Tales From The Duke Of York

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Manchester United : 9 August 2009.

Yet another lovely day out in London and – start counting – our second piece of silverware of the season.

Now, I don’t remember being too excited about the most recent Community Shield games in 2005, 2006 and 2007 – not sure why. However, I was chomping at the bit this time around. I couldn’t wait to see what team Carlo would decide to put out. Of course, I was also keen to see if we were a match for United, now that a certain playboy was no longer in their ranks.

The Frome Fun Boy Five were down to just two for the trip to London – Big Dave and myself – plus Lord Parky from Trowbridge. We set off at just after 8.15am, the sun shining, the chat constant with football banter and the occasional update on how we have all been coping over the close-season. Our route takes us up and over Salisbury Plain, past Stonehenge and onto the A303, the M3 and eventually the A316 into South west London. It’s a route well-travelled. We were parked up at Chelsea at 10.15am and we caught the tube from West Brompton to Marble Arch. I noted that the Imperial Arms opposite the Lillie Langtry was serving beer and brekkies at 10.30am – we may start off there next week against Hull.

The meet was arranged for The Tyburn at 11am. We arrived bang on time, but a few others were already there. Handshakes with Daryl, Ed, Alan and Rob – soon to be augmented by Gary. Daryl, Ed and Rob are from Essex, Alan and Gary from Sarf London. What better a way to begin the domestic season than with a £4.49 breakfast blowout?

Bacon, sausages, eggs, baked beans, tomato, hash browns, toast and butter and HP sauce. Thank you very much nurse – I feel a lot better.

We then sped on to The Duke Of York on Harrowby Street. We were last all together at this old-fashioned pub after May’s Cup Final and we love it. It didn’t seem real that we were last there ten weeks ago…how the time flies. We spent two hours there, sat outside in the sun. They have a nice range of draught ales and I got stuck into five pints of Staropramen at £3.50 a pop. A few others arrived – Andy, Ronnie, Fiona and their Torino supporting mate Roberto. With me being a Juve fan, I said to him, with a smile

“Well, it’s good to meet you but you know we’ll never be friends.”

I chatted a bit about the trip to America, Gary moaned about the England cricket team, Parky told us how he contracted swine flu, Daryl chatted to me about the Yankees, Rob spoke about his holiday in Spain ( accumulating brownie points with his other half ahead of European travels this season ) and Alan made us laugh with his impersonations.

The usual stuff – lots of micky-taking.

Lacoste Watch

Porky – Lime green
Daryl – Navy
Rob – Mid Brown
Ed – Dark Brown

The only concession to the world of adidas and Samsung amongst about twenty of us were Daryl’s shorts and one of Ronnie’s Rangers mates’ shirt. I was wearing a pale green Henri Lloyd polo shirt and Parky and myself looked like two peas in a pod. We saw no United fans walk by. Good.

We caught a train from Marylebone up to Wembley Stadium and who should be in the same compartment but Cathy and Dog. The train was full of Chelsea and we joined in a few songs, setting the tone nicely. There was a lot more venom than in America and I was back in the groove. As we reached the top of the steps to exit the station, former Formula One team owner Eddie Jordan was standing by. I shook his hand – as did many more – and I wondered why he wasn’t already inside the corporate areas. Anyway, despite his Irish leanings, he’s Chelsea. We got inside the stadium with about ten minutes to spare I guess – a slight improvement than the FA Cup Final.

Most people I have spoken to have mixed opinions about new Wembley. I’ll make a couple of points. Once inside, the concourses are roomy, but there are no photos, signs, displays or hints as to where you actually are. As a comparison, in new Yankee Stadium, there are untold images of former players and games, banners and features built into the bricks and mortar. Wembley is just an expensive shell. Why can’t there be displays from England’s famous games, photos of Cup Finals, themed food courts and themed bars? There might be in the corporate areas, but for the common fan, it’s all very stark and joyless. We couldn’t buy any programmes before the game and were told to call back at half-time. We did so – but there were none available. We were told there would be some outside at the end of the game. There weren’t. Pathetic. There were massive lines for the toilets at half time.

Our seats were high up in row 35 on the north upper tier – the same side as the royal box. Another moan – I wish the FA had chosen a more neutral colour for the seats. Red is just too noisy. A cool cream or light green, maybe a light grey would have been a lot more subtle.

The teams walked onto the pitch and stood in the centre while the 85,000 spent a minute acknowledging the life and career of the late Sir Bobby Robson. He will be missed, that is for sure.

