Tag Archives: Molineux

Tales From Wet Wolverhampton

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Wolverhampton Wanderers vs. Chelsea : 7 February 2026.

I am happy to report that Parky was able to travel to our game at Wolves after missing the trip to Arsenal during the week. The signs were good; here was a match against the worst Premier League team by a mile, and we surely had to win this one. I collected PD and then Parky and we breakfasted en route before slipping on to the M4 at Chippenham. There was rain in the air, and it didn’t really stop for too many minutes during the whole of my three-hour drive north. Thankfully, from my home in Somerset, a trip to Molineux is one of my easiest away journeys of the season

Knowing that the chance to grab a drink in Wolverhampton city centre is very restricted, I drove to a pub around four miles to the south in a large village called Wombourne. “The Vine” was our base for a couple of hours. We settled next to a roaring log fire, and I kept peering out of the window to check the weather. Sadly, the rain kept falling throughout our stay.

Towards the end of our spell in the lovely boozer, we chatted to a West Brom fan about all sorts of topics related to football, and it was a nice way to seal off an enjoyable pre-match.

With the rain now falling heavily, I drove into the centre of Wolverhampton and aimed for our usual parking place at Broad Street. Molineux appeared down to our left and I was soon parked up. It was 2pm, just right for the 3pm kick-off. We, unfortunately, became drenched on the fifteen-minute walk to the away turnstiles. I had made the decision to leave my SLR camera in the car and use just my mobile phone for the day’s photographs. I knew that my ticket was for a seat at the front of the stand in Row B, so I played the percentage game and decided not to risk my camera becoming wet and possibly damaged.

It felt like a relief not having to go through the usual stresses involved in a potential camera search at the turnstiles. A quick “pat down” and I was in. I soon spotted Alan and Gary with a couple of mates, and we chatted for a while in the roomy concourse, all of us not particularly keen to reach the possibly wet area inside.

Once I reached my seat at about 2.45pm, I was pleasantly surprised. The roof of the Steve Bull Stand extended well over the seats and I was immediately impressed. This was a much-maligned stand when it opened way back in 1980, as it stood so far away from the pitch, prior to an eventual realignment. But it was doing a fine job on this day; plenty of room in the concourse to drink and chat, while a roof that – shock, horror – kept us dry pitch side.

As kick-off approached, there were many areas of empty seats in the home areas, though not as many as at our League Cup game – that crazy 4-3 win – in late October. However, three thousand Chelsea loyalists packed the lower tier alongside the pitch.

The skies were dark, the rain still fell, and I had to feel sorry for the several hundred home supporters perched on the open-air section between the home end and the main stand. At least they had been provided with ponchos. Back in the day, they could have huddled together on a terrace, like penguins possibly, to keep a little drier. Seeing them all sat out in the open just seemed like the worst football experience yet.

With ten minutes to go, club president Robert Plant belted out “Whole Lotta Love” and the teams were announced by the overly keen announcer. Like our team, the Wolves’ starting line-up was dominated by exotic-sounding foreign names. I wondered if their two defenders Hugo Bueno and Santiago Bueno were to be joined at some stage by a less-talented chap called Non Bueno, and I was soon to spot that their lone talisman upfront Tolu Arokodare possessed the body mass of the rest of his teammates combined.

Us?

We were back to the tried-and-tested 4-2-3-1.

Robert Sanchez

Malo Gusto – Wesley Fofana – Trevor Chalobah – Marc Cucurella

Moises Caicedo – Andrey Santos

Pedro Neto – Enzo Fernandez – Cole Palmer

Joao Pedro  

“Hi Ho Silver Lining” was played and this energised the home support. Fair play, for a team destined to be relegated, they made a bloody racket.

“Hi Ho Wolverhampton.”

Wolves, of course, were in their brilliant old gold kit; it’s lovely, isn’t it? Gary, alongside me, admitted that he had a Wolves shirt as a very young child – though he didn’t explain why – and I remembered that my Frome Town mate Steve used to like them as a young lad before he got fully engaged with Bristol City a few years later. I also remember two Wolves supporters in the 1982/83 sixth form. My next-door neighbour follows Wolves. Maybe it’s something about those colours. I can’t think of another team, anywhere, that uses old gold as its main colour. In the UK, I can think of Hull City, Newport County and Albion Rovers who have worn amber and black, but not old gold.

We were in our much admired “off-white” away kit.

