Tales From Chelsea World

Posted on December 23, 2023 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Newcastle United : 19 December 2023.

The League Cup Quarter-Final at home to Newcastle United was positioned just before the rush of football games over Christmas and the New Year. In this heady period – from Friday 22 December to Monday 1 January – there would be three Chelsea games and three Frome Town games for me to attend. It’s what Christmas is for, right?

The visiting Geordies would be backed by a strong following of around 5,500 in The Shed but their team were beset with injuries. Chelsea, too, were missing several first-teamers. It was a match that intrigued me. It was a game that we could win. It was a game that could propel us into an unlikely Semi-Final. But Newcastle United would be a tough opponent despite their missing players.

An early shift behind me, I deposited my three passengers off at two different locations at Chelsea World; the first-two were dropped-off on Bramber Road, just a short hop to the evening’s base of “The Rylston” on Lillee Road and the third one was deposited right outside the main gates at Stamford Bridge. As I slowly drove back along the Fulham Road, I snapped the view of the West Stand, its forecourt and the milieu of Christmas lights falling like snow from the stand’s facade, the neon lights and the club crest, the milling crowds, a bright Christmas tree, and the Peter Osgood statue.

It felt like I was driving home for Christmas.

SW6 may not be my home, but sometimes it feels like it must be.

Not wanting to collect an unwanted parking ticket I drove around for twenty minutes and then parked up on Mulgrave Road bang on five o’clock. I met up with PD, Parky and Salisbury Steve in “The Rylston” just after 5pm.

The kick-off was at 8pm. We had three hours to relax. By an odd quirk, this pub – nestled under the flats of the Clem Atlee Estate – is run by the same pub management company as our usual haunt “The Eight Bells” further south. The Yellow Panda Pub Company has just these two in their portfolio. The lads worked their way through a few lagers, while I had the usual non-alcoholic offerings that accompany my match days. Food was a third off between 3pm and 6pm so a decent picante pizza was less than a tenner. It went down well.

I looked around at the clientele and it was very different from “The Eight Bells.” Our usual domicile, right down the bottom end of Fulham, is full of what could quite rightly be termed “old school” Chelsea support; virtually all blokes, decidedly working class, hardly any Chelsea colours on show, ribald laughter booming. In contrast, “The Rylston” attracted a more varied demographic; more couples, a few Chelsea shirts on show, a more middle-class vibe, hushed tones.

I could not help feel that these two pubs had swapped their clientele. Once an estate pub – I remember it as looking pretty rough, at least from the outside, “The Rylston” still has one of the poorest estates in London on its doorstep. It has, however, undergone a tidy re-vamp over the last decade. I like it a lot. By contrast, “The Eight Bells” is located, to my eyes, in a more affluent adjacent area.

I can almost hear the “compare and contrast” instruction from a social geography course at poly in the ‘eighties.

As we left the pub at about 6.45pm – a mild night – I took a few photos of the lads. I could not help but notice the black and white pub sign. I remembered the Panda from the pub company. Was I tempting fate ahead of the tie against the black and white hordes. At least a single magpie didn’t ominously appear. We made our way along Lillee Road, a red London bus drove past, the Clem Atlee to our right, the towering Empress State Building ahead. Another London bus flew by. We were deep in Chelsea World. I smiled.

Driving home for Christmas.

We were all in at about 7.15pm.

As the away fans were encamped in The Shed, Parky had been transplanted to the Matthew Harding. As against Brighton and Blackburn Rovers, I took his ticket and he took mine so that he could sit alongside PD and Alan in “The Sleepy”; my seat was centrally towards the goal. I spotted Luke, another Shed End regular – who used to sit very close to Lord Parsnips until last season – and so I took a snap of them being reunited at the other end of the stadium.

There were the Newcastle fans, set up in two tiers, at The Shed, and a decent showing on a Tuesday night in London. They brought a few flags, including a very odd one that featured the letters “NUFC” and an image of a woman with a tooth missing.

At 7.50pm, “London Calling”, “Parklife” and “Liquidator.”

The usual – kinda cringe worthy by now – light show and accompanying flames welcomed the teams onto the pitch.

Our Chelsea eleven?

Djordje Petrovic.

