Tag Archives: Manchester City

Tales From The Chelsea Soap Opera

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Chelsea vs. Manchester City : 27 February 2010.

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

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

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

Rush, rush, rush.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What could possibly go wrong?

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

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

“Get your boots on, Catty.”

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

The second-half. Do I have to?

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

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

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

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

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

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

God. Not a good day at the office.

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Tales From The City Of Manchester

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Manchester City vs. Chelsea : 5 December 2009.

With the late kick-off for our game at Eastlands, let me say a massive thank you to the TV companies and the FA who once again make life that little bit more difficult to the fans who actually attend games.

Good work.

Looking ahead, I see that for the third consecutive year, we are at Everton on a midweek night later on this season. It’s a disgrace and makes me sick.

For a few moments on Friday evening, my head was full of the World Cup draw. Rarely has my mobile phone been busier thanks to all the Stateside messages I received within an hour of England and USA being drawn together. However, thoughts of the World Cup rapidly evaporated when I awoke on Saturday morning.

Manchester City vs. Chelsea. The battle of the money men. Game on.

I had been suffering with a slight cold on Thursday and Friday and so wasn’t relishing the 200 mile drive up to Raintown.

I left home at 11am and listened to “Fighting Talk” on Five Live. I would be travelling alone, cocooned in my car with thoughts of the day ahead, battling the traffic, the wet weather and the cold. It was a typical winter day – low lying cloud and virtually no sun. With the Pompey vs. Burnley match on the radio, I decided to listen to Kings Of Leon instead. Not even I am that much of a footy fan.

I sent the usual cryptic clues to Alan as to my whereabouts as I zipped past the oh-so familiar M6 service stations –

“Cripps” – Stafford

“Howard” – Keele

“City Limits” – Knutsford

It was a pretty uneventful trip north. The Cocteau Twins replaced the Kings Of Lyon as I spun around the M60, the Manchester orbital. With the massive Stockport train viaduct ahead of me and then three massive red-brick mill buildings ( now rejuvenated as shopping malls / offices ) it suddenly dawned on me that I was “up north,” in the country’s former industrial heartland.

Stockport – of course, the location of Chelsea Football Club’s first ever competitive game, some 104 years ago.

At around 1.30pm, I found myself in the district of Clayton, where Manchester United’s first ground was located. I could see the supports to the City Of Manchester Stadium roof and so hunted for a place to park. I decided against street parking as I saw a few shady looking youths loitering. I paid a fiver for secure parking in a car wash, opposite a pub. I was reminded of the memorable welcome a few of us received from a female City fan way back in 1989. We had walked down to Maine Road from Piccadilly on a wet Saturday morning and as we crossed the road by the main stand, a Ford Capri stopped. The passenger window was wound down and the girl shouted out

“You’re gonna die, you cockney cunts.”

How charming.

As I approached the stadium, Beth called to say that she had just arrived too. She had travelled up by car with Gill and Graeme.

The weather turned murkier and the drizzle increased.

This was my fifth visit to the new City stadium. On a similarly rainy evening in 2004, a Nicolas Anelka consigned us to our only league defeat that season…I wondered about the omens.

Just before I bumped into Alan, Gary, Whitey, Beth, Gill and Graeme, I noted a long wall adjacent to one of the car parks. Emblazoned on it was a long piece of graffiti, signifying “speed”( all zig-zags and stripes ) with none other than an image of Shaun Wright-Phillips at the front. It looked pretty tasty. However, I soon realised that it was ultra-realistic.

He didn’t have the ball at his feet.

There was probably an image of a ball on another wall somewhere, or on the other side of the road. Maybe next to a chip shop in Droylesden or somewhere. Anywhere but at SWP’s feet.

I had time for two pints inside the stadium and a bit of a chat with a few mates.

As I took my seat in the upper tier, we noted that the stadium lights did not appear to be on full power. All was revealed. Just before the teams came on, all stadium lights were turned off, leaving just a “blue moon” image on the two scoreboards at each end of the stadium. With that, the City fans began bellowing their club song.

It was pretty good actually – the best example of a stadium helping to orchestrate an atmosphere I have seen outside of SW6.

Like The Bridge, the balcony walls were covered with City flags and slogans. The best one – and the biggest – simply stated

“We’re Not Really Here.”