The home team, playing left to right for me, probably began the better of the two teams, and it took a while for us to get into the match. After just two minutes, there was a proper scramble in Sanchez’ six-yard box, and I was relieved when an unknown Chelsea defender lumped the ball away.

On ten minutes, in one of our first real attacks, I loved the way that Joao Pedro brought the ball down and then took a touch away from the defenders. There was a lunge by Matt Doherty and our nimble striker fell. A shout went up. After a slight pause, the referee Jarred Gillett pointed at the spot.

Palmer slotted home past Jose Sa.

Wolves 0 Chelsea 1.

Alan : “They’ll have to Cum On Feel The Noize.”

Chris : “Come on My Friend Stan.”

Our play improved from then, and Wolves became the secondary team. I liked the way we moved the ball quicker than under Maresca, and I loved how Palmer was carrying out his own brand of football alchemy only a few yards away.

A shot from distance for Enzo rattled in but was blocked.

On twenty-four minutes, we enjoyed three efforts in quick succession. First an effort from Cucurella was blocked by Doherty, Caicedo followed up with a shot and then a rabona from Enzo was saved by Sa.

Just after, I again marvelled at how Joao Pedro brought the ball down beautifully, before a quick turn and a blast at goal from an angle that Sa pushed over for a corner. Then a sublime dribble at pace from Joao Pedro – the kind of run you just don’t see much of these days – that took him past opponents with consummate ease.

Then, Gusto ran deep into the box on the far side and smashed a shot goalwards when perhaps a cross might have been the better option. Sa was the equal of it at the near post.

This was nice stuff. We were playing well.

On thirty-five minutes, Joao Pedro attacked the inside-right channel. I didn’t see the ridiculous hands-on push by Yerson Mosquera, I just saw our striker fall.

Another penalty.

Another Palmer strike, this time the other way.

Wolves 0 Chelsea 2.

“Palmer again, ole, ole.”

As he ran again towards the Chelsea contingent, I snapped away with my mobile camera, but the results were horrific.

At around this point, the rain temporarily stopped, as if to rub it in.

A third goal soon followed. And this was a lovely move, so pure and simple. Neto to Fernandez, then out to Cucurella, with me willing him on. He reached the goal-line, spotted Palmer advancing and cut a great ball back into the path of our Number Ten. Palmer dispatched his shot high into the Wolves net. It was struck with such venom. It was a beautiful goal.

Wolves 0 Chelsea 3.

“Palmer again, ole, ole.”

Game over, surely?

The home fans must have thought the same. The South Bank met their predicament with gallows humour.

“How shit must you be? It’s only three-nil.”

The afternoon had turned against them, and they were increasingly vociferous in their booing of the referee’s decisions and felt aggrieved at every call given against them. I must admit, the 50-50’s did appear to be mainly going our way.

When Wolves eventually won a free-kick, Gary chortled alongside me.

“Come on ref, you’ve given us nuffing.”

That raised a smile from me.

As the referee blew for half-time, there were massive boos, but all for the referee no doubt.

Half-time came and went, and although – deep-down – I was hopeful for further attacks and further goals, I knew that we had a game on Tuesday and that we just needed to be sensible. There was an early chance for Enzo in the first few moments of the second period as the rain began again. His shot was blocked.

In the same way that we let Wolves back into the game during that crazy second-half in October, I did wonder if we might be in for a slightly rough ride as the second half continued.

I turned to Gary and said “you know what will happen? They will score and it will get shaky.”

Sometimes I hate my footballing sixth sense.

A shot from Mateus Mane was touched onto a post. Then, from a low corner on the Wolves’ left from Mane, the ball was flicked on and Arokodare was able to turn and slot home from mere yards away.

Bollocks. Here we go.

Fifty-four minutes were on the clock.

“Bloody hell, over half-an-hour to go…”

The home team improved throughout the second period, whereas we lost a lot of key battles. Throughout it all, the home fans were still feeling that they were being victimised.

“Premier League. Corrupt as fuck.”

On the hour, Palmer set off on a little run but then stopped and played the ball safely back. He then walked gingerly for a few steps and stretched both legs, and it looked to me that he wasn’t happy with his fitness. Soon after he was substituted by Alejandro Garnacho who took up residence on the left as Neto swapped over.

Wolves probably edged possession in the second period, and I was never at ease. I turned to the bloke behind me and admitted “only Chelsea could be 3-1 up and we are wanting the ref to blow up.”

Young Ernie, to my left in the front row, got the crowd going with a couple of lovely “Zigger Zaggers”. He is soon becoming one of our most famous fans, bless him.

