Tales From Team Torres

Posted on July 27, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Leicester City : 18 March 2012.

I awoke on Sunday, fearing the news. I was obviously concerned about the awful episode involving Fabrice Muamba at White Hart Lane but I had also heard on Saturday that one of my favourite uncles – Ken, from Vancouver – was also poorly. I gingerly flipped the computer on, waited for the gears to whirl into action and sat still. Thankfully, no news was definitely good news. However, there was a certain low-lying fog, not outside, but in my mind, as I scrambled a few things together ahead of my third trip to London in nine days. I was clearly finding it difficult to garner massive amounts of enthusiasm for this third game of the week. After the euphoria of Wednesday, I suppose that this was only natural. Just before I left for London, I quickly checked on the CIA website to see what was being said about the game with Leicester City.

Oh. There wasn’t a thread about the match.

I tut-tutted to myself and departed.

Parky could tell I was a little bit low as I collected him at just after 9am. He started cursing me, I replied similarly and, by the time we had stopped off for our usual McBreakfast in Melksham, things had been restored to their normal equilibrium.

Parky talking, Chris driving.

Despite a little delay due to a road accident near Swindon, it was a decent drive up to London. Tuna – from Atlanta – was over for the week and was soon in touch. It’s always a pleasure to see him at HQ. Tuna plays a special role in my gradually evolving relationship with the burgeoning American fan base; he was, as I remember it, the first Chelsea fan in America I remember meeting at my first ever game in Pittsburgh in 2004. On that trip, I spent the day with friends from North Carolina and didn’t really mix with any Chelsea fans at all. In fact, to be honest, there weren’t many Chelsea fans present at Heinz Field for that match against Roma. Even the main Chelsea section only housed around 150. We watched behind one of the goals, in the front row, and if only I’d known how some of those Chelsea fans along the side would become friends over the following few years.

At the end of the game, as we were walking underneath the stands, Tuna saw my Chelsea shirt and spoke to me. At the time, I wasn’t sure if he was an Englishman with an American accent, or an American putting on an English accent.

I’m still not sure.

I bumped into Tuna again in New York the following summer, but I still wasn’t familiar with too many of the fans Stateside. It was only when I joined up to CIA ahead of the Chicago trip in 2006, did I start to make major in roads into putting names to all of those faces. It has been a great ride ever since.

The coffee was going down well and the banter was flying as we headed into Berkshire. With mild weather forecasted, we were both in our summer gear.

Lacoste Watch

Parky – purple
Chris – chocolate

With the chat finally stalling, Parky put a Jam CD in the CD player and the volume was cranked up. I have mentioned it before, but no band takes me back to my youth – of Chelsea trips in particular – like the Jam, in that 1978 to 1980 period especially. Working class heroes, singing about urban angst, the Jam struck a chord like no other band and were much loved by the football fraternity in that period.

“the distant echo of faraway voices boarding faraway trains to take them home to the wives that they love and who love them forever.”

As I rose above the streets of west London on the raised section of the M4 motorway, memories of my childhood raced through my mind. My Dad used to take me up to London for matches at The Bridge from 1974 to 1980; by the time his car reached this section, my excitement reached stratospheric levels. Each few yards of tarmac throws up tons of memories…a massive traffic jam caused by Southampton fans on their way to Wembley on League Cup Final day 1979 when we got to Chelsea just in time for the kick-off, tooting the car horn after promotion in 1984, the first sighting of the Griffin Park floodlights to the right, the massive Chelsea / Adidas advertisement on a building in 2006, the Wembley arch to the left way in the distance, the famous Lucozade sign to the left, the old art deco Beechem building to the right, Canary Wharf, The Gherkin, The Shard in the distance, the grey hulk of Earls Court…Chelsea tantalisingly close now.

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This section of the M4, as it rises and turns, always gets my blood pumping. Long may it continue.

Straight into The Goose at just before midday. The place was again rather quiet. Talk amongst my mates was mainly of the Benfica away game. As always, Rob seemed to have the best prices. I think he must have easyJet’s flight schedules from Stanstead and Gatwick memorised by now. I had a nice chat with The Fishy Boy, who is around for the games against City and Spurs, too. We chatted about mutual friends, the upcoming tour, and the CPO debacle. Everything but the game. You know the score.

Jonesy and Jokka mentioned our game in New York in the summer and I am hopeful that they will be joining me. A couple of pints of Peroni and it was soon time to head off to The Bridge.

I quickly bought a copy of “CFCUK” and the match programme. I noted that “CFCUK’ had an extra “Sheditorial” as the original was written just before AVB got the “Spanish Fiddler” two week’s ago. On page 41 of the programme, there is a lovely photo of none other than Cathy, with Roberto di Matteo, on the occasion of her fiftieth birthday. There was a large article about the 1997 F.A. Cup Final (thank you Robbie), but only a fleeting mention (in Johnny Vaughan’s column) about the iconic Chelsea vs. Leicester City replay (thank you Erland) in the fifth round that season. That was some night.

I did my usual “check the East Upper for empty seats” routine when I reached the entrance to the MHU. Yep, there were hundreds empty in the corners. I had heard that tickets were still being sold to personal callers in the morning. Away to my right, the 6,000 away fans were already ensconced in The Shed.

So, a question to Mr. Buck and Mr. Gourlay.

On the back of our best performance of the season against Napoli, how come we can’t sell 35,000 tickets at only £30 a pop for the quarter finals of the F.A. Cup?

And you say we have out-grown Stamford Bridge?

Think again.

I received a text from Tuna, who was watching in the MHU too…

“What’s with all the empty seats in the East Upper?”

Just before the teams came onto the pitch, I looked on with glee as the “upper tier” flag continued on past Gate 16, then Gate 17 and into the upper tier of the East Stand. It appeared to be seeking freedom as it went on unhindered, over the heads of the spectators who are not usually troubled by it. I quickly sent out a quick text to Steve and Daz, who are usually trusted to gather up the flag in the NE corner of the upper tier.

“Where’s that fcuking flag gone?”

It finally came to rest at the southern end of the upper tier.

It reminded me of the original “Pride of London” flag which made its debut at a game before the Chelsea vs. Wolves F.A. Cup quarter final some 18 years ago. On that day, it began in The Shed and ended up travelling over the heads of us in the West Stand. At the end of that particular game, the flag ended up on the pitch, along with thousands of ecstatic Chelsea fans, enjoying the thrill of our first F.A Cup semi final in 24 years. I remember that Glenn and I ended up on the pitch on that Sunday afternoon in March 1994; it was the day that “The Blue Flag” really came into its own too.

“From Stamford Bridge To Wembley, We’ll Keep The Blue Flag Flying High.”

With F.A. Cup semi-finals coming to us in 1996, 1997, 2000, 2002, 2006, 2007, 2009 and 2010, I acknowledged the fact that a return to Wembley in April would be met with hardly a raised eyebrow, let alone mass hysteria and a pitch invasion.

This is how far we have travelled and – I’ll be honest – it saddens me to the core that I will probably never again be as excited at reaching a semi-final as I did all those years ago in 1994.

The game was over as early as the twentieth minute really. Chelsea got out of the blocks and had a couple of early chances. A Juan Mata corner dropped into the six yard box and Gary Cahill rose to head down and in for his first goal in Chelsea colours. He decided to race past the silent away supporters and head towards the family section in the East Lower. Not many goals are celebrated in that area of the stadium; I hope that the inhabitants of that section took a few rare photos.

A shot by Juan Mata was cleared off the line. Fernando Torres showed great skill and awareness by breaking down the right before looking up and playing in Salomon Kalou, who painstakingly waited for the ‘keeper to move before slotting the ball past him. We all commented how cool a finish it was from the much-maligned Kalou. Further chances came from a Daniel Sturridge shot, a Torres header at the ‘keeper and a Torres shot which was saved. After a lovely piece of play by Gary Cahill, Alan commented –

“Gary Cahill is the nearest to JT we’ve had down here since Wayne Bridge’s ex-girlfriend.”

We were well on top to be honest, despite a few Leicester attempts on our goal.

At the break, I had a few words with the chap who was sat alongside Alan. Gordon was from Yeovil, a fellow Somerset fan, and knew of a few of the local lads who I used to occasionally meet up with on the Yeovil supporters’ coach in the mid-‘eighties; all of whom still go, but I’ve not seen them for ages. The midfield dynamo of that mid-‘eighties team, Johnny B, was on the pitch with Neil Barnett, at the break. I never tire of seeing these Chelsea heroes of my youth.

Attacking the Matthew Harding stand, we were rewarded with a flurry of chances down below us. Florent Malouda had replaced Juan Mata and forced Kasper Schmeichel to save down low. Unselfish play from Torres set up Studge, but he was annoyingly dispossessed after hanging onto the ball for an eternity. Studge was having one of those games. Torres then moved the ball nicely, but his shot was blocked.

Michael Essien replaced Kalou and a goal soon followed. After a great performance against Napoli on Wednesday, Torres had been the star attraction against Leicester. Meireles cleverly set up Torres who quickly and nimbly struck a shot goalwards. At last, he endured a little good fortune; the shot was not cleanly struck but just made it over the line, just inside the post, just beyond the despairing dive of Schmeichel Junior.

At last. His latest goal drought was over. Phew.

“From Stamford Bridge To Wembley, We’ll Keep The Blue Flag Flying High.”

A firm shot from Nando flew over the bar just after.

At the other end, the visitors forced a great save from Petr Cech. Then a shot from Dann ricocheted off the base of the post and Beckford slotted the ball in. There was a little anxiety in the Chelsea ranks.

David Luiz replaced Brana.

I took a photo of Raul Meireles as he clipped in an in swinging corner towards the near post. Who should be there to meet it, but the blond head of Fernando Torres. We looked on in amazement as the ball bounced down and in. This time, the celebrations were down below me.

Click, click, click, click, click, click.

I missed the second goal from the visitors; I am reliably informed it was a scorcher.

With everyone in the stadium begging for Torres to shoot once he dribbled free, he unselfishly set up his compatriot Meireles, who slotted the ball in past the off-balance ‘keeper.

5-2.

Get in.

On the drive home, news came through of our semi-final opponents. On a normal day, the chance of us playing Tottenham at Wembley would have elicited more of an emotional response. However, with the Tottenham / Bolton tie still undecided and clouded in doubt and possible sadness, I did not dwell too long on potential match-ups and possible days in the sun.

