Chelsea vs. Wolverhampton Wanderers : 20 January 2025.

I said it. You said it. Even educated fleas said it.

“This is a must-win” game.

And it was. With just three points out of fifteen in our previous five league games, things were starting to slip for Chelsea Football Club. Back in August, at our first away game of the season, we walloped Wolverhampton Wanderers 6-2, and they were currently mired in the bottom reaches of the table, having shown little spirit nor substance in the following twenty games since then. So, a home game with Wolves? We had to win this one.

This was a Monday night match, an 8pm kick-off, and thus was a familiar drive up to HQ. I collected PD and LP at 2pm. I dropped them off in deepest Fulham at 4.30pm. On the way to London, I was able, at last, to talk to them both about a Frome Town game.

My hometown team’s first match in three weeks had taken place on the previous Saturday at Winchester City and this was my first Frome game since an evening in Bath in the middle of December. Despite going one goal down at Winchester, Frome immediately countered with a fine strike from Rex Mannings. Not long after, Zak Drew touched home a flick-on from Archie Ferris at a corner to give the away team a 2-1 lead. Despite coming under severe pressure during the second half, another neat strike from Joe O’Laughlin gave Frome our fourth win out of five games in the league. Despite still being stuck in the relegation zone, the improvements over the past five weeks have been sensational. At last, there is hope in the Frome ranks.

On the way up to my usual parking spot on Charleville Road, the sky was tinted with a pink glow, and I noted that several friends were posting shots of the sunset on “Facebook” from around London. On this day, Blue Monday – the most depressing day of the year apparently, not a good sign ahead of the game – at least Mother Nature was trying to keep our spirits up. I caught the tube at West Kensington, and there was a stop for some food at Earl’s Court and a first visit to “Zizzi.”

I checked to see if there were many away fans at “The Courtfield” outside the tube station at Earl’s Court, but I saw few. It is likely that the vicinity might well have been crawling with away fans just over forty years ago.

On Saturday 19 January 1985, Chelsea were to host Arsenal in a repeat of the season’s opener in August. I was to attend from my home in Stoke. However, there had been a mighty cold snap leading up to this game, and so on the day before I ‘phoned Chelsea to gauge the likelihood of the game taking place. The message from HQ was unless there was “adverse weather” overnight, the game would take place on the Saturday but at the earlier time of 2pm.

On the Saturday morning, I ‘phoned Chelsea again – at 8.30am – from a public call box outside Stoke City’s Victoria Ground and the game was on.

I caught the 9.20am train down from Stoke. My diary tells me that the fare had increased to £9.10. I quickly made my way over to Fulham Broadway and I bought a “Benches” ticket for £4. I had quite forgotten that tickets were needed for a few games in the “Benches” in 1984/85. I was in the ground early and was eventually joined by the usual crew.

From the left : me, Alan, Richard, Dave, Paul, Glenn, Glenn’s mate (who he had met on the train from Frome – possibly Swan from Radstock), Leggo and Mark.

My diary mentions “no fighting at all.”

This game gave me my first sighting of Charlie Nicholas, who had missed the game at Highbury. The pitch was terrible; mud everywhere, the pitch heavily sanded, strands of straw all over the surface. As was often the case in that era, the match was shown live on Scandinavian TV, and there were dozens of odd-sounding advertisement boards in evidence everywhere.

It wasn’t a great match. Arsenal’s Tony Woodcock missed a couple of good chances in the first half, and David Speedie fluffed a one-on-one in the second period. The visitors went ahead in the seventy-fifth minute when Kenny Sansom sent over a cross for Paul Mariner to head home in front of the Arsenal hordes on the north terrace. Chelsea went to pieces for a while. Bizarrely, the rest of the lads left early, leaving just Glenn and me watching the last remaining minutes. However, I have a distinct feeling that they all left early to queue up for FA Cup replay tickets – the away tie at Wigan Athletic – after the game. In the last minute of the match, a deep free kick from Colin Lee was headed on by Joe McLaughlin, Kerry Dixon played the ball on to Speedie and with a deft flick, the ball was lobbed over John Lukic.

Well, the place erupted. Glenn and I danced around like fools in the wide gangway behind the back row of the wooden benches – the wildest celebration for ages – and loa-and-behold Alan and Paul sprinted back to join us. Great times.

The gate that day in 1985 was 34,752 and Arsenal had, of course, the whole end with maybe 7,000 fans, around the same as West Ham in September. I remember how bitterly cold it was, but I remember the joyous victory jig with Glenn, Alan and Paul to this day.

