Tag Archives: Villa Park

Tales From The Doug Ellis

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Aston Villa vs. Chelsea : 22 February 2025.

Those two away games at Brighton were tough, eh?

They really tested my support for the current regime. Let’s not make any mistakes about these two matches; they were two of the worst performances that I can remember seeing, especially when one considers the financial outlay that brought those players together.

Next up was an away match at Aston Villa. They are undoubtedly a pretty decent team, well drilled and well managed by Unai Emery, and so it is fair to say that I was rather underwhelmed about the trip up to Birmingham.

No, I’ll be clearer; I was dreading it.

However, my football brain since the Brighton game on Friday night had been mainly occupied by Frome Town rather than Chelsea with my attendance at two of my local club’s matches. A match at Walton & Hersham on the Saturday was followed with a home game against Gosport Borough on the Tuesday. On Saturday afternoon, a little before the 5.30pm kick-off in Witton, there would be another Frome Town game that would be in the forefront of my mind too.

Frome Town used to be a whimsical distraction from the serious business of supporting Chelsea Football Club, but my affection for my local team has grown in many ways over recent years.

As I collected PD and Glenn in Frome at 10.30am ahead of the trip to Birmingham, there was a little part of me that wished that I was, instead, planning my day around a visit to Badgers Hill at three o’clock rather than Villa Park at half-five.

Glenn had accompanied me to the Walton & Hersham match. He had travelled up on the Frome Town Supporters Club coach – we had a healthy following of around seventy fans present in the 624 gate – and then came back in my car. We both agreed that it had been a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon. Frome dominated possession early in the game, but the home team enjoyed the best of the chances. In the second-half, Callum Gould tapped in a low cross from Rex Mannings to send the away fans into ecstasy, but the home team deserved a point after hitting the post twice and got their equaliser via a penalty. Two Chelsea mates of mine who follow Walton & Hersham, Rob and Martin, came to watch the game with us and there was a predictable share of banter about our two teams. Rob had visited Frome with Walton and Hersham earlier in the season. It was an excellent afternoon in the fringes of outer London.

To top it off, at the end of the game, the Frome contingent joined in with the home side’s raucous anthem.

“Hersham Boys, Hersham Boys.

Laced-up boots and corduroys.

Hersham Boys, Hersham Boys.

They call us the Cockney Cowboys.”

On the Tuesday evening, there was a repeat of the opening game of the league season when Gosport Borough visited Badgers Hill. This was a frustrating evening as the home team enjoyed much of the possession but lacked a cutting edge in attack. It ended 0-0, in front of an attendance of 379. It was a decent enough crowd on a bitterly cold evening. This left Frome second-from-bottom in the league table, but with a “must-win” game on the horizon, a home game against Marlow Town, the team below them in the league placings.

It would have been nice to be able to attend both games; the day brought back memories of us watching Frome Town vs. Bristol Manor Farm at 3pm and Aston Villa vs. Chelsea at 8pm last April.

We picked up Parky just after 11am and we were on our way.

With talk of Frome Town dominating a large portion of the morning chat, I warned the lads that I might have a very real conflict of interests in April. Frome’s planned last game of the season is a home match against league leaders AFC Totton – a game that we might need to win or draw to achieve safety – but Chelsea are due to play Everton at home that day. I told them that if Frome needed something from the Totton game, it is hugely likely that I would prioritise Frome over Chelsea.

There, I said it.

The moment has been coming.

Let’s hope that Dodge are safe by then.

We made our way, north, and just a few miles on from Strensham Services, I reminded Parky of a horrible moment in time just over ten years ago. On Saturday 7 February 2015, the two of us were making our way up to the away game at Villa Park. We had just stopped for breakfast at Strensham. Unfortunately, I received a call from a carer who had called in to assist my mother and had reported that my mother had taken a turn for the worst. We immediately did an about-turn, and I raced home. I reached a hospital in Bath just to see my mother be carried in from an ambulance and into A&E.

Ten years ago. It seems like five minutes ago.

I made good time on the drive up the M5, and my planned arrival at “The Vine” at West Bromwich at 1pm only mis-fired by a few minutes.

The plan was to spend around three hours at “The Vine”, which would allow the drinkers a nice period to sup some ales and talk bollocks, and another chance to taste their famous curries. Initially, we were not allowed in. The place was rammed with West Brom and Oxford United fans, and the doorman said there just wasn’t enough room for anyone else. However, Glenn worked his magic on another of the security staff and we slithered in.

Parky and PD supped up their beers, while Glenn and I sampled some food. Goat curry and pilau rice for me, all very nice.

There was talk of foreign fields. I am unable to get time off work to attend the away game in Copenhagen – I last visited it in 1985 – but PD and Parky are heading over, flying out from Bristol and staying four nights. I am sure they will have a blast.

At 2pm, the customers began to leave and walk to The Hawthorns. By 3pm, the place was deserted save for us four. It felt odd to see such a transformation in such a short amount of time.

Sadly, by 3.05pm, I heard that bottom-of-the-table Marlow were 1-0 up at Frome. Even worse, by 3.24pm, it was 0-2.

Bollocks.

Thankfully, at 3.30pm, Rex Mannings had pulled a goal back.

Frome Town 1 Marlow Town 2.

Game on.

At 4pm, we hopped into my car, and I headed east, right past The Hawthorns, and I wondered if this was the closest that I had ever been to a professional football match without going inside. This was marginally closer than those games that had taken place at Stoke City’s old Victoria Ground when I lived so close in the ‘eighties.

On the way to my “JustPark” spot just off Witton Road in Handsworth, we heard that Albie Hopkins had levelled the score down in Somerset. Just as I dropped the lads off near the Witton Hotel, we heard that Hopkins had nabbed another.

I punched the air.

Frome Town 3 Marlow Town 2.

Great stuff.

Sadly, by the time I had parked-up, Marlow had equalised. And that is how it stayed. Three consecutive draws for Frome in eight days. At least, Dodge had risen to fourth-from-bottom and were now just two points from safety. Back in late November, we were adrift by a country mile.

I took a few photos outside and made my way to the stadium, past those red bricked buildings that I have mused about in the past, and I found myself walking on a small section of a cobbled pavement opposite the old tram depot. Ahead, the bulk of Villa Park.

All the Chelsea tickets were digital for this game.

At 5pm, with my SLR smuggled in yet again, I was inside.

PD and Parky were in the lower tier of the Doug Ellis Stand, while Glenn and I were up top. Glenn and I swapped our tickets – which effectively meant that we had to swap our phones to appease an over-zealous steward – to allow me to sit, or stand, next to my good friend Terry. Terry was present at last season’s game at Villa Park. He is a local Birmingham native, and a former workmate. It didn’t seem ten months ago that we were stood next to each other at that entertaining 2-2 draw in late April last year. This would be my twenty-first visit to see Chelsea play Villa at their home stadium. I preferred the old Villa Park, no surprises there, but the new edition has grown on me slowly. I like the way that they have kept a few motifs from the old stadium, not least the off-centre tunnel which sits opposite the away section at the western side of the old Trinity Road Stand.

I can’t deny it, those old stadia that grew organically decade by decade, of which Villa Park is a prime example, still have a hold on me and I often lose myself in photos of old stadia, ancient terraces, those ornate grandstands, those sweeping terraces. Football stadia is my secret love, though I suspect that perhaps everyone has noticed by now.

Every stadium has a few secrets.

Villa Park?

It once used to house a banked cycle track and the upper reaches of the old north terrace used to consist of grass as late as the mid-‘seventies.

Football stadia, these cathedrals for the working classes, that come alive for a few hours every few weeks or so, have always entranced me. It’s an obsession within an obsession.

When I attended the Chelsea vs. Newcastle United game on Saturday 16 February 1985 – the latest in my 1984/85 retrospective – I wanted to document the current state of the Stamford Bridge stadium and planned to get into The Shed very early to do so.