Tales From The Last Day Of 2011

Posted on July 27, 2013 by Chris Axon

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.

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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.

Tales From The 41,548*

Posted on July 27, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Fulham : 26 December 2011.

For the first time this season, I was having a day off. That is to say, the driving duties were not mine. At last I could relax and let somebody else worry about the traffic and the timings. Glenn called for me at 8am and we were soon on our way. Parky was collected at 8.30am, resplendent in a new Duck & Cover top, thankfully now recovering from his recent ailments.

The three amigos on the way to football once more.

Another season, another Boxing Day game, another game at The Bridge. Admittedly, we don’t have a game every December 26th (our last Boxing Day game was in 2009 at Birmingham City), but Chelsea invariably get home fixtures on this date.

As I live over 100 miles from SW6, it took until 1992 for me to see Chelsea in a Boxing day game; until then the friction of distance, plus lack of finances, prevailed against me. On that particular day, I drove up to Chelsea for the very first time and parked near the Lots Road gasometers and watched Chelsea scramble a 1-1 draw against Southampton. I remember I took an old-school camcorder up with me for that game and – quite illegally – recorded around ten minutes of match action from the East Upper. I also took a few shots of the old tube station, the souvenir shops on the Fulham Road, the forecourt, The Shed. I’m glad I did; within a few years, the old Stamford Bridge would be no more. That 15 minute film from Stamford Bridge – shrouded in midwinter mist, atmospheric, bleak – is a cherished part of my Chelsea archives. I remember how every time Chelsea (Dennis Wise, Eddie Newton, Frank Sinclair et al) managed to cross the halfway line, there were encouraging cheers and claps from the Chelsea support in the East Stand. I watched this video film a few years ago and it was quite endearing to be honest; refreshing to see – and hear – Chelsea fans supporting the team’s pursuit of goals and glory. These days, the notion of Chelsea fans cheering each time we get past the centre-circle seems absurd.

1992 was my first ever CFC Boxing Day game, but my first ever trip to Stamford Bridge during the festive season was ten years earlier, during that bleakest of seasons, the 1982-1983 campaign. During that winter, Chelsea were stumbling along in the old second division and gates were hitting new lows. Despite drawing 25,000 for the visit of Leeds United in October, gates had dropped to as low as 7,000 in late 1982. Our neighbours Fulham, paradoxically, were flying high under the management of former player Malcolm MacDonald and with players such as Ray Houghton, Sean O’Driscoll, Gordon Davies and Dean Coney. I travelled up with my parents for the Chelsea vs. Fulham derby on December 28th 1982 and wondered how big the gate would be. If memory serves, the cancellation of a set of fixtures the previous week had resulted in massive crowds on the Boxing Day that year; everyone wanted their fix of football. Well, the Chelsea crowd did not disappoint on that afternoon in December 1982. I watched from The Shed and my parents watched from way up high in the East. The game was a scoreless draw, but the abiding memory is of the huge 29,000 attendance. Our average during that 1982-1983 season was just 12,672 (our lowest ever, from 1905 onwards), so getting a gate of 29,000 reconfirmed what I knew; we were a sleeping giant, we did have the fan base…with a little success, the crowds would return. I remember little of the day, apart from waiting at the bottom of The Shed after the game had ended. Thousands upon thousands of fans strode past as I waited for my parents to join me. I was overawed by the numbers and the wait seemed to take forever. I can see my father now, in his hat and overcoat, trying to keep warm in the cold December air. My mother alongside, with her face cheered for seeing me.

Lovely memories.

So much for Chelsea versus Fulham in 1982. What about Chelsea versus Fulham in 2011?

McBreakfasts were purchased at Melksham and were consumed “on the hoof.” Glenn made great time and we were rolling along nicely. We bumped into a few Cardiff City fans at Reading Services, en route to Watford, and then continued on our pilgrimage east. With the tube strike undoubtedly causing more fans to travel in by car, plus the closure of the A4 at Hammersmith, we had planned a different route in. We drove north on the M25, then came in to London on the A40, past the iconic Hoover Building near Hanger Lane. I quickly spotted Park Royal tube station and it brought back warm memories of my first ever trip to Chelsea in 1974; we had parked nearby, and then caught the tube in from that very station. My father was always fearful of the traffic in central London, bless him.

Past the floodlights of Loftus Road, then the new and architecturally brutal Westfield Mall – right in the heart of QPR land – and then past more familiar sights; Earls Court, Salvo’s restaurant, West Brompton Cemetry…Chelsealand.

We were parked-up at 10.40am and it had been a breeze. The weather was surprisingly mild.

A knot of customers were already waiting for The Goose to open up. As more punters joined the throng, I walked over to meet Nathan (a CIAer from the Bay Area of California) and his parents. He had previously visited HQ for the 3-0 thrashing of Birmingham City in the Double season, but his parents – Laurie and Paul – were first-time Bridge visitors. They had just raided the megastore. There is a sale on at present and I have my sights set on a couple of books which I’ll probably purchase before the Villa game.

Into The Goose and I could enjoy a few beers. I took my jacket off and got the beers in. A few pints of Peroni – currently my favourite by far – went down well. Paul, Laurie and Nathan settled down for a lovely pre-match and we covered tons of sport-related topics in the 90 minutes which was afforded us. Parky and Paul exchanged awful jokes, Laurie proclaimed her hatred of the Yankees and I gave her a hug. Paul and I chatted about the Brooklyn Dodgers while Nathan and I spoke about the upcoming Chelsea tour to the US in the summer. It was a fine time.

The Goose was terribly quiet, though. There was probably only 50% of the usual numbers present. I wondered if The Bridge would be well short of capacity on this particular Boxing Day.

Our American guests, fortified by the beer and the laughter of a Chelsea pre-match, set off for The Bridge. I had thoroughly enjoyed their company – sports mad, the lot of them – and I had said “we’ve only touched the tip of the iceberg.” Parky and I soon followed. I couldn’t help but notice how quiet the streets approaching the stadium were. It felt very odd.

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There wasn’t even much of a line at the turnstiles.

I reached my seat, buzzing from the alcohol intake, as the flags were ending their travels along the two tiers of the Matthew Harding Stand. In front of me were two empty seats. The Bridge appeared full, but after a glance around all four stands, it was clear that hundreds – no thousands – of seats were unoccupied. It wasn’t clear in my mind how Arsenal could call off their game on this day of tube-strike induced chaos, while Chelsea did not. Of course, it all became clear. Chelsea had sold all of the 41,500 tickets; why should they care if thousands couldn’t travel in and attend the actual game.

1-0 to Arsenal.

For the first time since September, Glenn, Alan and I were at The Bridge together.

It felt right.

I won’t dwell too much on the game. I thought that we had enough chances to win, but that much cherished commodity luck was not with us on this particular occasion. That is, of course, not hiding the fact that we did not play well. The first-half was particularly poor, with hardly any urgency in our attacking play.

The first real chance of the day fell to Clint Dempsey and his Barnes Wallace of a shot caused Cech to scramble to his right and turn past the post. Fulham had three thousand fans, but one flag; a Japanese flag. They don’t do flags, Fulham, do they? It goes without saying, the away fans made more noise consistently throughout the game than the Chelsea fans.

Mata played in Fernando Torres and the maligned Spaniard did well to bounce the ball off his chest to enable a swivel of the hips and a shot on target. Unfortunately, as is the way with Nando, the ball was struck straight at Stockdale in the Shed goal. Our approach play was laboured and The Bridge fell silent.Two wayward efforts from Torres left Tom with his head in his hands. A cross from wide rattled straight across Petr Cech’s area and we were lucky Fulham were only playing with one up.

A corner on 38 minutes typified our poor play; Mata sent in a corner towards the penalty spot, but it was headed clear by one of three defenders, with not a Chelsea player within five yards of the ball. I had signalled to San Francisco Pete, way up at the back of the MHU, to join me for a pint at the break. While lining up in line, we watched as Studge laced a shot wide.

It was good to see Pete again and we had the usual moan, huddled under the upper tier in the area by the refreshment stand. Chelsea has chosen to decorate this area with a set of large photographs of past Chelsea players and I approve of this. It adds character to an otherwise functional part of the stadium. While we supped away at our pints of Singha, photographs of Dickie Spence, Dennis Wise, Peter Bonetti, Ruud Gullit and others looked on. It is just the sort of detail which is so sadly lacking at the bland Wembley Stadium, which depresses me more each time I visit.

Unfortunately, Pete and I missed two important things due to our half-time chat. We missed the appearance of former striker Jimmy Greaves, who was on the pitch at the break. I wonder if he is aware that, rather ironically, there is a bar in the Matthew Harding called “Jimmy’s”, named after him. As a sad victim of alcoholism and now a teetotaller, I’m sure he would find the funny side of that.

We also missed the goal. We were chatting about some nonsense, just finishing our pints, when we heard a roar.

“Oh well.”

We smiled and toasted Chelsea.

I soon had an incoming call from Alan in the stadium, but twenty yards from me.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

I don’t miss many goals at Chelsea matches – I’ve probably only missed five or six Chelsea goals in over 800 games.

I re-joined the boys at my seat in the MH wraparound and hoped for further goals. It was pretty lacklustre stuff to be honest. We seemed to have all of the possession. And then a defensive blunder and Dempsey struck from close in. It was a weak goal to let in and we all groaned.

AVB replaced the insignificant Frank Lampard with Florent Malouda and our form improved slightly. Fulham were happy to defend and we regained the upper hand. Alan came out with a Christmas cracker of his own –

“Come on Chelsea. This is as one-sided as Heather Mills.”

As the time passed, our chances piled up. The best move thus far involving Malouda and Terry found Sturridge who forced a fingertip save from Stockwell. From the corner, our bad luck continued as an opportunist back heel from Malouda, two yards out, was blocked.

Didier was given a chance to play, replacing Sturridge with twenty minutes to go. Torres was shunted wide and became marginalised. Alan and I had said that we wanted to see Torres on the shoulder of the last man while he was in Chelsea Blue, centrally, ready to pounce. We didn’t care to see him chasing back and turning up in all sorts of deep lying positions. We wanted to see him played to his strength. I’d like to know if AVB tells him to chase balls back in his own half. I’m not a great tactician, but I’d prefer to see Nando as goal poacher and goal poacher only during his time in SW6.

The two highlights for me were two majestically crafted lobs from David Luiz, both with just the correct amount of fade and spin to allow the ball to die as it hit the turf, allowing team mates to gather with the minimum of effort.

