A West London Outing

Article by e-Chelsea Correspondent Lee Beevor

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Since I moved to Fuerteventura in 2003, my visits to Stamford Bridge have been limited to three or four a season. Whilst I have missed a great deal in the last decade, it at least ensures each and every trip is almost as magical as when I first set foot in the sacred ground. Back in 1979, at ten years of age, the crumbling terraces, closed and overgrown with weeds in places, did not detract from the wonder of the experience. Nor did the standard of the football on show, which for many years was more huff and puff than silky skills. In modern times much has changed at Chelsea, both on and off the field, but my feelings for Stamford Bridge have not altered at all.

Unfortunately, one of the less welcome intrusions into today’s football is the scheduling of fixtures to suit the watching millions. This is inevitable and a worthy trade for the riches the TV companies bestow on the clubs. However, the 12.45pm kick-off rather restricted the pre-match drinking window and I’m sure infuriated the travelling Everton fans! As a consequence, the singing in the “Hand and Flower” was virtually non-existent, with the priority consuming a quantity of alcohol in the limited time available. With this objective achieved, it was off to the ground.

On this occasion, we were confined to the West Stand Lower, having missed out on the Shed by virtue of the heightened interest present since Jose’s return. I have nothing against the West in terms of view, as it is perfect. However, the atmosphere is not at its strongest and being a 1980s fan, I prefer raucous chanting and standing to the eerie silence of the prawn sandwich brigade. Fortunately, whilst the noise level was not great, there were a couple of hardcore Chelsea boys in the seats nearby, so between us we managed to generate some noise!

At this point, credit should be given to the Everton contingent, who had clearly taken their full allocation, despite the unfriendly early start. They were in good voice and maintained their level throughout; where as the home fans were generally subdued. The intensity rose noticeably in the last fifteen minutes, as it became apparent that two precious points were slipping away. From this moment to the end, the crowd finally roused from their slumber and gave our team the support it deserves.

As the volume increased from the stands, the players pressed harder and Everton dropped deeper. Second half substitutes Ramires, Schurrle and Torres all injected pace and urgency to our efforts, as they searched for that illusive, but decisive moment. Indeed it was a surging run from Ramires that drew the free kick from which JT converted Lampard’s wonderful delivery. Even as I embraced my father, I half expected to see the crushing sight of a linesman’s flag, but thankfully the goal was allowed to stand. The scoreboard credited it to Frank, so until MOTD that evening, I was under the impression his free kick had gone straight in.

A late victory does wonders for the spirits and the pub after the match was full of “scappy 1-0 wins are what makes champions”, as opposed to debating our shortcomings. Neither did it matter that Arsenal and City duly won their respective engagements, as Chelsea remains top of the pile for another week. By the time we play Galatasaray I will be back in the Canary Islands, with my next visit to England not until April. But thanks to Lamps, JT and the boys, this West London outing had a happy ending!

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