with so many home games, Chelsea enjoyed long periods of possession as the game unravelled. We kept moving the ball around, but it wasn’t long before the home support grew a little restless. We seemed to be obsessed with hitting diagonals over the midfield to Ashley Cole. Very often, it seemed that this was our first thought once we had secured possession. Of course Fulham sat deep and so it is difficult to break such teams down. Fulham rarely threatened us to be honest. However, our desire to over-pass or over-dribble was driving us to distraction. I lost count of the number of times that Bosingwa or Kalou wanted to beat their marker rather than pick a man early. Far better, surely, to hit an early ball and catch the defenders off-balance. I looked to my left and spotted a new banner on the balcony. It simply said “House Of Blues” and I wasn’t too impressed. It’s hardly snappy is it? It sounds a bit bland in my mind. With Chelsea driving us to distraction against our little brothers from down the road, I wondered if “House Of Pain” might be a better nickname for The Bridge.

Yeah, that’s better – “House Of Pain” as a nod to our years of hurt when we stuck with the team despite 26 long seasons with no silverware, but also “House Of Pain” for our current run of victories over teams since 2004…3 league defeats in 126 games remember. “House Of Pain” for all of our opponents, for sure.

Drogba was not particularly involved and Essien was miss-hitting a fair proportion of his longer passes. The frustration was rising. To make matters worse, we were being out sung by 3,000 annoying Fulham fans. We often passed the ball back rather than forward and I shouted –

“Come on lads, it’s not rugby!”

Then, at last, a great cross to an unmarked Michael Essien who leaped up and headed the ball down and into the Shed End goal. Mark Schwarzer didn’t have a chance. Soon after, Duffer took a corner right down below me and I, plus hundreds of others, gave him some warm applause in recognition of his service for us between 2003 and 2006. On 41 minutes, Salomon Kalou broke through in the inside right position and ran unhindered towards the goal. We begged him to shoot, but he carried the ball on and on, deep into the box. From an acute angle, his low shot ripped past the ‘keeper, but also past the far post. Typical Kalou. Alan commented that Edvard Munch must have seen Kalou play in order for him to produce a work of art such as “The Scream.” I knew what he meant for sure.

Kerry Dixon – 193 Chelsea goals – was on the pitch at the break. How we needed a second goal for us all to relax. Soon after the restart, that man Kalou again broke through in that favoured inside-right channel. He advanced, shimmied, but his shot hit Schwarzer and was cleared off the line. It was one of those nights for him. It was much the same story for the rest of the second-half…lots of Chelsea possession, but not so many great chances. A shot from the quiet Malouda was blocked and then shots from Mikel and Didier were also repelled. The nerves were jarring as the minutes passed. A wicked swerving shot from way out was magnificently tipped over by Petr Cech on 74 minutes and then a fine volley was struck straight at our great Czech. Fulham were finding opportunities coming their way, but our defenders were in resilient moods. I thought John Terry was back to his best and Ivanovic threw his head at countless crosses. Drogba was getting more and more into the game though and on a couple of occasions he treated us to his rampaging runs. Kalou was hit and miss, but never gave up. He did create a fair few chances on the right in that second period. We broke away time and time again, but often our final passes went astray. We begged for that precious second goal.

The referee’s assistant signalled an extra four minutes – enough time for a Fulham equaliser for sure! – and we prepared ourselves for the worst. Essien was sent off, though I didn’t spot what for. Would we hold on? Fulham gave it their best shot, but we limped over the line. To be fair, it hadn’t been a bad game…a fair few incidents, a few moments of drama, but just the one goal.

Three points would do nicely though. No complaints.

As I walked past The Goose, I peered in at a TV screen which was showing the dieing embers of the Mancunian derby. It was 0-0 and soon realised that if I continued to watch, United would score. Back in the car, we heard that it had ended goalless, so we were four points ahead of the pack. Parky, Andy and I quickly discussed the night’s events before heading back to Wiltshire and Somerset. Kelly texted me and, of course, had been watching his first ever game at HQ and I felt for him…not a brilliant game, but I was more perturbed that the atmosphere had been non-existent for large chunks of the match. However, we go into the Sunderland game on Sunday, which he will be attending too, with a little dignity restored…and with still no goals conceded at home in the league campaign.