Truly great passes. Almost scooped up with Luiz’ right foot. Perfect.

A Drogba shot from the second one of these was hit straight at Stockwell. A curling effort from Meireles agonisingly missed the far post. Malouda set up Meireles with a header which flew over. The last chance, a Drogba effort from a free-kick, did not bother the Fulham ‘keeper.

It was one of those days.

There was a short bout of booing at the final whistle. On exiting the stadium, the Chelsea supporters around me were full of complaints about Andre Villas-Boas, Frank Lampard, Didier Drogba, Fernando Torres, Winston Bogarde, Slavisa Jokanovic, Keith Dublin, Graham Wilkins, Peter Houseman, Keith Weller and Fatty Foulke. I found it a shame that these same fans couldn’t find time to cheer the boys on during the game.

There you go – the usual moan from me about the lack of noise from our home support.

Merry Christmas.

We returned back to Glenn’s van and were soon on our way. There was the briefest of post-mortems as Glenn wended his way back through the streets of West London, out past Ealing and Acton, past the urban sprawl of the inter-war years, out of London and back towards home.

My mate Steve texted me with updates from the Frome Town vs. Weymouth game as the afternoon became evening. Two missed Weymouth penalties, a Frome sending off, no goals, but a disappointing crowd of 533 in arguably Frome’s biggest ever home league game. Maybe there had been an unexpected tube strike on the Buckland Dinham and Trudoxhill underground lines.

From the Chelsea FC website –

Best Moment of the Match.

“The announcement that 41,548 resourceful fans had managed to fill Stamford Bridge despite travel problems on the tubes, trains and west London roads.”

The five thousand empty seats tell a different story.

Tales From Chelsea, Pimlico And Brixton

Posted on July 27, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Arsenal : 29 October 2011.

We had heard that Reg was going to open up The Goose at 10am and so we set off early from the West of England. I picked up Parky just after 8am and headed east. Barely over 48 hours earlier, we had travelled the self-same 100 miles for the CPO meeting, unsure of the outcome and riddled with doubts about the future of the club.

We need not have worried. In a watershed day in the history of the club, a solid message was sent back to the board by the CPO shareholders.

“Don’t tread on us.”

This was going to be a long day for Parks and yours truly. In addition to the Chelsea vs. Arsenal game at 12.45pm, we were staying up in London for the Sham 69 gig in Brixton in the evening. On the drive up to town, we spoke about all sorts. As people have commented, it has been an exhausting and troublesome week for us at Chelsea.

Lots to chat about, no doubt.

However, on this busiest of days, part of my focus was elsewhere. My home town club Frome Town have been enjoying a very enjoyable season in the Evostik Southern League (formerly the Southern League, the League that Chelsea leap-frogged way back in 1905.) This season represents the highest that the Robins have ever played in the non-league pyramid. I have been to three games thus far (a great win, a dull loss and an entertaining draw) and hope to go to a few more as the campaign develops. After the game against Brackley a few weeks ago, I went out in town with Glenn and San Francisco Bob and we ended up watching a Two-Tone tribute band and for a few silly hours, I felt like Frome was the centre of the universe, not Stamford Bridge, as I spent time chatting with old school friends about the town and the team, drinking lagers, reliving some memories and feeling connected. It was a great night. It made me realise a few simple truths about the role of the club within the local community and that feeling will stay with me. I obviously feel a sense of family with Chelsea, but I sometimes let my mind wander and contemplate how lovely it must be to support a “one team town” such as Newcastle United or Portsmouth and to be a local resident of that town. I feel a strong bond to Chelsea Football Club, but not necessarily to London itself. For residents of SW6, I guess that bond to CFC is even stronger.

I saw my first ever Frome game in around 1972, some two years before my first Chelsea game. For many years – 1986 to 2009 – I don’t think I saw a single Frome game, but my interest has been rekindled recently, lured no doubt by recent successes, but I was also keen to contrast my experiences with Chelsea.

Get some perspective. Get another angle on the madness of this obsession with football.

However, not everything was rosy. Part of the deal for Frome’s promotion in May was that a new stand – including seats – has to be built by the end of March or the club, currently in seventh place, would be automatically relegated.

Now is not the time to rail against this ruling, but it does annoy me that Frome’s ground at Badgers Hill is neat and tidy, nicely appointed, safe and secure. It has a stand for around 80 seats, a covered stand holding 200 and the place can easily hold 2,000 I’d imagine. Yet the powers-that-be have enforced this absurd ruling on the club and so £20,000 needs to be raised.

The Fighting Fund currently stands at £4,500 and the pressure is now on to step up the fundraising to reach the target. There has been talk on the unofficial fans’ forum about asking the town’s most famous new resident Johnny Depp for a few thousand, but I’m not sure if that has any mileage.

Step forward my good mate Steve, a real football enthusiast, who has supported Frome Town through thick and thin since his first game in around 1974. While we were heading east to Chelsea by car, he was heading East to Frome by foot, covering the 12 miles from his home in Shepton Mallet by foot on a sponsored walk in order to raise funds. San Francisco Bob, NYB Mike and I had already pledged a substantial sum towards Steve’s walk and my target was to raise additional funds from my mates at Chelsea during the day.

As the day developed, the pledges increased and Steve updated me on his progress –

“Halfway…getting warm now…Chantry…Whatley…three miles to go…sat in the Vine Tree…100 yards to go.”

In London Town, I was parked up at 10.30am and we were soon in the Yadana Café. Breakfasts were ordered and I spoke with CSG’s Pete, Liz and Cliff – and Parky – about the last three weeks, the CPO meeting on Thursday, the way forward, the whole nine yards.

And I left the café with £12 for Steve’s walk – a great start.

Ideally, I set the target at £20 for the day, but I was off to a flyer.

We headed around the corner and entered The Goose, already busy with morning boozers. Here, the chat continued about the CPO meeting – and so did the pledges for Steve.

It was great to spend some nice time chatting with Julie and Burger for the first time since the game against West Brom. We exchanged stories about all sorts. They are now 18 months into their England adventure and the biggest compliment I can pay is that they just feel like locals. I can sense that they are desperate for their first Champions League away game. That is always a seminal moment in the life of any Chelsea fan.

In The Footsteps Of Rene Lacoste.

Burger – black.
Chris – dark blue.

As we left the pub at about 12.15pm, I can honestly say that the game against Arsenal had not been mentioned once the entire day; not in the car, the café or the pub.

Too much other stuff going on.

As for the sponsored walk, another £16 had been added to the coffers.

Ironically, Glenn’s season ticket was being used by his mate Steve Malpas, who used to play for Frome Town back in the early ‘eighties in the glory days of Bertie Allen, Colin Dredge and Steve Walkey…but I digress

As I turned the corner outside the site of the former So Bar, I heard the usual “WWYWYWS?” being uttered by a little mob of Arsenal fans as they made their way towards the away end. By the way, it seems that the knuckle-draggers amongst our support that used to frequent the So Bar have now decamped to The Imperial on the Kings Road. I very rarely used to go inside the “So”, but after hearing a few songs about Auschwitz on my last visit two years ago, I soon decided it was not the place for me.

I bought a programme, then put some money in the collecting tin being held out by two members of the armed forces and was given a poppy. On the walk to the turnstiles, I had a quick chat with CPO director Rick Glanvil. I passed on my best wishes to him and said that I hated to see him caught in the crossfire on Thursday at the CPO meeting. He is a good man and I hope he escapes unscathed.

I got to my seat just in time to capture the Pride of London flag being passed above the heads of the denizens of the MHL.

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This would be our nearest home game to Armistice Day, November 11th, and so the Chelsea Pensioners walked the teams out onto the pitch. We played with a red poppy embroidered into our royal blue shirts, always a nice touch.

I have to be honest; I had no problems with the starting eleven being selected by the manager. There are still unanswered questions about the right side of our defence (which two out of Alex, Luiz, Ivanovic and Bosingwa?), but I had to go with the manager. He alone knows how the players have trained this past week, who has injury niggles, who are best suited to the upcoming game. I surely had no problems with the midfield three of Mikel, Lampard and Ramires, nor the front three of Mata, Torres and Sturridge.

After the game against QPR last Sunday, I mentioned that it had been a crazy game.

Well, this one surely matched it.

A brief synopsis.

We began the livelier, with Ashley Cole playing in Fernando Torres in the inside-left channel, but the Boy from Fuenlabrada shot wide. Soon after, Daniel Sturridge attacked the bye-line right down in front of Parkyville, but his week right-footed cross was easily smothered by Szxcsxzscxzesny. Torres, loitering on the far post un-marked, would surely have scored had the ball reached him.

Then, Arsenal attacked at will, with Gervinho and Rip van Winkle spurning easy chances. Our defence was at sixes and sevens, or at least at twenty-sixes and seventeens. I lost count of the number of times that poor finishing or just bad luck stopped Arsenal from scoring in that first-half. However, we took the lead when the busy Mata sent over a lovely cross which Frank headed past the Arsenal ‘keeper.

We’ll take that – get in.

This was a very open game and, on 38 minutes, Arsenal equalised with another intricate passage of play which left our defenders flat-footed and embarrassed. Gervinho – he of the most ridiculous hairstyle ever – squared for Rip van Winkle to score past Cech. The Arsenal fans erupted.

Yet again, the away fans were out singing the 38,000 home fans and I’m only going to say one thing, damning though it is; this game was no different to any other.

Lo and behold, an in-swinging corner just before the break was deftly flicked home by The Captain and he reeled away in front of the away section, no doubt enjoying the moment.

2-1 at the break, riding our luck, but contented.

I popped out to the concourse to have a quick chat with San Francisco Pete, fresh from his Berlin marathon, and it made a change for us not to be moaning at the break.

The second-half was a horror show.

Arsenal equalised on 47 minutes just as I found myself putting my programme away; I only saw the shot from Santos fly past Cech.

Then the game’s pivotal moment. A break down below me involving Ramires and his path was blocked by a terrible challenge by their ‘keeper. It was obvious that the ‘keeper was not the last man, with two or three Arsenal defenders racing back to cover, but I honestly thought that the recklessness of the challenge warranted a red by itself.

Andre Marriner issued a yellow and we yelled our abuse.

That Frank’s fine effort from the resulting free-kick was superbly saved by Szxcsxzscxzesny just rubbed it in further.