I’m not sure of the origins of this City chant, but I guess it could be City’s particularly tongue-in-cheek reaction to being the second-class citizens of Manchester. I like City’s self-deprecating sense of humour. They remind me of us. In fact, just before kick-off, I spoke to Gary about City being the only other team I could stomach winning the title, mainly in lieu of all the hard times they endure as a result of United being across the city.

Soon into the game, we regaled the City left-back with a nice song about a game at Highbury in 2004. It didn’t take Gary long, once he had spotted a certain H Webb as the referee, to state

“We’ll get nothing here.”

However, it is worth saying that Gary says this at every one of our domestic away games, as if every Premiership ref has a personal vendetta against us. I had to chuckle.

We began well and appeared to be continuing on from the Arsenal game. We had a couple of chances even before we went ahead via Adebayor’s own goal.

Oh how we laughed.

However, for the rest of the first-half, City played really well and smothered us. Our midfield was poor by comparison to theirs. However, it was especially grating to hear that their equaliser had come via a handball. There were many grumbles at half-time, but I had confidence in Carlo sorting them out during the interval.

We played better in the second-half, but the Tevez free-kick made it hard for us to get on top of City. That lead gave them an extra yard. However, our midfield was truly abysmal…in fact, only Anelka seemed to play well. It was a disjointed affair. No passion.

Despite the fact that we stood for most of the game, our vocal support was poor, too.

Drogba was put through, one on one, and I was convinced he would score. I turned around in dismay and kicked the seat when he stroked the ball wide.

We piled on some late pressure and we prayed that a goal would come. Then, a ball for Drogba and he was scythed down. I pointed a finger at Gary – “He’s given it!” – and was full of emotion. I turned around to share my jubilation with my fellow fans.

And there she was.

Stood behind me, away shirt on, was a girl in her early ‘twenties. She had no expression. No smile. No laughter. No jubilation. I felt like shaking her. Why wasn’t she going mental like Alan, Gary and yours truly? Her obvious ambivalence to the emotion of the moment truly saddened me to the core.

Why do these people bother?

The away end held its collective breath and hoped Frank would score.

I snapped just as he was about to strike.

The scuffed shot. The save. A miserable 3,000 strong groan. The City fans erupted.

Despite five extra minutes, we looked unlikely to do it. As the final whistle blew, I quickly exited and I was soon out in the rainy evening. A few City fan were goading us and Dave Johnstone walked over to remonstrate with the Manchester police. I sped on back to the car.

The City lot were full of it – no complaints, they deserved it.

A gaggle of them sang “We’re not really here”

“We’re not really here, we’re not really here
Like the friends of the Invisible Man
We’re not really here.”

And I wished they weren’t.

I was lucky to get away relatively early. I edged out of the car park and was away, the rain coming down thicker now…the car windows steamed up and all around me car lights came on. The terraced houses seemed to go on forever. The City fans were bouncing. It would be a good night in Manchester’s blue half.

It was a four drive home…my post-match depression was short-lived. My good mate Alan had downloaded ex Cocteau Twins singer Elizabeth Fraser’s first single in 13 years and I listened to this on a loop for a good hour. It cheered me up no end. It also included her liaison with the late Jeff Buckley on “All Flowers In Time Bend Towards The Sun.”

Soon after, as I headed south past Tewkesbury and Cheltenham, I put my favourite Cocteau Twins album “Treasure” on and Fraser’s magnificent voice, shimmering one minute, crashing with emotion the next, soothed me.

“Treasure” came out in November 1984…and every time I hear the first few words, I am immediately taken back to that time. It takes me back to a cold December night, myself listening to “Treasure” on my Walkman, walking up the Fulham Road, full of Christmas shoppers, just after I had seen the Chelsea vs. Liverpool game on December 1st 1984…we had just beaten the European Champions 3-1 in front of over 40,000…Peter Osgood had been spotted in the West Stand seats just a few yards away, King Kerry scored after a few minutes and the Scousers were outplayed by an exuberant Chelsea team, newly-arrived in the top flight.

With such memories as that to draw on, the drive home was easy.

I soon reached Bristol – now home to Elisabeth Fraser, Massive Attack, Tricky, Portishead et al – and the music and memories of games past continued until I reached home at midnight. Let’s not dwell too much on a poor day at the office for Chelsea. Who needs bad memories? All flowers in time bend towards the sun.

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Tales From A Sunny HQ

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Chelsea vs Manchester City : 15 March 2009.

