Tales From The Nightshift

Chelsea vs. Norwich City : 17 January 2018.

2.00pm : I clocked out from work, what a relief. These past few days have been as manic as I can remember. Over the road to “The Milk Churn” for a quick bite to eat and a drink with PD before the drive to Chelsea. Alas, Parky would not be joining us.

2.45pm : PD pulled out of the pub car park and set off north onto the A350 and up onto the M4. For a little while, I managed to catch some “shut-eye” – I knew that sleep would be at a premium after the game as I would need to be up at just before 5am for work on the Thursday. The spectre of extra-time and penalties loomed large.

4.30pm : PD parked his trusty Chuckle Bus on Mulgrave Road. The weather was chilly and likely to get colder still as the evening would develop.

4.40pm : Into “The Goose” on the North End Road. Two pints of “Amstel”, and work was physically one hundred miles away but in reality a thousand miles away. It was time to relax. We enjoyed a lovely time chatting to Chelsea stalwarts Wycombe Stan and Tooting Pete, about their love of the club and of their first few reminiscences of their first games. Pete’s was in January 1966, a trip to Stamford Bridge with his neighbour when he was aged ten. From that day on, he was hooked. The pub seemed quiet. We soon heard why; there were widespread delays on the London Underground.

6.00pm : Down to “Simmons Bar” towards the ground and it was even quieter. Only one mate was there, Duncan, newly-arrived after ridiculous delays en route from his home in Southend. He mentioned that Daryl, travelling in from the city, needed to divert as far north as Willesden Junction. There was talk of trains stuck on the District Line. A few late arrivals entered the little bar as the evening drew on, but the place was so quiet. Two bottles of “Peroni” and memories with Duncan of games at Old Trafford, the Baseball Ground and the Goldstone Ground in the good old ‘eighties.

7.15pm : Ah, another retro programme cover. Nice work, Chelsea. This was from 1968/1969

7.30pm : On walking up the steps to the top tier of the Matthew Harding, the PA announced a delay in the kick-off time to 8pm to allow for the tube’s later arrivals. Oh great. This had all the makings of a later night. I posted on “Facebook” to that effect :

“Kick-off delayed until 8pm. Great. This has all the hallmarks of a 0-0 after extra-time and a 16-15 win on penalties. And me getting to bed five minutes after I should be waking up. Football. I loves it.”

7.45pm : Eventually the stadium started to fill, but it took ages. Norwich were supposedly bringing 6,000 and packing The Shed, yet vast swathes were empty. Something didn’t ring true. At last the troops arrived. Alan made it in. Daryl too. There were gaps in the very top corners of the East Upper, but elsewhere the home areas looked pretty full. With games stacking-up now, this looked like a very fine effort from our club. Top marks to all.

7.50pm : Time to check the Chelsea team. It was virtually the same team that had eked out that horrific 0-0 at Norwich ten days ago, but with Ethan and Dave in place of Toni and Gary.

7.55pm : The TV screens splashed images from our history as the kick-off approached. I always find myself singing along to “Blue Is The Colour.”

8.00pm : Kick-off, better late than never. Norwich, in the end, only had around 3,000 fans. A poor effort, really. The Norfolk club must have been out of pocket on that deal.

8.06pm : Danny Drinkwater shot wide as we began well. After the lethargy of the first game, it looked like Antonio had lit a fire under a few of the players. The away fans were singing in support of their team.

“Yellows! Yellows! Yellows!”

8.09pm : Kenedy lashed in a corner from in front of the empty seats of Parkyville and David Luiz rose to head towards the goal. It bounced just past the far post, and just before a Chelsea player could touch it home.

8.10pm : A Willian shot, wide. This was indeed a fine start. After just ten minutes, we had created more than in the entirety of the first game by the banks of the Wensum.

8.12pm : A fine piece of play by Tiemoue Bakayoko brought a pleasing rally of support for our under-fire midfielder. It was nice to hear. Well done to those who chose to support him.

8.14pm : Willy Caballero seemed to mistime his attempt to clear. The Norwich City attacker could not reach the ball in time. Phew.

8.19pm : A Davide Zappacosta cross allowed Michy Batshuayi to shoot but there was a block. The Chelsea crowd were as loud as could be expected. We sung in praise of the manager, who was standing throughout the game, as ever, pointing and gesticulating at his charges. I saw no diminution of his fight and passion on this particular night. And then we seemed to take our foot off the pedal a little.

8.25pm : Alan – “Come on, move about. You’re all slower than the District Line tonight.”