Then, Arsenal went ahead with a goal from Walcott.

3-2 to the visitors and their fans celebrated wildly. Why do my eyes always get drawn to the away section in such circumstances? I hate that.

AVB made some substitutions and the game remained open. For 25 minutes, we chased the game, but without much pattern. Then, substitute Meireles chased down a loose ball and found Mata, who unleashed a dipping and swerving blast from 30 yards. While everyone around was wildly celebrating this amazing counterpunch, I was very impressed with the way that our new Spanish talisman shrugged off his advancing team mates and raced back to the halfway line for the re-start.

That said a lot to me. We unearthed a good’un, there.

Then, the screw turned further and JT slipped from a half-hearted Malouda back-pass on the halfway line. Van Persie raced away and netted past Cech.

Then, further ignominy as van Persie flashed a cracker past Cech from an angle and we groaned a thousand groans.

5-3.

Good grief.

I quickly dipped into my memory bank of past Chelsea games and tried to remember the last time we had conceded five in a league game. It was way back in the autumn of 1996 and a 5-1 loss at Anfield. Yes, over 16 years ago…we’ve been pretty lucky to be honest. It just goes to show how consistent Chelsea have fared over the most recent seasons. And the last time we conceded five at home in the league? Even further ago…Liverpool again, on my Dad’s birthday in December 1989.

Twenty-two years ago.

I think other teams would envy that record.

Ask Manchester United. They conceded six at home last weekend.

That, of course, does not mean that this loss to a resurgent Arsenal didn’t hurt.

It did.

Oh boy it did.

I sat, slumped, in my seat for ages at the end of the game and it made me ill to see the Arsenal fans, all three thousand of them, staying in the away section long after the home fans had left, bouncing like fools.

And yet – we had won 4-1 and 3-0 at the Emirates in recent years and those were the best of days. If we play football in the top flight, there will always be occasional thumpings. As the above comments prove, we have avoided these like no other team in the top flight in recent years. And so, this craziest of seasons continues on with yet another wild scoreline.

Manchester United 8 Arsenal 2, Manchester United 1 Manchester City 6, Chelsea 3 Arsenal 5.

We had best be wary of Manchester City…they beat United, who beat Arsenal, who beat us.

Oh boy.

After the game, we arranged to meet up at the Lillee Langtry, under the shadow of the Empress State Building and Earls Court Two at West Brompton. I walked along the infamous Seagrave Road, the road mentioned repeatedly by Bruce Buck on Thursday as the debate about walkways and bridges to the north of The Bridge grew hotter and hotter.

I had to admit to myself, the distance between Stamford Bridge and Earls Court would not be far. It would be almost as close as Highbury and their new stadium.

Still the CPO proposal dominated my thoughts and I sighed once more.

We reached the pub at 3pm and had a quick post-mortem. It wasn’t pleasant. Simon’s son Milo was especially subdued. This had been his heaviest home defeat in his 15 years. The fact that he lives in deepest Arsenal territory made his gloominess all the more relevant. He was dreading school on Monday.

Burger and Julie, then Andy Wray and Daz arrived. Within about twenty minutes, we had moved on past the depressing events we had just witnessed. Andy, always fearing the worst of the weather in England, was wrapped up for the cold with a heavy jacket, gloves, scarf, balaclava, snow goggles and wellington boots.

I thought he was slightly overdressed to be honest.

And still the pledges for Steve’s walk came in thick and fast.

It ended up at £50. A great effort.

I spoke to Steve on the phone – Frome had drawn 1-1 – and he was very pleased with the support from SW6.

While Andy and Parky spoke about the clothing requirements for his next visit in November, Daz and I rabbitted for ages about the CPO meeting and the fallout from it. We spoke of the way forward. We both reflected on one of the closing statements uttered by Bruce Buck on Thursday, once we had asked him what the board’s next move would be.

“Well, we’ll go back and talk to Roman…”

…and Daz and I both shouted

“NO…TALK TO US!”

In a nutshell, that demonstrates the gulf that exists between the interested parties.

Oh boy.

Time was moving on. I heard Parky talking to Andy about bearskins for the Liverpool game, but we had to leave. We bode fond farewells and headed on.

We walked to Earls Court tube, then headed down to Pimlico. Back in the early to mid ‘seventies, Parky was in the army and was stationed at Pimlico Barracks for a few years, luckily no more than two miles from Stamford Bridge. He gave me a great little tour of his old stomping ground and we stopped off at his old local, The Morpeth Arms, on the banks of the Thames. It was a superb, cosy pub. I enjoyed hearing his tales from his youth and we knocked back a Peroni apiece.

From there, we caught the Victoria Line to Brixton, south of the river.

Brixton is Brooklyn to the Manhattan of Kensington and Chelsea. It certainly felt odd to be south of the river.

However, we thoroughly enjoyed the concert at Brixton Electric, formerly The Fridge, and we saw three bands…The Skets, Control and Sham 69.

I was into the punk movement in my early teens and Sham’s “Tell Us The Truth” album was the very first LP I bought, way back in 1978.

Well, they didn’t disappoint. Parky and I loved it. Jimmy Pursey, the gregarious front man, was mesmerizing and had the crowd in his hands. We bumped into two other Chelsea fans during the evening and I am sure there were many more. Sham were always firm favourites in The Shed.

The gig finished at 10.15pm and we slowly made our way back to the car. By this time, the chats in the Lillee, the visit to Pimlico and the concert in Brixton had helped dissolve the stern memory of the football.

In fact, despite those five goals, it had been a fantastic day.

Tales From West London

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Newcastle United : 22 September 2010.

Oh boy – on Saturday, I was trying to remember the last team to score against us at Stamford Bridge.

After three weeks of no Chelsea games for me, I’m now in the middle of a “four games in ten days stretch.” Busy times. I do love football at this time of the year, especially the mid-week matches, where the fading sun provides a lovely backdrop to the evenings’ entertainment.

I was able to leave work at just after 4pm. Unfortunately, the 96 miles to HQ took over two and a half hours due to congestion around Heathrow airport. As is usually the case, Parky and myself spent the time chatting about all sorts. We talked about the current TV mini-series “This Is England ‘86” which is an exceptional follow-up to the Shane Meadows film of a few years back. Gritty working class drama with magnificent characters, plus some unforgettably dark humour too. A shame there is just one episode left.

We drove past Brentford’s Griffin Park, where Everton – The Toffees – had become unstuck the previous night.

There is an advertisement for Lucozade ( an energy drink ) which has reappeared on this stretch of the elevated section of the M4. It was originally torn down in 2004 – and I hated the fact it had disappeared, as I always used to look out for it on our pilgrimages to Chelsea as a kid. It seems that other people missed seeing it, too, as there has been a warm response to it appearing in February, albeit in a location 200 yards away from the original. It brought a “whoop” of joy from Parky, Glenn and myself when we spotted it for the first time last season. I’m sure there are ex-pats living around the world will enjoy seeing it over the years too, on their taxi cab rides from London Heathrow.

Welcome back!

Parky usually has around ten classic “Chelsea stories” which get aired every few weeks.

“Yeah, I remember you telling me” never seems to work as he launches into yet another repeat of Nottingham Forest 1985, Watford 1981 or Preston North End 1980. However, a new story – a new story, I tell you! – had me laughing as we approached Hammersmith, the clock ticking towards 7pm. He told me the story of a game over the Christmas period back when he was in his ‘twenties and a gang of Chelsea travelling up by train from Trowbridge, standing in the area by the buffet, knocking back cans of lager and getting stuck into some riotous and aggressively non-PC Chelsea songs of the time. They were making a hell of a racket. However, every time the doors swished open and a family with small children appeared, they immediately switched to singing Christmas carols. I quickly imagined the scene –

“The famous Tottenham Hotspur went to Rome to see the Pope and this is what he said – Ding Dong merrily on high, in heaven the bells are ringing.”

“Spurs are on their way to – Old King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen.”

“Chelsea here, Chelsea there, Chelsea every – away in a manger, no crib for a bed.”

We were parked up at the usual spot at around 6.45pm and we hot-footed it to the beer garden of The Goose, where we bolted down a pint apiece. To be honest – and this happens quite a lot – the game against the Geordies hadn’t occupied too much of my mind since Sunday and I was more focussed on the trip to Eastlands on Saturday. Burger would be travelling with me for that one and was on the look out for another ticket for Julie. Luckily – very luckily – Rob happened to mention that Millsy had a spare…a few texts and phone-calls later, we were sorted.

We were only in the pub for twenty minutes. The place didn’t seem as busy as it is for weekend games…Parky and myself really wondered if we’d get anywhere near a full house, despite the £20 tickets across all areas.

I picked up a match programme and flicked through the pages on the quick approach to the Matthew Harding. My attention was drawn again to the piece by Rick Glanvill detailing a game from our history.

October 25th 1980 – Chelsea 6 Newcastle United 0

This was a game I well remember – this was my eighteenth Chelsea game and I travelled up from Frome with my father, his former boss ( a cousin of the great English comedian Kenneth Horne ) and two school friends…Pete ( Manchester United ) and Kev ( Tottenham Hotspur ). It was a magical day as Chelsea played some really excellent stuff on that autumn day some thirty years ago. Colin Lee nabbed a hat-trick and we played with two old-fashioned wingers for the first time in a while. It really was a 4-2-4 formation, with Phil Driver and Peter Rhoades-Brown providing the crosses for Lee and Clive Walker. We were rampant against a team which included Chris Waddle in one of his first games. Our legendary ‘keeper Petar Borota was playing for us and I remember a particularly acrobatic save at The Shed in the first-half when it was 0-0.

An extra bonus was the fact that the TV cameras were present. At Sunday’s game, Rob mentioned the buzz we used to get back in those times when we used to get to The Bridge and see the TV cameras in position.

“Great – we’ll be on the highlights this weekend!”

The fans of today live in a different world.

I remember quite a bit from the game. In the 1974 to 1980 period, we used to watch from the lower tier of the East and on this occasion we were behind the away bench, maybe eight rows back. The Newcastle manager at the time was Arthur Cox and my cheeky mate Pete took great pleasure in shouting “Cox out! Cox out! Cox out!” when we were scoring our last few goals. To accompany Rick’s piece in the programme, there were around four black and white photos from the game…annoyingly, in one photo, we are out of shot by a matter of yards. I remember that Gary Chivers’ goal was selected as one of the Goals Of The Season in 1980-81 by the BBC and we could be seen in the build-up. There I am in a green jacket and a blue and white bar scarf around my neck. At the time, it was the best game I had seen, despite it being a second division encounter.