My diary from that day brings back to my mind my match-day routine of my student days in Stoke as I travelled down to London. I caught the 9.20am train down to Euston, the fields full of snow. In fact, this was the only topflight game to take place on this particular day, such had been the devastatingly cold weather at this time. Maybe for this reason, I had hoped that around 30,000 might attend this fixture, but with hindsight I was being too easily influenced by the two massive games between the two clubs the previous season.

I caught a tube down to Oxford Circus and walked through Carnaby Street down to the “Aquascutum” shop at the bottom end of Regent Street – a couple of decades later, I would work with a woman who was a shop assistant there – with the intention of buying a trademark check scarf. Alas, the prices scared me to death. Scarves were a massive £55, and again with hindsight I suspect these were the cashmere variant rather than the normal lambswool, and I immediately realised that this price was way beyond my pocket.

Instead, keen to buy something in London on this bitterly cold day, I backtracked to Carnaby Street and purchased one of those leather and suede patchwork jackets that were all the rage at the time. Glenn had recently purchased one, The Benches was rife with them, I simply had to have one.

£32 later, I had one.

It’s the equivalent of £100 today apparently. That seems about right to be fair.  

Incidentally, I eventually purchased an “Aquascutum” scarf a month later, for a much more pleasing £15.

After my spell of West End shopping, I set off for Stamford Bridge and met up with Alan, Leggo and Uncle Skinhead outside the ground. At 1.10pm I entered The Shed and ascended the steps to take the panorama that I had planned.

The photos show the original layout of the old place, and I am lucky enough to remember it in its glory years.

That central alleyway in The Shed, but also the one at the rear of The Shed, the super-high floodlight pylons, those steps that were cut into the terrace to enable access to the members’ enclosure at the front of the West Stand, the barricaded unsafe portions of both end terracing, the low sweep of the North Stand, the Empress State Building, the steel of the massive Darbourne and Darke East Stand.

The photos show the ragged state of the pitch and Stamford Bridge looks freezing cold to this day.

A Benches roll-call :

Richard, Dave, Paul, Alan, me, Leggo and Mark.

The game itself was not great. My crowd guesstimate was optimistic in the extreme. So much for 30,000. It was just 21,806. I made a note that around 1,500 Geordies were present, a good enough turn out in those days. The only goal of the game came on just two minutes. A Doug Rougvie cross from the left was headed out but Darren Wood swept it home from the edge of the box. Pat Nevin then hit the bar with a free-kick. The second half was poor, and I remember the highlight being the substitute appearance of Micky Droy as I was walking along the walkway at the back of The Benches to make an early exit into The Shed. Droy had not played a single minute of our previous campaign, the successful 1983/84 season, so this was a fine moment for the Chelsea fans present to serenade him and to let him know that he was loved. He came on for Gordon Davies, and my diary reports that his very first touch almost put Kerry Dixon through. Alas, also, I noted “Dixon was pathetic today.”

After the match, I caught the tube back to Euston via Notting Hill Gate and caught the 6.10pm train back to The Potteries.

I hope that the images of Stamford Bridge in 1985 bring back some sweet memories.

Incidentally, on Wednesday 20 January 1985, I set off from my flat in Stoke-on-Trent to attend the second leg of the Milk Cup semi-final against Sunderland. I bought a train ticket and then bought a ‘paper. Alas, I was staggered to see no game listed. I looked at a second ‘paper for clarification and again there was no game. It had obviously been postponed due to the weather. Thankfully, I was able to get my ticket refunded, but I returned home with my tail between my legs. I can’t imagine the same thing happening these days, eh? It illustrates how adrift I felt from the day-to-day London scene, marooned in Staffordshire.

Back to 2025, and the build-up to the game. A face from 1985 – Mark – was standing right behind me. I always remember that on one of my first visits to Villa Park in 1986 the two of us, arriving way early, did a massive perambulation of the entire site. The stand that we sat in was a much smaller structure than the current stand. The Witton Lane Stand was small, and a single tier. The Doug Ellis, on the same site, is much grander.

Glenn was down with Alan – another face from 1985 – a few rows in front of me.

Our team?

Jorgensen

Gusto – Chalobah – Colwill – Cucarella

James – Caicedo

Palmer – Enzo – Nkunku

Neto

“Or something like that.”

I wasn’t sure that placing Christopher Nkunku wide left would be of much use.

The usual pre-kick-off routine at Villa Park; “Crazy Train” and then flames in front of the Doug Ellis.

At 5.30pm, the game began with us attacking the huge Holte End.

We started brightly, with Enzo creating an early chance for Pedro Neto.

Alas, on eight minutes, Trevoh Chalobah seemed to land awkwardly after a leap for the ball and so was replaced by Tosin Adarabioyo.

A minute later, a quick Chelsea move was instigated by Moises Caicedo. Neto advanced down the right and he cut inside. I had my SLR to my eyes and saw the ball played across. Before I could blink, the ball was in the net, though I wasn’t sure if it had been scored via the boot of Neto or by another Chelsea player. I looked up to see Enzo looking quite delighted, so it was clear who had provided the killer touch.

The away choir sang his name.

“Oh, Enzo Fernandez.”

I liked the way we played in the first half. I thought that for much of it, Neto drifted wide to the right, and both Palmer and Enzo flirted with a central position. It certainly seemed a fluid system. We seemed to move the ball out of the defence a lot quicker and there was generally an upbeat mood in the two tiers of the Doug Ellis. In the first part of the game, there were a few neat inside-to-out passes from Reece James.

Villa, however, did create some chances, but Filip Jorgensen did well to block a couple of efforts from Ollie Watkins.

The home fans were quiet. Ridiculously so.

There was a decent curling effort from Enzo after good work from Nkunku. Cole Palmer advanced and sent a slow-moving shot just wide. There was an effort from Malo Gusto.

We were well on top and playing well.

Worryingly so.

A curler from Nkunku did not bother Emiliano Martinez.

At half-time, everyone seemed to be playing well, but Neil, stood next to Terry, was still not immune to worry.

“You just know that if they score the next goal, they’ll go on to win.”

I sighed and nodded in silent agreement.

At half-time, Marcus Rashford came on to replace Jacob Ramsey and occupied the same piece of terra firma that Nkunku had utilised in the first period.

The second half began, and Villa dominated early on. However, in the first eight minutes, Neto had two good chances to score. A fantastic piece of play from Caicedo set him up, but his shot was wide. Then, a lofted ball from Nkunku allowed another effort from Neto, but Martinez saved easily.

“If only.”

The away support continued to sing praises of past heroes, and I always think this should be done when we are coasting, winning easily, rather than in a close game.

“IT’S SALOMON!”

Sadly, on fifty-seven minutes, Matty Cash crossed out to Rashford, who volleyed across goal and Marco Asensio touched home. VAR upheld the goal after a hint of Rashford being offside.

Neil and I pulled “here we go” faces.

The Holte End came to life.

The stolen “Allez Allez” chant from Liverpool, but then the unique “Holte Enders In The Skoi.”

They were fucking loud.

Our play was withering away in front of my eyes. The Villa players seemed up for the fight.

However, on sixty-nine minutes, an effort from Palmer gave us hope, but it drifted just wide. Then, an even better chance came after Caicedo slipped the ball to the central Palmer. This looked a golden chance, especially as the advancing Martinez slipped. However, Palmer lost his footing too, and his shot was cleared by Ezri Konsa.

The deflated and disconsolate Palmer sat on the turf for several seconds.

Before Christmas, he would have finished, one suspects, with aplomb.

Seventy-five minutes had passed.

After the series of three Frome Town draws, I was contemplating calling this match report “Tales From A Week Of Draws.”

Jadon Sancho replaced Nkunku.

With five minutes to go, I think we all witnessed the quietest ever “One Man Went To Mow.”