Axel Disasi – Thiago Silva – Benoit Badiashile – Levi Colwill

Moises Caicedo – Conor Gallagher

Cole Palmer – Enzo Fernandez – Raheem Sterling

Nicolas Jackson

In the Newcastle United team was Tino Livramento but not Lewis Hall. Despite some players missing, they still boasted Miguel Amiron, Callum Wilson and Anthony Gordon, all undoubted threats.

It was a lively start. An unmarked Gordon managed to get a shot in on the goal that we were defending down below us but it was deflected for a corner. On six minutes, Gallagher saw his curling effort bounce against the Shed End crossbar. We began well. There was a Newcastle cross from their right that didn’t drop for an attacker to pounce but it had me worried.

Not long after, calamity. From a cross from the bye-line from Disasi, we gave up possession and Newcastle broke with pace. Callum Wilson, however, had Caceido chasing him and the twin pillars of Silva and Badiashile closing in on him. This pincer movement failed. He ghosted past Silva. Badiashile then seemed to get his legs tangled. I watched in horror as the ball was adeptly curled with the outside of his foot past the forlorn dive of Petrovic.

Fackinell.

It seemed the unluckiest of goals to concede, but now we were up against it.

We were immediately treated to an absolutely magnificent sliding tackle from Silva, and if I was to say that it was worth the admission money alone I would stand by my comment. Pure class.

A twist and a shot at the near post from Palmer. There was a nice “one-two” between Sterling and Caicedo on twenty-seven minutes but his roller just evaded the goal frame. Just after, another shot from Sterling was blocked after a decent break down the right.

These chances were few and far between though. I was again frustrated to see Sterling in acres of space but criminally under-utilised. Our build-up play lacked guile. The two centre-backs seemed to be touching the ball every five seconds.

“Slow, slow, quick, quick, slower.”

At least the Newcastle threat had dwindled; they were quite content to defend deep.

“LOW BLOCK” shout the FIFA nerds.

Yeah, low bock, whatever.

Fernandez was surprisingly substituted on thirty-two minutes and was replaced by Armando Broja. There was a shifting of personnel and Sterling popped up on the right, taking over from Palmer. Jackson was shunted out towards the East Stand. I speculated if he would be better positioned behind the East Stand.

The noise from us wasn’t great. There were a few attempts at getting something started. I couldn’t decipher much of it, but the away fans were making a fair old racket.

“Noo-cassel You-nited. We’ll nevah be defeated.”

As the first-half continued, I moaned to the chap next to me “one-hundred and ten passes and its going nowhere.”

Jackson was having a minimal impact, aside from getting caught offside. There had been one, just one, excellent run from him – that both the bloke next to me and I had spotted – but which was not spotted by the man on the ball. We longed for the movement of Crespo or Vialli.

“Proper strikers” he murmured.

It was so noticeable that, even with Broja on the pitch, we were loath to send crosses into the Geordie box. I wondered that we would need Zaphod Beeblebrox loitering at the far post before we started crossing high balls into the mixer.

At the end of the first-half, Broja’s goal was called back for offside, Newcastle had two efforts on our goal, and Palmer supplied, probably, one of the highest ever crosses seen at Stamford Bridge, only for Jackson to head it over at the far stick. Perhaps if he had two heads he would have fared better.

At half-time, there were moans.

“We aren’t hitting our front players quick enough. By the time we play the bloody ball, they are fully marked.”

At the break, Malo Gusto replaced Colwill at left-back.

The chap next to me said that if Reece James was to be out for an extended stay, as is likely, Gusto would be an able replacement. I could not disagree. He has been a good addition this season.

Soon into the first-half, there was nothing but praise and applause for the much-maligned Jackson who chased a Newcastle break from Gordon and put in a timely tackle way inside our own half. Fair play to him. I was not upset when Gordon would soon be substituted.

Bursting down the right, that man Gusto played in Broja who set up Jackson. He swivelled nicely but his GPS let him down, the shot missing the near post by a yard or so. A minute after, Jackson prodded the ball through to the rampaging Sterling, but his low shot was pushed – low down – past the far post by Dubravka.

There was noise now.

“Chelsea – Chelsea – Chelsea – Chelsea. Chelsea – Chelsea – Chelsea.”

You know the tune.

Stamford Bridge was alive and it felt like a proper game, a proper cup tie.

On the hour, another magnificently-timed sliding tackle from Silva. More glorious applause.

