Chelsea vs. Bournemouth : 14 January 2025
After the 3pm kick-off on the previous Saturday, I felt rather off-kilter as I made my way up to London with PD and Parky for a Tuesday evening game at home to Bournemouth. There is always a nice and natural rhythm to a run of Saturday games and one week seems to me like a perfect rest period for players and fans alike. After a week of inactivity – no Chelsea – most fans are chomping at the bit for the next instalment.
However, after a rest of just two days, the Sunday and Monday, we were at it again.
I had to chuckle after I had just after picked up the lads in Melksham and Parky, sitting at ease in the back seat, had commented “it’s tiring work, these midweek games” without a hint of irony.
Before setting off from Melksham, the football world had received the sad news that the former Manchester City player and manager Tony Book had passed away at the age of ninety. I would not normally mention things such as this, but Tony Book once played for Frome Town for a short while at the start of his career, which later took him to Bath City and Plymouth Argyle before joining City at the age of thirty. My father always told me as a youngster that Tony Book came from Peasedown, no more than eight miles from my home village, but it would appear that his home city was indeed Bath, but he played his first football for Peasedown Miners. There was a trial at Chelsea in his early years.
Tony Book was undoubtedly Frome Town’s most famous ex-player.
RIP.
As I stopped for fuel at Membury Services, I spotted that my mate Clive posed a question to me via a WhatsApp message.
“Who was the first British goalkeeper to win the European Cup with two separate teams?”
As I drove off, I had an idea, a strong idea, of who this might be. As I was driving, I asked PD to message Clive my answer.
I was pleased that I was correct.
Anyone have any ideas?
At around 4.30pm, I dropped the lads off along the Fulham High Street and they made their way to “The Eight bells.” Our pre-match activities were to differ on this occasion. I shot up to Charleville Road, just off the North End Road, to park up. I dived into an Italian restaurant and treated myself, but although the food was tasty, the portion sizes were miniscule and the prices expensive. Not even the charms of the two Italian sisters who work there might entice me back.
I shot off down to the re-opened “Broadway Bar & Grill” – formerly The Kings Arms – and met up with Mehul, originally from India, but now living in Berlin via a few years in Detroit. I last met up with him at Christmas 2019 on a boozy pub-crawl around Fulham. He was with his friend Pete, originally from near Swindon, and now living in Berlin too.
This was Pete’s first top-flight football match since Swindon Town’s lone season in the Premier League in 1993/94. Pete explained how Glenn Hoddle, who jumped ship to manage Chelsea after winning promotion for the Robins in 1993, is still referred to as “Judas” in Swindon circles. I can readily remember a Swindon Town supporter who worked as a fitter alongside me in a factory in Trowbridge, who had a snarling expression at the best of times, who seemed to hold me personally responsible for Hoddle’s deflection from his local team. Football, eh?
I explained to them both how Glenn Hoddle played an absolutely pivotal role in the upsurge in Chelsea’s fortunes over the past thirty or so years. Having seen Swindon’s entertaining football during the 1992/93 season on TV and at one game against Newcastle United, I can certainly remember being so thrilled to hear that he was to join us, despite his Tottenham past.
I made it to my seat at 1905, as good a time as any.
I noticed that Bournemouth did not take their full 3,000 allocation. It looked like the lesser 2,200 which resulted in a slightly different configuration to the away section.
The starting eleven caused a slight stir with Moises Caicedo again starting at right-back, but with Reece James and Malo Gusto available but on the bench. I was surprised that the long-term injured Romeo Lavia was the only player retained from the Morecambe game on Saturday. Would he be able to manage two games in four days?
Anyway, Enzo Maresca is the manager, he has the badges, while I will admit that I am a tactical moron.
This was the line-up :
Sanchez
Caicedo – Acheampong – Colwill – Cucarella
Lavia – Fernandez
Madueke – Palmer – Sancho
Jackson
I had said to various friends in the pre-match chitter-chatter that although three points were vitally important, it was just as imperative to play some good football, to see our confidence return, to “get back on the treadmill.”
The game began, and nobody could complain about our opening. There was an early Enzo miss from close in during the first few seconds, and on six minutes Cole Palmer had a free-kick saved by the Bournemouth ‘keeper Mark Travers. On nine minutes, there was a delicate lob from Palmer that drifted just past the frame of the goal. All of this was a pre-amble to a lovely piece of football on thirteen minutes.
The ball was pushed into Nicolas Jackson by Enzo, and despite being surrounded by three Bournemouth defenders – Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew – Nico managed to hold on to the ball with great strength and wriggle out of a tight space with the ball. There was a finely gauged pass to Palmer, who had made a run past three more Bournemouth defenders – Cuthburt, Dibble, Grub – to perfection. With the ‘keeper in front of him, just one man to beat now, he paused slightly, effectively a dummy, and as the ‘keeper fell to one side, Palmer cooly slotted the ball to the other side and into the net.
There were joyous celebrations all around Stamford Bridge.
Alan : “THTCAUN.”
Chris : “COMLD.”
I likened the cool finish to Jimmy Greaves. Alan likened it to George Best.