But then, out of nowhere, came a loud and vibrant “Chelsea – Chelsea – Chelsea – Chelsea”, the Amazing Grace cut.

Stirring stuff.

On eighty-eight minutes, Villa broke and I sensed danger. I looked to the rafters and mouthed “here we go.” Thankfully, despite Rashford’s strong run and cross, Jorgensen spread himself and blocked well from a Villa player.

It seemed we were hanging on.

Alas, on eighty-nine minutes, a cross from that man Rashford on the left was volleyed towards goal by Asensio, close in, and despite my view being far from perfect, I sensed that Joregensen, despite his previous heroics, had let the ball squirm beneath him.

Fucksake.

Neil was indeed right.

“You just know that if they score the next goal, they’ll go on to win.”

There were a couple of late half-chances. In the very last moments of the game, we were awarded a free kick down below us. Reece James was waiting to take it. Yet, here we were, in the last few seconds of the game that had drifted away from us, and three or four Chelsea defenders were slowly walking to take their positions outside the Villa box.

Dear reader, I was fucking fuming. They weren’t even jogging, let alone sprinting.

“Look at these people!”

Just after, the final whistle blew, our third defeat in a row.

I stood, silent, for a few moments, and then packed my camera away. I said my goodbyes to Terry, to Mark, to Neil. Glenn came to meet me. Outside in the concourse, I spotted Uncle Skinhead brush past me, still going after all these years.

1985

PANORAMA

Tales From A Crazy Game

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Aston Villa vs. Chelsea : 7 February 2024.

We weren’t expecting much from this FA Cup replay at Villa Park. Why would we be? In our previous two games we had conceded eight goals. There was, in fact, a real worry that we would become unstuck on a mighty scale.

I had worked an early shift, collected Paul and PD at 2.20pm, and then headed north. We stopped off at “The Vine” at West Bromwich at about 4.30pm. Our modus operandi was that if we were travelling over one hundred miles to watch a football game that we would probably lose, we had best find our fun elsewhere. The three curries, as always, went down a treat.

At around 6.45pm, I dropped the lads off as close to Villa Park that I could get and then double-backed on myself to park up. The plan was to walk all of the way around the stadium to take a selection of wide-angled photographs of the stands and to try to capture the essence of a midweek cup tie.

Villa Park, eh?

This is a ground that became synonymous with FA Cup semi-finals before the FA took the unfortunate step to host all semis at the new Wembley Stadium. We have played a few semis at Villa Park over the years dating back to our first one, a win, against Everton in 1915. There was then a long gap of fifty years followed by three games in quick succession. We then lost to Liverpool in 1965 and Sheffield Wednesday in 1966 before defeating Leeds United in 1967.

However, my first viewing of an FA Cup tie at Villa Park took place in early 1987. I travelled down to Birmingham with two mates from college in Stoke; Bob, Leeds United, and Steve, Derby County. I remember we posed for a photo outside the famous steps of the Trinity Road but the weather was too overcast and my camera was too cheap for the photo to be worth sharing. I had visited Villa Park for a tedious 0-0 draw in November 1986, but this cup tie was a great match. We had about 5,000 fans in a 21,997 crowd on the low terrace behind the goal and in the seats of the old Witton Lane Stand. We watched from the seats. We went 1-0 up in the first-half via John Bumstead but Villa equalised with twenty minutes to go via Neale Cooper. David Speedie then put us ahead on eighty-six minutes only for Steve Hunt to equalise again. We would win the replay at Stamford Bridge.

That game in 1987 was our last FA Cup tie against Villa on their home patch. However, we would play two semi-finals at Villa Park within six years during the Glenn Hoddle to Claudio Ranieri era.

In 1996, we assembled at Villa Park for the game against Manchester United. We were allocated the old Trinity Road Stand and three-quarters of the Holte End. Luckily, we had seats in the very front row of the upper tier of the Holte End, and I decided to take advantage of this position by creating a flag in honour of Ruud Gullit that I could drape over the balcony. Although the great man himself headed us into the lead in the first-half, United came back to win 2-1 with two goals in quick succession a quarter of an hour into the second-half via Andy Cole and David Beckham.

In 2002, our semi-final against Fulham was to be played at Highbury but our opponents took umbrage that the split of the 38,000 tickets at Arsenal’s stadium slightly favoured ourselves. They demanded that the game should be played at a stadium that allowed more equal allocations. Lo and behold, the two clubs from West London were forced to decamp to Birmingham on a Sunday evening with the game kicking-off at a ridiculous 7pm. I travelled up with a car load from Frome and we enjoyed a lengthy pre-match in the “Crown And Cushion” pub at Perry Barr. This pre-match is notable for the first-ever photo of Parky and myself together. We watched in the noisy upper tier of the North Stand as a John Terry goal just before half-time sent us to Wembley. The irony is that the attendance was only 36,147 and Fulham – of course – did not sell all of their tickets.

“Thanks, then.”

I took a few photographs on the walk through to the away end. Three police vans were parked on the roundabout near the Witton train station. Emiliano Buendia drove past in his car and some Villa fans close by went all weak at the knees. Amidst the throng of match-goers, a chap stood in the middle of Witton Lane with a “God Is Love” placard. I took outside shots of three of the stands but I did not fancy the trot down to the Holte End on this occasion. Time was moving on and I wanted to get inside to join up with the lads. I could sense an air of buoyancy amidst the home fans.

“The Giant Is Awake” is the current tagline at Villa Park and I suppose they have a point. They are playing their best stuff in years.

I was inside at about 7.30pm. As I spoke to a few fellow travellers in the concourse and in the seating area of the away section, nobody was confident.

I took my seat alongside the lads. We were towards the back of the lower tier and it was a decent view. Chelsea were given 6,298 tickets for this game as opposed to the standard 3,000 for league matches. It seemed that a fair few were going spare if the announcements on social media were a clue. I just hoped that there weren’t large swathes of gaps in our section. I soon realised that the split was around 3,000 in the usual areas of the Witton Lane / Doug Ellis but with around 3,300 in the top tier of the North Stand to our right.

There were occasional empty seats but this was a magnificent effort from our supporters. While the dynamics have changed – for the worse, for the worse – at home games, thank God that the football calendar can occasionally throw up an occasion like this where the bedrock of the club can get a chance to follow the team en masse.

The minutes ticked by.

There were a few rock anthems as the 8pm kick-off approached. Surprisingly, “Hi Ho Silver Lining” was aired – as it was at Wolves – but then “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne took over as the teams were spotted in the off-centre tunnel.

Villa then overdid it a bit. Not only were there plumes of smoke by the tunnel, but flames all along the pitch by the Doug Ellis Stand and – fackinell – fireworks in the sky above the stadium.

Not to worry, the six thousand Chelsea fans had a response.

“CAREFREE!”

On a serious note, all of this manufactured noise before kick-off might well look good on TV and it might excite children, but the problem is that it doesn’t allow for atmospheres to sizzle along nicely resulting in a crackling crescendo of noise – self-generated – at kick-off. Maybe those days are gone forever.

Sigh.

Our team? No Thiago Silva. No Raheem Sterling.

Petrovic

Gusto – Disasi – Badiashile – Chilwell

Gallagher – Caicedo – Enzo

Madueke – Palmer – Jackson

There were a few mumbles and grumbles about the starting positions of Cole Palmer and Nicolas Jackson, but – noticeably – nobody was bemoaning the absence of Raheem Sterling.

OK. Everyone stood. Not many gaps in the immediate area. A few late-comers. Many familiar faces. I still wasn’t confident, but here we go. I tried to juggle photographs with shouts and applause for the team.

“CAM ON YOU BLUE BOYS.”