A header from Mosquera bothered the souls in the South Bank rather than Sanchez.

On seventy-one minutes, Arakodare had a pacey run, but Fofana did just enough to put him off. His shot was a weak one, and straight at Sanchez.

With fifteen minutes to go, a double substitution.

Josh Acheampong for Gusto.

Liam Delap for Joao Pedro.

On eighty-four minutes, Jorrel Hato replaced Santos.

Just after, Neto was free and unmarked but misfired horribly with a header. He then hit the side netting with a shot and Delap struck a shot at Sa.

Despite seven long minutes of injury time, we held on.

We “held on?” Yes, it seemed like it.

The Chelsea crowd were full of “Palmer again” bravado as we all exited the concourse into the rain, and I met up with the two lads outside. PD and I devoured a bacon cheeseburger with onions as we sheltered under the entrance to a building and we then slowly headed back to the car. Luckily, a lot of the traffic had already vacated the area, and the route back to the M6 at Walsall was quicker than usual.

This had been my twelfth ever visit to Molineux. In the last three visits we have scored thirteen goals, and I have to say I will miss it next season,

On Tuesday, Leeds United visit Stamford Bridge.

…just writing those words.

Tales From Highbury 1984 & Molineux 2024

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Wolverhampton Wanderers vs. Chelsea : 25 August 2024.

I was in the midst of a very busy spell of football. After the Chelsea game at home to Servette on Thursday, I drove to the outer reaches of London on Saturday to see Frome Town gain a very creditable 1-1 draw at Chertsey Town. There would be another Frome Town game, a home match with county rivals Taunton Town on Bank Holiday Monday, but sandwiched in between the two Frome games was Chelsea’s first away fixture of the season at Molineux, the home of Wolverhampton Wanderers.

I picked up PD at 9am and I picked up Parky at 9.20am.

However, I cannot lie; my mind had been full of a game that had taken place some forty years ago to the very day. I had woken at 7am, but I soon spotted that two friends – well done Stu, well done JD – had already shared thoughts on the monumental events of Saturday 25 August 1984 on “Facebook.”

On this day, Chelsea played our first game in the top flight of English football in over five years. Adrift in the Second Division, at times it looked like we would never return. But return we did. And how.

My post on “Facebook” ran like this :

“My Dad dropped me off at Bath Spa station. The train to Paddington with lads from Trowbridge. A pink Lacoste polo, light blue Levis, Nike Wimbledon Supremes. Chelsea everywhere on the tube. Lads on parade. Out into the sun at Arsenal. The queue at the turnstiles. Like sardines in a tin on the Clock End terrace. An 11.30am kick-off. The noise. The togetherness. The madness of Kerry’s goal.

The greatest domestic away game in our history.

Chelsea are back. Chelsea are back. Hello. Hello.”

PD and Parky were there too, though their memories were scant. In my pre-amble to this season, I remarked that I might float some memories from previous seasons into this 2024/25 campaign, but there is no way that I could resist some heavy thoughts about the Arsenal game from forty-years ago.

However, this game was so immense, so historic, so huge that a whole book has already been devoted to it. On the twenty-fifth anniversary of the match in 2009, “Chelsea Here, Chelsea There” was published and I was lucky enough to contribute a few words.

Compared to the timid atmosphere at games these days, both PD and I – as we neared Birmingham – both admitted that “modern football is shit.”

Wolves away 2024 may not be Arsenal away 1984, but I was still relishing it all. If I was to methodically rank all of the Premier League stadia that I have visited by various criteria, I am sure that Wolves’ Molineux stadium would be in the upper quartile. If I took into consideration each away stadium’s location, its design, its sense of place – effectively how unique it is – its quirkiness, its atmosphere, its accessibility, its history, I am positive that Molineux would score pretty high. Before the season began I quickly listed my favourite top flight venues and my least liked.

Favourites?

Everton, Brentford, Fulham, Brighton, Wolves, Newcastle.

Least liked?

West Ham, Manchester City, Southampton, Arsenal.

I first visited Wolverhampton while on a train journey to Stoke in the summer of 1984 – the greatest summer ever in case you are not aware – and I am sure I did my best to locate the floodlight pylons of Molineux on that journey, which was a game we all played in those days.

I like that Molineux is close to the city centre, even though it is difficult to find pubs close to the stadium, and I like the old gold colour scheme. I like that it is virtually on the same spot as the old Molineux with its cranked main stand, huge South Bank and the stand with the multi-spanned roof. Now that really was a stadium with a sense of place, like many were in the early years of football stadium construction.