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Tales From The Chelsea Soap Opera

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Chelsea vs. Manchester City : 27 February 2010.

This hadn’t been a great week for me, what with missing out on the trip to Inter, then having to endure a gruelling time at work. I was so busy that I even forgot to book my own seat for the FA Cup game with Stoke. I was just happy for the weekend to finally arrive. I picked up Glenn at 8am and the two of us drove up to London. At times, the weather was rotten, but we still had a good old natter about work, football and everything.

There would be a mini Californian get together for this game and I had already texted the three participants of my whereabouts and plans. Very often my mates will enquire of me “any Yanks coming over today, Chris?” I’m in a lovely position having got to know so many new Chelsea faces from America since my travels first took me to the US for the Roma game in Pittsburgh in 2004. Then, of course, there are these “Tales” which have become so much of my Chelsea routine over the past two years. I am a great diarist anyway, so these reports are second-nature for me…but I do wonder how long I can keep doing them. Maybe, in 2025, I’ll still be writing about our rubbish support at home games, making corny jokes, reminiscing over the past ( “of course, things were much better in 2005” and “of course, things were much better in 1984” ), lamenting our newest multi-million pound signing, talking about my CIA pals ( “is Gumby still in jail?” ), laughing at Lovejoy’s latest conquest and mumbling on ad infinitum about The Smiths and Depeche Mode. I wonder.

Steve Azar was waiting for us at the cafe on Lillee Road at around 10.30am. There was no time to waste, so while Glenn and myself wolfed down a brekkie, Steve updated us with details of his trip to Italy. I approved of Steve’s classy Victorinox top. He had brought over a copy of The Sporting News baseball preview for me and we spoke of me being able to hopefully combine some baseball with the Chelsea games on the East coast in the summer.

Rush, rush, rush.

We popped into The Goose at just after 11am and we stayed for about an hour. The place was typically busy. A few mates arrived – Steve was able to meet Lovejoy and a few more of my friends, most of whom had been over in Milano. Everyone had reported back of a good time. The funniest story involved a mate “W” who had been stopped on his way through the airport in Milano – an Italian sniffer dog had molested him in searching for some contraband, and I just have images of all hell breaking loose. It seems the dog was all over him. You can just imagine how we all reacted, giggling with laughter, at this news. The saddest story from Italy involved my mate Neil who succumbed to a tummy bug on the Wednesday and – shades of Gumby – never made it to the match.

Andy and Tom, in on a flying visit from LA, arrived at about 11.15am and it was great to see them again. We chatted about all things Chelsea, but these 12.45pm starts are killers for pre-match chats. Andy left early to get his flags up. Sky TV was on in the pub and I was really dismayed to hear a chorus of boos in the boozer greeting footage of Wayne Bridge getting off the team coach.

I walked down to the ground with Tom and Steve, then bade them a fond farewell outside The West Stand. The three Californians – sitting in the fifth row of The Shed Upper – were soon spotted with my telephoto lens. Andy had got the three flags in and up on the balcony. I wasn’t so sure he would be successful with his two “OC Hooligans” flags.

City only brought 1,500 away fans and I thought this was poor. Three flags, including one which stated simply “1910 Mancunian Purification.” I am guessing this was the date Manchester United left their stadium in Clayton, inside the city, out to Old Trafford in the then separate city of Salford.

I’m afraid that I succumbed to photographing the entrance of John Terry and Wayne Bridge onto the pitch. I took several photos. In two photos, Wayne Bridge is glaring at JT. I guess he has every right to. I took a few photos of “the handshake that wasn’t” but evidence from my seat was inconclusive. I was saddened to hear boos each time Bridge touched the ball, but it was lovely to hear the volume decrease on every touch. Wayne Bridge will still be a Chelsea hero in my eyes and virtually all of my mates share the same view.

Well, having seen over 500 games at Stamford Bridge, few were as mad as this one.