8.30pm : A shot from distance from DD saw the ball crash against the underside of the bar. Howls from the home fans.

8.31pm : Oh dear Michy. Our maligned striker gave the ball away in his own half and we watched, pain-stricken, as Nelso Oliveira sent a dipping shot onto our bar. It was the away team’s first real effort. But it certainly woke them.

8.35pm : The Norwich number nine then slashed wide. The home support was getting restless.

8.50pm : Gary commented at half-time “this has got 0-0 written all over it.” On the TV screen by the toilets, I spotted Gianfranco Zola as a halftime guest on the BBC. There was the memory of his back-heeled flick against the same opposition in an FA Cup replay in around 2002 – a game I sadly missed through work – and I realised that had I stayed in my usual position at half-time (standing against the barrier by the steps near my seat) I would have been in camera shot in the distance.

9.05pm : Michy gave away a silly foul, and the frustration rose again. It annoys me how he turns into trouble rather than play an easy ball. He then so often fouls. Soon after, he was annoying us again and Alan wanted him off.

9.15pm : Down below us, Willian worked the ball well to Kenedy, who raced away and crossed into the box. Who was there, awaiting its arrival, but Michy. He touched the ball in and the place roared. Get in you bastard. I looked at Alan and gave him an old-fashioned. How Michy enjoyed that.

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9.16pm : There was a loud – “ish” – “CAREFREE” from the Matthew Harding. Positive signs.

9.20pm : Almost a calamity down at The Shed End, when Caballero and a Chelsea defender came for the ball, colliding, and the loose ball was slammed against the post by James Maddison.

9.22pm : Pedro, storming into the box, went flying and I had no idea one way or the other. The referee booked him for diving.

9.24pm : DD gave the ball away carelessly and Maddison forced a sublime save from Wily Caballero. Top marks.

9.34pm : An excellent break by Willian, fantastic feet, and the lay-off to DD should have given us a second goal. It was fired over.

9.35pm : Oh dear Michy. A woeful shot from distance.

9.37pm : A shot from Bakayoko. More applause. Good to hear.

9.39pm : The away fans were pretty quiet to be honest, but we were just about able to discern a vaguely humorous chant from The Shed :

“If we score, we’re on the pitch.”

9.41pm : Antonio replaced Michy with Alvaro Morata and Ethan Ampadu with Andreas Christensen.

9.42pm : DD was not enjoying the best of games but he did ever so well to reach the goal-line and cut the ball back for Morata to head down, but the ‘keeper Gunn scrambled the ball away. Home fans began leaving. The end was surely in sight.

9.45pm : N’Golo Kante replaced Kenedy, who had played his best game for us. A good effort. Surely we would close this out.

9.47pm : Morata, stretching, just could not provide the final touch.

9.50pm : Willian could not get the ball out of his feet, and the elusive second goal went begging.

9.51pm : Norwich kept plugging away. As a move developed down their left. We were deep into the four minutes that the referee had added. With surely only seconds remaining, we were deep in Iniesta Time. I yelled out – loudly, and in pain – “STOP THE FUCKING CROSS.”

9.52pm : We didn’t stop the fucking cross. Jamal Fucking Lewis rose and headed home off the post. Christ on a velocipede. The worst-ever scenario had happened. Another thirty minutes. Bollocks.

9.53pm : A text from Glenn, watching on TV – “FFS.”

10.00pm : So, extra-time. The rain continued to fall. There was talk of a fourth substitute if needed. I looked around and there were thousands of empty seats, like Dodger Stadium after the seventh inning stretch. I missed the start of the “third period” – too busy turning my bike around – but as I took my seat, I was aware of an injustice. It seemed that we had a penalty claim turned down and Willian had been booked, like Pedro, for simulation. Alan and I were not aware if VAR – expletives! – was being used or not. What a bloody shambles.

10.09pm : Our fourth substitute of the night was Eden, who replaced DD.

10.10pm : More positive noise and the remaining 30,000 bellowed “COME ON CHELSEA, COME ON CHELSEA, COME ON CHELSEA.” The team needed us now. It was great to hear.

10.12pm : Two close saves by Gunn from Willian and then Morata kept Norwich in it. It looked like they were playing for penalties and who could blame them?

10.17pm : The fourth period began. I dreaded the thought of pens – delaying our getaway further – but I did not sense that we could score. Hazard weaved his way on a few occasions but was met by a wall of yellow.

10.19pm : A handball by a Norwich City defender was waved away.

10.23pm : Morata headed weakly from a Zappa cross.

