Chelsea vs. Servette : 22 August 2024
New tag :
#conferenceleague
The first midweek game at Stamford Bridge of the new season meant that I needed to swap my shift at work to 6am to 2pm. I was up early, at 4.30am, and I left the house at 5.30am. During the last few minutes of my twenty-five-minute commute, I realised that my brain had been occupied for virtually the whole time with thoughts of football, Chelsea, the evening’s game and the blog.
“All these bloody new players.”
“Us supporters need time to get to know them, it’s not easy. It’s not an immediate bond.”
“God knows how they themselves manage to form working relationships and decent friendships.”
“English, Ukrainians, French, Portuguese, Spanish, Argentinians, Ecuadorians, Serbs.”
“An Italian manager.”
“Nobody left apart from Reece James who has Chelsea DNA, experienced Cobham, knows our history.”
“Conor Gallagher. Fackinell.”
“Seems like an alien club to me right now.”
“That disconnect is real.”
“Feels like being witness to market traders. Players in. Players out. Commodities.”
“Yeah, we like to get to know players. But it takes time. Build relationships. Build understanding.”
“This ain’t like some sort of Swingers’ Club where players toss their car keys into a bowl and we hope for the best.”
“Tales From The Swingers Club. That should raise a few eyebrows.”
“I am a bit too old to call the players heroes, but this lot of heroes seem to be like ships that pass in the night.”
“Could do with some coffee when I get to work.”
“Chelsea seems like a decaffeinated football club at the moment.”
“Need to plan when I have to write the blog over the next week or so. Games coming thick and fast.”
“Am I going to do a full-blown retrospective of 1984/85 this season? A big ask. Going to be difficult.”
“Could do 2004/05 to be honest. Another big season.”
“Or 1994/95. Our first European campaign in twenty-three years.”
“Decisions. Decisions.”
“Man City got a reasonable amount of views. Not brilliant, but not bad. Would be nice to continue to grow the figures. This year’s total could reach twice the amount of last year. Big breakthrough.”
“Fuck knows why. Wasn’t the best of seasons.”
“Need to keep things fresh.”
“Not get stale.”
“Thank God for Europe this season.”
“Not convinced this tie will be easy though.”
“A slender lead from tonight maybe. Then a nervous away game next week.”
“Frome Saturday. Chelsea Sunday. Frome Monday. Big weekend.”
Will try to squeeze the blog in on Friday night.”
“Wonder what time I will get home tonight?”
The day flashed past. I collected PD and Parky outside work at just after 2pm. I was parked up at 5pm. I shot off for a pizza on the North End Road and then joined the two of them down at “McGettigan’s” for a lone pint of Diet Coke. There were many more replica shirts – of all eras – in this pub, compared to the old school outliers “The Bedford Arms” and “The Eight Bells” to say nothing of a few more similar pubs dotted around the borough. It’s to be expected, I suppose. Chelsea are not high up on the list of shirt and scarf wearers but there’s always many more in the pubs around Fulham Broadway than further afield. Luke and his Dad, plus Salisbury Steve had joined us. Time for a little natter.
There were rumours of a few of the six-hundred Servette fans causing a bit of a ruckus out on the Fulham Road as they approached the stadium; they were kettled near the old “La Reserve” hotel apparently. This was a big night for them. I guess they don’t often visit London. Certainly not against teams that have won the European Cup on two occasions. I guess they needed to make a scene.
Inside, my worries about empty seats were unwarranted. There were just a few in the top corners of the East Upper and the away corner of course. There were plenty of Servette banners and flags. Their colours were Torino pomegranate, a little like Sparta Prague too.
Joao Felix was re-introduced to the Stamford Bridge faithful.
“And don’t get sent off in your first game this time, mate.”
Due to a variety of reasons, I am not going to the away game in Switzerland next week. I am gambling on us getting through to the next phase – “the league table phase” – and the hope of getting to two of our away games.
Alan is going with his usual travel companions Nick the Whip, Pete and Gary.
“Nick’s looking forward to going to Switzerland. It gives him a chance to visit his money.”
News had come through about our team. It caused a few eyebrows to be raised. The back four was, ahem, interesting.
Jorgensen
Disasi – Tosin – Badiashile – Veiga
Caicedo – Dewsbury-Hall – Nkunku
Neto – Guiu – Mudryk
Or something like that.
A first viewing for me of Filip Jorgensen and Tosin Adarabioyo.
Welcome to the club, chaps.
There was another DJ down by the pitch, clearly having way more fun than all of the other people in the stadium put together.
The kick-off time of 8pm soon arrived.
Flames, but no UEFA anthem. Maybe the winner of the yearly Eurovision Song Contest could devise a different Conference League anthem each year. Does it have that feel to it? Maybe. I’m just glad to get out and about in Europe with Chelsea again – hopefully, no chickens being counted here – and I honestly could not care less if supporters of other teams might have a giggle at our expense.
All roads lead to Wroclaw, right?
Chodźmy do pracy.
The large flag with the two golden stars floated atop the heads to my left in the Matthew Harding Lower. The last European night here was against Real Madrid in the April of 2023.
You can write your own punchline.
Moises Caicedo was the captain for the night and he bizarrely feels like a seasoned veteran, a crowd favourite, but the bloke only played his first game for us just over a year ago.
The game began and Chelsea attacked The Whitewall, The Middle, The West Side, The Tea Bar.
