Chelsea vs. Burnley : 30 March 2024.

Our last game against Leicester City seemed such a long time ago. In the meantime, there had been an international break, involving games that I almost completely ignored, an entertaining Frome Town away game, but also some very sad news.

At that Leicester City FA Cup game, as the match began, I had found it hard to concentrate. I didn’t draw attention to it in my match report that would follow, but Ron Harris did not travel up with us in my car for this game. During the preceding day, the Saturday, Ron’s daughter Claire had contacted me to say that Ron’s wife Lee had suffered a couple of strokes. That weekend took on a strange feel; throughout it, my thoughts were not far from Ron and his family.

Sadly, we were to learn that Lee passed away in the early evening of Monday 18 March.

Despite the sadness of the loss, Ron was keen to get back into his routine of attending games at Stamford Bridge, so it was lovely to be able to collect him at 7am for the league game with Burnley. We made our way up to London and we tried our best to get back into our own match day routines. Unfortunately, Parky was unable to join us on this occasion. He had a swollen ankle and couldn’t get his shoes on. His place was taken by Glenn, although he did not have a ticket for the game. Instead, he volunteered himself to chaperone Ron around for the day, from various parts of the stadium, and to be on call if he was needed; a very fine gesture.

I made ridiculously good time. I dropped PD near “The Eight Bells”, then I deposited Ron and Glenn outside the main gates before parking up. All this completed by 9.15am.

I trotted down the North End Road, stopped for a breakfast, then had a little chat with Marco and Neil at the “CFCUK” stall. I then disappeared down the steps at Fulham Broadway to catch the District Line to Putney Bridge station. It was the day of the Boat Race, and the busiest that I had ever seen the station at that time on a Saturday morning. Thankfully, none of the fellow passengers were headed for the “Eight Bells” which was resolutely and solidly Chelsea on this first Spring-like day of the year.

Ollie from Normandy was with us again – always a pleasure to see him – and we were also joined by a friend who first met Parky and yours truly at a Chelsea vs. Birmingham City game in April 2011. Mike was living in Seattle in those days, but has been living in Regensburg in Germany for two years or so. It was super to see him again. Back in 2011, I was able to search out three tickets for him, his fiancée and a friend. On this occasion, he had to go solo and had to pay through his nose for a West View ticket.

I toasted my friendship with PD which would soon be forty years in length; I famously met him in a train on the way back from the infamous 3-3 draw at Ninian Park on 31 March 1984.

Towards the end of our three hours or so in the pub, we were joined by Dave – from Swindon – and his Chelsea-mad daughter Aimee – now living in Los Angeles – and we enjoyed a good natter. Dave has recently started reading the blog and wanted to say “hello” and I think PD got a kick out of this stranger knowing who he was.

“Where’s Parky?”

“Oh – he can’t make it. His hand is swollen and he can’t get it in his pocket for his wallet.”

We were later than usual leaving the pub. I didn’t get to my seat until 2.57pm.

Good job I work in logistics.

There was a quick check on our team; Mudryk and Badiashile were in.

Petrovic

Gusto – Disasi – Badiashile – Cucarella

Caicedo – Fernandez

Palmer – Gallagher – Mudryk

Jackson

The game kicked-off at 3pm. However, there was another game kicking off at 3pm that would be on my mind too. My other footballing love, Frome Town, were at home to Bideford in a reverse of the fixture that I saw three weeks ago.

To be truthful, there was a part of me that wished that I could defeat the laws of physics and attend both of the day’s games at the same time. Last weekend, I drove up and over the beautiful Cotswolds to see Frome Town play at Evesham United. The visitors raced into a 2-0 lead in the first-half with two goals from Kane Simpson. It was an odd half, badly affected by gusts of wind and a bumpy pitch, and we were rather lucky to be 2-0 up. The second-half was a tight affair, but a better quality game with the wind less of an issue. Simpson scored his hat-trick and we held on to win 3-2. Sadly, the league leaders Wimborne scored a late winner in their game to remain top.