The Chelsea players formed a pre-match huddle, and while they waited for captain Ben Chilwell to join them, I spotted Cole Palmer looking over at the Chelsea support in the Doug Ellis Stand. He seemed to be in awe :

“Bloody hell, they have turned up tonight alright. There’s thousands behind the goal too.”

However, not all parts of Villa Park were full. I soon spotted hundreds of central seats in the executive areas opposite not being used. That was just odd.

Soon into the game, with Villa attacking our end, a long cross found Alex Moreno unmarked at the far post, but rather than attempt an effort himself he decided to head the ball back across the six-yard box. A defensive head cleared.

It was a lively start to the game with Chelsea breaking with speed and intensity. Malo Gusto linked with Noni Madueke and worked the ball in to Palmer inside the Villa box at the Holte End. His shot was an easy take for Emiliano Martinez.

There was a header, shortly after, from Enzo but his compatriot Martinez easily fielded this effort too.

On eleven minutes, we won the ball out on our left. I stood on tip-toes to watch the move develop. Inside to Conor Gallagher who spread the ball into the path of Jackson. He ran and ran, and played a low ball towards Madueke. Although surrounded by Villa defenders, he wisely took a touch before knocking it back into the path of Gallagher. The shot rose steeply but we erupted when the net rippled.

Pandemonium.

Bodies and limbs everywhere. I had no hope of taking a shot of the players celebrating away in the corner.

We were winning. Fackinell.

I was so aware that Conor’s lack of goals is often cited by many as a major-downside. So I was doubly happy that the goal came from him. Lovely.

Villa came into the game but Djordje Petrovic thwarted their couple of attempts on goal including an angled volley from Ollie Watkins.

We continued to purr. On twenty-one minutes, Disasi found Madueke in tons of space. He turned and pushed the ball wide into the over-lapping Malo Gusto. His cross into the box – a relatively low trajectory – was met by the leap of Jackson. His angled effort crashed into the goal.

We were 2-0 up, oh my bloody goodness.

I saw the players celebrating through the forest of arms but I managed to cajole a photo or two out of my camera.

The away support boomed as we continued to dominate. I was really shocked by the lack of noise coming from the home areas though.

Nothing. I heard nothing at all.

We, not surprisingly full of it. However, songs about Willian, John Terry, Frank Lampard and Cesc Fabregas? Really? Save those for the last five minutes of games when we are winning 4-0 plus please. The Willian one was a real shocker.

I took great pleasure in seeing Enzo get more and more involved. Just two examples of his play; the first a cushioned control of the ball with his instep that screamed quality, the second, a first-time transfer of the play from left wing to right wing that told me that he was full of confidence.

Alongside him, Moises Caicedo was enjoying his best game for us, adeptly swatting Villa breaks, tacking hard, turning and passing. And then Gallagher, a one-man search-and-destroy unit, full of energy and running. It was a very fluid and powerful midfield indeed.

The natives were restless and I was loving it.

Chilwell, finding himself on the right, moved inside and unleashed a shot that whizzed just past the near post.

On thirty-three minutes, Madueke hugged the far touchline as he accelerated away after picking up a loose ball level with our penalty box. He skipped past a challenge and continued his run. He passed to Palmer whose shot was at a relatively easy height for Martinez to save.

On a rare break, Watkins set up John McGinn, but Petrovic tipped it over.

At the half-time break, there were nothing but happy faces among the travelling army. It had been, no doubt, the best half of the season by far. Against a decent team, too, let’s not forget.

Ozzy serenaded us with “Crazy Train” once again as the teams took to the pitch for the second-half.

The home team began brightly and I can honestly say that after a quick attack in the first minute I heard the Holte End for the first discernible time.

“Yippee-aye-eh, yippe-aye-oh, Holte Enders in the skoi.”

We applauded them.

On fifty-four minutes, a foul on Enzo. The free-kick was a long way out. I wanted Palmer to take it, but Enzo stood with Chilwell. Chilwell peeled away and Enzo took aim. As did I.

Snap.

I looked up to see the ball fly over the wall and dip majestically into the top corner with Martinez beaten.

What a goal.

The away sections again boomed.

Zola-esque.

I snapped his euphoric run down to our corner. I sensed the meaning of his actions immediately.

“Look at me. I’m Enzo. I’m staying.”

Ah, bloody lovely stuff.

I instantly forgave him for the yellow card that followed him taking his shirt off. Sometimes emotion gets in the way of accountability and rational thought.

The Chelsea supporters on the side stand piped up.

“North Stand. Give Us A Song. North Stand North Stand Give Us A Song.”

Lovely stuff.

We were through. And we just could not resist a nod to our next opponents.

“We all hate Leeds and Leeds and Leeds…”

Amongst all this, a word for the much-maligned duo of Axel Disasi and Benoit Badiashile. Their best games for ages too. There was even a song, only a few days after many for rubbishing his recent performances.

“Brought us back a centre back. Benoit Badiashile.”

We’re a fickle bunch aren’t we?

On sixty-five minutes, a song for a former player that I could fully get behind.

“VIALLI! VIALLI! VIALLI! VIALLI!”

Some late substitutions :

72 : Christopher Nkunku for Jackson.

75 : Raheem Sterling for Madueke.

Moreno rose at the far post but his looping header landed on top of the net rather than inside it.

More substitutions.

81 : Thiago Silva for Palmer.

87 : Alfie Gilchrist for Badiashile.

Villa had a late flourish and in injury-time, Moussa Diaby coolly slotted in at the Holte End.

Aston Villa 1 Chelsea 3.

A roar at the final whistle. What a night. Roared on by over six thousand our team rose to the occasion and played some gorgeous attacking football. Why can’t all away games be like this?

Leeds – you are next.

2023/24 FA Cup Round Five

Blackburn Rovers vs. Newcastle United

Bournemouth vs. Leicester City

Chelsea vs. Leeds United

Coventry City vs. Maidstone United

Liverpool vs. Southampton

Luton Town vs. Manchester City

Nottingham Forest vs. Manchester United

Wolverhampton Wanderers vs. Brighton & Hove Albion

Walking out of the stadium after the game brought back memories of other away triumphs over the years. Everyone was singing – “sign him up for eight more years, Chelsea boys are on the beers” – and I sensed a swagger in our step, that good old Chelsea swagger of old. There’s nothing like it. We walked back to the car and we followed the old rule of being able to walk wherever you want after an away win.

Up to the roundabout, out into the road, the cars can stop for us.

The swagger was back.

1996

2002

2024

1996 – Part 2.

It came to light after the game at Villa Park that a sports photographer – working for “Action Images” – had taken a photo of my “Ruud Boys” flag from behind the goal.

I spotted that a cropped version of it soon appeared in a copy of “Total Football” later that year.

I didn’t ask for royalties.

1996 – Part 3.

The former Wimbledon striker Dean Holdsworth once had an affair with glamour model Linsey Dawn McKenzie. At a game at Selhurst Park in the 1996-1997 season – I wasn’t there – the Chelsea fans were full of rude comments about this romantic liaison. In the “Daily Sport” newspaper – that beacon of journalistic integrity – the following day, there was a photo of Linsey Dawn McKenzie (baring all) with a headline to the effect of “How dare Chelsea fans be rude to both Dean and me?”

The editor chose to illustrate her tirade at the Chelsea fans with a picture of some Chelsea fans, set just behind a large photograph of Linsey Dawn and her quite substantial charms. The photo that the editor chose was from the Villa Park semi-final. It was the photo of my Ruud Boys flag. Or rather, a close-up photo of Glenn and me (looking, strangely, straight at the camera). The story goes that Glenn was sitting with his workmates during a tea break when one of them opened up the middle pages of his “Daily Sport” to exclaim –

“Hey, Glenn – there’s a picture of you and Chris Axon next to Linsey Dawn MacKenzie here.”

Next up, a game at Selhurst Park once again; Crystal Palace away on Monday evening.

See you there.

