I’m not going to lie… I’m ridiculously excited for the return of Champions League football to the Bridge.
As much as I enjoyed last season’s Europa adventure, there’s something magical about hearing that tune pumping through our tinny speakers, as the players line up behind a group of mascots waving the giant flag in the centre circle.
It’s hard to believe that it first arrived at our wonderful ground 20 years ago, where we played out a 0-0 draw against AC Milan. Luckily, since then, we’ve been treated to many iconic European nights. Indulge me, as I’m going to use this as an opportunity to look back at my favourite, the 2005 classic against Barcelona. As I’m sure you’ll remember, we went into the game 2-1 down on aggregate – with a crucial away goal at the Nou Camp giving us some hope…
I remember heading to the Bridge with a weird feeling something amazing was going to happen. As usual, Fulham Broadway was awash with ticket touts, I overheard someone being offered £400 for a ticket, which certainly caught the attention of my 21 year-old self. Regardless, I headed straight to the MHL, where I took up position somewhat earlier than usual.
Line Ups
Chelsea
Cech, Ferreira, Carvahlho, Terry, Gallas, Makelele, Lampard, Cole, Duff, Gudjohnsen, Kezman.
Subs – Cudicini, Johnson, Smertin, Geremi, Parker, Huth, Tiago
Barcelona
Valdes, Belleti, Puyol, Oleguer, Van Bronckhorst, Xavi, Gerard, Deco, Iniesta, Ronaldinho, Eto’o
Subs – Jorquera, Giuly, Maxi Lopez, Sylvinho, Fernando, Albertini, Damia.
Referee – Pierluigi Collina
Just look at the names. I completely forgot that Alexi Smertin was in that side.
I also remember how excited I was to see Collina refereeing – it somehow re-affirmed just how big the match was. This was a referee that once appeared on the cover of a computer game for Christ’s sake…
Drogba was the major omission, serving a suspension following his sending off in the first leg, This forced Mourinho’s hand, reverting to a 4-4-2 formation (how retro), giving Kezman his chance alongside the Iceman. The sub-plot involved Mourinho hated Rijkaard, and the feeling was mutual (but not mutually exclusive…). A frosty pre-match handshake added further drama to the evening. A classic was brewing.
The match
We didn’t have to wait long for some action, albeit at the Shed End, with the new makeshift strike partnership combining, Gudjohnsen the man to put it away with an excellent turn and powerful strike. 7 minutes in and it was 2-2 on aggregate – we were ahead on away goals.
9 minutes later, things got even better, a tricky Joe Cole turned Van Bronckhorst inside-out and his cross somehow found its way to Lampard, who slotted it home with ease. And then, almost immediately (from nowhere), Damien Duff nutmegs Valdes. 18 minutes gone, and it was 3-0 to Chelsea. 4-2 on aggregate – surely it was done and dusted.
But alas, this is Chelsea, it’s never that easy (and that wouldn’t be any fun).
My optimism turned to dread, when Collina awarded Barca a penalty. Paulo Ferriera was waving to someone in the crowd I think, and unfortunately, he touched the ball in the process. Ronaldinho made no mistake. Obviously. Oh well, at least I’d seen a goal down at my end.
It wasn’t much of a wait for me to see another one. Ronaldinho again, samba dancing around the ball on the edge of the box, before toe punting (alright, I might have undersold it) past a helpless Cech. All of a sudden, it was 3-2.
I was not entirely sure what I’d seen… I wasn’t even sure who was winning. But, they were clearly all over and us and the half-time whistle was a welcome sound. Strangely, as the players walked down the tunnel, Ferriera swapped shirts with Ronaldinho. Maybe the players were just as puzzled as me.
I don’t really recall the first 30 minutes of the second half, other than a feeling of acceptance that Barcelona were probably going to score again. This was early enough in the Abramovich era to realise that success was far from guaranteed and defaulting to that attitude was a much safer place to be.
75 minutes in, a corner in front of the Matthew Harding Stand. Duff swung it in and Terry, leaping 78 feet in the air, crashes it into the back of the net. I believe youngsters would refer to the scene as, simply put, ‘limbs’. We were back ahead and the Quarter Finals were in sight.
The final 18 minutes were horrible. I didn’t enjoy a second of it. I don’t think I sang, I don’t think I spoke. I don’t remember ever having that feeling before then (I did subsequently have that feeling again 7 years later). But, despite a barrage of pressure from Barcelona, we clung on – we’d somehow made it through. I knew instantly that I’d witnessed a classic, and I remember it being the first match as an adult where I felt like I’d seen something ‘proper Chels’. A lot of the games in the 90s were during my childhood years, so my fond memories of the FA Cup and the first Champions League campaign were experienced from my sofa. But being there, in the stadium, was something that gripped me so much – and I haven’t looked back since.
Here’s hoping for many more classic European nights at the Bridge.
#KTBFFH
@nickstroudley