Our team contained few surprises and we began well. My first ten minutes was spent taking photographs, texting a few people, looking out at the stadium to see how the support was looking and sorting out the formations. It’s always the same – I need ten minutes to settle. Unfortunately, it was possibly our brightest spell of the entire game and I missed chunks of it. The beer was leaving me light-headed too.

Concentrate – concentrate!

Rob made a comment about closing Nani down as “he always cuts in and shoots.” Lo and behold – he did, and put United 1-0 up. This was not on the cards and United, with Rooney buzzing around relentlessly, gained control.

Anelka seemed to be unwilling to close players down. We seemed to be off the pace. At half-time, some fool was muttering about Ancelotti being “Scolari in disguise.” Good work mate – you have formed an opinion after only 45 minutes. Sometimes the views of fellow fans leave me so puzzled.

We equalised with a cool finish from Riccy, rather against the run of play. I noted less fans getting “up” in the corporate level for our goal than United’s. So be it. However, there were noticeably more empty seats amongst United’s “half” than our “half” and that was a nice sign. I remember the shame of Cardiff 2006 when only around 20,000 Chelsea showed up in Cardiff against Liverpool.

Generally speaking, the support was rather subdued all game. Not just us, but United too. Blame it on the warm weather.

After our equaliser, we bossed the rest of the second half, I thought. Another cool finish from Super Frank, albeit with Evra lying on the floor after that challenge from Herr Ballack. I thought Ballack and Deco played OK to be fair, stroking the ball around nicely. It was a bit of a choker to see Rooney equalise so late on. He had been United’s best player by far. I still don’t know what people see in the languid ( ie – lazy ) play of Dimitar Berbatov ( or Ray Reardon, as Gary called him…)

I captured most of the penalties on film – and was chuffed that I clicked just at the time Petr Cech grasped United’s first penalty.

We won 4-1 on penalties and we were loving it. It doesn’t make up for Moscow – a hundred Community Shield wins wouldn’t – but it was still good to see.

We are now 2-2 against Manchester United in the Shield…losses in 1997 and 2007, wins in 2000 and 2009.

Straight back to The Duke Of York for two more pints. Good times. It actually felt like an end-of-season game, but I think this was more to do with the location as it reminded us all of our post-FA Cup Final celebrations in May. On the tube, we spotted a bearded passenger who bore an uncanny resemblance to New Order base player Peter Hook. We serenaded him, while humming the riff to “Blue Monday.”

More like a Blue Sunday.

We got back to West Brompton at 8pm and I was starving. Only one thing for it – a large doner kebab.

I have been on a diet since the end of last season.

Now, after one game into the new season ( a fry up, seven beers and a kebab ), I fear for my health!

Tales From Mancunia

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Chris Axon

Manchester United vs. Chelsea : 11 January 2009.

Groan.

I haven’t read any posts about the game yet – and I am currently in the middle of an email discussion with several mates – but I shall try to remain as positive as I can.

This will be a tough one.

As so often happens prior to an away game, I often dip into a few books the night before ( Simon Inglis’ “The Football Grounds Of Britain” is a good starting point ) just to refresh my memories of what each particular stadium has to offer. I wanted to make the most of my day in Manchester.

To be honest, I do enjoy visiting the city and I think this has developed since I found out that my Axon surname originates in the Manchester area ( in particular, the south and west portions…yes, you’ve guessed it, United territory.) Over the past few years, I have visited the Salford Lads Club ( there – that’s the obligatory Smiths reference out of the way ) and the Lowry Art Gallery prior to games at Old Trafford. Unlike the dark days of the eighties, it’s a pretty vibrant city to be honest…more so than Liverpool. I know a fair bit about most major grounds in the UK – possibly to the point of being called an “enthusiast.” I have, what Simon Inglis calls, “stadiumitis.” So – yes – the planned developments of Old Trafford are well known to me…more so than any other stadium, United have had the requisite space required for this. Old Trafford stands on the eastern boundary of the massive Trafford Park trading estate, one of the biggest warehousing estates in Europe. My company has an office there. And it’s just to the south of Salford Quays, formerly the home to the busy docks served by the Manchester Ship Canal. I have a vivid image in my mind of the immediate area around Old Trafford, in the grimy post war years teaming with factories, warehouses, workers…clocking off on a Saturday lunchtime and walking the short distance to Old Trafford.

United’s former home was in Clayton out in the eastern part of the city, now housing Manchester Ciy’s new place, who themselves were always a south Manchester side. Confused?