“Come on, keep up the intensity Chels.”

By now, Newcastle’s attack had virtually ceased.

The noise continued. At last Christopher Nkunku made his Chelsea debut, replacing Jackson.

A big roar.

It seemed like the second coming of Christ.

I turned to the chap to my right.

“No pressure.”

Ten minutes later, Mykhailo Mudryk replaced Sterling and Ian Maatsen replaced Disasi. Gusto moved to the right. Mudryk was soon attempting to dance down the left. Was I confident of us getting an equaliser? Maybe. Only maybe.

Into the last ten minutes, the atmosphere had noticeably quietened. Perhaps the Chelsea faithful were not confident of that equaliser. Mudryk found himself our main threat. A teasing cross was headed, almost disastrously, into his own goal by Livramento.

On eighty-nine minutes, a wriggle from Gallagher – our best player, he was everywhere – and a coming together of bodies but no penalty.

There were four minutes of injury time but I had hoped for more.

Four minutes? Fackinell.

The bloke next to me couldn’t hold it in any longer, and excused himself. He got up, we shook hands, and off he went. I like these temporary friendships that we make at football. I’ll probably never see him again, but it is always nice not to be sat next to a dickhead, of which there are many, at Chelsea. At away games, those temporary friendships always tend to solidify over the years.

Into injury time, a deep cross from the nimble and mobile Gusto was aimed at the far post. For some reason that only he knows, Keiran Trippier reacted oddly to the ball as it bounced up in front of him. He seemed to be shocked that the ball would take its trajectory. Mudryk, just behind him, reacted quickly.

My heart-beat increased. I gulped some air. I stood.

The ball sat up nicely.

The Ukrainian walloped it in.

Fackinell.

GET IN.

The Bridge boomed.

The scorer ran past the lucky ones in the front row at pitch side and continued his run over to the West Stand, not usually the place to aim for. Shades of Micky Thomas against Sheffield Wednesday in 1984.

Stay still my beating heart.

Fackinell indeed.

Ninety-three minutes had elapsed. This was indeed a late-late show. I immediately thought back to a Les Ferdinand equaliser for the Toon Army, equally late, in an FA Cup tie in January 1996. Revenge for that, maybe?

Before we could breath, the final whistle sounded. I hoped for the penalties to be taken down our end. There seemed to be a longer-than-usual delay.

The players walked to the half-way line and faced the Newcastle followers in The Shed.

Ugh.

I remembered an FA Cup loss on penalties at The Shed against Everton in 2011.

I prepared my camera for its big moments.

Cole Palmer – a confident strike low to the right, tucked just inside the post.

1-0.

Callum Wilson – down the middle, git.

1-1.

Conor Gallagher – a short run up but a smash high, phew.

2-1.

Keiran Trippier – “you little prick” might have out him off, a drive wide of the left-hand post.

2-1.

Christopher Nkunku – a confident smack high left, welcome to Chelsea my son.

3-1.

Bruno Guimaraes – a stop/start run up, but struck just inside the right-hand post.

3-2.

Mykhailo Mudryk – a brief approach, stroked to the left, surely evoking Didier in Munich for us all.

4-2.

Matt Ritchie – confidently struck, but flamboyantly saved by Petrovic, magnificent stuff.

Yes!

Within the space of sixteen minutes, we had come back from the dead. Into the League Cup semis we went. Thousands of puns simultaneously erupted all over Chelsea World about Djordje and the Geordies.

This was a stunning turnaround. But it was a reward for our dominance in an increasingly noisy and enthralling second-half.

“Freed From Desire” boomed around Stamford Bridge and there was a lot of untidy body movements in the Matthew Harding Upper. Then “One Step Beyond” and even more shocking behaviour.

But I didn’t mind.

Outside, there were so many Chelsea smiles and a massive sense of release.

“Freed” indeed. Maybe the DJ was right.

Fackinell.

Our team and our club continue to confuse us all, but this win seemed so important. I am not going to naively suggest it might save our season but stranger things have happened. It might just get the positivity flowing again.

As I drove home, we learned that Middlesbrough had beaten Port Vale and Fulham had edged out Everton.

We often underplay the importance of the League Cup these days, but surely no Chelsea fan currently does. I can’t wait for the semi-final.

See you there.

Postscript 1.

