LOFTYBILL

Very proud of Chelsea fans tonight. I just wish I could have been part of it, a bit difficult from 4000 miles away!

That's interesting, so it might be possible for a new club called Chelsea to be formed, much like Wimbledon have done.

How to become a pariah of world football with one announcement. Shame on you Chelsea, I am disgusted after 55 years of support.

That’s an interesting question Donnyblue. Like others have said you can’t project today’s values back in time. I first went to football in 1972, my father took me to see his team, Newcastle, play us at the Bridge. I was instantly hooked and when I left school the following season started to go on my own. I was working so I had money in my pocket for the first time and spent a lot of it on football and drink. Day to day life was pretty dismal back then so I longed for the adventure the weekend always brought. My first away game was at Coventry where compared with later’s thousands the turnout was probably fewer than 500. Ipswich and West Ham followed and they were real eye-openers, I was threatened at both and quickly learned to be a bit more streetwise after that. I was at the infamous game at WHL in 1975, squeezed into the Paxton and marvelling at all the mayhem going on around me, to be honest I loved it! I was never a fighter, more interested in drink and having a laugh than smacking someone in the mush, so I never looked for a punch up but occassionally it found me and I’m a big lad and could take care of myself. Although I didn’t do violence myself Chelsea’s reputation gave me a feeling of pride I suppose, this along with the cameraderie and excitement of entering enemy territory was what attracted me, and of course I loved the football. I knew the hardcore and often exchanged a nod whilst they went about their business. Certainly I feel no shame about what went on in those days, it was just how life was like back then, I just wish I could perhaps re-live some of it!

No they were mostly Sheff Weds.

I went in a car with four other lads from Basingstoke. Terrific game! Maybe the best I've ever seen. We stopped at a pub outside Sheffield after the game and had a good drink with the locals, great day out!

It looks like an alcohol free train. No beer, freezing cold or boiling hot usually the former, disgusting toilets, and optional bricks through the windows. I preferred the normal service trains myself. If you caught an early one you arrived in Scouse land or wherever with plenty of time to get tanked up before the game!

Basically football started to lose its soul. By 2002 I'd had enough and haven't been since. Mind you it's a bit difficult now as it's an 8000 mile round trip for me!

67-68 before my time. Was a regular 73-85. My hair was a good deal longer also!

Great stuff! Have some great memories of Danny!

Back in the day, what was your pre-match routine? As for myself and the other lads from Basingstoke, in the mid to late seventies, it started with a train or car ride to London. We usually reached the Fulham Broadway area around midday and located the pie and mash shop along the North End Road, for night games it would be the Stamford Bridge Cafe. Stomachs suitably lined we would spend a couple of hours taking in the pre match lubricants. The pub we used seemed to change fairly regularly. First the Kings Head then the White Hart, Brittania, Rising Sun, Black Bull ( one of my favourites, used to have a great juke box), finally settling on the Lord Palmerstone on New Kings Road. Later years usually found me in the Wheatsheaf or the Mitre on Dawes Road. Of course many of these names have changed over the years, mores the pity, I have never understood the point of pub name changes. Managed to stagger into the ground just before the kick off, although not always!