This would be my twelfth trip up to Old Trafford to see a Manchester United vs. Chelsea game. I have also visited OT for the two FA Cup semis in 2006 and 2007…plus I saw Morrissey ( reference number two ) at the Old Trafford cricket ground in 2004. So – unlike a lot of United fans who I know – this is an area I know very well. Old Trafford is second only to my thirteen visits I have made to Anfield on my travels. All those games – vivid memories from them all. Two games stick out.

April 1986 was my first ever visit to Old Trafford. I got a lift up on the Yeovil coach which called in to Stoke especially. We parked up at the cricket ground, got in just before kick-off and saw Chelsea win 2-1…the winner coming from a late Kerry Dixon strike right in front of us in the Scoreboard End. The 3,000 of us were wedged in like sardines that night. I was euphoric. A brilliant night. My mate Daryl – who I didn’t know at the time – was chased back to his car and managed to escape by the seat of his pants. Meanwhile, the Somerset coach was given a police escort all of the way back to the M56. Sweet.

May 2005 and I traveled up with Glenn from Frome. We had just won the league and United were in a somber mood. We put out a second team and still won 3-1. As perfect a night out supporting my team as I can ever remember. Driving back home that night was as good as it gets.

Sadly – another date. Saturday 17th. April 1993.

My father, bless him, passed away in the small hours and United beat us 3-0 later that day.

Enough of the history.

I set off for The North at 8am. It was a dry day, but typically overcast. I had bought an “Eighties” compilation CD on Saturday and this would be my companion for the entire day. As I pulled out of my drive, Men At Work were singing about life ‘Down Under.’ I didn’t race on my trip up the M5 and M6. As I zipped past Tewkesbury, Haircut 100 were on about a ‘Perfect Day.’ I wasn’t so sure.

As always Alan was texting me with his progress.

Alan – “Dionne” ( Warwick )

Chris – “Sauce” ( Worcester )

Chris – “Cripps” ( Stafford )

I decided to head over to the Trafford Centre, opposite both United and City’s training centres at Carrington. I parked up at midday and spent an hour at this huge shopping centre. It was a first-time visit for me. I couldn’t resist a Lacoste button-down shirt. Old habits die hard. Spotted a few United fans in full replikit garb. Even spotted a Liverpool fan – either brave or stupid.

Shopping done, I retraced my steps a few exits down the M60 and was parked up near the cricket ground at 1.15pm. Lead grey skies ( reference number three ). There aren’t too many pubs near the stadium. There was a massive line to get into ‘The Bishop Blaize’ – I always hear singing coming from this boozer. Pretty sure it is where United songsmith Pete Boyle hangs out and airs his newest creations. United have had the best songs for ages. A lot of United stand outside the row of takeaways by Sir Matt Busby Way – funny, as I walk across the road towards them, I always sense that they know I am Chelsea.

Rather than a programme ( full of commercials for ‘Brand Man You’ ), I bought the United fanzine ‘United We Stand.’ I’ll read it and then pass it on to Judy’s boy James.

Five minutes later I was on the forecourt, scene of much ‘naughtyness’ in days of yore. The new ‘United Trinity’ statue of Best / Law / Charlton was the new focal point. It’s a splendid statue actually, facing the one of Matt Busby, beneath the Manchester United sign on the East Stand. As I took a couple of photos, I noted one middle-aged bloke say ‘who is the bald one?’ I had great pleasure in answering him. We laugh, but how many JCLs at Chelsea would recognize Ron Harris?

Lots of Irish, lots of Americans amongst the United support. Lots of foreign accents to be honest. A few Chelsea fans dotted around.

Chelsea always get the corner section at OT, but since the latest ground enlargements, away fans usually get offered a little section of around 500 seats in the main stand too. This is where we were located this time. Now, a bit more history. This stand was bombed by the Luftwaffe in 1941 – remember Manchester City’s German striker Uwe Rossler and the ‘Uwe’s Dad Bombed Old Trafford’ T Shirts of a few years back? We had our own little bar area, segregated from the United section. A couple of beers. Chat with a few faces – Gill from Kent, Big John. Good people. The vibes weren’t good. We were praying for a draw.

Into the stadium and we found our seats. Legend Ron Harris was with a few friends a few rows from the top. We were almost in line with the goal-line…by the corner flag. We had heard that Spurs had lost to a last-minute Wigan goal. We were clutching at good signs for the game ahead.