I texted Pete and he replied “Great – happy days” and we then exchanged some texts as the Chelsea vs. Newcastle United and Scunthorpe United vs. Manchester United games were played out. Pete is a great friend – my oldest – and he actually played against me in my first-ever 11-a-side game in the autumn of 1974. Where does the time go?

Another mate called Pete – a Newcastle fan from Scunthorpe – was in touch during the evening, too. Everyone keeping in contact, the football uniting us all – perfect.

I was amazed that it was another full house. Well done everyone. The away fans resembled a big jar of mint humbugs in the corner opposite. I noted a TV gantry positioned on the balcony wall above the away fans in the Shed Lower – I’ve never seen one there before.

“Great, we’re on TV!”

I noticed a new banner in the MHU – “History Makers.” This must’ve been the winner in the CSG competition I believe.

No complaints with the team selection – a nice mix of youth and experience.

But what a crazy game.

We began very brightly and scored yet another early goal, from a lovely finish from Van Aanholt. However, the immense and bulky frame of Sol Campbell soon retaliated with a header which flew past Ross Turnbull’s right post.

A warning sign.

However, we were playing some nice football in the opening fifteen minutes, with Benayoun especially making some nice runs and looking as though he was energised by the night’s encounter.

Pete The Geordie texted me –

“Scunny One Up – Come On!”

This piece of good news was not mirrored at The Bridge as Newcastle got back into the game and lead 2-1 at the break. Defensive frailties resulted in an equaliser on 26 minutes. Ameobi had an incredible “air shot” soon after and then an awful defensive wall failed to stop a bullet of a free-kick from Taylor. Ameobi was clean through on 38 minutes, but Brouma did ever so well to thwart him with a great sliding tackle.

There was a full moon arcing its way through the night sky as the game progressed and I took quite a few photographs…I’m not saying the football was that bad, though!

Moans and groans from the home support at the break.

Despite his links – on two separate occasions – with Spurs, Gus Poyet was given a superb reception at half-time.

“Poyet – There’s Only One Poyet.”

Into the second-half and two substitutions – Alex for JT and Kalou for a very quiet Gael Kakuta. However, an awful blunder at the back gave Ameobi a clean run before he placed a shot past Turnbull at The Shed End. We all thought Turnbull should have done a lot better.

Yet more groans.

On 53 minutes, Salomon Kalou pulled up as he was chasing a through ball. It annoyed me that not everyone clapped him off, nor clapped on his replacement Josh McEachran.

On 62 minutes, Yossi pulled up too. Oh hell – we were down to ten men.

After 64 minutes, Alex hit the post after following a free-kick which rebounded back off the wall.

And then it happened. With the team showing signs of being roused, the home fans turned up the volume with the best show of support I have seen this season at The Bridge. I was loving it and prayed that the team would sense the desire amongst our fans. An inch-perfect ball found Van Aanholt on an overlap and his first time ball was finished with glee by Nicolas Anelka. This was a spectacular bit of football and the crowd roared our approval.

“Come on Chelsea – Come on Chelsea – Come on Chelsea – Come on Chelsea.”

A few texts flew around as the game progressed, the noise increasing with every minute. We were all very impressed with substitute McEachren, who showed great poise and skill in that central midfield birth. Ramires, however, did not impress me with his passing…and Sturridge was poor too.

There was an amazing last ten minutes. On 85, Alex ( getting forward at every opportunity ) was fouled below me and a penalty.

Another roar.

I steadied myself and held the camera in place to capture Anelka’s impudent strike. The noise continued on and it was turning into an amazing game. Paolo Ferreira hit a stonking volley which crashed against the near post.

How would it end? I was preparing for extra time and penalties…

In the last minute of normal time, that man Ameobi glanced in a header from a corner and the ball nestled in at the far post. This was hard to take. Seeing the fans in that away segment bounce around like loons reminded me of a Les Ferdinand equaliser in the 95th minute of a FA Cup game in 1996. At this point, a lot of the home support decided to leave.

Why? Why? Why?

Six minutes of extra time was announced and this stemmed the flow of fans leaving. Big John thumped the balcony wall down below me and the supporters around me recommenced the chants which had so buoyed the team in the last twenty minutes.

We hoped and prayed.

It was not to be.

I texted a “well done” to Geordie Pete.

After the game, I collected the ticket for Manchester City outside the So Bar as the Newcastle fans trooped past – it had been their first win in any competition at The Bridge since November 1986. Good luck to them…there are teams in England I dislike more.

Parky and myself decided on a curry at the Garden Tandoori on the Lillie Road before we headed back along the M4 to Wiltshire and Somerset. It had been some game. We were concerned about the injuries we had sustained but the major plus points were the form of Josh McEachren ( when Frank hangs up his boots, he could be the man ) and our support which was loud and passionate.

When I eventually got home at 1.45am, I flicked on the TV and experienced a warm glow of schadenfreude when I saw that Liverpool had lost to Northampton in front of just 22,000 at Anfield.

“Oh dear”, I thought,” our obsession with Liverpool’s demise shows no signs of abating.”

Ho ho ho.

We reconvene at Eastlands at 12.45pm on Saturday.

See you all there.

Tales From A Nervous One Hundred Minutes

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Bolton Wanderers : 13 April 2010.

Since the wonderful events of the weekend, I had been walking tall. Not many people wanted to talk football with me at work though. Strange, eh? However, I awoke nervous and I stayed nervous all day. This was to be a huge day in our season.

Despite the concerns I had about missing a midweek home game with the new people at work, I pulled out of the car-park bang on 4.15pm, my earliest “get away” for ages. It was a stress-free trip up through Wiltshire and Berkshire and into the Thames Valley. I made Steve Azar aware of my progress using the usual shorthand –

Kerry Dixon.

David Brent.

Rifles.

This was to be Steve’s last home game on his two-month sabbatical and we had planned a post-match curry. Throughout the trip up to HQ, my only thoughts about the line-up was the “Drogba or Anelka” conundrum. As I neared London, the weather brightened, with the sun breaking through. The sky was full of vapour trails from the planes flying in and out of Heathrow and, higher, cirrus clouds were everywhere. It was a glorious evening. The traffic was light. I was on target. The Killers gave way to Morrissey and all was good with the world. As I drove past the former Chelsea training ground at Harlington ( the coldest place on Earth, according to Marcel Desailly ), I noted that the trees and hedges were almost starting to turn green with new shoots and buds. The odd cherry blossom was already in bloom. I noted the twin sights of the Wembley Arch to my north and Brentford’s Griffin Park to my south. To be honest, this had the “feel” of a mid-week CL game, such was its importance to us. Past the Fuller’s brewery at Chiswick and the sky was gorgeous blue, devoid of any clouds. Lovely stuff. I had good vibes, despite the odd nervous moments of doubt.

I was parked-up at 6.25pm – that cherry blossom in Normand Park was smelling wonderful – and I soon arrived at The Goose.

With the 8pm kick-off, I had a good hour to relax out in the sunny, but cold, beer garden with the usual suspects. Time for two pints and a chat with the boys – perfect. We were neither confident and cocky nor nervy and pessimistic. We were realistic, to be fair. We knew Bolton would be a tough set of opponents, but the game was certainly “winnable.” Immediate chat focussed on the game against Villa at Wembley. Steve told us of two “big Frank Lampard fans” who left on 80 minutes and all of us were outraged by the hordes who left at 2-0. Daryl said he bumped into more than a few Chelsea fans later in the evening who had left the ground early and had thought we had only won 1-0.

Not my Chelsea.

Our fans dominated a lot of our talk. Whitey spoke about the 2006 league-winning game against United…he couldn’t get a ticket for love nor money and watched the game unfold on the TV in The Slug at FB. He spoke of the shame of seeing hundreds drift past, immediately after the whistle, obviously oblivious – or uninterested – to see the league trophy being presented to the team.

Truly shameful behaviour. Who are these people?

I walked down to the ground just in time to make the kick-off. My first thoughts were about the truly pitiful away support…no more than 120. I then looked to the right and say a lovely new banner on The Shed balcony ( and I knew Beth would be pleased ) –

BENTLEY’S BOYS

Lovely stuff.

The line-up that Carlo chose surprised a few of us…both Drogs and Nico. We were amazed that Malouda was on the bench, along with a surely disappointed Joe Cole. Our midfield seemed solid, but having Mikel and Ballack in there always slows things. The enigma of Kalou upfront. Oh boy.

Within five minutes, our flying Russian was hurtling down the wing as if his life depended on it and set up Didier who shot over. During the first-half, we had the usual majority of possession, with a few Bolton counter-attacks keeping us on our toes. We were worried when JT appeared to twist his ankle, but he’s no Rooney. He soon rejoined the fray. Soon after, Yuri suffered a cut to the head and lay in the six-yard box for some time. He was patched up and resembled Bert from Sesame Street, a tuft of hair peaking over his bandaged forehead.

We were nervous – that word again – and The Bridge was muted for long periods. It should have been jumping.

I thought that Frank – playing deep again – and Ballack were quiet. The Bolton tackles were flying in from all angles. They were upsetting our mood. The fans were growing restless and the clock was ticking. Yuri popped off to get his head wound stitched and Frank filled in at left-back for five minutes. Kalou was miss-firing upfront, but Anelka was roving well.

With me chatting to Alan about a lack of movement, we worked the ball well out to Didier on the left, in front of the taxi-cab load of Bolton fans. He had space and time to curl in a perfect cross, on the money, and Anelka headed down – and in – from close range.

A huge sigh of relief, mixed in with a euphoric yelp. That was massive.

Six minutes of added time…

Wes was sitting next to me and at half-time Alan entertained him. Alan is a master of a thousand voices and Alan chatted to Wes in the style of “Boomhauer,” the fellow Texan from “King Of The Hill.”

“Get-on-that-Chelsea-dang-flying-through-there-the-middle-ball-whoop-goal-whoo-woo-you-hear?”

Health issues from two fellow fans called Frank at half-time…London Frank, recovering from a heart-attack, getting better day by day…Frome Frank, chest pains, but still able to attend games and watching fifteen feet away. We wish them well. Peter Bonetti came out onto the pitch again at the break.