The first-half was one-way traffic – albeit rarely getting out of second gear. Florent Malouda, still at left-back, had a lovely rising drive after eleven minutes. That boy can certainly strike a ball. Looking at the team line-up, I was convinced it was another 4-3-3, but Joe did pop up all the way along the front line. Mind you, so did Drogba and Anelka. Was it 4-3-3 or a narrow 4-4-2? Either way, the two full backs were pushing on. Ivanovic – the most improved player for me – sent over three magnificent crosses for Drogba, unmarked for two of them, and he should have tested Given. We were doing OK. The crowd was quiet, as is often the case with early starts. The Shed were especially docile. Joe had been quiet too, but then set Frank up with a sublime pass into space. A great finish, one-up and coasting.

What could possibly go wrong?

Hilario had only touched the ball three or four times the entire half, but after a poor attempted header by Mikel, Tevez sensed fear in the heart of our defence, twisting away from our two centre-backs. This defending was hapless and hopeless. The slightest of touches from Tevez and the ball crept over the line, past a floundering Hilario. How often do we hear the phrase “typical Chelsea”? The howls of derision from ghosts of previous defensive calamities echoed around The Bridge as the away fans – quiet beyond belief until then – rejoiced.

Peter Bonetti was on the pitch at half-time. If nobody said it hundreds of us thought it –

“Get your boots on, Catty.”

We also witnessed a truly awful “Crossbar Challenge” – with Kerry Dixon on the pitch too – when five youths made pitiful attempts on the MH goal cross-bar.

The second-half. Do I have to?

We had good early pressure, but a wicked break from Bellamy ( with our defence out of shape ) caused us all to sense fear again. He’s a horrible bloke Bellamy, but has awesome pace. A cross-shot crept in to the goal at the far post and we all knew – 41,000 of us – that Petr Cech would have blocked it. Well, at last, the crowd was roused with some noise coming down from the stands. However, some substitutions confused us…I still thought we were losing the battle in midfield and wanted a change in formation. Boos when Joe was substituted, but I thought he had been poor again. Belletti came on, only to soon haul down Barry to give away a penalty. The break had again caught us out and he was sent-off. Oh hell. City scored through Tevez and I was so disappointed to see more than a few home fans get up and leave. Anelka had a lovely shimmy past two defenders down in my corner, but shot straight at Given. In fact, many of our shots went straight towards him. Then a preposterously stupid challenge by Ballack and we’re down to nine. Unbelievably, some fans around me were berating the ref for issuing the red, but he had no choice. That is not to say Dean didn’t have a poor game, but Ballack – already booked for dissent – was just bloody stupid to tackle in such a way. Ballack – and Frank – was having another poor game. It was a typical Ballack tackle…how often is he done for pace, then scythes a player down from behind? I was trying to remember if I had ever seen two Chelsea players sent off in the same game before. I think not.

With Ballack’s dismissal, things got a whole lot crazier. We applied more pressure, but got caught on the break with SWP setting up their fourth. With this, hundreds of home fans decided to leave. I stood up, glowered at the ones leaving behind me and – OK, rather sarcastically – clapped them and said “thanks for your support.” One chap took exception and swore, only for one of Rousey’s mates to say something similar to him. He swore at Rousey’s mate, then looked back and repeated what he had said to me.

Bizarrely, those that were left in the stadium, made a great racket and it pleased me no end. That was more like it – support in the face of adversity, no booing, good old-fashioned support. I was so pleased and proud to see that all of the regulars in our section who I have got to know since 1997 all stayed until the end. I was well pleased. Frank made it 4-2 with a calm penalty and there was a massive roar when “five minutes of extra time was announced.” We had all of the ball in those last few crazy minutes and it shows what a fantasist I am that I still expected us to draw. Oh, how I would have loved that, for the fans who had left early especially!

As we exited at the end, we were met by my good mate Andy, always stoical in defeat. He made two great points. He thought that Chelsea fans were above booing former players. He also said that the 6,000 who left with ten or twelve minutes to go will be the ones moaning about not getting cup final tickets.