Of course, the World and his dog had heard that Mourinho was attending the game and a phalanx of cameras were pointed towards him before the game…a very similar scenario, infact, to the ones pointed at Roman, post-Mourinho, at Old Trafford last season. I joked with Gill that it would be comically wonderful if Jose ran out from his seat and ran down the touchline should we score. Yeah – that’ll happen, right? I was pleasantly surprised there were no ‘Jose Mourinho’ chants from us…time to move on. I saw Cathy and Dog arrive – I’m surprised the cameramen didn’t get the message ‘Cathy’s in – cameras!’

‘United Road’ was blasted out on the PA. The pitch was still getting watered. The teams entered the field.

I noted that 90% of the United support in the Stretford End – Upper were stood. Haven’t seen that in a top tier before. Didn’t think they made a great deal of noise, though. They did give JT some stick though.

I think it is a mark of how bad we thought that we would be that the ‘reasonable’ amount of possession we enjoyed in the first-half was met with great pleasure by Alan, Gary and me. In hindsight, despite all of the triangles, the touches and the possession, how much did we create? Not a lot. United weren’t great, but their attacks always had end results. We were praying for the half-time whistle. We weren’t really sure why the corner kick was taken again, but Giggs whipped in a great cross. When Vidic forced it home, the look on Giggs’ face, his arms pumped in celebration, will live with me for a long time. Hell – what an unfortunate time to concede a goal. It felt like a kick in the balls.

The Chelsea vicar, Martin, was sat ( well, I say sat, but all 3,000 Chelsea stood the entire game ) next to Alan. On returning to his place after the break, he said…’don’t worry – I’ve had a word, 3-1.’

‘Hallelujah’ I replied.

Alas not. We lost interest after the Rooney goal went in. Only Mikel performed OK to be honest. We need to nurture him. Get him to play deep, behind Frank and Essien. Ballack and Deco are not up to the task. But – Drogba…what a lazy performance. With Jose in the stands, I would’ve expected much more of a robust performance. He just didn’t look interested. What Mourinho made of it all, I just can’t imagine. JT looked out of sorts too. We seem to be losing confidence game by game.

I leaned forward and whispered to Gill – and this is a message for anyone who is getting stick today from the vast legion of United fans – ‘just ask them this…’

With a puzzled, curious expression, ask them –

‘So – how come you support the World’s biggest club, then?’

For the first time since the Old Trafford game last season, I left early – and for the first time since maybe Swindon in 1988, I missed a goal. I trudged back to the car. I had overestimated how cold it would be and I was boiling, my thick jumper beneath my new coat. I departed at just after 6pm and my early departure had worked dividends. I was on the M6 at 6.30pm.

I couldn’t face ‘606’ so I was left alone with my thoughts on the three hour drive home…alone with my thoughts, along with The Blow Monkeys, The Cars, Aztec Camera and The Lotus Eaters.

I try to be as pragmatic and philosophical in such circumstances. It had been a bad day at the office.

It was, in fact, our worst defeat at the home of Manchester United since Saturday 17th. April 1993. And just a few seconds spent reflecting on that most bleak of days, helped me put things into some sort of perspective.

Tales From The Sleepy Hollow

Posted on July 21, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Manchester United : 21 September 2008.

Before we forget – 85 Home League Games Unbeaten.

We rode our luck a bit, but so pleased we didn’t lose to United.

We all left Frome at 8.45am and were soon zipping east up the A303 and M3 into London. A beautiful Autumnal morning.

The others were off into the caff for a fry-up, but I made a bee-line for Fulham Broadway as I had heard that both Mickey Thomas and Paul Canoville were doing book-signings at both the “Borders” bookshop and the CFCUK stall opposite the tube station. I popped into McDonalds, where Alan, Daryl, Neil and Ed were polishing off a McBreakfast…they had just come from the stall themselves where they had a natter with Mickey.

I reached FB at about 10.45am.

Mickey Thomas was signed from Stoke City in January 1984 and he, ironically, took Paul Canoville’s place on the left wing in that fabled promotion team. He added that extra dimension, a ball-winning left-sided winger whose all-action style and infectious personality sparked extra life into an already rampaging club on its progress to Division One that season. He had previously played for Manchester United, of all teams, and so I was slightly dubious of his play…his move from Stoke involved him moving down a division, so maybe I thought he had passed his peak.