In preparing for this write-up, I stumbled across the realisation that in September 2010, we came from 1-3 down to get to 3-3 in a League Cup game against Newcastle United at Stamford Bridge only for Shola Ameobi to score on ninety minutes to give the visitors a 4-3 triumph. Shockingly, I have no recollection of this game.

Postscript 2.

As I reached my car on Mulgrave Road, I had opened up my boot and threw my jacket in. There, in a corner, I spotted a black and white bobble hat – a free-gift from a visit to see Queens Park at Hampden a year ago – and I smiled. I need not have worried about me tempting the Footballing Gods with those black and white references pre-match. I had already committed a cardinal sin, but thankfully I had not been punished.

Tales From My Blackburn Scrapbook

Posted on November 4, 2023 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Blackburn Rovers : 1 November 2023.

Treacherous waters ahead…

But first, we hoped, a little respite in the form of a home tie in the season’s Carabao Cup against Blackburn Rovers. Here was a game that we should win, surely?

This was another early start for me; a 4.30am alarm ahead of a day’s toil that would allow me to pick up my three usual passengers at 2pm. We were all well aware that Storm Ciaran was soon to hit the south of England and so I hoped that the drive up to London would be ahead of the expected rainstorms and gales. I would, we presumed, have all of that to contend with on the return drive home after the game. PD kept saying that the rain was due in London at 9pm.

On the drive towards the capital, the skies to the east and the north were fine, devoid of much cloud, and all very pleasant. However, behind me, in my mirrors, dense grey clouds haunted us most of the way but thankfully did not hit us.

Already through to the quarter finals were Port Vale and Middlesbrough. Could there possibly be a case of me tempting fate by writing about Port Vale in my previous match report? Should we get through later in the evening, an away game at Vale Park would undoubtedly be my favourite draw. The last time we played them was in 1929, almost a century ago. Alternatively, Ipswich Town would be decent; Portman Road is a ground that I am yet to visit. Alternatively, an away game in Newcastle or in Middlesbrough or in Liverpool or in Manchester would severely test me. Ouch.

At just after 5pm, I trotted into “The Rylston” to join up with PD and Parky, who I had dropped off forty minutes earlier. They were with Salisbury Steve’s mate Sam. I ordered some food and we chatted a little about the club at the moment. I could not lie; I told the boys that I honestly wondered if we would – could? – pick up a single point from the next treacherous six league games. I stayed in “The Rylston” for an hour and then an hour was spent in “Simmons” where there was a little pre-match meet-up between some friends from the US. I enjoyed a natter with Nick from California, Tim from Texas and Kim from California. I left the bar just after 7pm and was amazed, but pleased, that the rain had not yet hit.

Tickets for this game were back at the £26 level. Well done Chelsea.

Blackburn Rovers, eh? It has been a while.

In fact, the last time that we had met them was the weekend before a certain game in Munich in 2012, a narrow 2-1 win. In that game, we wore the 2012/13 kit and I hoped that it would not be worn in Munich. I did not like the precedent of the 2008/9 shirt being worn in Moscow. On that day, we thought that we had seen the last of Didier Drogba at Chelsea. After the game, the FA Cup was paraded and Roy Bentley made the Matthew Harding laugh with his antics. It was a lovely day, almost dreamlike from this point in time in a little less optimistic 2023.

Blackburn Rovers were relegated that season and have been battling to get back to the top flight ever since. They suffered relegation to League One – I still like to call it Division Three – in 2016/17 but were promoted the very next season.

I used to like going up to Ewood Park. On a few occasions I travelled up with my Rovers mate Mark, including my first visit in 1994/95, a 1-2 loss. There was a game in 1995/96 when I watched with my mate Alan in the home seats when we lost 0-3 and we were immediately sussed when we didn’t spring to our feet when Rovers’ first goal went in. In more hostile environments, we would not have got off quite so lightly.

There was the Gianfranco Zola debut in 1996/97 when Chelsea completely filled the lower section of the away end, but also had some fans in the top tier too, a healthy 4,000 in total. A fine game ended 1-1 on that occasion.

There was a game that I watched with Mark in a hospitality suite in 1997/98 as guests of a supplier for the toiletries company that we worked for. Until the opener this season, it is the only Chelsea game where I have “gone corporate” and it was an odd experience. The two of us had watched a Rovers vs. Villa game from the same hospitality suite the previous season too.

