Twenty years ago, I finally got that most cherished item; a Chelsea season ticket for the first time.
There was no bother, no fuss. Having moved back to London in the summer of 2001 and honouring an agreement made with Dr Mart, my old sidekick on the Chelsea FanCast’s original line-up, to actually go to a few games, we secured seats next to each other in the Matthew Harding Upper in Gate 17.
Unlike today, there was no huge expenditure on tickets to every game of the previous season in a vain attempt to have enough loyalty points. We simply put in an application and the season tickets were ours. The gap between the Matthew Harding and the East Stands had recently been filled in which freed up some more seats and we were lucky enough to take advantage of this.
I had come back to the fold the previous season having been a lazy armchair supporter whilst living back in Winchester for several years. Dr Mart, not quite believing my lethargy had enticed me back to the home of football and I had experienced something which I hadn’t had at football when I used to go infrequently in the ‘80’s and early ‘90’s, and I’m not just talking about better players and quality of football!
No, for me football had been a fairly solitary experience back then, but now thanks to Dr Mart, I had a whole mob to go to the football with; and crucially drink in the pubs with before and after the games. The names will be familiar to many who have listened to the FanCast since the early days: Chel Tel; Psycho Phil; Claire; Stu and Chris – the Blues brothers; Ross; Pablo; Gerry and Keith and Smiffy from this parish.
This of course was what it was all about, and the denouement of Chelsea’s 2001/02 season was so much fun, for me at any rate.
Chelsea reached the semi-final of the FA Cup, playing Fulham at Villa Park on a late Sunday afternoon kick-off, thanks to the London Marathon. Armed with bags of celery Dr Mart and I travelled up in Claire’s sports car, with me in the back where there wasn’t actually a seat!
The highlight of the day other than John Terry’s scrambled winner was the vast amount of ritual celery throwing, which has since become a criminal offence punishable by death, apparently. In some dodgy student bar in Perry Barr, far too much Guinness was consumed chased down with not just a blue and then a red After Shock, but a self-created purple After Shock. Yes, it was disgusting.
Chelsea reaching the final meant we simply had to get tickets. This presented a problem. Even back then, loyalty points would be needed to guarantee a ticket and we didn’t have enough. Dr Mart and I proved how resourceful we were by securing two tickets from the Tow Law Football Club in return for sponsoring a barrel beer at their summer fete!
It meant that we were sat in the neutral area of the upper tier of the Millennium stadium, surrounded by Arsenal supporters. I had never before experienced such a bunch of moaners. For 69 minutes all they did was moan about each Arsenal player, digging them out frequently. Mart and I were in hysterics; classic Arsenal we thought.
Of course, on 70 minutes Ray Parlour buried a shot that he couldn’t repeat if 10 pints of lager depended on it and then Freddie Ljundberg did much the same ten minutes later. And that was that; the first FA Cup final I had managed to get to ended in defeat to a bitter rival and at the time, our bogey side. But I had still loved every minute and was ecstatic just to be there, supporting the team throatily throughout.
Before the match we had wandered down to Tiger Bay and encouraged a local landlord to open up his pub to some thirsty Chelsea supporters, which seeing the glint in our eye he was happy to do.
The all-day drinking was to have consequences for one of our number on the way back. Stuck, miserably, on the M4 on the way back for what seemed hours, Stu simply couldn’t hold it in anymore. He refused the generous offer of a Jerry can in which to relieve himself, and after much pleading, persuaded a grumpy Dr Mart to stop the car and let him out for a pee.
Mart stopped. On the chevrons between the M4 and the Severn Bridge. Poor Stu having to relieve himself in full view of the passing cars of Arsenal and Chelsea fans on their way back to London.
But days out like this was what I had never had the opportunity to experience going to Chelsea on my own. I didn’t grow up in a Chelsea supporting family and there was no being taken to football every week. I had to find it and in truth I didn’t find it in the way so many of my current friends were lucky enough to do when they were kids and young adults. I am truly humbled by their dedication and longevity and in all honesty, not at all jealous. Simply in awe would be a better way to put it.
It makes a big difference when you can go to the matches with your mates and meet up with people you recognise and frequently see at the football. This unquestionably, is what makes going to matches the pure joy that it is, and nothing exemplifies this better than the first home match of the season.
If you’ve had any sense this summer, you will have avoided social media, and anything written or spoken about Chelsea like the plague. There are other things to do and if you want to avoid going insane at the idiocy of opinion and rumour mongering, especially pertaining to transfers then giving it a big swerve is my advice. Thank me later.
The real football starts here and now, at Everton on August 6th and then for most of us Sp*rs at home on August 14th.
There will be a huge buzz. We will be back where we belong, and we will be back with our own various mobs. Pints will be bought and consumed in the various hostelries around the Bridge. We will be back on nodding terms with familiar faces if not familiar names. Conversations will be held at the cfcuk stall among friends we’ve not seen for a couple of months. Chuckles will be first to announce the team news; the cry of “Urry Up, it’s only a Pound’ will waft down Fulham Road.
Normal service will be resumed, hopefully on the pitch as well as off it.
And arguably the great thing about this season is that we have no idea what to expect.
In my first season as a season ticket holder, in 2002/03, Chelsea was so skint they only made one transfer: Quique de Lucas on a free from Espanyol. At the end of the season, they beat Liverpool 2-1 in the final match to secure Champions’ League football and although we didn’t know it at the time, saved the club from financial disaster.
Within week’s Ken Bates had sold the club to a mysterious Russian billionaire called Roman Abramovich and things would never quite be the same again. Thanks to Mr Abramovich, Chelsea has won it all in the last 20 years and those of us who have been privileged to be there for the duration will remain incredibly grateful to have witnessed it.
And now we embark on a new era with a new owner. Who knows what will happen? That’s the beauty of football and at Chelsea, anything can happen!
Twenty years has gone by very quickly for me, but I have to say it has been a delirious pleasure watching Chelsea win it all from my seat in Gate 17, but more important it has been enriched even more by the many friends I have met over the last 20 years simply by supporting the same team and communing at Stamford Bridge every other week.
I have very few regrets, but if I have one, it would be that I didn’t get that season ticket at least 20 years earlier!
First published in cfcuk fanzine July 2022