A possible season-defining visit to Wimborne sadly takes place on the same day that Chelsea are at Wembley in the FA Cup semi-final, so I am rather annoyed that I will be missing that key game. However, our final league game of the season takes place in Frome against Bristol Manor Farm a week later on Saturday 27 April. On the same day, Chelsea play at Villa Park at 8pm. On the drive to London, I warned PD that I might be attending both games. Watch this space.

Back to London SW6.

I remember a Burnley away game from a few years ago, and making the point that most of the Burnley players had traditional Anglo-Saxon names, the team seemingly unaffected by the influx of foreign football players. The game in question was from 2016/17, that freezing cold afternoon, when the town of Burnley made an even bigger and bolder attempt to be the most Northern football town of them all.

That team?

Heaton, Lowton, Keane, Mee, Ward, Boyd, Barton, Westwood, Brady, Barnes, Gray.

Was the 2023/24 model still containing traditional names, maybe traditionally Northern names, as before? Who was playing?

Bobby Crumpet? Alf Glossop? Eddie Vimto? Sid Clackett? Burt Blenkinsopp? Kevin Sludge?

No, Burnley has now officially entered the twenty-first century. Their team now contains such exotic names as Arijanet Muric, Lorenz Assignon, Vitinho, Jacob Bruun-Larsen, Wilson Odobert and Zeki Amdouni.

The club even threw us a curve-ball. On the bench was the much-travelled and exotically named Jay Rodriguez. But he was born in Burnley.

What the chuffing heck is going on?

Over in the far corner, around one thousand away supporters had travelled down from Lancashire to cheer on those Burnley players. However, their yellow shirts with a vertical stripe over the heart, combined with dark shorts and yellow socks, reminded way too much of Barcelona’s visit in 2008/9 and Iniesta, bloody Iniesta.

Gulp.

The game began and Burnley had the best of the opening few minutes. But we then came into the match enjoying a few efforts on goal. Our first real chance came from the boot of Enzo Fernandez, but his shot was incredibly well saved by Muric after taking a wicked deflection off a Burnley defender. There was then a fine save from Djordje Petrovic in front of the Matthew Harding.

Cole Palmer had four early shots on goal.

“Don’t mind that Al. At least he shoots. So many don’t.”

Nicolas Jackson was magnificently played in by Palmer but his dribble took him too close to the ‘keeper and the shot went awry.

Overhead there were few clouds, and the sun cast some strong shadows for what seemed the first time in months. The atmosphere was, of course, rather tepid. We couldn’t even rely on a noisy away following to generate some melodies that we would then steal for our own songs.

On twenty minutes, Mykhailo Mudryk sent in a cross that Axel Disasi prodded home. There was a delay, a predictable delay, for VAR to throw its murky shadow on the game. As Alan alongside me commented “if the mistake is clear and obvious, why is it taking so long to sort out?”

I felt my joy for football leave my soul with every passing second.

After a minute or so, VAR spoke. No penalty. Handball.

In Somerset, Frome were 1-0 up.

You beauty.

At Stamford Bridge, the game meandered on, with not a great deal of quality on show. On thirty-five minutes, a lightning move, stretched out wide on the right to Jackson, eventually gave Mudryk a chance but his shot was central and poor.

Meanwhile, Frome had gone 2-0 up and then 3-0 up.

Superb.

I whispered to Alan : “I dread getting to half-time because there are bound to be some boos.”

With a couple of minutes of the first-half remaining, Mudryk was upended by Assignon and the referee signalled a penalty. But VAR had to push its unwanted snout into the game again. Another delay.

Penalty.

It was Assignon’s second yellow so off he went. The Burnley manager Vincent Company was then given his marching orders in the resulting melee in the technical area. Palmer sent the ‘keeper to his right as he delivered a cheeky and crafty “Panenka” to give us a deserved lead.

Chelsea 1 Burnley 0.

Once the celebrations had finished, I checked my ‘phone.

Frome were 4-0 up.

Love it.

At the half-time whistle, I detected a few boos from the bowels of the Matthew Harding Lower.