I couldn’t have been more wrong – I saw his home debut against Wednesday and was immediately smitten. He scored the first two goals in our 3-2 win ( a massive 35,000 gate when the average top flight gate was only around 25,000 ) and he ran his heart out. Instant affection from us in The Benches. He developed an instant rapport with the thousands of pastel-wearing Chelsea lads that day and it was a match made in heaven…or actually Wrexham, where fellow team mates Joey Jones, Eddie Niedzwiecki and manager John Neal had first encountered this wayward genius.

I bought Mickey’s new book “Knockups, Hiccups, Lockups”, had my photograph taken with him and mentioned that I had last seen him in the away end at Blackburn in 2006, when I mentioned that he was in my all-time Chelsea XI. On that day, he seemed genuinely pleased with my comment and he thanked me again for that. I know he does some match day work for Century FM in Manchester and so I said that, despite doing work for United, I wanted him to know that he is loved at Chelsea.

Top man.

And, yes, another echo of that 1983-84 season…Twenty-Five Years ago. Where does the time go?

Paul Canoville had not yet shown up ( Daryl joked that he was probably still phoning all of his children to see how they were! ) so I sped back to The Goose where I joined the boys in the beer garden for three cold pints. I gave a truncated match report from the U18s 4-1 defeat at Bristol City on the Saturday morning. It wasn’t great.

Spent a nice and relaxed two hours in the pub, looking ahead to the next few games, trying to plan who would pick up match tickets for who, planning on meeting Simon and Milo in Stoke next week.

Daryl, Neil and myself – the baseball trio – had a quiet few moments of reflection on Yankee Stadium’s last ever game in the small hours…I’d tape the game, but also see how far I could get watching live.

Myself and the Frome boys were saying that we would be happy with a draw – that unbeaten run means so much. But Simon and Daryl were having none of it – their view was to take the game to United…they thought that at times the unbeaten run had cramped our adventurous spirit at times. An interesting opinion. We also talked of Zola at West Ham. I mentioned that I read about a bloke in CFCUK say recently that he was happy when the little man scored against England at Wembley in 1997. I had to agree…I was sat next to Daryl at that game and we both did a little “yep” as he scored past Walker ( ? ) in the England goal. I would imagine the same thing happening should Tevez score against England, if the “Argentina” choruses are anything to go by at Old Trafford.

We walked to the stadium and at long last I got in with time to spare.

Rob had tipped me off that several key supporters ( and Roman ) had paid for a new bigger “Pride Of London” flag and this was being passed over the heads of the MHL as I took my seat. It’s not as big as the 1994 one, but way bigger than the 2007 incarnation. Rob tells me Roman has stumped up for a new away flag too. That’s good to hear.

The game? United bossed the first thirty minutes. They took a deserved lead, but thankfully seemed quite content to let us back into the game. To be fair, I thought we struggled for long periods. I lost patience with Malouda, who seemed unable to get in the right position…too often he would stray inside, drop deep, generally show little positional sense. Mirroring his approach play at Eastlands, Anelka, too, often came too deep.

A shame we lost Lord Percy, but Alex was my man of the match. JT – I have to say – has had a few ropey games and was again at sixes and sevens at times.

But we kept going – I was getting behind the team, urging them one…a few nice moments when the crowd got it together, but it wasn’t that loud.

Thought the free-kick which led to our goal was over-hit, so I was in a state of shock when Kalou got his noggin on it.

1-1…deep relief.

A very tense game. Why do we do this to ourselves, eh?

As I say – just happy we didn’t lose…85 games, let’s push on to 100.

Tales From Moscow

Posted on July 21, 2013 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Manchester United : 21 May 2008.

I got back from work on Tuesday at about 5.30pm…a bite to eat, watched “Sky Sports News” – I noted mainly United fans being interviewed in Red Square. Got to bed at 7.30pm…oh dear, too excited…I dozed off after a while, but the alarm woke me at 9.15pm. I packed some “lucky European game” Maynards Wine Gums ( the reason we beat Liverpool in the semis ) plus the scarf my mother bought me after my first ever game in 1974…its last outing was at Stockholm in 1998…I needed all the good luck charms I could muster. I set the VCR to record the game.

Left home at 10pm…past Stonehenge…M3, M25…Gatwick at 12.15am.

My mate Neil had flown in from Guernsey at 7pm and had tried to get some kip at the airport to no avail. My other mates Daryl, Alan and Gary arrived by train from London at 12.30am. We all arrived just at the right time, just ahead of the rush. Our flight was to leave at 3am…the airport wasn’t busy at all. Time for one pint of San Miguel in the departure lounge – I was told that ex-England cricketer Alex Stewart and big Chelsea fan was in the bar. This would be my 55th game of the season…Gary has only missed two Chelsea games this season, dating from the Charity Shield in August…60 out of 62 I think.

