Chelsea vs. Newcastle United : 28 May 2023
A month or so ago I mentioned that Ron Hockings, one of our greatest ever supporters, celebrated his 1,400th first team Chelsea game with our away match at Craven Cottage in April 1983. At the time, as a seventeen-year-old from Somerset, I could only dream of such ridiculous numbers of attendance. While Ron was clocking up game number 1,400, I was yet to break thirty matches. In those days, I would go to around four games each season.
But years pass, right?
Lo and behold, our last game of the 2022/23 season would be my 1,400th Chelsea game too. As I reviewed the letter from Ron in the programme from forty years ago, I was reassured that he counted first-team friendlies in his total. As do I.
It gave my total a certain cachet of authenticity.
“Bloody hell, I am not travelling to Kuala Lumpur with Chelsea without including it in my total.”
I like it that Ron celebrated 1,400 in 1982/83, a season that I have been detailing during this campaign. And here I am celebrating 1,400 forty years later. I am not sure that I ever spoke to Ron. I may have “nodded” a hello on a few occasions, but you used to see Ron everywhere. Like Peter Kemp and Alan Bruce, they would appear wherever Chelsea were playing. I have dipped into his book “100 Years Of The Blues” to help me add to my own memories of that season and I owe him a huge pile of gratitude. From 1947 to 2006, Ron went to a grand total of 2,703 Chelsea games, a ludicrous amount. He passed away around fifteen years ago, but his books will live forever.
With a lovely touch of symmetry, game number 1,400 would be against Newcastle United, as was my very first game in 1974.
16 March 1974 : Chelsea vs. Newcastle United.
29 May 2023 : Chelsea vs. Newcastle United.
Perfect.
And while we are on the subject of numbers and milestones, my attendance at the game on 29 May would allow me to complete my third – and only my third – ever-present league campaign of Chelsea matches.
2008/09 : 38/38
2015/16 : 38/38
2022/23 : 38/38
As my friend Ian would point out, a pattern has emerged here. Is my need to attend all the league games a seven-year itch? Is my next ever-present season due in 2029/30 when I will be – gulp – sixty-four? No, it’s just a product of being able, or not, to get to as many as I can. There is no plan.
I can’t really explain all this. But ever since that first game almost fifty years ago, I just love going to Chelsea matches. At the start, it was all about the players. Seeing my heroes play. Then, over time, I fell in love with the routine of attending games, the camaraderie, the laughs. Now, that is more important than the football.
“Which is just as bloody well after this season” I hear you all joking.
Well, I’ve seen worse, as my chronicles of 1982/83 prove.
This season hasn’t been the worst in our history, but at times it has felt the most disjointed, disappointing, under-achieving and – crucially – the least enjoyable.
It’s a shame that this accolade is bestowed by myself on 2023/24, my fiftieth consecutive season of match-going support for the club.
We can’t really class that as an honour can we?
The pre-match routine for the final game of this tortuous season followed the usual lines. Once I had walked down to Stamford Bridge with Ron – he played in Game #1 of course – it was lovely that my friend Kathryn and I managed to sort out a photo that would include four players from the 1982/83 season; Colin Pates, Paul Canoville, John Bumstead and Gary Chivers, plus Rodders thrown in for good measure. Kathryn and I then decamped to “The Eight Bells” via a stop at “The Broadway Bar & Grill” and we spent a decent hour or so with the two Glenns, Salisbury Steve and the Kent Lot.
The pub was bouncing with laughs and giggles; an outsider would find it hard to believe that we had all been following such a poor team over the past ten long months.
Inside “The Eight Bells”, there was a poignant moment for a few of us too. The Chelsea match-going family had recently been saddened by the death of a friend, Ian Oliver, who we had last seen in “The Eight Bells” before a game at Chelsea around six weeks ago. Ian was one of those chaps that you always bumped into at Chelsea, usually in “The Goose” but other pubs too. His was a face that I recognised from decades ago. And Ian was one of those rare Chelsea fans that lived locally, in Fulham, along with just a handful of other fans in my circle. I am pretty sure that his sister worked at “Chubby’s Grill” on match days, a hot dog van that was part of the furniture for years. Ian had recently gone to the gym and I commented to him during that last time in the pub that he had lost some weight and was looking good, bless him.
Ian – “Elvis” – will undoubtedly be missed by all of his Chelsea friends.
Rest In Peace.