We were parked up at the nearby Broad Street Car Park at 12.30pm and were soon hobbling down to the stadium. The other two shot off for a pre-match drink while I had a look around. I liked the eventual refit of Molineux in the early ‘nineties – it took ages, from 1979 in fact – but I am not too sure that the large and ugly North Stand adds to its charm. For the first time I walked past the Billy Wright statue outside the main entrance and up the steady slope towards the city centre. From here, it’s possible to get a real sense of how the original stadium utilised the natural slope of the land. Even know the North Bank is just built on earth.

I could not help but notice the various shades of yellow / gold / orange that Wolves have used over the years, as evidenced by some of the replica shirts being worn by the home fans. I can’t help but think that the club needs to nail down that old gold variant’s pantone reference and nail it against a brick wall somewhere.

On the same subject, our home kit colour seems to be a little “off” this season. More of that maybe later.

There was a slight “stand-off” with a steward – “a camera?” – but I was in.

Inside, there was talk of “Arsenal 1984” just as much as “Wolves 2024” and I liked that my “Facebook” post elicited some responses regarding the sartorial choices of the day.

Ian : “Ellesse polo, Lois light jeans, Nike Wimbledons.”

Timmy : “Benetton polo, light blue Kappa pullover, blue jeans, Nike Wimbledons.”

Jimmy : “Light blue Tacchini top.”

It is my biggest regret that my camera – I took it to Ashton Gate – was not with me at Highbury in 1984.

Unlike the sun-drenched terraces of Arsenal forty-years ago, it was lukewarm and wet in the moments leading up to kick-off at Molineux. It didn’t seem five minutes ago that I was tut-tutting at the divs wearing blue and white Santa hats on Christmas Eve and the awful signage on the North Bank balcony :

“Our Loving Devotion Guides Our Lifelong Dream.”

Fireworks in front of us. I captured a shot of the flames creating “A Big W” – and the second “It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World” reference of the new season. Ominous? We’ll see.

Our team?

Sanchez

Gusto – Colwill – Fofana – Cucarella

Enzo – Caicedo

Madueke – Palmer – Mydryk

Jackson

Or something like that.

I spotted the number six on the back of Levi Colwill and momentarily thought of Thiago Silva.

If only, eh?

For some reason, Noni Madueke was violently booed during his first touches on the far side. We began well, and Madueke ran deep before forcing a save from Jose Sa. The incoming corner was headed on at the near post – snap! – and Nicolas Jackson was loitering at the far post to head in. Barely two minutes had elapsed.

Alan : “THTCAUN.”

Chris : “COMLD.”

On nine minutes, there was a leap from a Wolves player – Yerson Mosquera – with Colwill beaten, but the ball flew over. That should have levelled it. We played the ball out wide in the opening quarter but Mykhailo Mudryk in front of us in the Steve Bull Lower flattered to deceive. He was full of promise, but not much else.

A fine save from Sanchez on twelve minutes. With both teams attacking at will, this was a lively encounter. At times our midfield was woefully by-passed.

Jackson was looking a handful, but sometimes to himself.

We heard on the terrace grapevine that Madueke had been disparaging towards the city of Wolverhampton on social media, hence the boos from the locals. He obviously wasn’t sharing my placing of Wolverhampton in any upper quartile of anything.

There was a ridiculously delayed offside decision after Matheus Cunha had scored. There were shots on goal at both ends. Madueke was proving to be a real threat on the right unlike Mydruk on the left.

It was breathless stuff.

On twenty-six minutes Mr. Pink arrived next to me with his “lucky away” Pink polo shirt, shades of me at Highbury in 1984. With that, we lost possession, the ball broke to Rayan Ait-Nouri and he crossed for Cunha to sweep the ball past Robert Sanchez.

“So much for your lucky shirt!”

The play continued to go end-to-end. With me placed near the half-way line, my head was moving as quickly as a spectator on Centre-Court at Wimbledon.

On forty-one minutes, a great Wolves move found Cunha but we were indebted to a lunge from Colwill to deflect the shot onto the bar.

On forty-four minutes, a quick kick from Sanchez found the raiding Jackson in the inside-left channel. One touch from him, a beautiful flick with the outside of his foot as the ball bounced up, played in the supporting Cole Palmer. Again, the ball bounced nicely and Palmer expertly lobbed Sa with an exquisite finish. Watching the ball bounce into the goal was a heavenly moment. I love occasional long balls to keep the defenders on their toes and this move was magnificent.