With the Chelsea players awaiting their opponents to rejoin them on the Stamford Bridge pitch, Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” was played on the Chelsea PA.

“Don’t Worry About A Thing, ‘Cus Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be Alright.”

This is yet to really catch on…watch this space.

Yet another Yuri run down the left, yet another fluffed chance. After Drogba shot high and wild from way out, Tom commented “Drogba is either caviar or cabbage” and we knew what he meant. Salomon Kalou broke through but the ‘keeper parried and the same player shot wide barely a minute later. He was annoying large sections of the crowd. This didn’t help the collective nerves of us all. Then, out of the dark London night, a chant which lit up the entire evening. It took until 57 minutes, but at last we got behind the team –

“And It’s Super Chelsea, Suuuuuuper Chelsea Eff Ceeee – We’re By Far The Greatest Team The World Has Ever Seen”

It was the loudest, most coherent chant for ages. Good stuff.

After Drogba skied a clearance, Petr Cech back-pedalled and reached up to stop the ball going out for a corner. It reminded me of a famous catch from my other favourite sport. I spoke to Wes and texted Danny, no doubt watching in deepest Rancho Cucamonga –

“Did you see that Willie Mays at the Polo Grounds catch from Cech?”

Danny soon replied –

“I did. I was expecting him to turn and hit the cut off man. Which would be Mikel.”

I laughed. A bit of baseball humour from 6,000 miles away. I will call Mikel “the cut off man” from now on in. It seems appropriate.

The nerves increased as Bolton improved around the hour mark. However, it was becoming a game of half-chances for both teams.

Another Zhirkov run deep into their box.

We moaned when the industrious Anelka gave way for Malouda…it ought to have been Kalou in our minds. More Bolton possession. Soon after, Joe took Kalou’s place. At last, a flurry of Bolton yellow cards and these were long overdue. Joe Cole danced into the box on a few occasions…the chances were starting to come again. Frank flashed a shot against the left post. Joe set up Ballack with a super cross, but he headed weakly at the goal. From a Florent Malouda corner, JT shaped beautifully and struck a low daisy-cutter which narrowly missed that left post.

Oh boy.

Bolton had chances too and every time the balls came across our box, my heart was in my
mouth…too many late goals at that end ( the one we usually defend in the second-half ) were heavy in my mind.

The clock was ticking.

80 minutes.

Oh those nerves.

85 minutes.

Zirkov again raced forward and set up Joe, who was clean through, but with the whole crowd about to explode, Joe contrived to tread on the ball and the chance was lost.

Four minutes of added time.

Tick – tick – tick.

At last, the referee ( much berated by all ) blew up and we roared. It had been a middling performance, but the result was all-important. We headed out just as that old warhorse of a song by Journey was played on the PA. It seemed appropriate –

“Just a small town boy, born and raised in South Detroit…”

Wes, Steve and myself spent from 10pm to almost midnight in The Lily Tandoori, chatting away about all things Chelsea ( 1983, 1988, 1994, 1997, 1999, 2002, 2005, 2006…) and I could honestly have stayed all night. We visited this same curry house – the same table – after the Inter game and the mood was way different. Steve and myself chatted away like fools – all those games, all those Chelsea days out, all those laughs – and Wes watched, open-mouthed at our memory. The curries were fantastic too. Dutch Mick, also present after Inter, was across the room.

Good times. No – great times.

I was exhausted driving home and even the combined forces of Johnny Rotten and Elizabeth Fraser’s disparate voices couldn’t help. I had to stop between 1am and 2am to get some sleep.

I eventually reached home at 2.40am and watched the highlights before crashing out soon after.

And here we are – five games from Heaven.

Tales From The F.A. Cup Quarter-Finals

Posted on July 25, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Stoke City : 7 March 2010.

And so there were eight teams left…

Portsmouth vs. Birmingham City.

I had a busy Saturday, doing a few chores, but managed to sit down and watch the first of the four televised F.A.Cup games. It was nothing to shout about, but I was pleased that Pompey defied the odds to advance into the semis. At around 3pm, my phone rang and there was a young child’s voice on the other end singing “que sera sera, whatever will be will be, we’re going to Wembley.” I soon realised it was my Pompey mate Rick’s young son Matthew. Sadly, Rick has had a tough time of it of late – redundancy from his job and then the shambles of the Pompey administration. Suffice to say, they had both been to Fratton and were dreaming of Wembley once again.

One team through, three to go.

Fulham vs. Tottenham Hostpur.

Boy, this was a pretty dull game. I was aware that Steve Azar was watching this with a Fulham mate of his, along with those docile home fans and their pitiful noisemakers. I was able to see this on TV too. A dreadful first-half, but it got a little better in the second. I was cursing Duffer every time he missed those three chances. I was hoping Spurs would fall out of the cup to be honest, but it came as no surprise that they eked out a hard-fought draw.

Both teams went into the bag for the semi-final draw.

On Sunday morning, I made a solo-trip up to London, the rest of my usual match-day companions otherwise engaged. It was a lovely drive up, me alone with my thoughts and The Stranglers on the CD player. On my last final approach on the A4, the main road from Bristol to London, which actually passes a few yards from my workplace, I peeked over at the River Thames, barely one hundred yards away. The winter sun was glinting on the water. With clear blue skies overhead, it was another perfect Sunday in the capital.

The meet was arranged for 1pm in The Goose. I spent a lovely two-and-a-half hours in the pub, chatting with a few Chelsea mates from near and far. Steve soon showed-up, having just about thawed out from the previous night’s game at Craven Cottage. He was lamenting Fulham’s unsurprisingly quiet support. We spoke about the Chelsea / Fulham rivalry “that isn’t” – oh, how it winds up Fulham fans that most Chelsea have a soft-spot for them. A few words with Daryl and Rob, who were chatting with Steve for the first time proper – talk focussed on a few games from the past which threw up a few anecdotes…Rob’s eventual getaway in a bright yellow Ford estate after the Millwall game in 1984 caused much hilarity…also talk of Spurs away in 1975 and Fulham at home in 1976. All of these tales of past games help bind our friendships.

There’s a part of me that would much rather meet up on match days, talk about these games from our childhood when the experiences were wilder and more intense, rather than go to the actual games. I know I’m not alone in this thought. Sometimes the trigger of “Bristol Rovers away in 1980” garners more chat than that for the up-coming game. ( We lost 3-0 and Tony Pulis scored, in case anyone is wondering…) Daryl then told of his father and a few mates from Guernsey hiring an old ambulance ( yes, really ) to tour the venues of Italia 1990 following England. I really should have gone to Italia 1990 – almost the last time I really felt connected to the national team. Steve had been to the England game on Wednesday and how things have changed since 1990. He spoke of jester hats, painted faces and Mexican waves. I stood aghast as he described all this to me. The last England game I saw in person – sitting alongside Daryl – was the “Zola” game at Wembley in 1997. This was Daryl’s last game, too.

“Another pint boys?”

Mick ( bluemick ) and his son soon showed-up to join our little group and it was lovely to see him again. I first met Mick in Chicago in 2006 and he now lives in Denver, one of my favourite US cities. We spoke about the 1972 League Cup Final ( we lost 2-1 to Stoke ) and Orient away the same year…not that I remember those two.

Next to arrive was Wes, from Texas, via South London. More stories, more laughter. Glad to hear he was sorted with a ticket for next week against West Ham, where there will be quite an influx of CIAers.

I made the point to Steve that Chelsea’s resurgence since around 1997 has been perfectly timed with the onset of the internet, which has maximised our reach around the globe. Think back to Aston Villa and Everton’s periods of success in the ‘eighties…lost in the ether. Our rapid rise in global support has certainly been greatly aided by the internet.

There wasn’t much chat about the day’s encounter with Stoke. With the League causing us the jitters – and with Arsenal and United winning – I was pleased that we had a Cup tie. Maybe the chance for us to relax a bit, though Stoke would be no mugs.

Reading vs. Aston Villa.

I had my back to the TV which was showing this game, but was pretty contented to see the un-fancied home team race to a 2-0 lead. However, John Carew ( he played against us for Valerenga in 1999, another away game to remember ) got his act together and Villa had a great second-half. We spoke of the 2000 F.A.Cup Final – against Villa – and how it was such a poor game.

Into the semis went Villa.

Chelsea vs. Stoke City

We left these stories, and many more, behind as we made our way to The Bridge. For a change, I would be sitting alongside Steve in The Shed Upper. I grabbed a programme. Sad to see that one of the old women who sat quite near me until around 2005 had passed away…people who have John Ingledew’s books will know of her as the “scarf lady.”

We had superb seats, row five, just behind the goal. Probably the best seats I’ve ever had at Chelsea in over 35 years of games, in fact. However, the fact that I was sitting in such a prime location worked against me as I spent the first-half snapping away like an idiot, finding it hard to concentrate on the actual game. I was trying to capture some new angles with my camera…a Paolo cross here, an Anelka dribble there. Plenty of shots of the Stoke defence standing firm as corner after corner rained in.

The Stoke fans were in good voice, although we all expressed surprise that they only brought 3,000 down from my former stomping ground in The Potteries.

“Go On Stoke, Go On Stoke, Go On Stoke!”

I looked over to my left at the towering West Stand, the winter sun lighting up the glass screens. Two things worth commenting on…another new banner ( County Down ) on the balcony, but hundreds and hundreds of empty seats ( yet again ) in the Millennium Boxes. Chelsea really does need to re-market these at a more realistic price. These were the only seats unsold, though, apart from a few pockets here and there. Another full house at HQ.

Stoke had a few chances in the first-half, but we were the stronger side. I was impressed with Anelka and Malouda’s movement, swarming around the Stoke defence, but of course they defended deep and it was difficult for us to break them down. Alex and JT were repelling the bombardment, via crosses from Tuncay and throw-ins from Delap. Good to see Hilario involved with a few stops.

We peppered the Stoke goal – a mere 25 feet away from me – and a deflected shot from Frank gave us a deserved lead at the break. There’s certainly less foot room in The Shed than the MH, though – I had nowhere to leap when Frank scored. From Alan, up in the NW corner, came the expected text message.

“THTCAUN.”

To which I replied “COMLD.”

Of course, the away fans were on John Terry’s back the entire game, though even my trained ear for the Stokie accent found it difficult to decipher what they were singing…

“John Terry – He’s Shagging His Gums.”

“John Terry – He’s Shagging A Laugh.”

“John Terry – He’s Shagging Giraffes.”