As we left the pub, two female away fans sauntered past and one of them noisily remarked :
“Oh, youse have had a shite season, eh?”
“No need for that, is there?” I replied.
Indeed, there was a noisy bunch of Newcastle United fans, who had been drinking in Putney and close to our pub in Fulham, alongside us on the tube journey up to Fulham Broadway. A few were in fancy dress. There had been a few boats containing away fans alighting at Putney and I got the feeling that this was the happiest that the Geordies had been at a game at Chelsea since the days of Kevin Keegan as their manager.
To be fair, Eddie Howe has had a fine season up on Tyneside and all of us look forward to visiting the area again next season, as always a favourite away destination.
Elsewhere, three teams were fighting off relegation; two of Everton, Leeds United and Leicester City would join Southampton in a final relegation place by the end of the afternoon. I know that many wanted Everton to go, but not me. From a purely selfish reason, I wanted to be able to plan, visit and appreciate one last away day at Goodison Park at some stage in 2023/24 before they decamp to their new stadium at Bramley Moore Dock in 2024. It has been my favourite away ground for ages. I hoped for a win for them at home to Bournemouth.
On the Saturday, we had learned that Luton Town would be joining Burnley and Sheffield United in the top flight, though I wanted Coventry City to prevail. With Luton Town, Sheffield United and Burnley in the top flight, 2023/24 was beginning to resemble 1974/75, and this sent a shiver down my spine.
I was inside Stamford Bridge with plenty of time to spare. There was a small eulogy, with a photo, of Ian Oliver in the match programme.
Before the game, trophies were handed out to Lewis Hall – Academy Player Of The Year – Conor Gallagher – Goal Of The Season, Crystal Palace away – and Thiago Silva – Player Of The Year.
Frank presented Silva with his award. Surely this was a unanimous decision. The man ought to have won it last season too.
There had been Chelsea chat on the way up to London in the car. A lot of it centered upon Frank Lampard. I remember how happy he was on his return to the club, smiling at Cobham, full of delight. Looking back, it is clear that the club that he was forced to leave in early 2021 is not the same beast that it is now. Everything seems to have changed for the worst. There is no continuity now, that “Chelsea DNA” seems to have evaporated, we are a club in disarray. With hindsight, Frank’s gamble hasn’t paid off. I wonder how difficult it will now be for him, should he really feel the need, to get back into football management after this second spell with his beloved Chelsea.
That said, it has really disappointed me that so many in the Chelsea fan base, and – alas – even in my band of match day acquaintances have almost gleefully mocked Frank Lampard in recent weeks using language that I really found hard to stomach.
No respect.
Before the game, we were reminded that the day would probably mark another “farewell” to a Chelsea great. Since signing in 2012, Cesar Azpilicueta has played over 450 games for Chelsea and I always say he is “Mister 7/10”. His legs have gone recently but nobody can doubt his spirit. Before the players appeared on the pitch, a banner with mosaics honoured Dave – I still call him Dave, you might have noticed – in The Shed.
Franks final starting eleven?
Kepa
Dave – Silva – Chalobah – Hall
Enzo – Loftus-Cheek – Gallagher
Madueke – Havertz – Sterling
Newcastle were in white shorts, and I remembered that they wore these in a 6-0 Chelsea win in 1980, but I doubted a repeat.
“Grabbing at straws, there, Chris.”
The Sleepy Hollow was ready; the Buchmann Brothers Alan and Gary – sons of lovely Joe – Glenn, Clive, Alan and little old me. Clive had treated us to hot chocolates once again before the game.
This has often felt like the longest ever season, what with the horrible World Cup break in November and December, though the COVID hit season three years ago went on even longer. It seemed like this one was never going to end, and there was a slightly surreal to the game with both teams having not a great deal to play for.
Here we go then, Chelsea…game one thousand, four hundred.
No pressure.
The travelling Toon Army were in good voice as their team edged the opening exchanges. A white flare was set off in front of their fans; that fog from the Tyne was drifting long distances. Kepa did well to save at his near post after Aleksander Isak found space in the penalty area.
In an open first few minutes, it was the away team who looked the likelier to score. Indeed, we looked stretched after ten minutes when Allan Saint-Maximin was released on their left, amid acres of space, with Dave sadly nowhere near the wide man. It was if Dave had forgotten that he was the wide defender in the back four. The ball was played outside to Elliot Anderson who drilled a low cross into that infamous “corridor of uncertainty” for Anthony Gordon, hopelessly unmarked, to pounce.