Sanchez – Jackson – Palmer – BOSH.

Amazingly, the home team equalised deep into extra-time when a free-kick was played into our six-yard box and Strand Larsen, who looks sixteen, poked a leg out and steered the ball in.

It was a mad first-half.

At the break, I was sat relaxing when I recognised the intro to one of my favourite songs. I called over to Alan.

“Johnny Marr.”

True enough, here we were, in 2024 and here was a lovely echo of 1984.

“That’s easy money, that’s easy money.”

It had been an eventful first-half, plenty of attacking intent but some dreadful defensive decisions too. I turned to Gal and said “it’ll finish 5-5.”

At the break, Enzo Maresca replaced the lack-lustre Mudryk with Pedro Neto. I was expecting a barrage of boos, but I didn’t detect much animosity.

Very soon into the second period, Jackson passed to Palmer and there was a short pass outside to Madueke got us all excited. I luckily had my camera to my eyes and it suddenly dawned on me how close to goal he was. He shuffled the ball inside onto his left foot – no surprises – and shot at goal. There was a slight deflection off Ait-Nouri but we watched as the ball hit the back of the net.

Madueke’s run to the away support was joyful and I tried my best to take a few shots through a forest of arms and hands.

The game became scrappy and, despite the lead, it is always difficult to orchestrate any chanting and singing in that long elongated lower tier at Wolves.

However, on fifty-eight minutes, we witnessed an almost exact copy of Madueke’s first goal. Caicedo nicked a ball away from a Wolves midfielder and passed to Palmer, who in turn pushed the ball on to that man Noni. This time he chose to shoot, through the legs of Sa, with his right foot.

Get in.

More lovely celebrations, a slide this time.

Palmer himself went close, striking the outside of Sa’s post after breaking into the box after a ball from Jackson.

On sixty-three minutes, again a Palmer to Madueke moment, and an almost exact copy of the fourth goal. Enzo won a loose ball, Jackson prodded it to Palmer. You know the rest. Palmer to Madueke, a right footed thump low into the goal.

Wolves 2 Chelsea 5.

Noni raced away, picked up a spare ball to signify his hat-trick, and wallowed in the warm applause from the away faithful.

I reminded Gal of my 5-5 prediction.

But I also spoke about our memorable 5-2 win in the first month of the Lampard reign in 2019, almost five years ago, and I also remembered a 5-0 win under Claudio Ranieri in my first-ever visit to Molineux in 2003.

A substitution on 68 minutes :

Joao Felix for Jackson.

“Don’t get sent off this time.”

A substitution on 76 minutes :

Keirnan Dewsbury-Hall for Caicedo.

Wolves thought they had scored with a finely struck volley from Mario Lemina but it was disallowed for an offside in the build-up. It has to be said that the Wolves support was so quiet in that second-half.

I loved the way that Neto hugged the left touch-line.  He raced through and smashed a shot against Sa’s post. On eighty minutes, he out-strode his markers beautifully and dragged the ball back for Felix to smash in.

Bloody hell.

Wolves 2 Chelsea 6.

Two substitutions on 83 minutes :

Christopher Nkunku for Palmer.

Renato Veiga for Cucarella.

At the end of the game, I tried to remember how many times I had seen Chelsea score six away from home.

This was only the fourth time :

21 August 2010 : Wigan Athletic 0 Chelsea 6

30 August 2014 : Everton 3 Chelsea 6

9 April 2022 : Southampton 0 Chelsea 6

25 August 2024 : Wolverhampton Wanderers 2 Chelsea 6

On the walk out of the stadium, the younger element was full of noise, and I let them cheer. These are still odd times for us Chelsea fans. I think it helped that all of the starting eleven at Wolverhampton were players from the previous season, not new. I think it helped me get behind the team a little more. The bond between players and supporters is a delicate thing but it was strengthened on this performance.

No European travels for me this week. I am having a rest. See you in the pub on Sunday.

Tales From Christmas Eve

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Wolverhampton Wanderers vs. Chelsea : 24 December 2023.