Tales From The Villa And The Vine

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Aston Villa vs. Chelsea : 16 October 2022.

It was a relatively late start for me. The 8am alarm sounded and I then collected the Gruesome Twosome by 9.30am. All three of us had chosen black tops – Fred Perry, Ben Sherman, Robe di Kappa – and as we stopped in Melksham for the first McBreakfast for absolutely ages we looked like the senior members of some “ultra” battalion.

Kinda.

Milan was still dominating my thoughts when I woke and over the first hour or so of the journey up to Birmingham. This is often the case, eh? The thrill of a European trip is difficult to forget easily. I soon told PD “I will be honest; I am trying my best but I am finding it hard to get up for this game. It’s a bloody good job I am not playing.”

I stopped for a coffee at Frankley Services on the M5 and I was soon turning off at West Bromwich.

To my right, the angled floodlights at The Hawthorns were easily spotted – “one of only three grounds where Chelsea have won the league, lads” – and the sighting of the stadium from half-a-mile away brought back immediate memories of Milan. On the elevated A4, approaching the end of our journey last Tuesday morning, I was keeping my eye out for the San Siro roof which I knew was a few miles to my right, to the south. Lo and behold, despite the grey and hazy view, I found it relatively easy to catch the ridiculously huge roof beams appearing in a void between some rooftops.

My heart jumped in Milan. But my heart jumped in West Bromwich too as I quickly remembered one of the finest nights of recent memory.

I dropped the lads off about a five-minute walk from the away turnstiles at Villa Park but then turned around and drove three-quarters of a mile north to my usual parking spot for Villa at Perry Barr. On the mile-long walk south, I noted that the horrible walkway – an underpass and a footbridge over the busy A34 – was no more, thus cutting a few valuable minutes off my approach to Villa Park. “The Crown & Cushion”, where we enjoyed a very boozy pre-match before the 2002 FA Cup semi-final, had been razed to the ground a few years back.

There were no real pre-game plans on this occasion. There aren’t too many pubs to the north of Villa Park and beers aren’t served in the away end.

This always was going to be a quick smash and grab raid against Aston Villa.

There is red brick everywhere on the way to the stadium. The terraced houses on Willmore Road where I parked for maybe the tenth time in a row, Perry Barr Methodist Church, the houses on Aston Lane, the Aston pub, the old tramway building and then of course the surrounds of Villa Park itself. Alas, the old Trinity Road stand with ornate gables was demolished in around 2000, but its design features are mirrored in the huge Holte End at the southern side of Villa Park. These days the only terrace in town is the steps which lead up from Witton Lane to the base of the Holte End. These steps are speckled with deep claret railings. Squint and it almost feels like an old-style football terrace.

I needed to wait a while to pass over a spare ticket.

I made it in at 2.02pm.

Phew.

The sun was beating down. My God it was hot. My choice of a black wool pullover seemed rather ridiculous. I sidled in alongside Gal, John and Parksorius.

The team? I tried to work it all out. With Reece James out, we wondered who Graham Potter would play at right wing-back if he decided to choose that system. We wondered about Ruben Loftus-Cheek. As I peered out into the bright sun, I attempted to piece it all together.

Kepa

Chalobah – Silva – Cucarella

Sterling – Loftus-Cheek – Kovacic – Chilwell

Havertz – Mount

Aubameyang

I think.

Before I had time to ponder it all, Tyrone Mings headed a cross from Ben Chilwell up rather than away, and Mason Mount, lurking centrally, was able to pounce. He adroitly touched the ball past Emilio Martinez. Luckily enough, my camera captured it all.

Aston Villa 0 Chelsea 1.

A dream start, eh?

I looked around at Villa Park. It is a really fine stadium. It has been modernised but it still feels like an old ground because the four stands are reasonably different. The oldest current stand at the north end of the ground may not last too long though. There are plans to bulldoze it and build afresh with an even larger two-tiered structure in its place. An acquaintance, who lives nearby, had evidentially been invited in for a hospitality gig in the North Stand. He sent over a ‘photo of former Villa players Tony Morley and Kenny Swain who were in one of the lounges and were now hosting some guests. These two players had taken part in Villa’s European Cup triumph against Bayern Munich in 1982.

Ah that year again.

On Saturday 16 October 1982 – forty-years ago to the very day – Chelsea lost 0-3 at Ewood Park against Blackburn Rovers. The gate was a paltry 6,062. It was that bad that Alan Mayes made his first appearance of the season.

There is no punchline.

I was really happy with our start. In addition to the early goal, we were moving the ball well and the whole approach to attacking seemed to hark back to a more free-spirited time. We were looking to attack in a variety of ways.

Long and short. Over the top. Sideways into space.

And despite my ambivalence on the way up, I was absolutely enjoying this game. I was on it and hopefully not likely to fall off.

But then, imperceptibly, the home team grew into the game and for the rest of the first-half we were second best. There were defensive errors – Cucarella was the main culprit but even Silva on occasion – as Villa ran at our retreating backline.

A cross from the Villa left resulted in a melee at the back post. A header crashed against the top of the bar.

Kepa had already been involved before we were treated to three magnificent saves during the same move as Villa peppered our goal. The second one, especially – down low – was magnificent. The third save, in the end, did not matter as an offside flag was raised.

Regardless, our ‘keeper was cheered loudly by the Chelsea contingent.

“He’s magic, you know.”

An errant pass from the poor Aubameyang let in Danny Ings. Kepa was equal to a strong shot, pushing it away for a corner.

The best was yet to come. On the half-hour, Ings headed at goal from close in and I absolutely expected a goal, the equaliser. From right underneath the cross-bar, the Spanish ‘keeper managed to claw it out. I always cite a Carlo Cudicini save at Tottenham as the best save that I have ever seen by a Chelsea ‘keeper but this might well have beaten it.

I was in absolute awe.

“He’s better than fuckin’ Thibaut.”

We had spotted that Loftus-Cheek was now asked to deploy the right wing-back berth with Sterling further forward. Mount withdrew deeper. Both players then initiated a fine move, our first for a while. Loftus-Cheek strode out of defence and passed to Mount. The ball was moved on. A strong run from the previously quiet Kai Havertz was followed by a pass to Raheem Sterling.

“Curl the fucker.”

Curl it he did, but the ball smacked the bar.

Ugh.

At the break, we all knew that we had rodden our luck.

“Getting roasted here Gal. On and off the pitch.”

Potter reacted with some substitutions.

Kalidou Koulibaly for the battle-weary Cucarella.

Dave for the weak Havertz.

The team was re-jigged.

We were soon treated to a John Terry-style chest pass from the current “shirt 26 wearer” Koulibaly. I am sure that I wasn’t the only one who noticed JT’s trademark resurfacing.

The Chelsea crowd were giving the Villa manager some Ba-llistic pain with a certain song from 2014 being repeated again and again. This was followed up with a chant that was also aired in Milan last week.

“Just like London, your city is blue.”

Now, I can concede that Internazionale might well have a claim to “own” the Italian city. But I wasn’t having Birmingham City being the top dogs in our Second City.

I turned to Gal : “Maybe they are including West Brom too, a joint bid.”

Chances were shared at each end.

Further changes ensued.

Conor Gallagher for a quiet Aubameyang.

Jorginho for Kovacic,

“Kovacic has run about today but he hasn’t done too much, Gal.”

On sixty-six minutes, a run into space by Mount resulted in a foul by Mings the merciless.

“I fancy this, Gal.”

Mount sized it all up. His dipping free-kick was perfection personified.

Goal.

GET IN YOU BASTARD.

Aston Villa 0 Chelsea 2.

Phew.

Steven Gerrard was again getting it in the neck.

“You’re getting sacked in the morning…”

On the right wing, down below us, Gallagher mirrored the current government with a quick U-turn to free himself of his marker. A fine searching cross found the head of Sterling but his downward header bounced past the near post.