Liverpool’s surprising win at Old Trafford set things up nicely for our game against Manchester City.

Four of us – Glenn, PD, Dave and myself – set off for London at 9am. It looked like it would be a very pleasant day. I wore my new sky blue Robe di Kappa pullover, purchased at Turin airport, and I was reminded that Glenn wore a sky blue top for the game at Eastlands in the September sun. Maybe this would turn out to be a good luck charm.

Unfortunately, things took a worrying turn at my place of work on the Friday after my return from Turin. I aired a few thoughts with Glenn on the drive up to The Smoke. Let’s hope that my job is safe for the foreseeable future…at least as far as Rome in May and then America and Canada in July. Maybe I will have to cut back on games next season – I certainly can’t see myself keeping this pace up for much longer. There was an England rugby game at Twickers, so we came in around the M25. I was reminded of a day about ten years ago when we stopped at Fleet Services and I asked some rubgy fans “is there a game on?” just to wind them up.

They bristled with indignation – “Yes. England are playing.”

“Oh, right.”

Ho ho ho. I am not fond of rugby fans as a lot look down their noses at us.

This was to be Farmer John’s ( mgoblue06 ) last game of his stay in England. He wanted to make a special day of it and so I ‘phoned Salvo to see if he could open his restaurant early. We made good time and were able to pop into the Lillie Langtry at about 11am for a livener en route to Salvo’s. We arrived dead on 11.30am. There was seven of us in total – Farmer John, his two Dutch college mates ( Matt, Arnhem and Nils, Groningen ), Glenn, Dave, myself and Larry ( New Jersey, one of the New York Blues ) who was watching his second ever game at HQ. I handed out some photos from my trip to Turin as we ordered some Peronis. Parky was running late and didn’t make it unfortunately.

As the pizzas were ordered ( for me – I made a nod towards my usual pre-match breakfast by ordering a four seasons with an egg in the middle ) I made a toast once again.

“Friendship and Football.”

The green beer bottles clinked against each other.

The pizzas went down well. Larry told a nice story – he was at Newark airport on Thursday and noted a chap talking in a strong Eastern European accent. It turns out this bloke was Eugene Tenebaum’s best mate and Larry had a good chat with him. Small world.

We then raced over to The Goose for two more pints – how I hate these early kick-offs with no time for much of a pre-match. Everything was so rushed. My lot were in the beer garden and we were soon settled though. Dave and Lovejoy had spares which we managed to palm off to two more of Farmer John’s mates. I handed around my photos ( a third of the 275 I took in Turin! ) for Andy and Alan to look at. Al dropped them all and I had to refrain myself from having a “Rainman” moment.

“Oh no.”

I’m a bit obsessive about my photos!

We heard about the two Chelsea lads who were so pointlessly attacked in Turin. One only received surface wounds and was able to see the game. The other was more seriously hurt and our thoughts go out to him. One wonders why this never got any media attention. The pre-meditated attack by some Roma ultras on an Arsenal bus was reported though. As much as I love Italy, some of their fans are cowards. They always have to resort to blades.

The weather was great throughout the game. I arrived a couple of minutes late and so missed the offside goal from Frank. To be honest, I almost missed Essien’s goal. I saw Frank over the ball, looked up at the away fans, then saw the ball flying towards the goal from the “D.” I couldn’t work it out, but who cares? Essien really impressed me so much throughout the first half. He has so much energy and drive. How we missed him. We gave Wayne Bridge a magnificent reception and he clapped us on more than one occasion. He will always be loved by us at HQ. we passed the ball around well I thought, but City were awful…Robinhio especially. Just a bit annoying that we didn’t score more. I noted a lovely “one-two” between Frank and Essien, something that Ballack would never be able to do.

I had to laugh when Malouda came on. Our mate Tom, a spritely 72 year old, said “Ah – the Malouda Triangle…he goes missing.”

The only other high spot, apart from a Belletti shot which hit the post, was a defensive clearance which resulted in the match ball ending up a few feet from me. Glenn got hold of it in his two hands and threw it down to Frank Lampard. I was praying that a goal would result – Glenn would claim that assist for the rest of his life.

So, despite Liverpool winning 4-1 at Manchester United, they are still looking at our arse.

I said my goodbyes to Farmer John outside The Goose. He has certainly packed a lot in to his ten weeks in the UK – he has visited Dublin and Paris and will be off to see Rome, Florence and the French Alps on a skiing trip…but I am sure he will admit that the highlights were his five Chelsea games.