Friday 21st October 1977, 11.00 PM approximately, outside a country pub near Basingstoke. Myself and three others piled into my mates Hillman Minx, not the best car for a 660 mile round trip, but beggars can't be choosers. And so we set off, heading for Newcastle where our heroes Chelsea were due to kick off against the geordies at the customary time of 3pm the next day. This being 1977 the roads at that time of night were virtually empty and we made good progress despite the drivers inebriated state, stopping in a layby somewhere near Silverstone a couple of hours later for a kip. Our shut eye was soon interrupted by a local member of the boys in blue, tapping on the steamed up window and ordering us to move on, apparently sleeping by the side of Her Majestys' highway was not allowed in his neck of the woods. We drove on until we reached a motorway service station somewhere near Leicester. As dawn broke we were again confronted by the local constabulary, ordering us off their patch. As we proceeded on our journey we saw some men, seemingly dressed in bedsheets, on their knees headbutting the tarmac in the carpark, a sign of things to come perhaps? We were making good time but the inevitable happened close to Nottingham, the cars clutch cable gave up the ghost. A couple of hours later after a tow we located a garage but were told the repair wouldn't be done until late in the afternoon. We got a lift back to the motorway and decided to attempt hitchhiking the remainder of the journey, to this end we split up into pairs. Me and my mate managed to get three lifts which took us as far as Ferrybridge in Yorkshire on the A1. A truly dismal place surrounded by power station cooling towers we struggled to get a lift and around 1pm had to abandon the effort. Upon crossing to the southbound side of the road we almost instantly got a ride all the way back to Nottingham. We met up with the other two back at the garage, they had given up hitching fairly quickly and spent the day in Nottingham getting pissed. the car was fixed so we made our way back to Basingstoke stopping off in Towcester in the evening to drown our sorrows, if I remember correctly they eventually banned us from that particular pub for being a bit to boisterous! We arrived back home in the early hours of the morning. Not one of the better experiences of following Chelsea, we even lost the match 1-0. As a footnote to this story; my brother is a Newcastle fan and went to the game by train. After the match he was standing on Newcastle Central Station waiting for the Intercity back to the smoke when the Chelsea special pulled in on his platform and stopped. ' Oh f*ck' he thought as he saw five or six hundred Chelsea fans hanging from the train, he was dressed in a Newcastle shirt and scarves adorned his neck. 'Hi mate how are you doing?' TS leapt from the carriage right in front of him and slapped him on the back, 'he's alright I know him' to the other fans disembarking hoping for a scrap. TS was a friend of mine who used to drive us up to London in his old van. He asked my brother to join him on the train, he would ' look after him'. After careful consideration of his kind offer my brother declined and the special pulled out. I'm pretty sure my brother would have got a pasting that day but for that stroke of luck!

Ossie on a train from Waterloo back to Southamton with the rest of the Southampton team, soon after they won the FA Cup I think. Another time coming back from Carlisle I think we met Gordon Hill on the train from Waterloo. He still lived in Farnborough although he had just signed for Man U, had a good chat and got his autograph, nice fella.

Don't think I ever saw Robin Friday play although I used to watch Reading a lot in the early 70's. However my brother who saw a lot of him reckons he was the most gifted and skilled player he has ever seen.

My only away trip with England was to the Euro Championship Finals of 1980 in Italy. I Flew on Sudan Airways (it was the cheapest) to Rome. On the plane I met some Spammers and joined up with them. We caught a train to Genoa and stayed there for the two games that were played in Turin. Rumours abounded of England fans being attacked in Turin and elsewhere but in Genoa we had a great time pissing it up on the waterfront, no problems at all. We even had a game of footie with the local lads on the beach, naturally we got stuffed, our out of condition boozed up bodies no match for the tanned fit latins. There were about thirty of us in Genoa, from various clubs but mostly London clubs. The first game was against Belgium, we caught the train to Turin and made our way to the ground with a heavy police escort. We learnt from other fans that English fans had been attacked everywhere by the Iti's especially at the municipal campsite where they had suffered a constant bombardment of bricks etc. Consequently there were a lot of really pissed off people that made it to the stadium that day. The stadium was half empty but there were probably a good six thousand following England plus a number of Italians and a few Belgiums. The match itself was nothing special and ended I think in a 1-1 draw. A mob of Italians in the same end as us taunted us with chants of 'fa fancula' or 'f**k off' from the start and sometime into the match a group of England, scousers I think, decided they had had enough and charged them. All hell broke loose, as the Carabinieri ( police) immediately started firing volleys of teargas into the crowd, not a pleasant experience I can assure you. This reaction was way over the top but I think the police were as scared of us as their fans. Order was restored and the game finished. To this day I intensely dislike Kevin Keegan for his remarks about this incident, if I recall he called us 'scum' without understanding anything of the provocation we had had to endure from the locals, I've never forgiven him for this. Anyway Kevin, just what were you doing in that layby off of the M25 at 2am in the morning?. We made our way back to Turin for the second game against Italy. Upon reaching the central rail station we joined thousands of other England fans who had arranged to meet there by word of mouth. Everyone knew there would be trouble and safety in numbers seemed appropriate. At first the police refused to allow us out of the station but as we became increasingly annoyed it must have become obvious to them that they would have to escort us to the Stadio Communale about two miles away. Off we went, maybe two thousand young very pissed off England fans. All went well until we reached the stadium when we were confronted by a mob of Italys finest all tooled up with lumps of wood, iron bars etc. I think they were a little surprised when instead of turning and running we charged them, not that we got anywhere near them, they couldn't be seen for dust. The stadium was packed already and the police shepherded us into a lower tier under the main stand, we didn't stay for long however as we were assailed by a bombardment of lumps of concrete from above. Three or four thousand England fans now milled around the concourse as the kick off approached being denied access to the terracing above. Someone negotiated with the police and informed them that if they didn't let us in we would force our way into the match. They relented and cleared a space on the terracing. There ensued a volley of projectiles going both ways until relative calm prevailed. I've got to say for an open stadium the atmosphere was as good as I've ever experienced, from start to finish a wall of noise rang around the stadium. It was matched by a really good match in which England missed a host of good chances and Italy scored once to win the game, it was ever thus. Another police escort after the game back to the station with jubilant Italians driving up and down the road celebrating in cars taunting us. At least one of them was sent flying off the back of one of these by an irate Englishman. Outside the station another reception committee, with one Iti waving a gun at us. Same result though, a charge followed by a swift retreat. We travelled to Naples for the final game against Spain and stayed in Sorrento where yet again England fans were set upon by the local youth and yet again when the bulk of support arrived they got a bit of a pasting. Naples itself was a real sh*thole and the game against Spain was won by England fairly easily 3-1 I think, it didn't matter though because Belgium drew with Italy to reach the final in Rome. I travelled to Rome and spent a few days along with some other England fans getting inebriated and enjoying the city, truly a nice place. Along with many other England fans we went to the final and joining up with the Dutch supported the Belgiums, unfortunately they lost to the Germans in a game decided more by some terrible refereeing than any skill by the Krauts. When I got back to London all everyone wanted to know was about how badly behaved the English fans had been, it was a hard job explaining the extreme provocation dished out by both the Italian police and cowardly fans. Needless to say the British press had condemned us from the moment the first teargas canister had been fired.