In the last minute, one last sub.

Armando Broja for Sterling.

I fancied us to score another to rub salt in the wound, but it stayed at two.

Phew.

I’ll say it again.

Phew.

“That’s five wins in a row now, John.”

“Four clean sheets too.”

“Unbeaten in six.”

“Off to a great start, Potter, eh?”

Mason Mount, with his first two goals of the season, took the eye, but Kepa – surely – was our star man. Without him, we could have been 3-1 down at the break. Conor Gallagher injected some energy and movement when he came on. Thiago Silva was excellent. Kalidou Koulibaly looked like the footballer that we thought we had purchased rather than a mistake waiting to happen. I liked Ruben Loftus-Cheek too; steady, though I am not sure that when he runs with the ball he is deceptively fast or deceptively slow. The negatives were Cucarella, Havertz and Aubameyang.

On the walk back to the car, PD mentioned the now missing underpass by the A34 as being the location of an almighty ambush by some Villa lads after the mad 2-2 draw on the last day of the season in 1990/91.

As is so often the case, we called in at “The Vine” at West Bromwich for an early-evening curry. PD enjoyed his Lamb Madras. Parky and I had the same dish, Manchurian Chicken. All very tasty, all immediately served within five minutes of ordering. I was just surprised that Michelle, Dane and Frances didn’t show up.

Please come back into the top flight West Brom so we have another excuse to stop off.

It was a decent drive home.

I was back inside at about 8pm.

Next up, our sixth game of nine in October is on Wednesday at Brentford.

I will see some of the lucky ones there.

Outside

Inside

Tales From Boxing Day 1996 And Boxing Day 2021

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Aston Villa vs. Chelsea : 26 December 2021.

We don’t always play on Boxing Day, but when we do it’s usually at Stamford Bridge. However, for once this was going to be a rare trip to the Midlands for this particular festive fixture and that suited me. Sometimes Boxing Day fixtures at Stamford Bridge, especially the dreaded early kick-offs, can be eerily quiet affairs.

Back when I was younger, attending Boxing Day football was fraught with logistical problems. I didn’t see my first Boxing Day Chelsea game until as late as 1992 when, at last with a car to drive, I made my way up from deepest Somerset to see us play Southampton at home.

Since then, I haven’t attended every Boxing Day game; most but not all.

However, the game at Villa Park on Boxing Day 2021 would only be the fourth away game out of twenty Boxing Day fixtures that I would have watched. The league computer certainly favours us to play at Stamford Bridge on this most traditional of footballing days. We missed out on an away game at Arsenal last year; and that was probably just as well.

I set off at around 9.15am but instead of heading off to collect PD, Glenn and Parky, I was headed due south for half an hour to collect Donna in Wincanton, a town in Somerset that I rarely visit. I fuelled up, then drove through Bruton and I soon realised that unless we play Yeovil Town in the FA Cup it’s unlikely that I would ever take this road to see Chelsea ever again. It was mightily heavy with fog as I crept past the Wincanton Race Course, opening up for its annual Boxing Day Meet. I collected Donna at 10am, then made a bee-line for Frome. I’ve known Donna for a while – I spent some time with her and some other friends in Porto in May – but even though I had seen her at various Chelsea games over the past ten years or so, I only found out from Parky that Wincanton was her home relatively recently.

Donna’s first ever Chelsea game was a pre-season fixture against Bristol City in 1995 just after Ruud Gullit signed for us. I remember that I eagerly travelled down to Devon to see us play Torquay United and Plymouth Argyle during the week before the game in Bristol on the Sunday. Supporters of our club that were not around in the summer of 1995 will, I think, struggle to comprehend the excitement that surrounded the Gullit signing. It absolutely thrilled us all. We both remembered it as a swelteringly hot day – we drew 1-1 – and Donna reminded me that for a long period during the pre-match “kick in”, our new Dutch superstar wandered around the pitch talking on his mobile phone. It just felt that only he would ever be allowed such a privilege.

Twenty-six years ago and a Chelsea pre-season tour in the West of England.

I can’t see that ever happening again, eh?

The first Chelsea away game that I attended on a Boxing Day was at Villa Park too; in 1996/97, a nice 2-0 win, two goals from Gianfranco Zola , and I even won some money on him as the first scorer. Our lovely “1997 FA Cup Final” season was just gaining momentum and times were good, now with a team including Gianluca Vialli, Gianfranco Zola and with Ruud Gullit now as the player-manager. The greatest of times? It absolutely felt like it.

Only the previous April we had assembled at Villa Park for an ultimately agonising FA Cup semi-final with Manchester United; the memory of walking back to my parking spot amidst a sea of United fans haunts me to this day.

But Boxing Day 1996 was a cracking day out; twenty-five years ago to the day. Blimey. File under “where does the time go?” alongside many other games.

I collected the remaining passengers and we were on our way. There was fog, but not as heavy as on the trip up the same M5 to Wolverhampton a week earlier. I made good time and I pulled into the car park of “The Vine”, tucked under the M5 at West Bromwich, for the second time in a week at bang on 1pm. We had enjoyed our meal there so much after the Wolves game that we had decided to do so again.

“The Vine” – good food, a quiet chat, a few drinks – would do for us.

Curries and pints were ordered. Chelsea tales were remembered. Three hours flew past. A trip to Villa Park was long overdue. It has been a mainstay on our travels for decades, but the last visit was as long ago as April 2016 when Pato scored. We remembered that, ironically, I had plans to take Donna to Villa Park for our game in March 2020 – Donna had broken her wrist and was unable to drive – but of course that game was the first one to be hit by the lockdown of two seasons ago. Like me, Donna kept the tickets for that game on her fridge as a reminder that, hopefully, football would be back in our lives again.

It didn’t take me long to drop my four passengers off near Villa Park before I doubled-back on myself and parked up on the same street that I have been using for years and years. We used to drop into “The Crown And Cushion” pub on the walk to the stadium but that is no more; razed to the ground, only memories remain. We had mobbed up in that very pub for the Fulham semi-final in 2002; there is a photo from that day of a very young-looking Parky and a very young-looking me.

I stood outside the away end, a few “hellos” to some friends. I had a spare ticket but couldn’t shift it. Unperturbed, I made my way inside the Doug Ellis Stand. I was rewarded with a very fine seat; the very front row of the upper deck. Alas, Alan wasn’t able to attend again, but Gary and Parky were alongside me.

I dubbed it the “Waldorf & Statler” balcony.

Villa Park is a large and impressive stadium. I looked around at the familiar-again banners, flags, tiered stands and other architectural features. Was I last here almost six bloody years ago?

Tempus fugit as they say in Sutton Coldfield.

The stadium was full to near capacity. The players appeared from that quaint “off-centre” tunnel that Villa decided to keep as a motif from the old, and much-loved, Trinity Road stand of yore. Chelsea as Borrusia Dortmund again; yellow, black, yellow.

The team?

Mendy

Chalobah – Silva – Rudiger

James – Jorginho – Kante – Alonso

Hudson-Odoi – Pulisic – Mount

We were up against Ings, Mings and otherlings.

Let battle commence.

The first thing of note during the game was the realisation that I had forgotten to include a good four of five songs and chants from the Chelsea catalogue at Brentford on the previous Wednesday. I had mentioned thirty; a few friends had added a few more later, yet I was hearing some others too, repeated in The Midlands. It’s a fair assumption that the tally at Brentford must have reached forty.

I doubt if it has ever been bettered.

On the pitch, there were some early exchanges and Thiago Silva continued his lovely form from the previous Sunday at Wolves. The singing in the two-tiered Doug Ellis quietened down as our play deteriorated a little.

But we were still the loud ones.

“Shall we sing a song for you?” was robustly answered on around twenty minutes by the home fans in the North Stand, which was met with sarcastic clapping from the away section.

