Chelsea vs. West Ham United : 5 May 2024
With my good friend Alan’s absence from the Chelsea vs. West Ham game due to Bromley’s participation in the National League play-off final at Wembley, there was an extra space in The Sleepy Hollow. Clive had originally given his ticket to Glenn, but it was Clive who picked up Alan’s ticket. Confused? Yeah, me too.
So, the upshot of all that is that there were now five heading up to London in my car for the second London derby in four days. I collected PD and then Glenn at 6.45am, Ron at 7am, Lord Parky at 7.20am.
By 9.20am, I had deposited three of the passengers near “The Eight Bells” and one at the gates to Stamford Bridge. I parked up and darted into the “McDonalds” for a bite to eat and a much-needed coffee. There was a quick chat with John and his son.
“Odd feeling today. I said to the chaps in the car that I was really confident today, but they were having none of it.”
I had a quick chat with Marco at the “CFCUK” stall, a few words with Steve at his programme stall, a brief chat and catch-up with a few former players in the hotel, and a drink with Donna, whose daughter Tallulah was one of the match mascots on this warm and sunny day in West London. I didn’t have my Canon SLR with me on this particular day; the baggage checks are getting more and more draconian and for reasons that I will keep to myself, I didn’t want to risk it. I would be making do with my smaller Sony camera and so, sadly, wouldn’t be able to take any close-ups of Tallulah as she made her way onto the pitch.
With the tubes kaput, I was forced to take the 414 bus down to Putney Bridge. I strolled into the pub just before 11.30am. The boys – joined by the Normandy Division of Ollie and Julien – were already getting stuck into some beers. It was Ollie’s birthday the previous day. To celebrate, I bought a round of shots. A few more rounds of shots would follow.
I, of course, was driving so nothing alcoholic for me.
I took a photo of the lads and posted it on “Facebook.”
I titled it : “Fooligans.”
My friends Aroha and Luke were in the pub, in the far corner, and they were with their two-and-a-half-year-old son Archie, who was bedecked in a blue Chelsea top. This was to be his third Chelsea game, and his first London derby. I have known Aroha and Luke for over ten years or more, and it was a joy to see them bringing their little lad to Chelsea.
At just after 1pm, we set off to catch the 22 bus to Stamford Bridge. Archie was hoisted on top of his father’s shoulders and he joined in with the chanting. I loved that.
However, the bus trip didn’t go as planned, and we seemed to take forever to reach the appropriate point on the King’s Road. Eventually we got off. Very soon, the support struts of the roof at Stamford Bridge could be seen, and I looked back at just the right time to see little Archie’s face light up as he pointed at the sight ahead.
Dear reader, it was such a beautiful moment.
The wonderment and excitement on his little face will be etched on my brain for a long time. We said our goodbyes as we opened up on to the Fulham Road and we made our way in. Lo and behold, nobody stopped me at the second, usually more thorough, bag check at the bottom of the steps to the MHU.
Oh well, I was in.
However, such had been the delay on the bus that I was only just in. As I walked up the final few steps to The Sleepy Hollow, “Liquidator” was booming.
I know I work in logistics, but this really was a little too “just in time” for my liking.
We had heard that Thiago Silva was starting, and the defensive line had been shuffled to accomdate him.
Petrovic
Chalobah – Badiashile – Silva – Cucarella
Gallagher – Caicedo
Madueke – Palmer – Mudryk
Jackson
The bench looked ridiculously stronger than against Tottenham on Thursday.
As the game began, I promised myself to make a note of the movements of comrade Cucarella, who – unbeknown to me – had been adopting a new position further infield once we were in possession in the past one-and-a-half games. The nerds were going wild about it on social media; plainly I had missed the email. I have to say how impressed I was with Cucarella’s scurrying back to his left-back berth once possession was lost, but I noted that even in the first ten minutes, his man was way clear on the right-hand touchline on one occasion. You would think it would be a high-risk strategy, but the wide man was only noticeably unmarked on one other occasion during the whole game.
The West Ham three-thousand started to sing about being “Champions of Europe” and we all guffawed with laughter. I am still unsure if their version is due to them being deluded or a nice effort at self-deprecating irony. For the future of mankind, I hoped for the latter but feared the former.
Fackinell.
In some ways, with no SLR, the pressure was off me to try to get a few killer photographs. The smaller camera was, in my eyes, simply not up to the task. I decided not to take as many photos. On this day, I would take just forty-five photos from the ninety minutes. I usually take three times that amount. I relaxed a little. I still made a note of a few key moments on my ‘phone, but this would be a different kind of game for me. I would be less of a photographer, more of a fan. If that is fucking possible.
There was a little light-jousting in the first quarter of an hour, but I was soon being gloriously entertained.