I have been up there eleven times in total, but all at the redeveloped Ewood Park, none at the original version. I missed the two most famous away games up there in recent years; the 4-3 win in 1998/99 and the 1-0 win in 2004/5, both mid-week games and difficult for me to reach.

The last time that I saw a game at Ewood with Mark was in 2003/04. By then Chelsea were the un-loved money men where once Blackburn Rovers held that mantle. One wonders if the media would have been so against Jack Walker and Roman Abramovich had their monies gone to more favoured teams on Fleet Street. I think we know the answer to that question.

Arguably our most famous game ever with them was the FA Cup Semi-Final at Old Trafford in 2007, a nice 2-1 win.

Of course there have been plenty of games at Stamford Bridge too. The first one for me was the opening game of 1988/89 when our terraces were closed due to the near riot against Middlesbrough. On that day, just 8,722 saw us lose 1-2. Depressing times.

I also remember the last game of 1995/96, a 2-3 loss, but acknowledged by everyone at Chelsea as the game in which the fans played a major role in determining the next Chelsea manager. Glenn Hoddle was to take over as England manager from Terry Venables and according to the English press, Ken Bates’ mind was full of George Graham as the replacement. The Chelsea choir had other ideas.

“You can stick George Graham up your arse.”

We serenaded Ruud Gullit that Sunday afternoon. He was soon named as our manager. Job done.

I was inside Stamford Bridge at around 7.15pm.

Still no rain.

Rovers only had 3,000 having turned down the chance to have more. This surprised me somewhat. On the Shed balcony were two away flags. One simply said “Darwen BRFC” and I quickly messaged Mark. It is his home town. It was Mark who first spoke to me about Adidas designer Gary Aspden – himself a native of Darwen – about his collaborations with the sportswear giant and the Spezial range especially. It was his story which eventually lead me to tracking down Carlos Ruiz at his incredible shop in Buenos Aires in 2020.

Just before kick-off, a brief flurry of texts.

Chris : “Good luck.”

Mark : “Not expecting much.”

Chris : “That’s OK. Neither am I.”

Good God, that Rovers away kit was shite.

Us?

Nice to see Benoit Badiashile back in the team. Reece James was starting again. Enzo back. Jackson too. And “Les”. No Mudryk.

Sanchez

James – Disasi – Badiashile – Cucarella

Ugochukwu – Enzo – Gallagher

Palmer – Jackson – Sterling

The Rovers team included solidly British and Irish names such as Brittain, Hill, Carter, Pickering Wharton, Travis, Moran, Garrett and Leonard, whoever they were.

I used to be able to name the Blackburn Rovers team, nay squad. Sigh.

At least I recognised their exotic-sounding manager Jan Dahl Tomasson, who once briefly played for Newcastle United among others.

As the game kicked off, I presumed that the folk from Blackburn, Darwen, Accrington, Rawtenshall, Oswaldtwistle, Clayton-le-Moors and Ramsbottom would be singing songs throughout the evening about Burnley Football Club.

It’s their thing.

The game started.

Still no rain.

We were treated to a very rare occurrence at the kick-off as Enzo pumped the ball up towards Nicolas Jackson who got a shot in from an angle within ten seconds of the whistle.

It was a decent enough start, though it hardly got our pulses racing. Unsurprisingly, the away team were in no mood to attack and aimed to soak up pressure. Raheem Sterling, away in the far corner, cut inside and there was a strong penalty appeal as he tangled with a defender. Enzo then released James down the right but his shot was low and straight at the Rovers’ ‘keeper.

Our play deteriorated a little and there were some moans around us. Rovers tried to get in the game but their attacks were rare. The noise, even from the away support, was not great. The three of us – PD, Alan and I – sat with our arms crossed. We must have looked as grumpy as hell.

There was an easy save from Robert Sanchez down below us as Rovers threatened a little.

At last, something to cheer us up; we witnessed a sublime spin and turn from Cole Palmer on the half-way line. In fact, it was Palmer who produced most of the pleasing play in the opening period. His touch, skill and awareness was a constant treat. Enzo set up James again, and our right back advanced to find space but his low shot was drilled low and eventually wide of the far post. A fine shimmy from Enzo allowed him to create space but his weak shot was kept out by the Blackburn ‘keeper.