For a change, Glenn and myself decided to have “a couple” before heading back to sleepy Somerset. We slowly walked over to join in with the post mortem taking place in “The Lillee Langtry,” over by West Brompton tube. I was still numbed by the defeat and unable to shed any light on the match. Sometimes, I sit back and let others talk. This was one occasion. The mood was gloomy, but we had seen it all before…”typical Chelsea” it had certainly been. Daryl was leading the analysis with some great points and we all eventually chipped in with some comments. We mused on how we had the world at our feet in the summer of 2005 – we appeared unstoppable. The players are now five years older, the team doesn’t have that same vigour. But – back in October, or November after Arsenal away, we were odds on to become champions again and so let’s not give up just yet. We have a tough road ahead, we have key players missing, the fallout of JT’s misdemeanours still haunts us. It will be a tough one, but it’s still in our own hands.

With Glenn dozing, all of these thoughts – and many more – rattled around me on the drive home. I was sad to hear of Ramsey’s awful leg-break on the radio at Stoke…even more upset to hear Arsenal won. They have an easy run-in and are still in the mix. It’s not often I hate watching “Match Of The Day,” but this was certainly the case. I watched the highlights of our loss, grimacing…the John Terry handshake, the Bridge boos, the Ballack tackle, the fans leaving early…our first home defeat in 25 league games.

God. Not a good day at the office.

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Tales From The Longest Day

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Chelsea vs. Burnley : 29 August 2009.

It feels great to be back at the top of the league once again – with a few laughs along the way, too.

This turned out to be a long day spent at HQ. I collected Parky at 8am and met up with a few others in the café at 10am. Bob from San Francisco had been in town since Thursday and had gone to the “Star On A Stool” event with Petr Cech, Daniel Sturridge and Paolo Ferreira that night. After a bacon sandwich apiece, we joined up with the boys in The Goose beer garden. This was another rushed pre-match and I only had time for a few pints.

The talk in the beer garden was off European trips in the autumn. Six of us have booked flights and two nights’ accommodation in Madrid for only £130. That’s a great price. I visited Madrid – for just one day – in 1987 and so can’t wait to back and see it again. A few of the lads are doing all three group stage games. We were like kids at Christmas time on the Thursday and I received around thirty emails during the day, talking about possible trips and it was so funny. The buzz grew with each new email. This was even before the draw took place! A few of us said that the day of the CL Group Phase draw is one of the most exciting days of the season.

Rob even said he gets more excited about the draw than some games these days and I, for one, knew exactly what he meant.

Porto and Atletico were easy places to book, but Cyprus was proving to be more difficult. Parky chimed in with the comment that one of his mates works at RAF Lyneham and he wondered if he could get the RAF to take a few paying guests over to Cyprus in a Hurricane troop carrier.

Parky was serious. I had visions of Rob, Gary and Alan getting parachuted in!

Lacoste Watch

Rob – brown
Bob – aqua
Parky – royal blue
Jokka – light blue

Unlike Hull City, we left in good time. I needed to call in at “the stall” to pick up a Kerry Dixon-signed copy of Mark Worrall’s new book “Chelsea Here Chelsea There.” I got to know Mark Worrall over the last year because I had learned that a mutual friend had been gravely ill – thankfully fully recovered. One thing led to another and I heard that he was bringing out a book to mark the silver anniversary of our iconic game at Highbury in 1984. He asked me to contribute and so I penned a three-thousand word piece, along with around fifteen other fans. Bob bought a copy – his was signed by Kerry Dixon, too. We made our way into the ground, my head full of Europe, the book and God knows what else.

One sight made me jolt. As I queued up for a couple of programmes, I saw a young lad in a claret and blue shirt and it was only when I saw “BFC” sewn into the back, I remembered that we were playing Burnley. I had simply not thought about the game nor our opponents in the pub. I was simply, as the song goes, there for the Chelsea. It made me laugh.

I was inside the stadium with plenty of time to spare, unlike for the home-opener. This would be a special day for me. This would be my 500th game at Stamford Bridge, going all of the way back to 1974. Glenn asked me what I could remember about my first game and I was full of memories but mentioned that we had Topic chocolate bars at half-time and that “I would never have imagined I would have reached five hundred.”