On fifteen minutes, Noni Madueke created just enough space to lift a cross towards the penalty spot. Nicholas Jackson took a swing but his effort was blocked and the ball came out to the waiting Cole Palmer. I think I inwardly relaxed. Did I expect a goal? Truthfully, yes. Our little diamond instinctively swept the ball in with a gentle swipe towards the far post.
The net rustled.
Areola must have felt a tit.
Chelsea 1 West Ham United 0.
Just after, the head of Jarrod Bowen got to the ball from a corner from Emerson – who? he? – down below us. The header flew in, but thankfully cannoned back off the bar.
Phew.
At around this time, I leaned forward and told Albert in the row in front of me about Clive’s teaser from Thursday. To my shock, Albert only took six guesses and about five minutes to guess the five England players, the “G-Men” from the ‘eighties. I slapped him on the back.
“Well done, son. Well impressed.”
With that, Clive managed to lose the grip on a cup of boiling hot chocolate and a large portion of it spilled onto Albert.
“Easy, Clive, no need to be like that.”
Unfortunately, there are no photographs of the incident.
We were all howling.
With twenty-five minutes gone, we were playing some lovely football. Everything seemed to be knitting together nicely. Efforts from several players rained in on the West Ham goal.
We spoke a little about the day in 1984, almost forty years ago, when West Ham, and more importantly the ICF, visited in vast numbers and despite Chelsea winning 3-0 on the day, it felt that we had been embarrassed a little. Clive took a few hits in The Shed that day. Glenn and I admitted that we were in the safest part of the ground that day; the benches. West Ham, at various times, were in all other parts of the ground. Shudder.
Forty years ago, Fackinell.
On the half-hour mark, a long move saw us creep up the pitch. It was begun with a firm first-time side-foot out of defensive from Thiago Silva, and it really pleased me. It was right on the money. The move developed, mainly down our tight, and although the ball was momentarily lost, it was soon regained. Palmer struck a low roller to the feet of Madueke, but when the ball was semi-cleared – a little similar to the first goal – it ran nicely to Coner Gallagher, who smacked it home on the volley.
Blue & Whites 2 Clarets & Blues 0.
A little knot of Essex Blues behind me were loving it.
Six minutes later, a deep corner in front of the away support from Mkhailo Mudryk was headed back into the six-yard box by Thiago Silva – a resounding leap and header, pure poetry – and the ball ended up in the net. I was a little unsighted, but that man Maduke, had got the final touch.
The Richardsons 3 The Krays 0.
I was up and celebrating with the lads behind me. That little walkway behind my seat has seen some exuberant celebrations over the years and here was another one.
I was up and celebrating another chance just after, as Gallagher smacked a shot from a Palmer cross, after more beautiful twists and turns on the right, against the bar. It all happened so quickly that I didn’t really know what had happened.
But – oh boy, we were purring.
Conor was through, one on one, but fell too easily.
Bizarrely, Bowen hit the Chelsea bar again, just before the break.
At half-time, the warm buzz of quality football. Bliss. A few West Ham fans had already left.
Just three minutes into the second-half, a magnificent ball from deep from Trevoh Chalobah – the sort of ball that I have been wanting to be played for so long – evaded everyone, but dropped into the path of Madueke inside the box. Rather than finish himself, he played the ball square to Nicolas Jackson, who coolly pushed the ball home. Jackson had been a constant worry to the West Ham defence and the goal was richly deserved.
Fulham Broadway 4 Pudding Mill Lane 0.
Up came a massively entertaining chant, slightly-altered from Thursday.
“West Ham get battered, everywhere they go.”
I spotted a little show-boating from Palmer in the middle of the pitch, and the match began to resemble a training game. I wanted more goals – “let’s humiliate them” – but I think that the intensity dropped, and that’s not surprising really.
West Ham threatened our goal with a few half-chances. There was a great save from Petrovic from a James Ward-Prowse free-kick.
Bowen gained an unlikely hat-trick by hitting the bar once again; this time via a slight deflection. Not with his right foot though, so not a perfect woodwork hat-trick. Must try better.
Substitutions took place late in the game.
Cesare Casadei for Madueke.
Christopher Nknunku for Mudryk.
On eighty minutes, Moises Caicedo won the ball and pushed the ball into the path of the raiding Jackson. To my eyes, it looked offside, and so when Jackson finished coolly, I was not celebrating with too much enthusiasm. There was a massive wait for VAR to confirm…no offside, goal. Kurt Zouma – who? he? – had played him on.
Joe Cole 5 Carlton Cole 0.
More substitutions.
Axel Disasi for Thiago Silva.
Malo Gusto for Chalobah.
Alfie Gilchrist for Palmer.
This was another lovely Chelsea performance and it was a joy to watch from the stands. In the end, my photos weren’t too bad and I include some here of course.
On the drive home, we eyed our last three games and we dreamed of three more wins, and maybe, Europe.
Next up, a solo trip to Nottingham.
See you there.
PS – Archie loved it!