There was much negative press surrounding the Premier League’s decision to allow Sky TV to move our match at Molineux to Christmas Eve. I felt sorry for those normal match-goers from both sides who had made solid arrangements for other activities on that day and were now forced to either change plans or miss the game completely. The problem stemmed from the fact there had been very little precedent for such a game. The last Premier League game to take place on Christmas Eve took place in 1995 at Elland Road with a game between the two Uniteds of Leeds and Manchester. Chelsea’s last game on 24 December was way back in 1966, a 1-2 defeat by Liverpool at Stamford Bridge. So, as plans for Christmas were discussed in Chelsea households in the autumn, there was minimal thought that Chelsea would be playing away to Wolverhampton Wanderers on any other date other than Saturday 23 December.

Then Sky TV gate-crashed the party and a change to the date of the game was made. Match-going fans went through a range of reactions; from being dumbfounded, to being irate, to being sad. Existing travel plans would need to be re-hashed and there is no doubt that many a relationship endured a few tense moments. I suspect that train and coach timetables were studiously scanned anew.

As it happens, the change did not really affect me too much. In fact, I came out of it for the better. With us playing on the Sunday, our Boxing Day game at home to the Stripey Nigels was to be shunted back twenty-four hours, taking place on the evening of Wednesday 27 December. This, ironically, would allow me to attend the Frome Town vs. Melksham Town Derby on Boxing day.

On the Friday evening, away in some distant part of Bristol, I attended the Frome Town away game at Cribbs. A draw would take us top. Unfortunately, despite dominating possession Frome had no cutting edge – sound familiar? – and the home team won the encounter 1-0. It was the home team that would go top of the division.

I almost forgot that games were being played on the Saturday as I wrote up my match report from the eventful Newcastle United cup tie.

Sunday – Christmas Eve – soon arrived. I set the alarm for 6am and at just after 7am I stepped outside into the dark to wait for Glenn to arrive to drive up to the Black Country. I soon clambered into the back of his black VW van. PD was riding shotgun alongside Glenn. Unfortunately, Parky was unable to join us on this trip.

We stopped off for a brief McBreakfast en route at Strensham – the place was deathly quiet – and Glenn rolled up outside “The Bluebrick” pub just to the east of the Wolverhampton city centre at 10am.

On the drive up, Glenn had earmarked our next three games as all being “winnable” but I wasn’t so confident and neither was PD.

The pub, an adjunct to a new hotel, soon became swarmed with away fans. This was a dedicated “Chelsea fans only” boozer. We visited it back in April ahead of the return of Frank Lampard as manager for his second stint as manager. I remembered, all too easily, the sense of optimism in that early April sun. How soon that feeling dissipated. Our last two visits to Molineux have been dreadfully unattractive games of football.

We spotted a few usual faces at the pub. There was a little talk about the League Cup semi-final against Middlesbrough. I have already booked up cheap digs in Stockton-on-Tees for the away leg. There is still a healthy appetite to see us – especially away – despite this poor season. Over the two games, we would have to fancy our chances against ‘Boro. Our away take should be over the usual league allowance of 3,000. Hopefully we will have 3,500 or more up there. It will certainly be different from the 650 who were “allowed” in for that odd FA Cup tie back in 2022.

This was only the fourth game out of twenty-two this season where I was able to have a drink. The three pints of lager were a nice change. We stood inside as the weather deteriorated a little.

We set off for Molineux at about 11.50am. I had a spare ticket that I was able to hand over to Gemma who lives in nearby Birmingham outside the away turnstiles. There was a little chat with a few mates. There was scant optimism. I was inside at about 12.30pm. I immediately spotted Bank from Bangkok – he was at the corresponding match last season – and it was good to see him again. Blue and white Santa hats, printed with the date of the game, were being handed out to the away contingent.

I picked up one but promised myself that I would only wear it if it began raining.

“Please don’t rain.”

Glenn and PD took their position to be alongside Alan, Gary and John away to the right, while I stood next to Gemma equidistant between the half-way line and the South Stand which used to be the site of a huge bank of terracing in Wolves’ heyday. There is always a lot of conjecture on various football forums about which end had the highest capacity when terraces existed. The three front-runners always seem to be Liverpool’s Kop, Aston Villa’s Holte End and Molineux’ South Bank. I think it is widely agreed that The Kop was the widest, the South Bank went back the furthest, but the Holte End was the largest. There are currently plans to continue the large double-tiered Stan Cullis stand around the other three sides. Until then, the once neat Molineux looks a little lopsided. The Stan Cullis Stand doesn’t sit well on the eye.

The away following is positioned along the length of the pitch in the lower tier of the Steve Bull Stand, the oldest part of the modernised stadium, constructed way back in 1979. Getting a song together at Molineux is always a tough ask. This particular day would be no different.