As the last few minutes ticked away, Alan and myself noticed some “European style” streamers being held from the MHU balcony wall. There were three together at either end and they formed the framework for the Chelsea – Pride Of London flag as it was passed along. I think the display needs more work ( more streamers for a start ) but at least the effort wasn’t lost on me. Further updates to follow as the season progresses.

The game began and it was a thoroughly entertaining first-half. Nikolas Anelka spurned an easy chance as he took one touch too many. Then, Frank uncharacteristically gave the ball away and the industrious Paterson shot wide after a great square pass. Had he struck the target, I am sure Cech would have been beaten. At the other end, we forced “The Beast” Jensen into making a range of excellent saves. I was surprised that Burnley only brought around 1,000 fans, especially since they brought 6,000 last season in the League Cup. However, Burnley is a really small town of only around 60,000 and so I suppose 1,000 isn’t too bad. The £50 tickets were another valid reason, as Alan pointed out.

This was a wide open game, though Chelsea were dominating the play – and chances. Our midfield was passing the ball around with glee and I remember thinking that at last we have round pegs in round holes in that all-important diamond. Deco was full of guile and touch, probing away. Essien gave so much more than Mikel in the withdrawn role, driving on in the way that only he can do. I noted that Frank Lampard and Herr Ballack kept changing flank and were very dominant. Our first goal came when Ballack pressurised a Burnley player into losing possession, Essien picked up the loose ball and set Drogba away with a perfect pass. Drogba cut the ball back for his strike partner Anelka to prod the ball home.

Yep – Drogba to Anelka again. More of the same please.

Half-time came and I showed a few close friends the new book. In addition to the 3,000 words in the book, there are also two photos…one of me at Chelsea in 1984 and one with my favourite ever player Pat Nevin in Moscow last year. There were a few shrieks of laughter at the 1984 one. Well, as if my some magical quirk of fate, who should be on the pitch with Neil at half-time but none other than Pat Nevin. Glenn, who travelled up with me to all those 1983-84 games, recognised the significance of Pat being on the pitch at my 500th game and I smiled in acknowledgement.

It was a perfect moment.

I read the programme during the rest of the break and was pleased to see an article on another of my favourite players from childhood – another number seven, Ian Britton. He played for us from 1972 to 1982, but also played for Burnley for three years. He even scored one of the most important goals in Burnley’s history in 1987, when his goal made it 2-0 in a game that Burnley had to win to avoid relegation from the Football League. He remains one hero I am yet to meet. I wonder if Beth can pull a few tricks at the CPO this November!

We continued to purr in the second-half and were rewarded with two lovely goals from Ballack and Ashley. During the build up to the third goal, Frank burst from midfield in a way that he simply would not be able to do had he been at the top of the diamond.

This was great stuff indeed and we could have scored six, maybe more.

We had twenty-five shots and Burnley had three. Men against boys. If I had to chose our best player, I would say that nobody played better than Deco.

After the game, I met up with San Francisco Bob ( unagi1 ) and we stopped off at The Finborough for a couple of pints of Becks Vier. He had watched a game from the MHL for the first time. We had a lovely chat about Chelsea and our respective home towns. The immediate post-game crowd drifted away until there were just the two of us, chattering away about Baltimore, Madrid and various other football cities. It’s a great life. We dropped in for a pizza and some Nastro Azzurro at Salvo’s, but the owner was in Italy. We watched, half-heartedly, the United vs. Arsenal game.

We then back-tracked and caught a cab down to The Imperial on the Kings’ Road, the former watering hole of Matthew Harding and The King. Rob had been there since 2.30pm and it was now 7.30pm. The drinking continued and we chatted with a few of the stragglers who were showing no signs of wanting to go home.

Sambucas were ordered and the night continued. I bumped into Mark’s mate Olly, who I had briefly met in Texas. Small world. He told me he had started the Chelsea Hairhunters group on Facebook and it made me chuckle. Two members of The Youth were there too. We left The Imperial at about 11pm and, via a quick chat with Digger at The Morrison, Rob, Bob and myself ended-up back at The Goose, the full circle completed.