Back in 1974, Ian Hutchinson gave us a 1-0 lead on ten minutes. In 2023, the start was sadly reversed.
On fourteen minutes, a Thiago Silva effort seemed to be creeping in at the far post but Martin Dubravka clumsily pushed it out for a corner. We were clawing our way back into the game. We enjoyed some pressure with Noni Madueke looking lively at times. A deflected shot from his volley soared just over. The corners mounted up.
On twenty-seven minutes, a free-kick was awarded in a deep but central position. Everyone was expecting a cross towards the far stick, but Enzo was switched on and drilled a ball into the path of Raheem Sterling in the inside-right channel who cut in past his marker and unleashed a goal-bound shot that was deflected in by Kieran Trippier.
Phew.
Just after, Stamford Bridge was united with a stadium-wide chant for the first time.
I looked around and, despite our rotten – by our standards – season, there were not many empty seats in the stadium. This has to be a good sign. This augurs well for the future.
Madueke, a teasing threat down the right, then went close but a defender blocked his shot.
Just before the half-time whistle, the two ‘keepers made two fine saves. The first came from an awful, unchallenged break from Saint-Maximin who set up fan favourite Miguel Almiron, with Lewis Hall out of position, but Kepa stood up and palmed a weak effort away. Then, Dubravka clawed away an effort from Sterling, after a pin-point cross from Hall, and the follow-up was hacked away too.
As first-halves went it was “fair to middling.”
I mentioned to Ian, who sits a few rows in front, that supporting Chelsea this season has been like watching a tribute act, a poor one at that, to a once great band.
The intermission came to an end and one last forty-five minutes remained.
Wesley Fofana replaced Trevoh Chalobah.
The game continued and the first part of the second-half was neither dull nor entertaining. With Chelsea attacking us in the Matthew Harding, I was hoping for some action down below us. Elsewhere, it was advantage Leicester City, winning at home to West Ham United but I fully expected Everton to nab a winner. Leeds were losing at home to Tottenham and were dead and buried.
We were having the majority of the ball now, but were unable to do much with it. The game was in danger of fizzling out.
A Madueke effort, after a shimmy inside, curled high over the framework of the goal.
We heard that Everton had scored.
On the hour, some substitutions.
Carney Chukwuemeka for Loftus-Cheek.
There was a slow walk to the touch-line from Ruben, and he applauded the fans who were applauding him. Undoubtedly, this was his final game in Chelsea blue. I first saw Ruben, aged just seventeen, at a friendly in New York against Manchester City in May 2013 and he has been on the periphery of our first team ever since. We have waited in vain for his early promise to blossom – his injury in a superfluous friendly in Boston in 2019 was cruel in the extreme – and it is hard to believe that he has played ten times for England. His play confused me and often irritated me. I longed for him to show more urgency in his play and in himself. He will move on, but I don’t think he will improve in the next five years; a shame.
Joao Felix for Kai Havertz.
Havertz’ play irritates me too, but that’s another story.
On sixty-four minutes, an over hit cross luckily found Hall, but he in turn over hit the shot.
Good work from Carney and Hall set up a chance, close in, for Sterling but he blasted wildly over.
I was convinced that we’d win this.
“COME ON CHELS.”
An old favourite was aired, which I adapted to my own styling.
“Fabregas is magic.
He wears a magic hat.
He could’ve signed for Arsenal.
But he said ‘no, fuck that’.
He passes with his left foot.
He passes with his right.
And when we win the league again.
I’ll be ninety-seven.”
On seventy minutes, Mateo Kovacic replaced Conor Gallagher.
We still dominated possession.
There were Shots from Felix and Enzo but these did not really threaten Dubravka.
One excellent move lit up the final part of the game. A high ball by Enzo out to Hall was delightfully flicked on to Madueke, who hunted down a defender and passed back to Carney, who in turn set up Sterling. His shot was destined to be going in, I thought, but was deflected wide. I stood up and scowled at everyone behind me.
There was a VAR review for a possible handball but nothing was given.
A cross from Maduele and a slide from Felix; just wide. A shimmying run from Madueke – he has had a good few games – but a weak shot signalled his last participation. He was replaced by the forgotten man Christian Pulisic, who struck poorly at Dubravka. Our chances were coming thick and fast now, as if the painful season-long constipation in front of goal had been suddenly relieved by a powerful laxative. A Felix free-kick flew wide.