On the half-hour, a short corner was worked well – for once – and Conor Gallagher lofted a cross into the six-yard box. The ‘keeper flapped at it and the ball fell towards a Chelsea player.

I snapped with my SLR.

In it flew.

Who was the scorer? Ah, the returnee.

Badia – Badia – Bing.

We were 1-0 up.

Alan : “THTCAUN.”

Chris : “COMLD.”

The Matthew Harding reprised one of its current songs.

“Todd Boehly went to France…”

I found it reassuring when I heard Alan solemnly comment that he refuses to sing that song. I refuse to do so too. I would feel uncomfortable singing that man’s name, giving him some sort of recognition.

I have already heard enough from Todd Boehly to regard him as a fool.

The away team mustered up a late effort on goal in a rather dull first-half, but Andrew Moran’s effort faded past Sanchez’ far post. Our ‘keeper had completed a couple of Word Search puzzles in that first-half.

At 9pm, as PD predicted, rain.

There was a slight scare at the very start of the second period when an early Chelsea attack broke down and Rovers attacked down the right. Harry Leonard just about kept ahead of the chasing pack but his shot was hit meekly wide, with the watching three-thousand away supporters no doubt trying to suck the ball in.

We improved in the second-half.

I loved an early through-ball that Enzo pushed forward early and into space. Two Chelsea players attacked the ball but the chance evaporated. But I loved this variation to the tap tap tap of balls being pushed around for the sake of it.

Sterling started to dazzle and he set up Enzo, who again left his shooting boots at home, a tame effort straight at the ‘keeper. It was then Palmer’s turn to shake off a defender with some fancy dancing, and he created an angled shot that flew over via the ‘keeper’s fingertips.

On the hour, the two players then combined, Palmer stealing the ball from a Rovers defender and feeding it inside to Sterling, who curled a fine shot into the goal, clipping it around the closest defender. It’s becoming his trademark goal. I snapped that one too

Get in.

[thinking : “Vale away next please”]

We had heard that West Ham were beating Arsenal, Newcastle were winning at Old Trafford. My mind drifted a little as I played with various scenarios. We had all admitted pre-match that getting to a League Cup Final, or even a semi-final, with this current team and squad in its current state of health and mind would indeed be something to celebrate.

What’s that saying about cutting cloth accordingly?

Once proud Chelsea, serial-winners, getting excited about a League Cup Final?

Yes. Absolutely.

It’s amazing how a – relatively – poor spell re-jigs expectations and aspirations. I think most of my close mates would kill for a stint in the Europa Conference next season.

A couple of substitutions.

Malo Gusto for James.

Levi Colwill for Badiashile.

We could relax a little now. Sterling set up Jackson who lazily blasted over. He was not having a great game. There was more trickery from Palmer and a low shot from outside the box. The ball took a deflection en route and hit the base of the post. A low shot from Gallagher went just wide. We were treated to The Sterling Show, with one mazy dribble into the heart of the Rovers’ penalty box drawing gasps from us all.

Two more substitutions.

Moises Caicedo for Jackson.

Noni Madueke for Palmer.

The away team broke through our ranks but the strong fist of Sanchez thwarted the low shot from the substitute Sigurdsson.

It stayed 2-0.

A much better second-half, with Sterling excellent.

On the walk back to the car, the rain continued, but the drive back to Wiltshire and Somerset was not as bad, truthfully, as on Saturday. However, the road near my house was even more flooded than on Saturday so I avoided it and quickly adjusted the last half-a-mile. I reached home at 12.45am.

Oh, another home draw, awaits us in the Quarter-Finals; Newcastle United.

Vale Park will have to wait until the Semi-Final.

Next up…groan…Tottenham away on Monday evening.

See you there.

1988/89

1995/96

1996/97

1997/98

2003/04

2011/12

2023/24

Tales From A Goal And A Win

Posted on October 1, 2023 by Chris Axon

Chelsea vs. Brighton And Hove Albion : 28 September 2023.

After defeating AFC Wimbledon in the Second Round of the League Cup, we could have been drawn away to Salford City, Exeter City, Ipswich Town, Mansfield Town, Peterborough United, Bradford City, Port Vale, Sutton United or Lincoln City in the next round. I have not seen Chelsea play at any of these clubs’ stadia. However, the draw for the Third Round gave us a home tie with Brighton & Hove Albion. This was met with the usual grumbling from me. I don’t have a feverish desire to tick off all ninety-two grounds before I exit stage left, but a new ground is always a pleasant experience.