I only went on Hickeys coach once that I recall and that was in 1977 to Man Utd. I think we were banned or there was a train strike or something. Remember getting on his coach outside the Bridge, Britannia Gate I think. Don't remember much about the trip except piling off the coach at OT and startling the locals with a bit of vocalisation, not many went to this game maybe 500, night game I think.

As for 'god forsaken places' one of the worst must have been ( and probably still is) Wrexham, what a s**hole, I'd be surprised if anybody argued with me on this one!

Yes I also went to that Rotherham match but apart from the score remember little else. I think kingy is right not one of the better days out.

Nothing to home games but to away games carrier bags full of cans of beer and a rolled up copy of the Telegraph. The newspaper was, upon disembarking from train, to make me look like a normal bod on his way to do some shopping or whatever. Amazingly it used to work, coppers are not that bright you know!

chelsea78 I seem to remember both sets of supporters at the Wolves game roundly applauding each other and even shaking hands at the end of the match. At least 5,000 Chelsea there that day even though we were supposedly banned!

I went to Leeds quite a few times and didn't find it all that scary although if you walked to and from the ground the bombed out zone between the city centre and Elland road could be a bit hairy, lots of rubble lying around just waiting for someone to pick up and lob it. On one occasion myself and two mates decided to have a drink in the pub closest to the ground, I think it was called the 'Peacock'. I went to the bar to order the drinks and asked my mate Ian what he wanted, he replied a lager top. About fifty heads turned to stare at us but we had no trouble, maybe they thought we must be nutters to be in there, I don't know, anyway they left us alone.