A friend – Daryl – had quoted the words to a Slade song earlier in the day on Facebook and I had this song – “Far Far Away” – reverberating in my brain all morning. Slade were from the Black Country, though, so at least I suppose that it was apt. Before the game, the Molineux DJ played a Midlands-themed section of songs.

There was Slade again and the festive classic “Merry Xmas Everbody” which was released in December 1973. It brought back some sweet memories of that particular Christmas. It is undoubtedly my favourite festive time. I had managed to avoid making an arse of myself in my only appearance at a school nativity play, held in the village hall, and this magnificent song from Slade at “Number One” quickly evokes my warm feelings from that particular year. I can vividly remember being at school and announcing that Slade’s classic had gone to the top of the pile, taking over from “I Love You Love Me Love” by another glam-rock singer who will remain nameless. But the main reason why Christmas 1973 is so fondly remembered is that my parents announced that they would take me to Stamford Bridge for the first-ever time in the New Year.

Yes, Christmas 1973 was lovely.

Fifty years ago.

Oh to be eight again.

The Slade hit from all those decades ago was quickly followed by “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday” by Wizard, another Midlands band, and this reached number two behind Slade in 1973.

Next up, “Kashmir” by Led Zeppelin, a nod towards Robert Plant – born locally – and an honorary vice-president of Wolves to this day. I spotted Plant chatting to a villager outside the local pub in my village that he was staying in for the Glastonbury Festival in 2022.

Next up, a crooner from Tupelo Mississippi, not the Black Country, and “The Wonder Of You.”

I was wondering if it should be-remixed as “The Wonder Of Yow.”

I whispered to the bloke next to me –

“Just play ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining’ and be bloody done with it.”

After the golden flames appeared in front of the Steve Bull Stand, “Hi Ho” appeared on the playlist and how the locals loved it.

“Hi Ho Wolverhampton!”

I reminded Gemma that “this lot were fined last year for the homophobic stuff, weren’t they?”

Over in the stand to the right, there were banners honouring Derek Dougan and Billy Wright, along with Steve Bull, Wolves’ most favourite sons.

It was a mild and overcast day. The grey skies closed in on Molineux.

Chelsea appeared in the deep blue away kit for the first time.

“Looks too Tottenham to me” I thought.

Up close there are the geometric lines that would not have looked out of place on a sci-fi poster from the mid-‘eighties.

“One for the nerds” I thought to myself.

Our team?

Petrovic

Gusto – Silva – Disasi – Colwill

Ugochukwu – Gallagher

Sterling – Palmer – Jackson

Broja

Or something like that. At times Broja ran the wide channels. At times Jackson did. Who knows?

We attacked the old South Bank that used to hold almost 30,000 in the first-half. Renamed the Sir Jack Hayward Stand it now holds a lot less. In a far corner there is an open-air segment that holds around a thousand hardy souls.

In the first ten minutes, there were a couple of half-chances for Nicolas Jackson – “pull the trigger!” – and Armando Broja that left the Chelsea faithful mumbling words of distress.

Some of those wearing the Santa hats – of which there were many, I fear for humanity – began swirling them above their heads, which brought back an image of scarf-twirling from my first game in 1974 – and this was met by ridicule from the South Bank.

“What the fookin’ hell was that?”

And then, I was just able to decipher this –

“We can’t say it, you know what you are.”

After a quarter of an hour I turned to Gemma and said “I hate to say it but we have so much of the ball but carry no threat at all.”

However, Wolves breaks were cut out pretty easily by the Chelsea defence. Levi Colwill doesn’t convince me as a left-back though. He hasn’t impressed me greatly this season. Raheem Sterling enjoyed a few pacey bursts down in front of us, but his end product was shocking.

On twenty minutes, Jackson completely miss controlled a ball into him, with nobody close. The frustration rose. The home fans began booing Sterling after he fell too easily in the box. The abuse was loud. I looked at Sterling for a reaction. There was nothing.

The Chelsea fans backed him :

“Raheem Sterling, he’s won more than you.”

I liked it that we were sticking up for him – not the easiest player to warm to – but then realised that all of the trophies that were being referenced had been won with Manchester City.

Er.

On twenty-eight minutes, a free-kick from the man Sterling. It flew over the wall. It was the sort of free-kick that needed to be clipped, not struck through.

A silly foul on a Wolves player just outside our box resulted in a free-kick that thankfully came to zilch.