Who knows? After Frank swung in – at last!!! – a corner with pace, JT rose like a freshwater fish with pink coloured flesh native to Scotland to plant the ball firmly in the Stoke net. We roared our approval. I had my camera at the ready for his trot back to our half and was able to capture his rolling up of his left sleeve and the stare at the 3,000 away fans. Then the point to the captain’s armband.

Not sure if there was any reference to England – I just think it was a case of saying “I’m the Chelsea captain and I’m not going away.”

Of course, The Shed responded – in clear English.

“John Terry – Has Knocked You Out.”

Into the semis we went. Our ninth such appearance in the past seventeen years – that’s just fantastic. By contrast, from 1970 to 1993 – twenty three years – we made not one single semi-final appearance. JT, Alex and that man Ivanovic were fantastic all afternoon. Let’s hope we are back on track.

As Steve and myself walked back up the North End Road, I half expected my phone to be buzzing with news of the draw. By 6.10pm, all was quiet. If we had got Pompey, my mate Rick would have phoned. If we had drawn Tottenham, all of the world and his dog called spot would have phoned. I surmised, therefore, that it had to be Villa.

At 6.14pm, a text from Steve –

“Villa.”

Tales From The Game Of Four Penalties

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

West Ham United vs. Chelsea : 20 December 2009.

As we stumble towards the half-point in the season, what an amazing weekend.

What with both Liverpool and then Manchester United losing on Saturday, the Sunday game at West Ham was set up perfectly. A Chelsea win would solidify our lead at the top but also confine West Ham to bottom place. Too good to be true, eh?

My first concern as I awoke on Sunday morning was getting out of my Somerset village. I set off, rather gingerly, at 9am and made it over to collect Lord Parky at 9.40am The first hour was spent in a snow-dusted landscape, as I drove east. The Devizes duck pond was completely frozen. The swans and ducks must have been confused. As we headed through Savernake Forest, we encountered many “picture postcard” scenes. The sky above was clear and it was a truly gorgeous morning. It was a pleasure to be alive. We spoke about the madness of Mark Hughes losing his job at City. What a crazy decision. At a garage en route, I refuelled and we had to laugh at West Ham Dad and West Ham Kid who were buying some junk food for the trip to London. Dad was unshaven, tattooed and wearing some scabby jeans. Kid was dopey. Stereotypes for us all to admire.

I spoke to Parky about a book I had just purchased – “Mad For It” by Andy Mitten. This details various derby matches all over the world, mainly from a fan’s perspective, and looks to be a great read. He starts with Liverpool vs. Manchester United, but the book also encompasses a wide range of matches from Barca vs. Real, Boca Juniors vs. River Plate to Wolves vs. West Brom. It made me think about our rivals…and the fact that our natural “derby” against Fulham is hardly passionate, in the way that others are. For a derby to be genuine, the animosity has to go both ways. I’m sorry, but I can’t hate Fulham. Of course, in London, the biggest derby is the Arsenal vs. Spurs encounter. West Ham might say that their “derby” is Millwall, but this game is so infrequent as to be unworthy of the name. Where does that leave Chelsea? To be honest, I don’t really know. I still think our biggest London game is Spurs, even though they dislike Arsenal much much more.

Back in the early ‘eighties, Chelsea and West Ham were mired in division two and it felt like West Ham were suddenly our natural rivals, both sub Arsenal and Spurs, but with potential to be much bigger. In the past ten years, we have diverged!

Of course, in London we are spoilt for choice for geographical rivals. These rivals change through time, but I remember that in the 1988-89 season ( and this may surprise a few ) that our London league rival was only Crystal Palace. Believe it or not, in that one season, when Chelsea were in the second division, we played second best to seven other London teams ( Arsenal, Tottenham, West Ham, QPR, Wimbledon, Charlton and Millwall ) who were in the top division. Only twenty years ago, but we were the eighth best team in London.

How times change. And thank heavens they do.

At Reading services, we stopped for coffees and I heard from Kevin ( “Gromit” ) who was heading down to East London from Wolverhampton. He was running late, but we would meet up somewhere. We continued on, reaching London at 12.45pm. Rather than head over to meet the boys in Barking, Parky and myself dropped into The Goose for a burger and a pint. Just the business. We walked to West Brompton and boarded the district line train. Some 26 stops later, we arrived at a freezing Barking station at about 2.30pm. We joined up with Alan, Daryl, Gary and Whitey in The Spotted Dog, having just missed Cath and Dog. Just time for one pint and a few laughs…we weren’t wearing colours, so nobody sussed we were “the enemy.”

We took the five minute train journey back west to Upton Park, to be met outside by Walnuts, who had endured a horrendous train trip up from Brighton.

We quickly walked through the tight terraced streets, sliding on the ice, and were soon inside the packed away end.

I was in row H, just beyond the goal with a great view of the game. I noted the thin sliver of a crescent moon way up above the main stand. We stood the entire game. I spotted many empty seats in the top corners of both the home end and the main stand. In fact, the gate was a full two thousand below capacity…for a London “derby” – pathetic.

We began brightly but then seemed to lose momentum and West Ham got into the game, with ex-Chelsea midfielder Scott Parker increasingly involved. I was warned by a steward not to use my camera and Gary was also having a battle of wills with another steward about something or other. It was getting spiky and the steward was itching to get him nicked. Two Frank Lampard shots from distance and one from John Terry were our only chances of note. Kalou offered no threat at all.

In one notable moment, JT had to head clear as Cech remained routed to his line. JT had a word with Petr, while Frank shaped “ball” with his hands and gave him an old-fashioned look as if to say “make sure you bloody come next time.” From the resultant corner, Cech came and punched superbly away. Phew.

Then, a rash challenge from Ashley gifted them with a penalty which was converted.

Here we go again.

Just before the break, about twenty West Ham numpties in The Chicken Run serenaded us with “You’ve Got No History” which must surely go down as one of the most ridiculous songs ever. From West Ham! To be blunt, this song really annoys me anyway – it implies that a club’s “history” is solely dependent upon trophy success, whereas we all know that it’s to do with so much more than that.

Loyalty. Comradeship. Humour. Fraternity.

At the break, we mixed things up with two substitutions. Drogba and Kalou had been poor, but the service from midfield was very scant. To be fair, both Mikel and Sturridge did well in the second period.

With Robert Green but ten yards away, Gary was on form.

“You’d might as well put Hughie Green in goal – your rubbish!”

And he meant that most sincerely.

We got behind the team and they responded with an improved performance – or was it the other way around?

We enjoyed so much more of the ball as the game developed and it was great being able to see the movement and strength of our players from such close quarter. We tied to prise open their defence, but it wasn’t easy. Then, a challenge on Sturridge and we were overjoyed with the referee’s decision.

Frank steadied himself and despatched it.

Get in you beauty. Gary began winding up the steward, but it transpired he wasn’t a West Ham fan.

He was a Liverpool fan – even better! Much laughter.

We then turned around, only to see Frank taking another penalty. We had been oblivious to the re-take and I had to wonder if I was in a Groundhog Day loop.

He scored the retake and we yelled again.

We then turned around, only to see Frank taking another penalty. We had been oblivious to the re-take and I had to wonder if I was in a Groundhog Day loop.

He scored the retake and we yelled again.

This time – it counted!

Drogba narrowly missed from an angle and we sang for a winner. I felt sure we would score again, but despite more pressure, including a disappointing shot from Joe which blazed over, it stayed at 1-1.

Outside the packed away end, the weather was freezing. We marched back to the tube and were soon thawing out on the train. We chatted to three fellow Chelsea fans and we all agreed that this is turning out to be a poor season with United, Liverpool and us fighting to find the form of the recent past. Our form has suffered over the past three weeks, but the form of the other two teams mentioned seems more terminal.

Where will it end? Watch this space.

We dropped into Salvo’s for a warming coffee and I made good time on the M4. I got home at 10.40pm, just in time to switch on the TV and see the move which lead to our thrice-taken penalty. The “foul” on Daniel Sturridge?

Oh boy – we were lucky!

Tales From Remembrance Sunday

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Manchester United : 9 November 2009.

As a pre-curser to the United game on Sunday, I watched Paulton Rovers play Norwich City in the FA Cup on TV on Saturday lunchtime. Paulton is a village about eight miles away and they play in the same division as Frome Town. In fact, I watched Frome defeat Paulton in the Somerset Senior Cup back in the spring – the day after we lost to Barcelona in the CL semi-final. Two more contrasting games you could not wish to find. But that’s the joy of football, eh? An extra element of interest was that my next door neighbours’ grandson Ben Lacey was the young star of the Paulton team. Unfortunately, Norwich romped to a 7-0 win and Paulton’s five minutes of fame was over.

On the Sunday, I collected Parky at 10.30am and drove up to London via the A4 and then the M4. As this was Remembrance Sunday, we were both wearing poppies as a mark of respect. As a child, I used to love watching the Remembrance Service in London on TV. The Cenotaph was designed by Lutyens and the plain marble war memorial and a few other statues and plinths in my Somerset village were designed by him too. I remember that on one occasion, the BBC also showed film of a service from the large obelisk on the Marlborough Downs, near to where my father did his training at RAF Yatesbury in around 1941. As I drove between Devizes and Marlborough, I spotted the large monument and we had a chat about Remembrance Day. We knew that the Chelsea Pensioners would be involved in the ceremony at The Bridge and I knew it would be a sombre and understated affair.

Something the British do well. I remember being in downtown Las Vegas ( admittedly not the most typical of American cities ) in November 1989 and watching aghast at the Veterans’ Day Parade, awash with smiles and dancing girls. It left an impression on me and I longed for the quiet reverence of the Royal Albert Hall and The Cenotaph.

A few of us have a joint Chelsea / Poppy badge which we wear around this time of the year and I think the contrast of the blue badge with the red poppy is just right. We also heard that the Chelsea team would be wearing special shirts with embroidered poppies.

Excellent.

We arrived at The Goose at around 1.30pm and the pub wasn’t too busy at the start. I had brought up some photographs from Madrid to show the lads and we had a good chuckle recollecting a few of the funnier moments. I had heard that Tuna was over for a week or so – sadly, his mother hasn’t been too well – and he had miraculously sourced a match ticket. We found out that our respective mothers will be celebrating their eightieth birthdays within five days of each other in January. Weird, eh? He trotted off at around 3.15pm in order to collect his ticket from a bloke in “The Cock And Hen.”