10.25pm : A silly late challenge on Hoolihan by Pedro resulted in a second yellow. What a silly man. No complaints with that. But the outlook was looking bleaker than ever.

10.29pm : Morata burst into the box right down below us and I am sure I saw Zimmerman reach up and pull across Morata’s chest, and there was a loud shout for a penalty from us. No, the referee now booked Morata for a dive. I called the referee a very very bad name and I will go to hell. Morata, who had already showed a very short fuse after being tackled with no foul being rewarded in his favour, flared up at the ref and a red card followed. Despite the protestations of Eden and Dave, the referee – EXPLETIVE – would not budge. So, down to nine men. Fuck this.

10.33pm : A header from Klose was thankfully saved by good old Wily. The whistle soon followed. I joked “I don’t care who wins now, I just want to go home.”

10.38pm : With both teams watching in the centre-circle and the Chelsea management crouching on the touchline, it all began. Thoughts of Munich? Of course. But also thoughts of our last two penalty-shootouts at Stamford Bridge. At The Shed End in 2011, a loss to Everton in the FA Cup. Before that, in 2005, a League Cup loss to Charlton at the Matthew Harding. Each Norwich penalty taker was dutifully serenaded ; “Waaaaaaanker.”

10.39pm : First up was Willian. Scored. GET IN.

10.40pm : Oliveira for Norwich. Saved. GET IN YOU FUCKING BEAUTY. NICE ONE WILY MY SON. David Luiz for us, scored, oh you beauty.

10.41pm : Maddison. Scored. Ugh.

10.42pm : Dave. Scored. YES. Vrancic. Scored. Ugh.

10.43pm : N’Golo. Scored. YES.

10.44pm : Murphy. Scored. Ugh. ONE MORE TO WIN IT.

10.45pm : Eden. A slow approach. Scored. FUCKING GET IN.

Phew. A truly mad game of football was over. Eden hugged Wily and the night was done.

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We had found a way to win, despite the knobhead referee. I felt drained. There was time for a few customary “goodbyes, see you at Brighton” and we were on our way out. I was just glad to be on my way home. My day shift had ended at 2pm. The evening shift had lasted 2pm to 10pm. We were now well-and-truly into the nightshift. As PD and I walked up the North End Road I asked him :

“Are we getting a shift bonus for this?”

11.15pm : PD set off home. I was – thank heavens – able to get an hour of sleep as he battled the rain on the M4.

12.55am : I swapped into my car in the pub car park.

1.25am : I reached home sweet home.

The magic of the cup continues in ten days. Meanwhile…”see you at Brighton.”

Tales From The Chelsea Stadium Mystery

Chelsea vs. Arsenal : 10 January 2018.

If I ever needed evidence to support the notion that us Chelsea fans are gluttons for punishment, it came in the form of the “viewing figures” of my last two match reports on this site. Last week, there was a competitive away game in the league at Arsenal in which there was an incident-packed second half and a roller-coaster of emotions. On Saturday, there was an FA Cup tie – a much-maligned competition these days – at Norwich City, but the game was a true snore fest. And yet, twice as many people clicked to read the Norwich game as the Arsenal match.

You are a bloody odd bunch, aren’t you?

Next up in this ridiculously busy period – nine games in December and eight games in January – was the first-leg of our League Cup Semi-Final against Arsenal at Stamford Bridge. Over the course of the two games, I did not fear them. I believed us to be the better team, no doubt. As I left the office at 2pm, a work colleague asked how I thought the game at The Bridge might go.

“7-0” I replied.

One can but dream.

PD took charge of the reigns once more and The Chuckle Bus headed east on a crisp and clear January afternoon. On the drive to London, I predicted that the retro programme theme of this season’s League Cup run would continue with a replica of the cover from the 1997/1998 season when the same two teams met at the same stage. I drifted back to that tie. In the first-leg, we were very poor at Highbury, but a late Mark Hughes goal gave us a lifeline. A week or so later, after a league defeat at Arsenal, manager Ruud Gullit was given the push. Next up was the return leg of the League Cup tie at HQ. On a very emotional night, new boss Gianluca Vialli famously assembled the players together in the dressing room before the game, poured champagne into glasses and toasted a bright future. A resounding 3-1 gubbing of Arsenal followed. It was a fantastic night at Chelsea. Back to 2018 – twenty years on, good grief – we wondered if Antonio Conte would choose our strongest team; we expected so. What would be the point of fielding two consecutive “B Teams”? Arsenal have a history of fielding youngsters in their recent League Cup history. I speculated if they would do the same in 2018. I thought back to the 5-0 thumping we gave them at Highbury in 1998/1999 when – let’s not kid ourselves – their team was very raw.