Liverpool away midweek League cup 1978 game turned out to be a great day out despite the inevitable 2-0 defeat. As per usual we travelled up on the normal train from Euston. I don't remember if alcohol was still allowed on BR at that time but if so would definitely have had a skinful on the train. For some reason by the time we had walked along Scottie Road to the ground there was only me and a mate left from the usual contingent. I'm pretty sure we had consumed a fair bit of beer by this time and in a show of bravado we decided to head for the Kop. Just along from the famous stand in Walton Breck Road there is a pub, I think it is called The Park, not sure of that though. It was at least an hour and a half to kick off, maybe more, when we deposited ourselves at the bar in said pub. We half expected to get a kicking as soon as we opened our mouths but instead a large much older guy next to us became all matey. It turned out he was a docker and for the next hour or two we exchanged rounds with him including chasers. Needless to say we could barely stand up by the time this genuinely friendly scouser led us into the Kop before kick off. Where we stood to the right of the goal and about half way up the stand was pretty packed and by halftime, the game had passed us by in an alcoholic blur in which we both if I remember rightly had taken to singing Chelsea songs raucously, our new friend had exited stage left. My mate suddenly had the urge to empty his bowels and decided that the rumours of people pissing in your pocket gave him the right to bypass the toilets and do it where he stood on the terrace. I wasn't quite as out of it as he was and noticed that the locals were not too happy with his decision so I grasped his arm and dragged him up to the back of the stand before we got a right pasting. During the second half we stood behind the Kop choir, basically hundreds of young kids, and gave them a taste of our own melodic chanting (sic). Again we were befriended, by a ginger headed youth ( from Birkenhead) who seemed to be amazed that any Chelsea fans had ventured onto his hallowed turf. After the game the young scouser took us for a drink at an Everton pub hidden in the middle of the tower blocks alongside Scotland Road. Outside the ground their was some scuffling and a few bricks thrown and Arkins winked at us as he ran past the Kop no doubt looking for a bit of 'action', most of the regular away support then knew each other by sight if not by name or on speaking terms. We managed to top up our depleted reserves in a couple more pubs before catching a late train back to the Smoke. All in all a great day out.

Very good thread, well done Alan. I can only echo the comments made here both about Chelsea and English life in general. Around about 1990 I stopped going to away games except for the odd one or two, and then in 2001 i made my last visit to the Bridge. The reasons were mostly financial ( just too damn expensive) but also i realised that the atmosphere was virtually non existent, in fact there is more atmosphere in my living room during a match than at the ground! ( my wife is passionate about the game, unfortunately it's for the scousers!). Since 2006 i have lived abroad so going to the games is not an option any more. Have really enjoyed from a distance the success but can honestly say I enjoyed the trophyless years oh so much better. Traditional football RIP.

My experience of that day Tommy My first trip to WHL was in 1975, the year we got relegated from the 1st div and my second season of regular attendance. The game was I think the third to last of the season and we needed to win to stand a reasonable chance of staying up. I remember the long walk from Seven Sisters tube station amongst crowds of other fans wondering if I were the only Chels there, it seemed as if the ground would never appear ( is there another trek in England this long?, save for perhaps along Scotland Road in scouseland). Eventually I arrived outside the Paxton Road end probably an hour and a half before kick off. There was an unbelievable queue of people at the turnstiles all pushing and shoving to get in as it seemed fairly obvious that the match would be a shutout. Half an hour later of shoving elbowing etc. I made it onto the terraces. They were already jammed packed with fans, I couldn't believe that many more could get in and sure enough (I found out later) the turnstiles were closed at about 2 o'clock. Being so tall ( 6 ft 5â€) I preferred to stand at the back the terrace as a courtesy to the not so vertically endowed. I endeavoured to do just that but found myself carried down the Paxton Road by the sheer weight of people piling in behind me. At nineteen years old I was wiry and strong and managed to prevent myself being crushed against the barriers or the wall at the front. Fans began to spill onto the pitch and fighting broke out as Chelsea fans were spotted. Eventually calm was restored and the match kicked off. Of the match itself I remember little excepting that my hero Charlie Cooke gave his all for the cause and we ended up losing 2-0. Fighting broke out at intermittent intervals around the ground and I remember the old bill in the Paxton getting a bit of a pasting from the Y*ds, helmets flying etc. I didn't see many Chelsea inside the ground and later found out that thousands had been locked out, not sure that is true but it could be, such an important game would normally have attracted a good few thousand. Needless to say I kept 'mum' throughout the match, no point in getting a kicking needlessly. Afterwards the long despondent walk back to Seven Sisters, don't recall much about that though.

View PostLOFTYBILL, on 23 November 2012 - 10:49 AM, said: Just another Saturday afternoon following CFC around England in the mid seventies. With my fading memory cells and the amount of beer consumed in those days I'm amazed I can recall any of it still. I'll try and drag up some more memories for you all if I can. The quantity of beer I got through would kill me off now. Not only that I would also meet up with Billy and Bob. Amazed I could even walk sometimes let alone anything else. Huge laughs in the main. It stuns me how some people remember so much detail about stuff that far back. Anyway, I grew up out of all that tribal nonsense. So many of mates didn't make it. My memory is not that great unfortunately. I don't know why but I have a clear recollection of certain games, not that many mind. I agree about the tribal stuff, it was a bit moronic looking back but I imagine most of us grew out of it.