See you in Montreal, John.

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Tales From Raintown

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Manchester City vs. Chelsea : 13 September 2008.

I picked up my good friend Glenn at 10am. I was a bit surprised he was wearing a lovely sky blue Napapirji sweatshirt – maybe he was hedging his bets for later in the day.

On the way to his house, I drove past the Frome Town ground…for over a century it was known as Badgers Hill. This season, a sign of the times if ever there was, it has been renamed after a local firm. Yes, Frome’s ground is now known as the Alder Smith Stadium. Corporate-naming rights hits the Screwfix League. Ridiculous. However, my mate Steve, who follows Frome home and away, tells the story that the stadium is now known by his cohorts as the “ASS” and it is now common practice for Steve to ask of his fellow fans “are you taking the wife up the ASS next week?”

Glenn has recently chosen a new career path – working for the same care company as Judy actually – and we talked about this for the first hour as we drove through a few towns on the way up to the motorway. It will probably mean he will miss more games, but there aren’t as many jobs around these days. He’s looking forward to the change anyway.

Glenn has been going to Chelsea with me since 1983. We looked back on those days. In my year of 200 fellow pupils at school, I was the only Chelsea fan. He knew of two more Chelsea fans but we were a bit of a rare breed in those days. We talked about other games involving Manchester City. I will often speak of the 1983-1984 season in these reports as that great season is a full quarter of a century away now and we talked of the home game against City in December of that year. We pummelled their goal, but lost 1-0 to a Jim Tolmie free-kick. What I remember more than anything from that game is looking down at the City bench from high up in The Shed and seeing comedian and die-hard City fan Eddie Large sat on the City bench! I can just imagine Bates telling him to get lost when he asked for a complimentary seat in the East Stand.

I lent Glenn last season’s “Blue Pride” DVD, plus the “Blue Revolution” one…should keep him occupied. I also lent him Phil Thornton’s “Casuals” – a thorough book which sums up the rise and spread of casualdom over the years. Looking back to that 1983 season, both Glenn and myself, living in Somerset, were blissfully unaware of what had been going on in Liverpool, Manchester and London over the previous six seasons. I think Glenn, on an away trip up to Carlisle, began talking to some Chelsea dressers on the special and had reported back to me about this “new trend” – actually, he probably spoke to me about this on the train on the way up to that City game in December 1983. I have the feeling we hunted around the “Mod” shops in Carnaby Street on that day and Glenn was wearing a “no-name” polo-neck shirt. He was a bit of a Mod back in those days, so his was an easy transition. By the time of the Pompey game just after Christmas 1983, I was like a kid in a toy shop, suddenly now able to spot all of the labels on display in The Benches. I was on the dole that season, so my time would come…my priorities were to see the games, not dress up too.

Anyway, I digress.

Stopped at a couple of service stations on the way up north, listening to Five Live on the radio…we were dismayed when Tevez put United ahead, but we then punched the air as Liverpool equalised. Into Manchester, through the notorious Moss Side district, a stone’s throw from City’s former home Maine Road…rows and rows of red brick terrace houses to the right and a newer, but still foreboding, estate to the left. I wondered how odd it must be for a club’s home to be transplanted to a different part of the city. How strange it must be to have to give up your favourite drinking establishments for some new ones three miles away. Let’s hope it doesn’t happen to us.

I thought back to a classic City vs. Chelsea game in March 1989…both teams in the Second division again, we took 10,000 up to City, we won 3-2 and it was mad. I remember United were playing Forest in the Cup at the same time…90,000 fans in the city on the same day…I arrived by train at Piccadilly and we were told to make our own way, by foot, to Maine Road. We were dead lucky not to have been run all over Moss Side. This game was at the height of the inflatables craze, initiated by those mad fans at City and their bananas…crazy days.

Parked up at Piccadilly…couldn’t believe the weather – hot and sunny. We popped into a restaurant for an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, accompanied by a couple of beers. The food was not only cheap, but bloody gorgeous. That set us up for the evening’s game. We popped into a nearby “Hurley’s”, a famous chain of Manchester menswear shops, to view their latest clothes on offer. Although not as marked as in the ‘eighties, there are still subtle differences between fans of the NW teams and the London teams. I’ve always said the London teams dress to look smart, but the originals from Manchester and Liverpool dress to be different. There was a whole room devoted to the wonderful Italian brand “Paul And Shark” and it was all good stuff. A couple of my mates, Daryl and Rob, have a few items, but “Paul And Shark” is still mostly favoured by the Mancs.