We left Gatwick at 3.15am…a four hour flight was ahead of us. Not a great flight – not much sleep, awful food…the bloke I was sat next to was a Southampton fan…he was here with his girlfriend, who had two corporate clients on tow. I heaved a deep sigh. They didn’t even know where their seats were in the stadium. The whole idea of corporates at games makes me sick, so I did well to ignore them all for the rest of the flight.

With the three hour time difference, we touched down in Moscow around 10am…misty rain, low clouds…it hit home that I was in Russia when I clocked the terminal building, with Russian-style balconies and over-elaborate touches here and there. Then the Russian planes with the Cyrillic text. Dorothy, this ain’t Kansas…it ain’t even Croydon. I was loving it – the thrill of a foreign land.

To be fair, we went straight through passport control and were soon heading into Moscow on the free bus, stickered with CFC badges…a nice touch.

Sheremetyevo Airport must be about thirty miles to the NW of Moscow, but the bus trip took us two hours. I noted that a few of the fans caught up on some sleep, but not me…I peered out of the windows, taking it all in. The traffic was horrendous…the road network just isn’t up to the vast increase in cars now present in Moscow. There were massive apartment blocks everywhere, blocking the horizon…everything was on a vast scale…the towering housing blocks, the shopping malls…it was like America on drugs…a brutal cityscape…not pretty. We drove past two old-style Russian markets / bazaars…shanty-towns of products, rickety-shops and bright signs. We drove on and on, the apartment blocks dominating every view. Noted many massive car dealerships – Ford, Mercedes, Toyota…an Ikea…several McDonalds.

Eventually we spotted the Luzhniki – the former Lenin Stadium – home of the Olympics in 1980…Daley Thompson, Alan Wells, Coe and Ovett. We stumbled out of the bus at 12.30pm, not really knowing which side of the stadium we were on. The idea was to head into the centre. We crossed a road…I tried to phone home…we got our bearings. Then, just behind us, we spotted Ron Harris and Peter Bonetti appear from an underpass…I walked over to say “hi” to Ron as he lives near me and we chatted briefly…it then went surreal…out of the underpass appeared Pat Nevin ( my favourite CFC player of all time! ), then Ray Wilkins, then Colin Pates, John Bumstead, Dave Beasant, Clive Walker, David Lee, Steve Finnieston, Clive Wilson, Keith Dublin, Trevor Aylott, Garry Stanley, Gary Chivers. We were on cloud nine. What glorious good luck, to be at that exact point in a city as huge as Moscow…the players had just arrived themselves and were headed into the centre like us. We chatted to a few of them…photos with a few…had a nice little chat with Pat Nevin and I was beside myself with joy. After five minutes of this, the players drifted away and we stood around rubbing our eyes, not really believing what had just happened. We made our way to the nearest subway stop, only to be reunited with them all again as Alan bought our return tickets. I had the impression that Pat – the most Worldly-wise of them all – was sorting out the players’ tickets!

We descended the elevators into the station and I was loving it all. Onto the famous subway train and there was my most admired footballer ever Pat Nevin just five feet away. Bless him – he was wearing jeans and his ruc-sac contained the new Bill Bryson book (“Shakespeare” )…he looked like a mature student, ever the non-typical footballer.

We got to Red Square and up into the daylight, my heart now pumping with anticipation. Daryl had the “spot” of the day…Bryan “Pop” Robson was nearby. Red Square was magnificent, if not as large as I expected…we tried to hoist my Peter Osgood banner, but the Russian police said ”net”. Cathy was nearby in a bar, but I never bumped into her unfortunately…obviously, loads of photos outside The Kremlin and then by St Basils, the colourful cathedral built in around 1570. We spotted a few of the Chelsea players milling around…Ron Harris and the Kremlin, what an amazing sight.

Down to the river, a walk past the southern wall of The Kremlin…I treated the boys to a hot dog and a drink…the hot dog was awful actually. Mike from New York was in town, but try as we might, we never managed to meet up – a shame. We headed into Arbatskaya, one of the main streets for bars in Moscow…my mate Mark from Westbury, a nearby town to my home in Somerset, shouted out to me and we joined him for a beer…in fact five beers…he was sat with a Chelsea crew from Trowbridge and Salisbury. We were then joined by the Worcester Boys ( Burger will remember these chaps from Villa Park last year…good lads ) I pinned my Ossie banner up…it felt good.