As I typed out the teams in that list above, I felt a little sadness that I have not seen us play at either Valley Parade nor Portman Road. These two stadia belong to two teams that we have played a fair few times over the years. However, the twin perils of geography and economics have not always been aligned for me to travel as much as I do now. I guess that I should mention that I have seen a game at Port Vale, lured in by a chance to see Micky Droy play for Brentford at Vale Park only for him to be injured, when I was at college in The Potteries. Quite a few fellow Chelsea supporters that I know have reached “92” on many occasions and are constantly topping up their totals as new teams arrive in the fourth tier.

Me? I am up to fifty-eight of the current ninety-two English and Welsh stadia, plus a few “doubles” too. Other than that, there are around forty clubs in the non-league arena that I have visited. So, a total of around one hundred clubs in the UK visited for actual games. I’ll make an exhaustive list one day. It’s a pretty low figure compared to many. I know of one Chelsea fanatic who is up to six-hundred individual stadia worldwide, and another who has seen games at over two and a half thousand stadia worldwide. Across the globe, I think that I might be up to around one hundred and seventy-five individual stadia.

Stadium number one in that list was Frome Town in 1970 and I returned there on Tuesday, the night before the Brighton game. The home team won 3-2 against Evesham United with goals from Warren Maidment, Reece Rusher and James Ollis. This was Frome’s first league game in four weeks.

On the Wednesday, I set off for London with the usual three other passengers at around 2.15pm. I dropped Parky and Paul near “The Rylston” pub on Lillee Road at 4.30pm. I was able to drive down a relatively deserted North End Road, then up the Fulham Road, to drop Ron off at the main gates. It felt a little odd to be able to do this. I haven’t often driven up to the actual gates at Stamford Bridge, though I did park in the underground carpark on one or two occasions almost thirty years ago. After getting fined for arriving at a car parking space before the Luton Town game, I was wary not to park up too soon. I killed time by driving around a few blocks and hit my spot bang on 5pm just as a traffic warden had glided past.

I had driven past a father and daughter that I often see in “Norbros Pizzeria” on the North End Road. The father reminds me of Perry Benson who was in “This Is England.”

I joined the chaps in “The Rylston” for a drink. It sits at the northern edge of the Clem Atlee, and is a very decent boozer, though now attracting a very different clientele than the decades since its inception. I bet nobody from the Clem Atlee drinks there now. As such, it’s a perfect metaphor for that part of Fulham, that part of London.

I shot off to gobble down a diavolo pizza on the North End Road – Perry Benson and his daughter were in there, of course – and I then dipped into “Simmons” where I had a nice chat with Salisbury Steve. Neither of us were particularly relishing the game. Why would we be?

Brighton had over four thousand supporters in The Shed and so Parky was shunted into the MHU. I swapped with him so he could sit next to PD, while I took his seat in the more central Block 11. It suited us both. Before the game, I was able to spot three friends who normally sit in The Shed – Long Tall Pete, John and Dave – and I also spotted Terry Wine Gums too. Lo and behold, just before the kick-off, Perry Benson and his daughter took their seats right behind me and I spoke to them for the first time.

“Good food in there, innit?”

I enjoyed being able to watch the game from a different angle. It mirrors the “new ground” feeling. I would be pointing my camera at the usual objects but there would be different outcomes.

Our team?

Sanchez

Cucarella – Disasi – Colwill – Chilwell

Ugochukwu – Caicedo

Maatesen – Palmer – Mudryk

Jackson

Or something like that. Palmer, his first start, was definitely ahead of Uguchukwu and Caicedo.

I nestled myself in. I seemed to have a lot less room than in my usual seat. The pre-match music began in earnest and I thought that the House Of Pain, from thirty years ago, was an apt choice of band to start off the proceedings. Would we be jumping around later? I wasn’t sure.

There was the flash, then darkness and the pulsing beat of the pre-match light-show, and I worried for the future of mankind. On the pitch, men with forks were tapping the pitch with complete disinterest. As a spectacle, it needed a little more work, a little more choreography.

Fackinell.