No surprises, we were dominating possession but Villa were looking decidedly useful when they countered with pace. A run and strike by Ollie Watkins was ably blocked by the nimble reactions of Trevoh Chalobah, and the away fans applauded.

We were having a little difficulty in building our attacks. Reece James struggled with crosses and gave away the occasional ball. From a wide position on the left, Mason Mount slung in a ball that tickled the crossbar; I am not sure if the attempt on goal was intentional.

Sadly, Villa themselves were breeching us too often for our liking. Just before the half-hour mark, a cross from Matt Targett was flicked on – in an effort to block the cross – by James. The ball spun up and over Mendy’s head and outreached arms. Our goalkeeper was stranded and the ball nestled in the net. Villa probably deserved their lead.

At that time, we were looking a little weak as an attacking threat, with only Kante – “imperious” the bloke next to me called him – living up to his billing. Callum Hudson-Odoi seemed as reticent as ever to take people on and Christian Pulisic just looked lost. Thankfully our response was quick and a little surprising. Marcos Alonso pushed the ball forward and Matty Cash lunged at Callum inside the box. It was an ugly challenge and a clear penalty.

Despite Martinez’ merry dance on the goal line, Jorginho rarely misses and he didn’t this time.

1-1.

Back in the game.

The first-half ended with a period of huff and puff with not much real quality.

At the break, the fifth cavalry appeared on the horizon. Although Chalobah had performed admirably, it was his place that was jeopardised in favour of Romelu Lukaku. Pulisic, out-fought and out-puzzled in a central attacking role “of sorts” was pushed back to right wing-back. Soon after the restart, Silva slowly walked off to be replaced by Andreas Christensen.

There is no doubt at all that the changes resulted in a noticeable improvement in our play, the vast majority of which seemed to take place down below us on our right wing. Pulisic looked a lot more potent and of course it was a huge advantage to have a target, a hit-man, a goal scorer on the pitch.

But there were the usual moans and grumbles when Hudson-Odoi fluffed a goal scoring opportunity in his favoured inside-left channel. However, those chastising our youngster were soon eating humble pie. His perfectly floated cross towards the incredible bulk of Lukaku just outside the six-yard box was nigh-on perfection. Our number nine lept and angled the ball past the Villa ‘keeper.

GETINYOUBASTARD.

Our play improved. We looked more confident, more at ease. There was greater intent.

On the hour, Mateo Kovacic replaced Kante and we hoped our little miracle-worker wasn’t badly hurt.

A fine long ball from Christensen played in Mount. He drew the ‘keeper on an angle but with two team mates in good positions, decided to go for goal. With the ‘keeper having over-run his challenge and in no man’s land, Mount’s effort didn’t hit the target. The ball kissed the side netting.

There were howls from the Chelsea support.

At the other end, a rare Villa attack and – if I am honest – a cumbersome challenge looked a definite penalty but we were saved by an offside flag.

A strong run from Lukaku eventually tee’d up Callum again. But this was followed with a weak finish but also an excellent low save from Martinez.

More howls.

Late, very late, in the game, I was poised with my camera as Lukaku started a chase to reach a ball pumped forward by Hudson-Odoi. I watched through my lens as he quickly made up ground on Targett, and raced past. The defender lost his footing and ended up stumbling around like a newly born fawn. Our striker raced on, seemingly ripping up the turf as he sprinted away. It was simply a glorious sight. It was an instant classic, a reminder of older days when strikers were unshackled and free. He advanced into the box, and I was preparing for a Roy Of The Rovers – or Hotshot Hamish – thunderbolt. Instead, Ezri Konsa took his legs away.

Another penalty.

We waited.

Jorginho again.

Goal.

Phew.

But that run from Lukaku. The highlight of the season? Possibly. More of the same please. The second half had been a fine turnaround. Everyone was happy. I kept saying “round pegs in round holes, square pegs in square holes” as we made our way down the many flights of stairs to street level.

As we all walked back to the car, a group of Chelsea fans were singing in the dark distant night.

“Oh what fun it is to see Chelsea win away…”

Boxing Day 1996.

Boxing Day 2021.

Tales From The Underdogs

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Chelsea vs. Manchester City : 12 August 2012.

The weather on the oh-so familiar drive up the M5 to Birmingham was horrendous. The near constant rain was painful enough, but the inclement driving conditions resulted in the traffic slowing right down to the speed of a Florent Malouda dribble. As a result of the delays, our pre-game plans of popping into the Crown and Cushion for a couple of pints of Red Stripe were knocked into touch.

I didn’t park up until 12.50pm.

It didn’t seem that long ago that Parky and I had last visited this particular part of Birmingham; the 4-2 win against Aston Villa seemed like yesterday. Ah, a lovely Torres goal too, I seem to remember.

We were parked to the north of Villa Park; the end allocated to the City fans. I expected the area to be inundated with them. To be honest, it was surprisingly quiet. There was a mixture of Chelsea and City fans milling around in the warm drizzle. It soon became apparent that many fans had expected warmer weather. Many were wearing shorts with trainers and plimsolls, with no rain jackets for cover.

It appeared to me that the drizzly conditions had travelled south with the thousands of Mancunians.

It was typical Manchester weather.

As we approached the stadium, we spotted a gaggle of familiar faces sheltering under the slight overhang of the Doug Ellis Stand. It was good to see them all once again. The others were off to sit in the two-tiered Holte End (the home end at the stadium), while I was by myself in the upper tier of the Doug Ellis. Just as I was finding my bearings, none other than Lovejoy walked past. I hadn’t seen him for almost two years. I was wondering if I’d see him at football ever again.

My seat was in the second row from the rear of the upper deck, down at the south end, behind the goal line. It soon became apparent that the 42,000 capacity was not going to be tested on this particular match day. I spotted large gaps in both tiers of the Holte End. Chelsea had been entitled to over 13,000 tickets for this game, but it was clear that we were a few thousand short of that figure. As kick-off approached, there were just as many gaps in the City sections. City had fans on three sides; the main west stand, the north stand and about a quarter of the Doug Ellis.

It was easy for me to think back to the one game that this scenario reminded me of; our 1996 F.A. Cup semi-final against the other Manchester team, in the days when Gullit and Hughes played for us and Cantona and Beckham played for them. I used to love attending F.A. Cup semi-finals en masse at these neutral venues. I loved the idea of 20,000 Chelsea fans taking over large swathes of other clubs’ stadia. And it preserved the thrill of Wembley for the Cup Final itself. How I wish the F.A. would revert to this, but I know it will never happen again.

Chelsea had both tiers of the Holte End for that game and, as luck would have it, our seats were in the very first row of the upper tier. I immediately seized this opportunity and decided to make a banner to hang over the balcony wall.

Over a week, I painstakingly made my “Ruud Boys” banner, featuring the smiling face of our dreadlocked hero who had so thrilled us in his first season.

The Chelsea fans were out in force on that Sunday in the spring of 1996. Our end was festooned with banners, streamers and balloons as the teams entered the pitch. I always remember that the United sections filled up really slowly and I am pretty sure that there were empty seats throughout the game. Just before the break, that man Gullit leapt at a cross and headed us into a lead.

Oh, how we celebrated that one.

Sadly, two defensive errors – and some unfortunate injuries to key players – allowed United to recover and win 2-1. Wembley would have to wait for one more season.

However, the story continues.

The sight of the Chelsea fans packing out the Holte End in a riot of colour must have been spectacular. There are many photographs of us from that day. One in particular was used in two publications.

One photographer down at pitch level took a photo of my Ruud Boys flag and it was used by “Action Images” to illustrate a piece on Chelsea’s influx of foreign players in a copy of “Total Football” later during that year.

It gets better.