On thirty-one minutes, the defining moment of the half, if not the whole game. From a goal-kick, Joao Gomes was pick-pocketed by Sterling and we watched as he raced away in a central position. To his right, supporting him, were Palmer and Jackson. Surely a goal would follow here. Unbelievably, Sterling chose not to pass but to shoot. Agonisingly, the Wolves’ ‘keeper Jose Sa got down to block. I don’t really want to include the photo in my match gallery but feel I have to.

Sorry.

To make matters worse, a weak shot from Gallagher from the follow up was easily saved by Sa.

The Chelsea support bellowed their anger towards Sterling.

I muttered my two penn’orth : “I can’t even begin to work out how many years I need to work to earn what he earns in a week.”

I hate modern football.

There were a few half-chances at the end of the first-half. Petrovic hesitated but was then let off. Palmer shot over. At least he is not afraid to shoot.

It had been a pretty dire half.

My pre-match prediction of a 0-0 draw seemed to be spot on.

Just as the second-half began, the two Bobs resumed watching from two rows in front of me. I took a photo. They smiled. I suggested to them that I will never see them happy ever again.

There were a few Wolves chances. After Thiago Silva gave up possession cheaply, a shot from Gomes touched a post as it was deflected off Ugochukwu. Then a strong header directed with pace at our ‘keeper at the near post from Toti but Petrovic blocked well. They had enjoyed the brighter start to the half.

On fifty-one minutes, a corner – one of a few – from the Wolves right. The ball fell centrally, but there was no Chelsea presence, no Chelsea leap, no Chelsea anything. Mario Lemina rose unchallenged to glance the ball in.

Bollocks.

Approaching the hour, Mauricio Pochettino shuffled the pack.

Christopher Nkunku came on for Ugochukwu and Mykhailo Mudryk replaced the poor Broja. I wondered, as did many, how Jackson was still on the pitch. Mudryk took up residency on the left and we tried our hardest to will him past players. On sixty-five minutes, Nkunku stabbed a half-chance at goal but it was deflected and then cleared off the line. Just after, receiving the ball centrally, Nkunku chose not to shoot but to pass to Palmer who chose not to shoot but to pass to Sterling who chose not to shoot but…you get the message…he took a touch, an extra touch that flattened the angle, and the Wolves defender Craig Dawson blocked the low shot. The ball spun high and over the bar.

Expletive. Expletive. Expletive.

It seemed to be all Chelsea by now, but we were not creating much. For Frome Town on Friday read Chelsea on Sunday. A Malo Gusto error let in a Wolves strike, but it was saved.

More substitutions.

Ian Maatsen for Colwill.

Benoit Badiashile for Gusto.

Noni Madueke for Jackson.

I didn’t join in the applause that greeted Jackson’s substitution, but many did. Each to their own, eh?

With the influx of new players, it seemed like a new team out there, certainly in the attacking third. I wondered if it was asking too much to expect them to gel, to fit together, to create chances. The Chelsea support, hardly making much of a contribution all game, were roused a little and tried to inspire the players.

“CAM ON CHOWLSEA. CAM ON CHOWLSEA.”

A crazy extra eleven minutes were signalled.

“Fackinell, we’ve got homes to go to.”

Madueke was full or running and looked a threat. He launched a curler that sadly swept past the Wolves goal.

On ninety-three minutes, Wolves carved us open way too easily down to my left. As the move developed, I had this sudden fear of them scoring and the Chelsea crowd leaving en masse. I must have a sixth-sense. A cross was played in. It hit the heel of Badiashile – what a calamity – and sat up nicely for Matt Doherty to slide the ball home.

Goal.

People left.

Fackinell.

The South Bank seized the moment.

“Take your hats and fuck off home.”

I inwardly smiled.

Gits.

As is so often the case, the team chasing an equaliser soon scored after conceding another goal. The substitute Nkunku adeptly headed home a fine cross from Sterling, who had also managed to stay on the pitch despite almost half-a-team-full of substitutions.

Virtually the last action of the whole horrid game was a thumped free-kick by Gallagher that was easily claimed by Sa, all dressed in pink like a stick of Blackpool rock.

It would seem that we are only seeing glimpses, occasional glimpses, of this team playing half-decent football at the moment. It is a huge worry. As we approach the half-way mark in this totally underwhelming season, I see us finishing no higher than our current position of tenth. The half-way mark will be reached at home to Crystal Palace on Wednesday.

See you there.