Chelsea vs. Port Vale : 4 April 2026.

The hangover from the loss at Everton lasted longer than I had expected, but it is no real surprise. The Chelsea team performed at a very low level, there was my personal altercation with a fellow-supporter, and the sight of the Chelsea team playing in front of just five-hundred of our three-thousand fans at the end of the game didn’t sit well with me at all.

However, there was a full fortnight before the next Chelsea game and I would be able to enjoy three Frome Town games in that period. It felt like a busman’s holiday, of sorts, and a very pleasant one too. That I needed to squeeze in five days of holiday in that fortnight made for a very nice feeling indeed.

The first of these games took place on Tuesday 24 March at Falmouth in Cornwall. After my faux-pas in booking up the wrong dates for a potential two-day stay, I made this a lengthy “in-and-out” mission. I had time for a drink with a Frome mate on the quayside first, though, and was amazed how many Frome supporters had travelled to the game. On a very wet night, in a competitive match, Frome ran out 4-1 winners. My position in the covered main stand meant I kept dry, but others were drenched despite standing under cover. There is, indeed, no escape from horizontal rain.

My abiding memory of the game was how entertaining the match turned out to be. Despite a soft pitch and atrocious conditions, both teams went hell-for-leather. Hats off to the Falmouth Town support too, who made a racket even when losing heavily.

However, I again realised a major difference between football on this night at this game and at this level in general and that of the Premier League.

At the very top level, players are super fit, and play is often squeezed into a very compact area, with defenders sitting deep. Therefore, play slows down because there is such a lack of space. Often players are squeezed into only thirty yards of the pitch’s length. However, at Frome’s level, players are not quite so fit, conditions are not so perfect, and play is much more spread out spatially. Very often, players take up half of the pitch’s length. This results in more space and a greater variety of ways and methods to attack.

Leaving a sodden Falmouth that night, my love of the lower levels of football was strengthened. I had seen football “how it used to be played” and those memories kept me contented on the long drive home.

These days, as always, we don’t need sporting perfection; we just crave entertainment.

The next game in my Frome Town trilogy was a home match with Didcot Town on Saturday 28 March. On a gorgeous sunny day, watched by a lovely attendance of 608, two David Duru goals gave Dodge a 2-0 win against a stubborn Didcot Town team. It rounded off a fine week of three wins, and our unbeaten run now stood at twenty-five in the league alone.

The final match took place in Worcestershire in the village of Inkberrow on Good Friday, home to Sporting Club Inkberrow. On a very windy day and backed by around one-hundred and forty away fans, Frome stormed to a 3-0 lead in the first half in a fantastic display of attacking football. No further goals ensued, but this was a very comprehensive performance. It meant that my hometown team required just one more point in its remaining four games to become Champions and secure automatic promotion back to the Southern League Premier.

One moment struck a chord from this game, though. Losing 0-3 and with just minutes remaining, the Inkberrow players were streaming forward in search of a goal. Their spirit was amazing to see. As a stark comparison, I was reminded of many occasions when Chelsea are losing and we witness defenders and midfielders passing the ball painstakingly between them, none of them taking ownership of the moment, none of them looking to play outside the tedious regimen we find at that level.

Sigh.

With the Frome break now behind me, it was time to focus on the oldest football competition in the world; Chelsea were up against Port Vale at Stamford Bridge in the Quarter Finals of the FA Cup.

A game against Vale was long overdue, despite them being only the twelfth team that we ever played way back on 21 October 1905. Our history with them goes back as far as is almost possible to go. However, we last played the Valiants from Burslem in 1929.

This would be a massive game for them. It was their biggest FA Cup match for decades. I tried to think of a Chelsea comparison. Maybe our visit to the San Siro in 1999, when it felt like a rights-of-passage, a tilt at giants, a massive away game.

Vale would be bringing around 6,500, the entire Shed End, and it meant that Parky would be displaced.

On the way over to collect Parky from his village, I spoke to PD about this.

“I wonder which poor unsuspecting bugger is going to be sat next to Parky today, mate?”

We had a little giggle.

It was a clear run up to London on this Saturday morning. Midway through our journey I asked Parky where he was sitting.

“Matthew Harding, mate.”

“Whereabouts, Parky?”

“Dunno, let me look at my phone…U08”

“That’s our section.”