We stayed on past midnight – more lagers, more sambucas, some amoretto for Rob.

“Amoretto – Chelsea Amoretto” we sung continuously. We were invited to stay behind for a “lock-in” and Reg started pouring out some free drinks. He poured Rob and me a lethal cocktail and I knew the end was in sight. We departed at about 2am and I crashed – literally – in Bob’s hotel room, while Rob headed down to the Broadway for a night bus.

It had been a top day in London Town.

Postscript – 

I was awoken by a text message from Rob at 8am. He was now back home, but had woken up at Hammersmith Hospital at around 3am. He had suffered a cut on the head and wanted to know what on earth had happened. I phoned him and we tried to piece it all together. I guess he had fallen – after all, he had been drinking for 16 hours!

The final shame, though, was this…in an attempt to check him out, the nurses had cut away his Lacoste polo and he had to travel home on the night bus wearing a hospital charity shirt.

Shade unknown.

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Tales From The Bridge

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Chelsea vs. Roma : 22 October 2008.

A messy, tiring journey, but we got there in the end.

This phrase relates to my journey up the M4 to Chelsea, but could also, easily, refer to the game too.

My mate Glenn ( Parky ) was waiting for me in The Pheasant pub car park at 3.45pm. Had a few last minute things to sort out at work, but we left at 4pm. Parky goes to all the midweek games – one of the main reasons being that you get more loyalty points for these ones. A wise decision.

Unfortunately, there had been a six car smash up at Datchet on the M4 and we were snarled up in about 45 minutes of slow-moving traffic. We tried to remain calm, but we got progressively more feisty as the journey lasted.

I had arranged to meet Pete and his wife Becky from San Francisco ( who I first met in Palo Alto before the Club Mexico match in July 2007 ) in The Goose before the game. Pete left the UK in 1988, but has kept his season ticket and makes it over for a few games each season. We tried desperately to meet up in Moscow, but couldn’t quite work out the Cyrillic alphabet in time…a shame. I was also meeting my next-door neighbour Adam ( an Aussie who has been living in deepest Somerset for about five years ) in the pub. He had travelled up to London with work and was relishing his first ever Chelsea game. I had joked with his wife that she would lose him to Chelsea over the coming months and I was only semi-joking. So – text messages were relayed to say I was running late. A bit frustrating. I usually give Chelsea newcomers a good old tour of The Bridge, but Adam’s tour will have to wait for next time.

We parked up just after 6.30pm and raced ( well, Parky is on crutches, but you get my drift ) to the boozer for 6.40pm. Parky took care of the drinks as I located, Pete, Becky and Adam, plus the rest of my mates – Daryl, Ed, Rob, Big Al, Simon, Milo, Paolo ( a Lazio fan from Italy ), Walnuts and Russ. We had half-an-hour of “pre-match” – it was all a bit frantic, but it was so good to see Pete again. We jabbered away about all things Chelsea – trying our best to try to explain to Adam that the most rewarding thing about Chelsea is not the football, but all the peripheral stuff. I think Adam understood.

I mentioned that Danny Baker is now back hosting 606 on BBC Radio Five Live…it’s well worth a listen. Baker avoids the clichéd phone calls of fans talking about their team ( of interest only, really, to other fans of that team ) and instead relies on hilarious anecdotes from the world of football fandom that I find so funny. On the programme on Tuesday, he talked about football pitches on an island in the middle of The Nile, surrounded by crocodiles – “you get the ball, Ahmed” – and even a pitch on top of a block of flats in Zagreb or somewhere ( and a player fell off, apparently. )

Quality stuff.

Russ had brought along a book I had purchased – I think it was written by one of his work colleagues…”Moody Blues” by James Clarke chronicles a fan’s perspective on last season. I dipped into it a bit and it looks like standard fare…I’ll read it and report back.

I am trying to get Pete to join up to CIA. I mentioned my match reports this season and my inter-weaving of the 1983-84 season amid current match reports.