A beautiful move then saw a perfect cross from Hall pick out the jump from Felix. His body contorted wonderfully to allow a fine header, but the effort flew just over.
It was a surprising end to our season; and yet, not.
Tons of chances; no goal scorer.
Right at the death, a loud and resounding chant of “Super Frank” enveloped the whole stadium. We couldn’t say goodbye to him properly in 2014 nor 2021 with a proper “Franksgiving” send-off, so this was better, though far from ideal in lieu of the unconvincing end to his second spell as manager.
The game ended 1-1.
Elsewhere, Everton stayed up.
I suspected that Frank would be happy about that.
We had spoken about the risk of a “lap of honour” on the way up in the car. Usually, at the end of far more successful seasons, players disappear and then come back on to the pitch. My view was that it would be better for the players to stay on the pitch at the final whistle, because if they went off for even five minutes, not many Chelsea fans would be left.
They played it right, just like I had hoped for.
The Newcastle team went over to thank their fans, then the Chelsea squad walked slowly in front of The Shed End and Parkyville specifically – where Kathryn was spotted ten seats away from Parky – before slowly marching towards us in the Matthew Harding.
“Azpilicueta. We’ll just call you Dave.”
Bizarrely, I only focused on Frank – in a navy tracksuit – quite late on. My eyes must have been on others, and his final farewell was relatively subdued. There were no smiles on Frank’s face, nor did I expect any. This had been a tough two months at the end of a tough season and a tough fifteen months for Chelsea Football Club.
N’Golo Kante and Mason Mount were reduced to throwing small footballs into the crowd; I wondered if we would see these two players next season. N’Golo has been wonderful for us since 2016, but we are all concerned about his recent injuries. But oh what a player, what a person, and what a smile. Mason has endured a frustrating time since Porto. I will not be surprised if he decides to move on. Let’s see what happens.
The season has ended, and it has been such a tough watch. Looking back, the highlights were undoubtedly the three Champions League trips to Milan, via Turin, to Salzburg, via Nurnburg, and to Dortmund, via Brussels. I really enjoyed them. Outside of those, there has been little, and not even a win against Tottenham. Yes, it has been that bad. The football itself, from day one at Goodison, has been dire and I have found it difficult to get emotionally close to any of our players.
I admire Thiago Silva though. I like Enzo. I am thankful for Dave’s service. I worry about Reece. Let’s get a striker and we’ll see what develops.
I took my time leaving the Matthew Harding. Outside, I took one final photo of other fans walking down the last flight of steps, now adorned with “CFC”, and I am using it now as a closing photo, and end point, for this season.
I will pair it up with the very first photo that I took this season, previously unshared anywhere, and I repeat here the story that I told way back in August
“I hopped up onto a small wall to gain a good vantage point of the overall scene. This would be photo number one of the season.
Snap.
On leaping down from the wall, my legs crumpled and I fell.
Splat.
The camera and spare lens went flying. My knees – my fucking knees! – were smarting. I was sure I had torn my jeans. There was blood on my right hand. What a start to the season’s photographs. I dusted myself down, then let out a huge laugh.
The first fackinell of the season? Oh yes.
One photo taken and carnage.”
I should have known, then, that this was going to be a tough old season.
From Goodison Park, and Bramley Moore Dock, to Stamford Bridge – from first to last.
One final word. I have enjoyed recapturing the feelings that I had for Chelsea in 1982/83 throughout this campaign. It has been a ten-month dip into my youth. I have re-read diaries, checked old programmes, researched on-line and devoured Ron Hockings’ books. To be honest, it’s almost as if I knew that this current season was going to be – er – “troublesome” and that I needed a historical counterbalance to the turmoil of 2022/23.
“Was 2022/23 bad? Oh yes. But you should have lived through 1982/83.”
One thing made me smart though. I noticed that in my diaries, I usually referred to Chelsea as “they” which really surprised me. I am always chastising Chelsea fans for referring to Chelsea as “they” and “them” rather than “we” and “us” for reasons that I hope are clear.
We are one of the same.
Yet, forty years ago, I too was referring to Chelsea as a separate entity. Fear not, I am sure that this was soon to change. After all, 1983/84 was just around the corner, and that was my team.
And we will be Chelsea forever.
See you in August.