I looked around. It was almost a full house. The bubble isn’t for bursting just yet. The tickets for the previous round were £26. These were £32. I hope the price rise stops there. It was a mild night in SW6. Secretly, I was sweating like bastard. That extra Hugo Boss hoodie was not a wise move.

The game kicked-off.

Brighton were in a very vivid red. Tariq Lamptey, one substitute appearance for us in 2019, was starting while Billy Gilmour was a substitute.

We began nicely, with some positive play going forward. Mudryk cut in but shot straight at the Brighton ’keeper.

It was a bit of a head-scratcher to see the maligned Marc Cucarella starting at right back, and the effervescent Brighton winger Kaoru Mitoma gave him a merry dance as a he advanced. Thankfully, a cross was smothered away for a goal-kick.

After a Chelsea attack, the ball was played back.

“Cucarella as the last man. That’s not a scary thought is it?”

Robert Sanchez had already fluffed a few lines; kicking for touch like a rugby player and failing to clear with ease. He had already passed the ball to one Brighton player in error. Then, his biggest error yet. With all of our hearts in our mouths, we watched as he kicked the ball straight to Joao Pedro. Mercifully, his lob evaded the goal and the ball nestled on top of the net.

Fackinell.

A run from Nicolas Jackson, but he crumpled too easily inside the box.

“Needs to be stronger.”

Palmer advanced but his shot was weak.

In front of us, another horrific piece of football from Sanchez, with him passing the ball to Caicedo with an attacker right behind him. The ball was lost and Ansu Fati, on loan from Barcelona, shot at goal. Thankfully Sanchez redeemed himself with a fine save.

Some nice interplay between Mudryk and Jackson set up the Ukrainian, whose advance was halted by two sliding tackles.

After a free-kick was cleared, the ball fell to Lesley Ugochukwu but his lofted chip sailed over via a deflection off a defender.

A long ball into space from Chilwell, captain on the night, found Mudryk in acres of space. His cross was flicked past the near post by Palmer.

It had been a first-half of few real chances with the abysmal performance of the ‘keeper Sanchez the main talking point in MHU Block 11. Only Palmer, Mudryk and Jackson stood out really.

The Brighton fans had been quiet. We had been quiet too. It was one of those nights.

Soon into the second-half, on fifty minutes, a slick move involving Caicedo, Ian Maatsen and Palmer – with exquisite footwork – set up Jackson who cleanly swept the ball in.

Get in.

The crowd roared. What a relief. We had joked for a while about wondering where our next goal would come yet here it was.

Phew.

I tried to capture the slide but there were too many arms being thrust into the air.

Mudryk set up Jackson but he dawdled a little too long and the angles worked against him; his shot was blocked by the outstretched leg of Verbruggen.

A fine ball from Cucarella into Caicedo set up Palmer. His slight touch was enough to see the ball reach Jackson, who tucked home. Sadly, I immediately saw the chequered flag for offside. It must have been close. It stayed as a 1-0 game.

Billy Gilmour came on as a Brighton substitute and a fair few clapped him on. I stood up and did so. He was part of our squad in Porto, that will do for me.

Raheem Sterling replaced Mudryk.

Then two more changes.

Conor Gallagher for Maatsen.

Enzo for Palmer.

Both had played well on the night; positive signs.

A quick break down the Brighton left set up Solly March but his header was right at Sanchez. Estupinan then drilled a cross right through the danger zone and it eventually went off for a Chelsea throw in. Brighton had been poor. This surprised me.

Armando Broja replaced Jackson.

Another promising show from him.

Alas, while chasing a long ball, Chilwell fell and it was clear that he was hurt. He was escorted off.

A volley from Joao Pedro was blasted over.

The minutes ticked by and we hoped that there would be no last minute twist, no last minute drama.

There was relief, much relief, at the final whistle.

The quality wasn’t brilliant, but a win is a win is a win. The big surprise on the night was Cucarella, who really grew into the game and impressed many with his tough tackling, decent distribution and high energy levels. Well done to him. We assembled back at the car and I made very good time on the drive home. I was back home at around 12.45am, definitely an early finish.

But so much for a new ground.

We were paired with Blackburn Rovers at home.

Next up, a trip for me to Kent on Saturday in the FA Cup before we assemble again on Monday night at Craven Cottage.

See you in The Eight Bells.

The Rylston