I give up.

Going in to the game, without really broadcasting it too loudly, I certainly expected us to win against a team that had been haunted with relegation all season long. But although it hadn’t been a great watch, we were winning and could have scored more. With Burnley down to ten men, I hoped for more success in the second-half.

Oh boy. Our old problem of conceding early in the second-half resurfaced again. Just two minutes in, a ball from the right was knocked back into the path of Josh Cullen who took a swing – “fuck off!” – and the ball few into the net, Petrovic stranded. All our defenders appeared to be ball-watching. They were loitering like nervous teenagers at a youth club disco, unsure of how to interact with anyone.

It was a horrible goal to concede.

Chelsea 1 Burnley 1.

The team needed some backing from the home crowd but the response was virtually non-existent. With each passing minute, with Chelsea labouring to break through a packed defence, frustrations rose. However, our finishing was as collectively poor as I can ever remember. I don’t honestly think I can recollect as many shots that ended up being ballooned high over the crossbar. This affliction that had started in the first-half continued with increasing regularity throughout the second-half. It was horrible to watch.

On sixty-two minutes, after another high shot into the MHU, this time from Conor Gallagher. It was Gallagher’s worst game of the season. He was duly replaced by Noni Madueke.

We were now playing with three dribblers; Mudryk, Palmer, Madueke. I called them “wingers” for poetic effect.

Mudryk was trying his best to dance in and create but he was flummoxed by the lack of space. He was irritating PD and after a vigorous verbal attack on the Ukrainian, I leant forward and looked over at PD just as the five people sitting past him did exactly the same. At least he didn’t boo Mudryk.

But this was frustrating stuff.

On seventy-three minutes, the equally poor Moises Caicedo was replaced by Raheem Sterling. It was pleasing to hear applause for Sterling.

I looked over to PD and beyond.

“Four wingers!”

This mess of a game continued.

Shots wide, shots high, shots blocked.

The frustrations rose.

With a quarter of an hour to go, I made a mental note of the first “Carefree” of the entire game.

A minute or so later, Cath got going with a shrill “Zigger Zagger” down below and the crowd nearby responded.

“OI OI OI.”

On seventy-eight minutes, a fine move was enjoyed by us all. Palmer advanced and played the ball to Cucarella. He passed back to Enzo who had spotted Sterling on the edge of the box. A deft flick, not unlike the Palmer to Chukwuemeka flick against Leicester City, played in Palmer. He drilled the ball low across Muric into the net.

NOISE!

The scorer kindly ran towards The Sleepy Hollow where my camera was waiting.

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.

Sterling came in for a lot of love from his team mates and quite rightly. His flick was pure poetry. Axel Disasi faced the Matthew Harding and stabbed a pointing finger at Raheem.

Chelsea 2 Burnley 1.

Sadly, just two minutes later, a corner from Parkyville, and a free-jump at the near post for Dara O’Shea and the ball had too much velocity for Petrovic to parry. The ball seemed to go right through him.

Fackinell.

Chelsea 2 Burnley 2.

Alfie Gilchrist replaced Gusto late on. We had two last-ditch efforts. A shot from Noni Madueke rustled the near post netting, with half of the MHL celebrating. Then, a really intelligent run from Sterling to meet a beautiful dink from Palmer, but he got underneath the ball, and we groaned as it flew over the crossbar like so many other efforts.

Down in Frome, the game had finished with a fine 4-0 win in front of a very decent gate of 615.

Bizarrely, there was almost a late Iniesta moment via Jay Rodriguez, who had appeared as a second-half sub for Burnley. From a corner, his powerful header smashed against the post, but he could not convert the rebound.

There were the inevitable boos at the final whistle.

We sloped out, dispirited and disconsolate. The team is such a very long way from where it hopes to be. I still think, as I always have, that we will finish in tenth place this season.

Next up, Melksham Town vs. Frome Town on Monday and Chelsea vs. Manchester United on Thursday.

See you at one or the other.

In Memory Of Lee Harris.

23 September 1944 to 18 March 2024.