“Oh nice…Row D, Seat 371.”

“Fackinell, mate…you’re sat next to us. You must have Clive’s seat.”

We cracked up.

What were the chances of that?

“I wonder which poor unsuspecting bugger is going to be sat next to Parky today?”

Us, that’s who.

Oh boy.

I met up with the lads in “The Eight Bells”, but there was a different vibe on this occasion. The Oxford vs. Cambridge boat race was taking place on the Thames, starting at nearby Putney Bridge, and so the pub was overflowing with pretty young things supporting both universities. There was also a smattering of Port Vale fans in the pub, causing no problems, and this added an extra dimension.

When it was revealed in the summer, the Port Vale home shirt gained lots of attention for its class and style. Up close it is even better. I spotted that the back of the shirt is sponsored, in feint gold, by my alma mater, the University of Staffordshire. Back in the ‘eighties it was known as North Staffs Poly. Because I always lived close to the Victoria Ground in Stoke, I always gravitated to Stoke City – I think I saw them play around seven or eight times in my three years in The Potteries – and never felt like supporting the “obscure but trendy” option of Port Vale. In fact, I only ever saw them play once while living in the city.

Back in 1987, on 24 January, I was lured up to Burslem to watch Port Vale play Brentford. In my third year of study at North Staffs Poly, I had yet to visit Vale Park, and I knew that I would have to get at least one visit in during my stay in the area. Why did I choose Brentford? I was lured in because Micky Droy, the ex-Chelsea defender, was playing for Brentford in 1986/87.

I took the bus up to Burslem – grey buildings, grey skies – and paid £2.50 to get in. After all that, Droy wasn’t playing. He was injured. Bollocks. I heard a voice inside my head say, “why in God’s name are you here?”

I watched from the Bykers Road end, a very ram-shackle terrace, as the home team won 4-1 in front of just 3,012. The star of that Vale team that season was their young striker Andy Jones who later signed for Charlton Athletic, though Robbie Earle, now a TV pundit, was playing for Vale too, himself a local from Newcastle-under-Lyme. I counted just sixty-five away fans at the other end of the ground.

Now, almost forty years later I would be seeing Port Vale play once more.

I chatted to a couple of “Stokies” in the pub and one of them mentioned how poorly his team were playing, mired to the bottom of the third tier.

“If you score one early, we will crumble.”

The pub was full of visitors from Vale and the Varsity, and it was a nice change. I even found myself watching the boat race on the TV, with memories of my childhood, eager to spot Craven Cottage on the TV screen.

Before the game began, there was a respectful mention of former Chelsea goalkeeper Tony Godden who had recently passed away, aged just seventy. Tony came in to our team in 1986 to offer some experience and played around thirty games. I liked him a lot. He went down in Chelsea folklore by saving two penalties within a few minutes of each other at the Stretford End in a game on 28 September 1986, a game that I attended while living in Stoke.

RIP Tony Godden

I can’t lie; despite Port Vale’s lowly position in League One, I was still worried about the outcome of this match. It had the potential to become the biggest banana skin of them all. Forget Orient in 1972 and forget Bradford City in 2015. This could be the biggest.

Which team did Liam Rosenior select?

Sanchez

Gusto – Fofana – Tosin – Hato

Santos – Lavia

Estevao – Palmer – Neto

Joao Pedro

This was surely a good enough team to beat the lowly Valiants?

In the game at Inkberrow on Good Friday, Albie Hopkins pounced on just twenty-two seconds to put Frome Town ahead, and Chelsea got off to an absolute flier in this game too. Pedro Neto fired in a corner in front of the travelling Vale fans at The Shed. The Vale ‘keeper Joe Gauci flapped not once but twice, and the ball broke to Jorrel Hato who smashed home from close range. Just sixty-four seconds were on the clock.

Chelsea 1 Port Vale 0.

Alan, next to Parky : “They’ll have to come at us know, duck.”

Me, next to Alan : “Come on my little diamonds, duck.”

There was that early goal. I wondered if they would indeed crumble.

We were dominating the early portion of the game, putting the visitors under pressure. A shot from Cole Palmer was blocked.

They countered occasionally, and a cross-come-shot from Rhys Walters whizzed across the six-yard box but here was no Port Vale player present to tap in. A header flew past the post from Connor Hall. But we never looked under threat.