Within the very first minute, there was a really nice break down our left and Keirnan Dewsbury-Hall pushed the ball towards the spritely Marc Guiu, who advanced and tried his best to regain control after over-running the ball. As the ball sped away from him, he tried in vain to head the ball in by the base of the post. He was offside anyway.
As the game got going, we dominated possession but it was hardly thrilling stuff. There was a buzz of noise from the home areas but that soon petered out.
After fifteen minutes, Jorgensen was called into action to tip a shot from an angle over the bar.
On Sunday, there was something about Pedro Neto that reminded me of Kevin Wilson. Likewise, as this game developed, Marc Guiu reminded me a little of Marcos Alonso. It must be a Barcelona thing.
Guiu was looking as determined as any, although Neto on the right was clearly trying to make an impression with his speed and craftiness. Guiu set up Mykhailo Mudryk who thumped wide. It was an awful finish.
Just after, a fantastic low cross from the Servette right was swept across the face of our goal – the famous “corridor of uncertainty” which always seems to sound like a description of the route to the Wetherspoons toilets – but thankfully there was no attacker able to pounce. Servette definitely grew with confidence in the final fifteen minutes of the first-half.
I had just texted a few friends in the US – who were not able to watch on TV – that it had all been pretty dull so far and that we had yet to muster a shot on goal. Neto, from a central position, at that moment, shot at goal but the Servette ‘keeper Jeremy Frick easily saved. Thirty-one long minutes had passed.
That fantastic cross from the Servette right was then repeated and although there were bodies in the six-yard box this time, nobody could thankfully connect.
All along I had predicted a 1-0 win to us, but I had real fears of us going out in the second leg, St, Gallen all over again.
The home crowd were not happy with the fair being presented and grew impatient.
“The trouble with possession-based football is that there seems to be a lack of intensity.”
When we conceded a late corner, all of our players just ambled back as if they were just returning to their cars after a leisurely ramble around a village fete.
On forty-three minutes a shot from Christopher Nkunku. I had forgotten that he was playing.
Yes, there were boos at half-time.
It had been, in the main, dreadful.
Soon into the second-half, attacking us in The Sleepy, Mudryk stretched his legs and powered down the left wing before running out of steam. He’s such an enigma, and I am not so sure he is going to get much playing time if Maresca keeps to his laborious set patterns, getting the opposition to sit deep after boring them to death, to say nothing of us fans.
We attacked down the left again and Dewsbury-Hall fed in Nkunku. He sped forward and it looked like he would struggle to reach the ball before Frick. Thankfully he poked it on, but the Servette ‘keeper bought it hook, line and sinker.
The referee pointed to the spot. I don’t know why but I hardly moved. I have rarely celebrated a penalty with less fervour in my life. The ghost of VAR? I definitely think so.
Nkunku slammed it home, just past the gloves of Frick.
Chelsea 1 Servette 0.
Alan : THTCAUN.
Chris : COMLD.
I was gutted that I missed Nkunku’s celebration with the blue balloon. That would have been a fine photo. Bollocks.
There then followed a ridiculous passage of play. The industrious Guiu chased a through ball. Frick met hit a long way from home but made a Chelsea-style hash of clearing the ball. Guiu charged it down and the ball spun away into a very appetising position for Guiu to stab home. Remarkably, the young Catalan was unable to finish and Frick miraculously scrambled back to save. Guiu then had two further efforts from close range but the ‘keeper somehow blocked them all.
Fackinell.
The place finally made some noise.
CAREFREE!
There was another pacey run from Mydruk and the noise continued for a few fleeting moments.
57 minutes :
Cole Palmer for Marc Guiu.
Noni Madueke for Pedro Neto.
Enzo Fernandes for Nkunku.
Servette, to be fair to them, then seemed to have a spell of their own. The frustration in the ranks of the home support rose again.
It was hardly inspiring stuff.
However, on sixty-seven minutes, Enzo spotted the strong run into space by Madueke and his lofted ball was to perfection. Madueke took it in his stride and, surprisingly instead of coming inside to connect with his left foot, slammed it unceremoniously into the roof of Frick’s net with his right peg.
GET IN.
Chelsea 2 Servette 0.
It was a fine goal.
78 minutes :
Malo Gusto for Disasi.
There was a defensive blunder but The Honorable Jeremy Guillemenot, Third Earl of the Geneva Canton, was unable to capitalise, and we had Jorgensen to thank for a really fine save down low. Servette kept going and Tiemoko Ouattara’s shot dipped wickedly after a deflection of Tosin and the ball struck the top of the bar. Phew.
84 minutes :
Romeo Lavia for Caicedo.
Servette still kept coming. A header went wide. Then, late on, a corner was swept in and The Honorable Jeremy watched in horror as he somehow managed to push the ball over from what seemed to be a position right under the bar. Another phew.
It ended 2-0.
If I am honest, the visitors could easily have drawn this game. It had been a mediocre performance from us, but my expectations after seeing the starting XI were not sky-high. Let’s hope it is enough to see us qualify for the next phase.
The attendance was a pretty healthy 37,902.
Fair play to Chelsea. My ticket only cost me £27. Parky’s ticket was just £13.50.
And fair play to the six-hundred from Geneva. Although the noise that they produced wasn’t great, due to their numbers, they kept singing all night long. Absolutely magnificent stuff.
I reached home at 12.45am.
Next up, a football weekend.
Saturday : Chertsey Town vs. Frome Town.
Sunday : Wolverhampton Wanderers vs. Chelsea.
Monday : Frome Town vs. Taunton Town.
See you somewhere.