CFC 1 AFCB 0.
On twenty minutes, the away team enjoyed a little more of the ball, but we still looked in control. We seemed more tenacious in midfield than in previous games.
On twenty-eight minutes, Enzo showed some lovely close skill and forced a low save from Travers to his right from twenty yards out.
On thirty-two minutes, all eyes were on Noni Madueke who was faced with the prospect of having to beat two Bournemouth defenders. I caught on film his tight control, his acceleration, his changing body shape as he miraculously sped clear. His final decision – a shot and not a pass – was his downfall. It smacked the near post. If only.
On thirty-seven minutes, yet another piece of shambolic play from Robert Sanchez gifted the away team with their first real chance of the first period. He played the ball straight to Justin Kluivert – a pass intended for Palmer – and after a little pinball in the Chelsea penalty area, it was the same Bournemouth player who hit the base of the left-hand post. The ball was hacked away by Moises Caicedo down below us and again Jackson did ever so well to wrestle himself from a physical challenge, turn and sprint away. This was gorgeous football. Alas, his strike at goal hit the base of the left-hand post at the other end of the ground and it stayed 1-0.
On thirty-eight minutes, a deep curler from out on the right wing by Palmer evaded everyone apart from the leap of Jackson. His downward header was superbly parried by Travers, and the bouncing rebound was slashed wide by Jackson again.
Snot.
It was a real curate’s egg of a first-half. Good – no great – in parts, but with still an annoying number of wayward passes. We created way more chances than Bournemouth – as evidenced by the predominance of the name of Travers thus far – but it stayed, worryingly at 1-0.
The noise in the stadium was truly terrible too.
But you knew that.
I joked with Frank who sits behind me that “we can’t bring Cucarella on to liven things up because the fucker is already on.”
Ho hum.
The second half began, and we seemed to be sleep-walking during the opening moments which was a big worry. Three minutes into the half, the otherwise impressive Enzo gave a loose pass to Romeo Lavia, and it was snapped up. The ball was played to Antoine Semenyo and as he raced away. As he set himself to shoot, Caicedo bundled him over. It was a penalty all day long.
Kluivert smashed it high into the goal.
CFC 1 AFCB 1.
I loved the crowd’s reaction, immediately after the goal.
“CAM ON CHOWLSEA. CAM ON CHOWLSEA. CAM ON CHOWLSEA. CAM ON CHOWLSEA.”
The loudest of the night.
There was a bonkers foul by Lavia just after, and I was fuming. Just when we needed leaders to calm things down and to steady the ship, we gave away a cheap free kick. Thankfully it came to nothing.
I didn’t see the foul on Cucarella – the hair pull, give me strength – and I only saw the quite pathetic rolling around by Cucarella, no doubt screaming in agony. There was confusion as VAR got involved, players hounded the referee on the touchline, the referee seemed the centre of attention again.
A yellow, no red.
Pah.
On fifty-six minutes, Reece James replaced Lavia, with Caicedo trotting inside alongside Enzo.
On fifty-seven, a solid crunch of a tackle from Enzo, and the ball fell to Jackson, but that man Travers was able to save.
The away team grew in confidence. They were a well-trained unit that broke well. I said to Alan “we’ll do well to draw this.”
A Bournemouth corner resulted in a fine block by Sanchez from a shot by Brooks.
Just as I was thinking something along the lines of “well maybe if they attack us, we can exploit the space they leave behind them”, a rapid break down the inside-left channel cut us open and Semenyo, danced past Josh Acheampong way too easily and slashed the ball high past Sanchez with his left foot.
CFC 1 AFCB 2.
Fackinell.
Sixty-eight minutes had passed.
There was an immediate substitution. Although he had impressed against Crystal Palace, Josh had struggled here. He was replaced by Tosin.
A shot from Jackson was blocked by either Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthburt Dibble or Grub, I forget who.
With a quarter of an hour to go, I noted that there was a bit more fervour from the home support, thank heavens.
But Bournemouth still created two chances of their own with ten minutes to go, and our second-half fade, a trademark of late, was all too familiar.
On eighty-one minutes, a double substitution from Maresca.
Pedro Neto for Madueke.
Joao Felix for Caicedo.
There was a magnificent save from Travers, at full stretch, a header from Tosin from a Palmer free-kick.
Eight minutes of injury time were signalled.
More than a trickle of fans had decided to leave.
Four minutes in, from virtually the same position as the previous free-kick six minutes earlier, Palmer and James stood over the ball. It was Reece’s turn. I snapped as he struck. The ball stayed low and miraculously bent its way around the wall and nestled into the goal.
The net rippled.
What a sight that is.
CFC 2 AFCB 2.
Reece wheeled away in ecstasy.
Phew.
In the ninety-ninth minute, Tosin headed wide. No last-minute madness this time. It stayed 2-2.
It was, alas, only our third point out of the last fifteen. And the really worrying thing is that these five games were against teams that we ought to be beating; Everton, Fulham, Ipswich, Crystal Palace, Bournemouth.
Oh well, on we go.
Next up is a home game on Monday against Wolverhampton Wanderers.
See you there.