On twenty-one minutes, Palmer set off on a central run, but resisted the urge to shoot on a few occasions, eventually ran out of steam, and lost control. A year or more ago, I felt sure he would have pulled the trigger. It illustrated his form of late, a product of both a lingering injury and a fall in self-confidence.

Just as the frustration was rising in the Stamford Bridge stands, Pedro Neto dug in to beat his defender on the right and crossed for Joao Pedro. He took a touch, pirouetted, dummied to shoot, then slotted home. It was a lovely goal.

Chelsea 2 Port Vale 0.

On thirty-nine minutes, a rare shot from Romeo Lavia, but a pathetic shot too, right at their ‘keeper.

Just after, on forty-two minutes, a ball forward – HOLD THE FRONT PAGE – by Tosin was beautifully touched by Malo Gusto into the path of Joao Pedro. Gusto had continued his run and drifted wide. Joao Pedro played in Gusto whose low shot was pushed out by Gauci towards Palmer. His stab at the ball was deflected in by the lunge of defender Jordan Lawrence-Gabriel.

Chelsea 3 Port Vale 0.

Game over? Surely.

Soon into the second period, we witnessed a lovely move. We won the ball and it was played out to Joao Pedro. His quick touch set up Santos to play in Estevao, who had been relatively quiet in the first half, but his left-footed shot grazed the post. Just after, Palmer was centrally located near the “D” and studiously aimed a shot towards the same post. It turned into the slowest shot of the season. Gauci ate it up.

Neto slammed a fine strike at Gauci.

The Matthew Harding, oddly, taunted the Vale support.

“Shall we sing a song for you?”

This was odd since the home support had hardly sung a note all afternoon.

On fifty-seven minutes, Gusto was found in some space and lofted a fine cross towards the ridiculously un-marked Tosin. The defender rose well and headed down well. It was a neat finish.

Chelsea 4 Port Vale 0.

Soon after, the old favourite echoed out throughout Stamford Bridge.

“Que sera sera, whatever will be, will be.”

Not so long after, a mightily loud “Vale ‘Til I Die” rang out of The Shed. It was their loudest moment. None of them had left, either. They were staying put.

Estevao, sent in by Neto, forced a save from Gauci.

On the hour, Liam Rosenior made some changes.

Alejandro Garnacho for Pedro Neto.

Liam Delap for Joao Pedro.

Dario Essugo for Palmer.

There were moans after Estevao played in Garnacho, who planted the ball over the bar.

Fackinell.

There later followed many instances of that crouching dribbling style of the Argentinian down below me.

On sixty-five minutes, Estevao hit the other post after being set free, and after twisting and turning inside the box. This young lad has such talent. His smile is infectious. I hope he stays with us for a while before others come calling.

From nowhere, the Stamford Bridge crowd at last generated some noise.

On sixty-nine minutes, an Estevao corner, a Santos leap, an easy goal, but awful defending again.

Chelsea 5 Port Vale 0.

On seventy-four minutes, a rare shot from a Vale player; a firm strike was well-saved by Sanchez, pushed out for a corner.

On seventy-eight minutes, a debut for Ryan Kavuma-McQueen, who replaced Romeo Lavia, quelle surprise.

On eighty-two minutes, a lovely ball set up Garnacho who struck a shot against the post, only for Estevao to tuck in the rebound. There was a suspicion of offside, but VAR disagreed.

Chelsea 6 Port Vale 0.

I chuckled when the visiting fans taunted us :

“Is there a fire drill?”

On eighty-five minutes, Josh Acheampong replaced Gusto.

In the last minute of the match, strong hold-up play from Delap set up Garnacho who was up against a lumbering Vale defender. He tumbled, and a penalty was signalled.

It looked to me like Garnacho had to argue with Delap about who would take the kick. In the end, Garnacho took the ball, and we waited.

I almost expected him to dribble the ball in.

But no, a confident strike.

Chelsea 7 Port Vale 0.

I would like to say “magnificent” but the opposition were truly atrocious.

They were lucky to get nought.

Right then…

Charlton Athletic, Hull City, Wrexham, Port Vale.

Who is next?

The Frome Trilogy

Chelsea vs. Port Vale