On the walk back to West Kensington, I bumped into Andy from Trowbridge who was looking at some designer gear in a shop window on the North End Road. Throughout that season, as Andy had in fact predicted on the train to Highbury back in August, there had been a seismic shift in terrace fashions, less and less lurid sportswear, more and more expensive pullovers in neutral colours, less pale blue jeans, more mid-blue and dark blue jeans – Hard Core jeans specifically – and more black leather jackets. Less Fila, Tacchini and Ellese, more Burberry, Aquascutum and Armani.

Forty years later, in 2025, it has all gone mainstream, and the thrill has largely disappeared. Occasionally, though – very occasionally – I find myself checking out the attire of a football fancier and I think to myself :

“Yep. Fair play. He’s got that right.”

I caught the tube from Earl’s Court down to Putney Bridge and had the briefest of stays – thirty minutes – with PD, LP and Salisbury Steve at “The Eight Bells.” We started to discuss plans for the upcoming trip to Manchester City at the weekend just as The Smiths appeared on the pub jukebox. How 1985.

Back at Stamford Bridge, I was inside at 7.30pm with half-an-hour to spare. Unfortunately, Clive and Alan were out injured and so it was just PD and me in “The Sleepy.”

Unlike Bournemouth, Wolves brought the full three thousand.

I again noted that an area down below us, adjacent to the pitch, was cordoned off by rope and around twenty or so corporate guests (I can’t call them supporters, sorry) were watching the Chelsea players carry out their shuttle runs. They were then walked across the pitch, past the centre-circle (what utter sacrilege) and into their expensive seats behind the Chelsea bench.

JD and I looked on disapprovingly.

“I guess that is what you get when you sit in ‘The Dug Out Club’ these days.”

“The game’s gone.”

I returned to my seat, which afforded me a view ten times better than those low down in the East Lower.

Our team?

The big news was the return of Trevoh Chalobah from his load at Selhurst Park and Captain Reece was starting too. Enzo Fernandez was out injured, but Cole Palmer was thought fit enough to start.

Sanchez

James – Chalobah – Adarabioyo – Cucurella

Caicedo – Dewsbury-Hall

Madueke – Palmer – Neto

Jackson

There was the usual light show, but thankfully no fireworks on this occasion.

I must admit that I liked the look of the Wolves all-gold kit.

I guessed that the Wolves skipper won the toss because Chelsea attacked the Northern end in the first half, the same as against Arsenal in 1985.

It was all go in the first thirty seconds of the game.

Cole Palmer kicked-off straight back to Robert Sanchez and the ball was quickly played out to Pedro Neto who crossed inside. There was a defensive header behind and a Reece James corner on the far side. A Trevoh Chalobah header moved the ball on with Noni Madueki lurking behind the Wolves defenders Wilson, Keppel and Betty, but a volley went wide of the far post.

After five minutes, there was widespread applause as a superbly executed sliding tackle from Chalobah halted a Wolves break, one on one.

There seemed to be a lot more boisterousness from the crowd from the off and I really wondered if the extra thirty minutes in the pub on this evening of football was the reason why the volume was up on the Bournemouth game.

Chelsea had begun strongly and were creating a fair few chances in the first quarter of an hour. Noni Madueke set up Cole Palmer, but a shot went wide. Madueke, Dewsbury-Hall, Palmer again, and James all had efforts on goal.

It was a really decent start.

On sixteen minutes, the ball was played to Palmer, twenty-five yards out and he calmly caressed the ball as he weighed up options, touching the ball forward. We have been so used to Palmer stroking the ball nonchalantly into the corners of the goal – if he was a baseball pitcher, commentators would say he was “painting the corners of the strike zone” – that I was quite shocked when his eventual shot was turned past the post by Sa in the Wolves’ goal.

On eighteen minutes, Sa received treatment on the pitch for a knock, and the rest of the players received a drinks break in front of “The Dug Out Club” in the East Lower.

With it being a cold night, I wondered if it was a soup break.

“Right lads, I’ve got tomato, oxtail, cream of mushroom, Mulligatawny, leek and potato.”

“Any croutons.”

“You and your croutons, Trevoh. No. I keep telling you, choking hazard.”

The game continued.

There was a typical example of awful distribution from Robert Sanchez, and how we howled.

There was a typical example of a fine forceful run followed by a heavy touch from Nicolas Jackson, and how we howled.

Then, an errant Wolves header from Matt Doherty but the Wolves ‘keeper just about recovered before Pedro Neto could pounce, and how we howled with laughter.