For the record, 25 years ago to the day, Chelsea drew 0-0 at Carlisle United in the Second Division in front of a paltry 6,774. I didn’t go. My second game of that season had been the week before – a home game against Cardiff City on a rainy afternoon, with me sheltering under The Shed roof. I saw Pat Nevin play for the very first time that day. We won 2-0, with Wee Pat and Colin Lee scoring ( gate 15,459 ). The team was coming together, but David Speedie had yet to start…John Neal had preferred the Dixon / Lee strike force up until that point. At the Cardiff game, I distinctly remember quite a few punts upfield for Lee to head on for Dixon…but we were able to vary it that season, with Nevin, especially, being able to run and jink his way past players, get them off balance and then play in balls to Kerry at all sorts of odd angles. We were third in the table after that Cardiff game. I was unemployed for all that 83-84 season, but retaking exams in the November. Chelsea were able to provide me with a lovely distraction from my studies on those cold autumn evenings as I daydreamed of – possible, whisper it – promotion in May.

Back to 2008.

We were running late – it’s still so difficult to pull ourselves away from the pub with chatter going on and on – and unfortunately, with the ticket-scanning system still underperforming, there was a sizeable line at the turnstiles.

We got in ten minutes late.

Another sell-out crowd…and yet more free giveaway scarves on our seats. At this rate, if we get to the semis, I’m going to end up with six bar-scarves! I soon popped in to use the loos and – I had to laugh – somebody had draped a scarf over the urinal…not quite sure why!

The Roma fans – some 3,000 strong – were making a lot of noise in the Shed…many many different banners, all with varying messages, different styles, very “Italian” ( the UK banners tend to be more standard…St. Georges flags, blue ones with white lettering, CFC crests and fans’ names ) I even spotted a Roma / Lacoste banner.

I thought back to the only ever time I had seen Roma…back in Pittsburgh in 2004, when my first US trip proved to be so enjoyable. I had travelled up with my friend Roma ( yes, really – some of you met her in NYC, Chicago and LA ) and her daughters from North Carolina. We had a blast in Pittsburgh, even meeting both squads in their respective hotels. The photos I have of all of us with JT and Roma with Francesco Totti are beautiful. Just beautiful. Only Totti, Mexes and Panucci remain as far as I could gather…I kept Roma informed of the game via texts ( she was actually at a nice sporting event of her own, meeting NASCAR’s Tony Stewart in Georgia )

What of the game? It was a messy affair, wasn’t it? Roma closed down any space going and did the stereotypical Italian away performance. I think their manager must have lambasted them after their 0-4 home loss at the weekend and they were well drilled. Our support, not exactly buoyed by the lacklustre performance, was quiet.

It was a frustrating night for sure.

At half-time, Alan handed over my Roma away ticket, which he had collected in the afternoon. I won’t bore everyone to death, but my mates have been embroiled in an email discussion about all of the security checks and scare tactics which have engulfed the return game in two weeks. Daryl isn’t going, but has bought his ticket for Bob in San Francisco…now, it appears the tickets have encoded names on them and id needs to be shown at the turnstiles. If the names don’t match, you don’t get in. We are not sure if this is just scare tactics or what. Meanwhile, Bob is trying to source his own ticket for the game in Rome.

Watch this space.

Malouda had been really ineffective in the first half and so was replaced at the break. No complaints. I have to honest – I don’t think many players shone. Maybe Carvalho. I thought Deco was poor. There were no Frank surges from midfield. Maybe Mikel did OK. I was preparing for a 0-0 to be honest. Roma didn’t really create much. Totti, though full of nice touches, didn’t get too involved.

A corner to us, right down below me and I captured Frank on film. JT headed the resultant delivery home. Yes…get in!

News came through that Liverpool had conceded a late goal in Madrid…that got a cheer.

We walked back to the car, I said “adios” to Adam and then drove back West with Parky. He had been in the very front row of the Shed Lower and reported back that the Roma fans were singing all night…they certainly didn’t let up. However – not good news – he also reported that several Roma fans had thrown bottles of ( avert your eyes and ears ) urine at the Chelsea fans. Parky wasn’t impressed. Neither was I.

Roma in two weeks’ time might be a bit naughty.

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