The rain had come by this stage, though, and it was getting a bit cold. I bought a black Russian hat ( with hammer and sickle ) for 300 roubles ( £6 ) and I was told by the lads “that looks good on you, mate.” I still don’t know if they were serious! Opposite us was a Sbarro and sitting in the front was Specials front man Terry Hall ( big United fan )…he was looking pretty miserable actually and Alan and Daryl told him this when they got photographed with him as he left!

We decided to get some food at Sbarro too…and what followed was typical Russia…we waited for about twenty minutes to get served because the cashier had run out of change! I kid you not. By the time Alan and myself had been served, our pizza was getting cold…we sat down in the front by the pavement to be met by Daryl throwing plastic cups at some ravenous crows which had descended to pick up some scraps. It was like a scene from The Birds.

At about 7pm we walked up through Arbatskaya, past a pub full of United fans, and dropped into the John Bull pub…half and half Chelsea and United. The United fans were the more vociferous it has to be said…they were also the most drunk. It helps. To be fair to United, they really do have an amazing array of songs – fair play to them. I feared that this song would be whizzing around my head for the rest of the evening…

“Viva Ronaldo, viva Ronaldo, running down the wing, hear United sing, Viva Ronaldo.”

I hate it when that happens. Bloody hate it.

We caught the subway, outnumbered and out sung by United on our train…I commented to Daryl that as United’s support is so massive, then the 21,000 present are by nature bound to be the most vociferous of its support…our 21,000 would be more mixed, more representative of our ( mainly middle-class ) smaller support as a whole. Something I have realised these past few years. Our support ain’t bad though…when we’re in the mood we can put on a good show.

I noted many Russians wearing Chelsea scarves and shirts. It was noticeable that we spotted a Chelsea / Adidas billboard with the slogan “Impossible Is Nothing” at many locations in Moscow. Maybe we do have ten million fans in Russia! Took a few photos outside, including the iconic statue of Lenin, cape flying in the wind. The stadium was set in its own separate area, surrounded by trees, all very ordered, all very utilitarian…the stadium was functional rather than beautiful…its roof ( an addition since 1980 ) gave it a certain style and an extra visual impact. I bought some match programmes.

Into the stadium at about 9.15pm…unfortunately missed out on a place to pin up my Ossie flag.

We had reasonable seats, lower section, row 15, by the far corner flag. The food outlets were busy, but the food on offer looked ropey. Bizarrely, I opted on a big bucket of popcorn for 200 roubles…should we win, it would be popcorn at every game for the rest of my days!

This was it then – the zenith of my Chelsea-supporting life. I had thought on the importance of this match for days on end. I realised that, to an extent, there was a certain inherent sadness in this momentous trip. Should we be victorious, this would undoubtedly be the high point, the high water mark, of my Chelsea life…anything else which follows would be therefore of lesser importance, of lesser value…quite a chilling prospect and it haunted me throughout the trip.

As the stadium filled up, I needed some time alone. I went out into the area beneath the stands. Up until that point, since being out sung by United on the tube, I had negative vibes about the game… would our support rise to the occasion, would the team? My mind was muddled. I needed some clarity.

I stood by myself, overlooking a lower-level entrance onto the pitch, just as the red and gold clad performers were assembling below. I thought back on all the games I had been to, I thought of my parents taking me to that first game, for igniting my passion for this wonderful club…I was just so grateful to be there, to be in Moscow…my feelings at this moment are difficult to put into words. My vibes were improving. I bumped into Dutch Mick, who was in Chicago in 2006, and took a photo of him and his mate Gary with two Russian soldiers. Just this simple act – meeting a good friend so far from home, amongst 21,000 fellow fans, made me feel great and I bounced back into the stadium.

TV presenter Jonny Gould ( he hosts the live baseball each week on Channel Five ) was spotted five rows behind. I had a quick chat…”was watching the Yankee game on Sunday, heard you say you’d be here, been a Yankee fan for twenty years” – he told me to email the show. Good stuff.

The PA played “Take Me Home Country Road”, the United song, adapted to include the more appropriate “United Road” and the United fans were loud and vociferous.

Then our turn – and “Blue Is The Colour”, sung heartily by the blue hordes in the south terrace. I captured this all on my phone.

The pre-match festivities continued with the on-field antics of the dancers, the release of the red and gold balloons.

The teams entered the arena, the Champions League theme tune sounded.

We were ready.

It seems pointless for me to regurgitate the entire game, since you all saw it and you all shared the highs and lows.