From the resulting corner, the ball fell nicely to James who took a swipe at goal despite the presence of virtually the entire Wolves team blocking his sight of goal. There was a typical deflection, and the ball ran on to a Chelsea player, who smacked the ball home.

However, I did not celebrate as I thought the scorer, plus maybe two more Chelsea attackers, were in an offside position. Indeed, the linesman’s flag went up.

Not many around us in “The Sleepy” expected a goal.

“Offside by a mile.”

But there was a VAR call, and a long wait, a very long wait.

Goal.

I could hardly believe it.

Tosin ran towards the Matthew Harding Lower.

I snapped.

But I could not believe it.

In Alan’s absence, I loved the fact that two Chelsea mates in Texas, of all places, texted me the rallying-call.

Robin, in Houston : “THTCAUN.”

Charles, in Dallas : “THTCAUN.”

Chris in Fulham : “COMLD.”

Lovely stuff.

Sadly, we then drifted quite considerably. Wolves, for the first real time, came into the game.

PD was more succinct : “since the goal we been shit.”

Sanchez looked shaky again. I came up with a phrase that just about sums him up.

“Spin the wheel, Sanchez”.

Spin that wheel, mate, we never know what you are going to do next.

There were defensive blocks at timely interventions, but Wolves had the best of the closing period of the half. In almost the last of the six minutes of injury-time, it all went pear-shaped. A corner from in front of the away fans, a jump from Sanchez at the near post, but a fumble and the ball was dropped.

Doherty pushed it home.

Ugh.

“Spin that wheel, Sanchez.”

There were boos at half-time, which I never like to hear.

It was time for some gallows humour. I joked with a few folk nearby that we got a head start on having a crap second-half by starting it in the first.

We attacked The Shed in the second-half of course; it never seems right these days.

Of course our “ends” have since flipped but I can’t often remember us often attacking The Shed in the first-half in pre-1995 days.

Sanchez was soon annoying me again. A simple throw out to Marc Cucurella went behind him, and I howled once more.

As the game got going again, I spotted how much space Madueke was enjoying out on our right and on three occasions in what seemed like a few seconds, Palmer reached him with expansive passes. Noni then flattered to deceive – that phrase only used for football – and went to pieces, with heavy control, poor passing, weak finishing.

However, spotting the team needed support, parts of the Matthew Harding raised their game.

“CAM ON CHOWLSEA – CAM ON CHOWLSEA – CAM ON CHOWLSEA – CAM ON CHOWLSEA.”

There was yet another incisive Palmer to Madueke pass, but it was again wasted.

Thankfully, on the hour, cometh the hour, cometh the man, and that man was Cucurella. A cute cross from Madueke, at last, was flicked on by the improving and unmarked Dewsbury-Hall, and it fell at the feet of an also unmarked Cucurella. There was time for a softening touch in his, er, midriff, before he smashed the ball into the corner of the goal.

A scream from me, a slide from him.

GET IN.

Just after, the poor Neto was replaced by Jadon Sancho.

Five minutes after our second goal, Jackson won a free kick down by the Wolves support. Palmer floated the ball over towards the far post where Chalobah rose well to head the ball goalwards. Through a crowd of bodies, I semi-saw the ball headed in by another Chelsea player. The much-maligned Madueke raced away, slid to his knees, while I snapped away.

Chelsea had faltered but had dug in and improved. Fair play to the team on this occasion.

There were some positives. Both Chalobah and James were excelling; fine performances from them. In fact, in addition to the returning Trevoh taking Conor Gallagher’s shirt number, he had also inherited his specific chant too.

Welcome back, Trev.

Moises Caicedo was steady and solid.

Thankfully, Wolves faded as we improved.

Palmer – who had been fouled and was looking slightly off-colour – played Jackson through, and it looked offside to me, but he took the chance well. Alas, I was right for once. No goal.

Some substitutions.

77 minutes :

Axel Disasi for James, a warm ovation.

Malo Gusto for Dewsbury-Hall.

84 minutes :

Joao Felix for Palmer.

Tyrique George for Madueke, a league debut.

Wolves kept going and tested us with a couple of late efforts, but we easily withstood them. There was even a fine save and a fine block by Sanchez from Matheus Cunha and Jorgen Strand Larsen.

At last, we had eked out our first league win in six games, and we rose again to fourth in the table.

Next up, a visit to the team that are – for once, the first time in a blue moon – one place below us.

See you there

Chelsea vs. Arsenal : 1985