Found a local boozer, with some City lads spilling out onto the pavement…I popped in to get some San Miguels, only to spot Cathy, Dog and Mark sat right outside the door. We had a few laughs with the city lads at the expense of United, who we had discovered had lost 2-1. Oh joy of joys. Glenn, in his sky blue top, was getting asked by the City boys if he thought City would win and Glenn, not being too diplomatic, replied “no, I bloody hope not.” He was talking to a couple of chaps about the same age as us and they mentioned how great the 1983-1984 season was…four massive clubs ( us, them, Wednesday, Keegan’s Newcastle ) were locked in a battle-royale all season to get out of the division. Brilliant times, remembered with reverence and awe by all of us. They mentioned the game at Maine Road, Chelsea’s first-ever live game on TV, on a Friday night…we won 2-0 and the City fans said that they had never seen so many away fans at Maine Road.

We caught a cab to the stadium and I thought back to the game in April when Beth, Andy, Rey and Cynthia were with us. Spotted many City fans wearing towels on their heads – they were certainly getting into the spirit of things. Rather than buy a match programme, I decided to get a copy of the City fanzine “King Of The Kippax.” Back when fanzines came to the fore in the 1987 to 1989 period, I often bought other teams’ ‘zines…they were usually pretty funny and were more relevant to me than the bland programmes of the time. I wanted to get a City fans’ view on the Abu Dhabi takeover, especially since we had experienced a similar thing back in 2003.

The Kippax was the home of the city die-hards at Maine Road – along the side of the pitch, rather than the ends like The Shed, Kop, North Bank, and I noted that City’s most vociferous fans at Eastlands are along the side, too. By chance?

Soon into the stadium and I met up with Gary and Alan. I was gagging for a coke – while lining up at the kiosk, I wondered if they were selling milk-sheikhs.

This was a great Chelsea performance. Typical of Robinho to score, but the wall seemed to be ragged and too stretched out. Immediately after, Petr and JT were going at it hammer and tongs. The City fans erupted with Robinho’s strike, but thank heavens we weren’t put off. Thought we controlled the entire game and, after Riccy slammed the ball home, we could’ve been 3-1 up by the break. By the way, Glenn missed the equaliser – on the way back from the gents, he had been stopped and searched by the OB after a steward had claimed Glenn was on drugs! This is just crazy and typical of the stuff that us fans still have to go through after all these years.

We purred in the second period…thought Ashley and Bosingwa were great again, but my man of the match was Carvalho…a goal, plus several timely blocks. The man is wonderful. The only players not to perform, in my book, were the inept Malouda ( I was heard to shout “Go past someone – you’re a winger!” ) and Anelka, who seemed incapable of making the correct run at the right time…apart from the goal.

I took some nice snaps of the goal celebrations at our end and I will post some photos from the game on my Facebook page later in the week.

Joe Cole’s Dad was sat five rows in front and, as is always the case, once Little Joe was subbed, he left! But he’s always there when Joe plays, supporting his son. Top man!

City were in great voice for twenty minutes, but their support soon fell silent as our dominance continued. We were getting behind the team well – never easy at Eastlands, with our support cut in half, being in two tiers.

A few lads near us got the “Scolari – Scolari” chant going, but after a minute of that, God it hurts…that “hard C” really takes it out on your throat!

Met up with Glenn outside – he had been watching in the lower tier, quite near Lovejoy and Andy’s daughter Sophie. We had a nice chat with a City fan as we walked back to the car. We talked about the expectations that City fans now have. I was very pleased to hear him say to us “well, you lot are well liked up in these parts.” That was nice I thought – hands across the blue ocean.

We got back to the car in twenty minutes and I pulled out of Piccadilly at 8pm. Glenn soon fell asleep, until Brum, but I had New Order on the CD player to accompany me on the long drive south…I thought back on what had been a near perfect day out…and how I would chose which things to write about in this match report!

I dropped Glenn off at 11.45pm – the time had flown past. Home at midnight, a very happy Chelsea fan…a year ago, across Manchester at Old Trafford we were a club in disarray…in September 2008, at Eastlands, we showed we are once again a confident club, ready for any challenges that lie ahead.

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