The former Wimbledon striker Dean Holdsworth once had an affair with glamour model Lindsey Dawn MacKenzie. At a game at Selhurst Park in the 1996-1997 season, the Chelsea fans were full of rude comments about this romantic liaison. In the “Daily Sport” newspaper – that beacon of journalistic integrity – the following day, there was a photo of Lindsey Dawn MacKenzie (baring all) with a headline to the effect of “How dare Chelsea fans be rude to both Dean and me.”

The editor chose to illustrate her tirade at the Chelsea fans with a picture of some Chelsea fans, set just behind a large photograph of Lindsey Dawn and her quite substantial charms.

The photo that the editor chose was from the Villa Park semi-final. It was the photo of my Ruud Boys flag. Or rather, a close-up photo of Glenn and me (looking, strangely, straight at the camera).

Imagine the scene.

Glenn was sitting with his workmates during a tea break when one of them opened up the middle pages of his “Daily Sport” to exclaim –

“Hey, Glenn – there’s a picture of you and Chris Axon next to Lindsey Dawn MacKenzie here!”

The Chelsea and Manchester City teams entered the arena from that quirky tunnel towards the corner of the main stand. I guess this was a conscious decision by the Villa club, who were lambasted for replacing the much loved Trinity Road stand with a brutal structure, to maintain certain elements of the old stand. The curved panelling of the original Leitch balcony has been replicated, too.

Chelsea were in the royal blue of old, while City wore a new away kit of Torino pomegranate. The guests of honour were the former city winger Mike Summerbee and none other than our very own Ron Harris. I saw Ron sharing a joke with several of the Chelsea players as he was introduced to them.

The game began and it was clear that di Matteo was staying with his tried and tested 4-2-3-1, with Mikel and Lamps in the withdrawn roles, and Ramires out right, Hazard out left, Mata in the middle. With our influx of new players, I wondered if the manager was wondering about testing the old conundrum of whether teams should be system based or player based.

Should the formation dictate which players to use or should the players force the formation? One suspects that the answer, like a lot of things in life, is a muddy compromise.

The rain had ceased and Manchester City created a flurry of early chances. Petr Cech was in the thick of it and was soon covering himself in glory as he repelled several City efforts. With time, though, we began to make inroads as the game progressed. Eden Hazard took a few nice touches, but then drew instant laughter from the City hordes when he cut inside but tripped over his feet as he attempted a back-heel to Ashley Cole. I’m sure we’ve all done that in our time on the football pitch; I know I have.

I must admit, I didn’t know too much about Eden Hazard before we became linked with him. My knowledge of his attributes is due to a typical search on YouTube; I was mightily impressed. I just hoped that there wasn’t another selection of Eden Hazard clips on YouTube involving him falling over himself, clipping balls Gronkjaer-esque into row Z of the stands at Lille, losing possession after one touch, missing clear chances and setting up opponents’ goals with lazy back-passes.

Two chances in quick succession raised our hopes; a flowing move involving Mata and Ramires allowed Fat Frank to shoot straight at the City ‘keeper and then Hazard cut inside before shooting low.

It then occurred to me – in a lovely moment of self-awareness – that after three games of varying involvement, I was now right back in to the football. After the surreal experience in New York, the boozy song-fest of Chester and the docile frustration of Brighton, I was now kicking every ball, making every tackle, shouting words of encouragement and getting more and more involved with every passing minute.

This turned out to be the most important moment of the entire afternoon for me.

There may come a time when I suddenly lose this passion for Chelsea, but I knew at around 2pm at Villa Park that it wouldn’t be this season; European Champions or not, there are still games to attend, games to win and songs to be sung.

“Come On You Blue Boys.”

With the first half coming to a close, we were rewarded for our slight improvement in play with a goal against the general run of play. What a lovely finish from Fernando Torres, who deftly flicked the ball over the ‘keeper from Ramires’ through ball. I celebrated wildly – yes, I was back – and still managed to capture several shots of El Nino reeling away towards the Chelsea fans in the upper deck of the Doug Ellis. Another goal for him at Villa Park. I maintained my proud record of seeing every Fernando Torres goal in the flesh, from Stamford Bridge to Old Trafford to Camp Nou to Villa Park.

I hope that continues.

I spotted Mick and Della a few yards away from me and I walked over to say “hi” just as the Ivanovic tackle happened. My first reaction was that it was a tough decision; replays on the TV in the bar area at half-time suggested that Kevin Friend got it right. Down to ten men, I doubted that we would be able to hold off a physically tough City side. Up front, Tevez and Aguero looked the business.

I had more words with Mick and Della at the break; they had thoroughly enjoyed their time with Ron Harris in New York and it was great to see them once again.

At the start of the second half, Mancunian drizzle and then Mancunian goals. A couple of lax defensive clearances allowed the ball to fall to Kolo Toure. He smashed it goal wards and I was right behind the path of the ball. I said “goal” as soon as it left his foot.

The City fans, who had swelled their numbers considerably during the first-half, now roared. Their version of “Hey Jude” was deafening to be fair. I wondered if there had been traffic problems for the City fans on their trek south down the M6 from Ancoats, Hyde, Droylesden and Longsight.

A sweet strike from Tevez and a flick from Nasri got them singing again. This now looked like “damage limitation” for us. I wanted Friend to blow up straight away. As Daniel Sturridge warmed up, he took tons of abuse from the City fans in the main stand.

“One greedy bastard, there’s only one greedy bastard.”

That’s ironic, eh? Half of City’s team are only there for the sheikh’s millions.

Oh well. It is what it is.

It was sad to hear the Chelsea support so quiet. Even when we were 1-0 up, the noise was no more than a murmur.

Must do better.

I thought back to the game at Yankee Stadium. The only three English shirts I saw at the stadium which were not Chelsea belonged to two Manchester City supporters and one Manchester United fan. I was expecting more to be honest. I was certainly expecting shirts to be worn by a few Liverpool, Spurs and Arsenal fans in a sad attempt to wind us up. There is nothing sadder than that, in my opinion. However, the sight of the two City shirts certainly made me double-take; outside of Manchester, sightings are rare. In NYC, I decided to take the “good cop, bad cop” approach.

To City Fan #1 – “You’re at the wrong game mate”

This resulted in the City fan puffing his chest out and giving me a look of aggression.

To City Fan #2 – “Congratulations on the title…at least you’re not a red.”

This resulted in the City fan looking confused and befuddled at my – honest – compliments.

Late on, a Daniel Sturridge shot was only parried by Pantilimon and the other substitute Ryan Bertrand pounced. We roared again. Could we rise up from the dead and snatch a draw? Despite a late charge, including big Pete coming up for a corner, it was not to be.

In truth, City could have scored again at the death but Sergio Aguero screwed the ball wide in front of a virtual open goal. With us a man down throughout the second-half, a 3-2 loss was no big deal. Outside, Parky was sage like and philosophical, sharing the opinion that there were several plus points to take from the game.

With a lot of the City fans still inside, our escape route north and then west to the M6 was clear of traffic and, aided by some classics from the Stranglers, we made good time on the drive south.

Throughout the game, I had soon realised that City were the new target for all clubs in the division this season. They are a formidable team – solid in the right areas, with many attacking options. I also realised that it certainly felt “right” for Chelsea – or at least “my” Chelsea – to be classed as the underdogs once more. I’d guess we are third favourites for the league, behind the two Manchester clubs, but I can deal with that. After all, I dealt with it – and the club certainly dealt with it – against Barca and Bayern.

It’s no big deal. I quite like it. After all, a goal scored by the underdogs is celebrated five times as loudly as a goal by the favourites.

I won’t deny that there are the inevitable concerns about our team at this very moment in time. But let’s give everyone time to adapt to each other, to let the newcomers settle, to give the manager his six months to sort out his formation and his methodology. With the possible triumvirate of Hazard / Mata / Oscar feeding Fernando Torres, we could be in for quite a ride.

The league season is almost upon us.

Wigan awaits.

I’m ready.

Let’s go.

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