All these games against Arsenal. They are a very familiar opponent. Prior to the game, I read somewhere that this would be our one hundred and ninety-fifth game against them in our history, not including friendlies. I did some digging, and realised that it would be my sixtieth game out of that total. Almost a third. It caught me unawares. Am I that bloody old?

League – 47

FA Cup – 6

League Cup – 3

Community Shield – 3

Champions League – 1

The usual routine was followed for midweek games; drinks at both ends of the North End Road in two different hostelries. We met up with my old friend from Frome, Russ, and he mentioned the “champagne moment” from 1998. Back in 1994, we took him to his very first Chelsea game at Stamford Bridge when he was a fourteen-year-old schoolboy. It was his first game for a while and it was a pleasure to see him once more. He asked me who my player of the year was thus far.

“Good question.”

I thought for a few seconds.

“Maybe Christensen.”

PD suggested Dave.

“Yeah, good shout.”

In the pub, the team news game through.

“Strong team lads. Probably our strongest.”

The manager had gone with a 3-5-2

Courtois

Azpilicueta – Christensen – Rudiger

Moses – Kante – Fabregas – Drinkwater – Alonso

Hazard – Morata

I spotted the odd – very odd – Arsenal favour being worn by a few folks on our walk to The Bridge. They would have around 4,000 in The Shed. We were inside at about 7.45pm for the slightly later 8pm kick-off. I was right about the programme. It did show a 1998 cover. I did my usual sweep of the balcony and its away flags and banners. One caught my eye.

“The Arsenal. This isn’t a franchise.”

What typical Arsenal pomposity and what typical Arsenal attempted one-upmanship. But think again. Not a franchise? Tell that to the people of Woolwich, where the club once played before upping sticks and relocating to North London. I have read that in terms of travel time using the mode of transport available at the time, the move from Woolwich to Highbury in 1913 was very similar to that of from Merton to Milton Keynes in 2004.

Arsenal were the MK Dons of the early twentieth century and Tottenham Hotspur have never forgotten it.

Somewhere among the 4,000 away supporters were the loons of Arsenal TV, ready to implode at any moment.

Before the kick-off, the lights faded and we were treated to another light show at Stamford Bridge. I’m in two minds about all this. It does look pretty dramatic, but it still seems like the club are trying to take over the atmosphere on our behalf. Maybe too cynical? I don’t know. Regardless, I could not resist a few photographs. From the lights of thousands of mobile phones, I was not the only one.

There were some familiar names in the Arsenal team, though not as flooded full of bona fide stars as our starting eleven. The portents were good.

As the game began, there was noise.

Thank God.

There must be a formula for the amount of noise generated at football games which includes such variants as rivalry between the two teams, geographical proximity of the two teams, number of hours available before the game for alcohol consumption, recent form of teams, the return of a formerly hated manager, the return of a formerly hated opponent, the memory of the threat of real or perceived violence off the pitch in previous years between both sets of fans, the proportion of the ticket sales given to newbies and/or tourists, the proportion of ticket sales given to loud and leery teenagers, the importance of the match, with a super-loaded quotient if the game involves Tottenham or if the game is a Champions League knock-out game.

I think that has covered it.

The “noise level” at the start continued for a while, maybe ten minutes, as the teams tested each other with small periods of possession. In the first few Chelsea attacks, Alvaro Morata looked hungry and was full of movement, no doubt wishing to atone for recent misdemeanours. One shot hit the side netting at The Shed End. That ‘orrible little runt Jack Wilshere was involved quite often for Arsenal. Eden Hazard was heavily marked, often finding three Arsenal players around him.

On twenty minutes, the best chance of the game thus far, but Lacazette – clean through after a lofted pass from Wilshere – slashed wildly over.

This was an even game.

Russ : “Typical cup tie. Cagey.”

Victor Moses cut inside his marker in front of the Goons in the West side of The Shed, but his shot was claimed by Ospina.

After an Arsenal attack was smothered down below us, Andreas Christensen did ever so well to bring the ball under his control and take a few touches. Thankfully, he did not hear the advice given to him by a fellow sitting a few rows behind me.

“Get rid of it, you c**t.”

I have to ask myself, what sort of a human being uses such language so effortlessly in his alleged “support” of a fine, young and well-liked Chelsea footballer?

I thought to myself : “only one c**t in this stadium, mate.”