Thankfully, we got our timings right and we all got into the ground in good time. I had worked out that this would be my twentieth consecutive Chelsea vs. Manchester United game at HQ, going back to a 3-2 win in March 1991. I remember a very young Ryan Giggs playing in that game – and a very low crowd of about 22,000. Hard to believe, eh? I first saw Manchester United in a game at The Bridge in December 1984 ( 42,000 – better! ) but we lost that one 3-1. Since then there have been so many games…a few low points ( the 1994 debacle, 3-5 at home in the FA Cup and of course Moscow ) but a few great results ( a few good wins at Old Trafford, plus the 5-0 in 1999 and – of course- the 3-0 win which gave us the title in 2006. )

Over the years, we have tended to do well in Manchester and United have had the advantage in SW6. However, the last seven games at The Bridge resulted in four Chelsea wins and three draws.

I noted to Alan that the all of the usual Chelsea banners which usually adorn the balconies had been turned back to front so that they were plain blue. I think this was so that the focus would just be on one white banner, draped at centre-stage at The Shed. It simply said –

“Chelsea Supporters – Will Remember Them” with club crests and a poppy.

Class.

Just before kick-off, the teams entered the pitch and gave a guard of honour to some active servicemen and seven Chelsea pensioners. Even though their tunics are red, I love that contrast too. I personally think we should go back to our pre-Ted Drake nickname of “The Pensioners.”

The game?

For vast parts, United ran the show, especially in the first-half. No question. Ferguson played just Rooney up front with a band of five in the middle. United were all over us like a rash and they closed us down at will. Pre-match, I had predicted that our midfield would be too strong for United, but I had to eat my words.

There was a lovely piece of football in the first-half involving Wayne Rooney and John Terry. Rooney ran at JT, teasingly keeping the ball on his toes and JT was back-peddling but was able to push him out wide and eventually forced Rooney to play it back to a waiting midfielder. It was pure theatre – one versus one – and I loved it.

Only Anelka – love the way he keeps possession – and Riccy – reading the game well and bursting forth at will – were above average in the first-half. I thought Frank was as poor as he had been for a while. Not one tackle and not one telling pass. Deco was below par, too. We improved in the last ten minutes of the first-period and we expected a big shake-up at half-time.

I spotted a large Canada flag in the East Stand, just above where the Chelsea Pensioners always watch every game. Chelsea gives the Royal Hospital free tickets and this is a tradition which goes back years and years. We can be rightly proud of this.

Our history.

There was the usual red/ white / black United flags in their section including one lampooning our captain.

“Viva John Terry – MUFC – Champions Moscow 07-08”

Oh dear – memories of that night came back. To be fair, the United fans did make a constant din throughout the game, including their noisy “Viva John Terry” chant.

That was – until 74 minutes.

We were awarded a free-kick right down below me after a rash challenge by Fletcher. Frank had been his usual frustrating self with dead-balls all day. I steadied my camera and pointed it towards the phalanx of players in the box. Frank floated on in and I snapped just after JT connected.

In it went.

Oh you beauty – Get in! I screamed. You probably heard me.

It brought back memories of the same combination – Frank corner, JT header – which had resulted in the winner in the 4-2 game versus Barca in 2005. JT was euphoric and raced towards Frank and I followed up with a few more snaps, but the large CFC flag tended to get in the way.

Viva John Terry indeed.

We were all convinced that United would equalise – especially when the ball zipped across the box on more than one occasion.

I watched the referee as he blew up and the noise echoed around The Bridge. We had certainly rode our luck – make no mistakes about it. I think United deserved a point. Still, the game had swung our way and we had held on.

The fact that it had been a sub-par performance from us stayed with me, though.

As I walked back to the car, it seemed as though everyone was celebrating wildly apart from me. Maybe, after all those United games, I am getting game-weary, too many big games…too many wins against Manchester United? This haunted me on the way home…maybe I need to re-fuel my batteries…

So – it’s good we have a fortnight, now, to recharge those batteries and to enjoy “Life At The Top.”

Five points clear – sit back and enjoy the view!

Tales From The Streets Of Fulham

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Fulham vs. Chelsea : 23 August 2009.

This was a convincing win on a sultry Sunday down by The Thames.

I picked up Big Dave at 10am and an oh-so familiar route was followed on the way up to London. 112 miles later, we were parked-up. On all of the visits to Craven Cottage, we have met up at a pub in Putney, south of the river, called The Duke’s Head but this has become very expensive. So, this year, we decided to partake in a few beers in The Goose and save some money.

But first, a fry-up for the Frome Two at The Yadana Café on Lillee Road.

We arrived in The Goose at about 12.30pm. The boys were sat around a table in the beer garden and it was a very pleasant time. Three pints of Carling at only £1.79 a pint is not to be sniffed at. A quick “hello” to Simon ( one of our “Benches” crew from the mid-eighties…I had not seen him from 1986 to 2003 and now he reappears every few months…lovely. ) This was the first time I had visited The Goose on a non-Chelsea home game and it was eerily quiet…I expected a few Fulham fans to be present, but only saw a couple. I soon settled down to a relaxed pre-match with – clockwise – Daryl, Alan, Gary, Dave, Rob, Simon and Milo. It was the first time I had seen Simon and his twelve year old son Milo this season and I had a few gifts for Milo from America. He is our kinda mascot as he is so much younger than the rest of us. I brought over a few Yankees things for him – he had been to a game in New York last summer, too.

There was the usual smattering of jokes and micky-takes and the lovely anecdotes which bind us all together. Yet again, we never mentioned the game.

One thing made me laugh. I had been doing some gardening on Saturday afternoon and my right forearm was scratched from the brambles. Rob noticed and asked –

“Chris – what’s up with your arms?”

“Ah – been doing some gardening. Don’t worry, I’m not a self-harmer.”

“Oh – I thought you were hating the fact you had missed Sunderland away!”

With the Champions League draw taking place on Thursday, we spent a few minutes discussing options for us. I fancied Real Madrid, but would I want to go there twice in the same season? Rob fancied Maccabi Tel Aviv. However, I think I can only go to an away game on Matchday Five or Six due to work commitments.

We took the tube to Putney Bridge and walked through Bishops Park. The park was full of sunbathers and, on the last few moments of our approach to the ground, there was a paddling pool and sand area, full of toddlers…a pretty incongruous sight, with hundreds of football fans marching past. I love visiting Craven Cottage…it’s a throwback to another age and the Johnny Haynes Stand on Stevenage Road is a jewel.

Of course, if Fulham had taken the option offered by Gus Mears in 1904 to move out of their Craven Cottage ground, there would be no Chelsea today. I managed to smuggle my camera into the stadium with a swift manoeuvre – no need for Andy Wray’s bulging shorts this time.

A quick chorus of “Carefree” from the Chelsea faithful in the area below the terrace was met with this interchange between a young boy and his disdainful father –

“Dad – why are they singing swear words?”

“…because they haven’t grown up yet.”

I glowered at the father and I hope he got the message. Who honestly wants to grow up you miserable git? He symbolised our new support and it annoyed me.

Into the stadium and I had a seat towards the back in row QQ – pretty central. One row in front of a chap I recognised from The Storm Cellar and the Club America game, I believe he is a friend of Vic The Steward. I was stood behind Ian, also present in Texas. A small world. It is, of course, always an especially small world for me. I was stood next to Lurch…a Chelsea fan from the East Midlands who weighs in at about 6’5”. I was actually stood next to his armpits…it wasn’t the sweet smell of success I was inhaling all bloody afternoon.

Joe Cole got a lovely reception as he walked past us all to take his seat in the away dugout. I took a few shots of the teams as they walked across the pitch from the changing rooms underneath the cottage…a lovely sight. Away to my right, I spotted the top half of The London Eye, but the towering east and west stands of Stamford Bridge were hidden by the cottage…out of sight, but not out of mind for Fulham, who really don’t like us. They will always be in our shadows. That’s just the way it is. Always have been – always will be.

The game began and it was even during the first exchanges. I noted Frank at the top of the diamond again. Clint Dempsey shot over after only a few minutes and this turned out to be their best effort during the entire game. We replied with a resounding “OMWTM” and the away stand shook. This was quickly followed by the first of many “Bouncies” and this was met with playful comments from a middle-aged guy to my left who was wearing a Jane Fonda inspired headband…quite a surreal sight.

“Feel the burn, mate.”

I like the way that the “Matthew Harding’s Blue And White Army” chant has been resurrected…but I think this is because Carlo Ancelotti has too many syllables…what does anyone else think? At least we were singing, though. I waited 27 minutes until I heard the home fans sing. We were, by comparison, in a noisy mod. Good stuff.

Chelsea went on to dominate the first-half and a lovely move was finished off with aplomb by Didier Drogba.

At half-time, the microphone was taken over by veteran DJ David “Diddy” Hamilton and it was odd to hear him getting all excited about Fulham. He used to be on Radio One back in the ‘seventies.

Chelsea has Paul Okenfold. Fulham has David “Diddy” Hamilton. No contest.

The sun shimmered on the Thames, to my left, as the second period began.

The game progressed and a strong Chelsea dominated, but without a great amount of chances. I thought JT had a pretty poor game and gave the ball away too often. Carvalho, however, was superb and was my Man Of The Match. Frank seemed quiet and almost suffocated in that role behind the rampaging front two…he just needs more space to roam. Ballack played well and was always involved…Mikel strong defensively, but again so slow in possession. Malouda just needs to be played wider. All of my focus was on the midfield four, but the front two appear to be “getting to know each other.”

A lovely ball from Didi to Anelka and 2-0…job done. This came after a little lull, both on and off the pitch – just when Fulham might have nicked one. Game over.

During the last dieing embers of our game, the Chelsea support erupted in praise of the news that The Ashes had been regained, no more than three miles away at The Oval.

I met up with Big Dave outside the gates and we briskly walked back to the car, some two miles away, through the deserted streets of Fulham. Once the working class catchment area of both SW6 teams’ support in the days of old, the tightly-packed streets have undergone yuppyfication since the ‘eighties and there seemed to be nobody at home…all away for the weekend maybe? It was as if the game had never taken place.

CHELSEA/esque

A Blue World In Black And White

Tag Archives: London

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Tales From Chelsea, Pimlico And Brixton

Tales From West London

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Tales From The Game Of Four Penalties

Tales From Remembrance Sunday

Tales From The Streets Of Fulham