All I can do is mention my perspective from Row 15, Tribune 1 in the South-East section of The Luzhniki. I was sat next to Neil, he was next to his brother Daryl…across the way were Gary and Alan…two seats down was Andy, a good friend from Nuneaton. So good to be so close. Three Russians were stood infront.

I replaced my Russian hat ( it felt massive! ) with my Yankees cap – this was a good luck charm from Anfield and The Bridge semi-finals, so I needed the help of that, too.

Caps, scarves, wine gums – if you must know, blue socks and underpants too. OK – I know…too much information.

It’s worth commenting on that our starting XI was the one which I predicted as did the rest of the lads. We can debate this until the cows come home, but it doesn’t say much for Paolo Ferreira’s confidence, does it?

Since we left the bar on Arbatskaya at 7pm, we were on our feet from then until we eventually sat on the bus which took us to the airport at around 2am…seven hours on our feet. Apart from a few pockets, the Chelsea support stood as one the entire game. The United massed ranks did too.

Of course, just before the game began, we waved our flags furiously…United’s show was quite clever…red mosaics, with the word “Believe” picked out in white…but the “i” was in the shape of the cup…when it first appeared I thought that it said ”Belveve” to my weary eyes.

I think for our Champions League appearance in Rome next May we should do something similar, but the word should be “Celery.” That could confuse the Romans and the rest of Europe come to that. Alternatively “Vinci Per Noi” has a nice ring to it.

Our main chant for the night was “We’re in Moscow, we’re in Moscow, “F” your history, we’re in Moscow.”

The game was magnificent wasn’t it? At last a great CL Final. But we were fearing the worst as half-time approached…Essien wasn’t playing close enough to Ronaldo…their midfield was dominating.

Great goal from Ronaldo, but oh that hurt. Only noted a few United fans in the neutral section to my right. United were then in full voice for twenty minutes…one chant in particular ( relying on United’s antagonism towards England…they surely are the closest of cousins to the Scousers )…

“He goes to the left, he goes to the right – that boy Ronaldo made England look shite.” The whole of the north end was swaying one way and then the next…impressive…sickeningly so.

Then a ball into the box, the ball broke…I said to Neil “we’ll score here” and a nano-second later, Lamps equalised…much against the run of play, but our end erupted…gave Neil a hug and just briefly glanced at Daryl, losing it, as I climbed up onto the seat behind me. We screamed our support.

Our second-half performance ( in which we quietened United’s support to a whisper) was the stuff of legends…on many occasions, with me singing myself hoarse, the whole Chelsea end as one organic unit, at one with the team, I just felt that it was as good as it will ever get.

Mesmerising.

The game continued on…it was an epic…or at least it felt like it. The wine gums were getting eked out – I needed to save some for extra-time, then penalties.

The low point of the whole night for me was Drogba’s typically selfish walk down the tunnel. I was saddened, truly saddened, that he was so self-absorbed that he didn’t even bother to watch with his manager and team mates from the bench. Words fail me.

Let’s cut to the chase. When Ronaldo tried to be clever, when Big Pete saved, the rush we all experienced was amazing. I clambered onto my seat and paraphrased United.

“He goes to the left, he goes to the right – that boy Ronaldo – he is fucking shite.” Oh boy – the antichrist has missed…GET IN YOU BEAUTY.

Frank scored – bless him, God Bless Pat – and I think it was at this stage that I began welling up, my hands coming up to my face, trembling, my whole upper torso shaking. I remember thinking “Christ, if I’m like this now, what will I be like when we win” and I was very self aware that I might well soon be collapsing in a heap, tears flowing.

“Get a grip, Chris.”

United and Chelsea traded pens. I captured Anderson’s ( ? ) penalty on my mobile…MISS, MISS! No luck.

Then Penalty Number Five. JT…we stood and we remained still.

Disbelief – utter disbelief. The feeling of euphoria soon evaporated and United sensed our fear. Anelka’s penalty miss was academic I thought – I knew we’d never recover from JT’s miss.

We turned away, silent.

Fifteen minutes later, we were scrambling around outside the back of the stadium, trying to dodge the rain and the massive puddles…I heard “I vow to thee, my country” being played on the stadium PA ( the quintessential English hymn ) and then…with us a good five minutes away…the roar from the United hordes as the cup was lifted.

CHELSEA/esque

A Blue World In Black And White

Tag Archives: Manchester United

Tales From The Duke Of York

Tales From Mancunia

Tales From The Sleepy Hollow

Tales From Moscow