The move developed and it was a joy to watch. Kante took the ball on, breaking with pace. He received it back from a team mate, and the ball was eventually played over to Marcos Alonso on the far side of the Arsenal penalty area. His low shot was not too far wide of the far post. It had been the move of the match, but sadly did not draw the applause or approval that it really merited.

Another shot from Moses and an Ospina save. This was followed by a Danny Drinkwater which was ballooned high – very high – over the bar. On this occasion, DD didn’t work wonders. This was a game itching to get going, but it remained rather one paced. Containment was the key. Space was rare. The home fans began to get behind the team again, or rather, have a dig at the away fans.

“We’ve won it all” (asterisk – apart from the World Club Championships, let’s not get too much up our own arse).

The away fans quickly countered : “You’ve bought it all.”

Yes, quite, indeed we have. Let’s call it karma for all the years – one hundred of them – when we were the fifth-best supported team in England and yet won virtually fuck all.

Our response in the Matthew Harding was typical.

“CHAMPIONSOFEUROPEYOULLNEVERSINGTHAT.”

On thirty-eight minutes, Thibaut Courtois saved so well after an Alex Iwobi shot flew at him.

Just after, a rough challenge by Moses on Iwobi was met with a minute or so of nonsense as the Arsenal fans chanted “VAR! VAR! VAR! VAR” like a load of schoolkids, referee Martin Atkinson put his hand to his ear, the game stalled and we looked on like fools.

Oh boy. The future of football. What a load of old shit.

Before we know it, “VAR” will be part and parcel of our once breathless game. There will be breaks in play. Momentum will be lost. Television companies will be wanking off advertising executives as they try to sell in-game commercial segments for those highly-profitable delays. Referees will debate questionable off sides and dodgy handballs with a bloke called Kevin in front of a TV monitor. Games will take longer to conclude. Night buses will be missed. Trains will be missed. Everyone will get home from night games that little bit later. A strange future awaits.

A header from Fabregas from a lovely cross from Dave did not bother Ospina.

Just before the break, the pass of the night from Fabregas was played into space for Eden to reach – just near the Peter Osgood penalty spot – but his heavy first touch meant that Ospina easily gathered.

So, what of the first-half? Cagey, indeed. It wasn’t necessarily a bad game, but there was a spark missing. There wasn’t the intensity of previous semi-finals.

At the break, Neil Barnett introduced a number eight for the future and a number ten of our recent past. Ross Barkley, in a Chelsea blue trackie, was introduced to the Stamford Bridge crowd. He received a good reception. Then, with a Peaky Blinders cap the size of a deflated medicine ball, Joe Cole. Lovely to see him again.

The second-half began with added intent from Chelsea, and the crowd reacted with extra noise. A Kante shot was thundered in, but was blocked by Christensen. Our young defender then got underneath a cross and headed over.

After this miss, I whispered to Russ :

“I can see this ending 0-0.”

Morata, struggling still with the physicality of the game, slammed a shot from outside the penalty area, but the Arsenal ‘keeper saved once more. He then went close from a very acute angle, the ball shaving the post. We were well on top, but chances were rare. The noise had dampened as the night grew colder. A Moses shot, another Christensen header. The game continued, with the fans around me deciding not to “bring the boys home” with an endless cacophony of noise. How different from the League Cup Semi-Final from 2015 against Liverpool – admittedly a second-leg – when there was constant and relentless noise from all stands from start to finish.

It is a constant mystery to me how our support sometimes lets us down at Stamford Bridge.

A typical example of a certain lack of intensity or concentration was typified when Alonso gave away a throw-in, but lackadaisically turned his back to the throw-in. The lad is enjoying a fine season, maybe it seems churlish to pinpoint a little negativity but it seemed a typical motif of the night’s game.

Antonio replaced DD with Willian. Our substitute rasped a shot close from distance.

Eden Hazard was replaced by Tiemoue Bakayoko and 845,649 keyboard warriors around the globe went into overdrive.

In the last five minutes or so, Michy Batshuayi replaced Morata, who just before was derided for lacking control on the touchline.

Sadly, it was Arsenal who looked the stronger in the last few moments, buoyed by their substitute Alexis Sanchez.

After ninety minutes, the referee signalled five whole minutes of added time, though I thought that the “VAR” delays should have merited more. In a nervous finale to a humdrum game, we managed to repel a couple of late Arsenal bursts.

It stayed 0-0.

Our second goal-less performance.

Our third draw in a row.

The keyboard warriors would be at it again.

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