The Joy and the Pain of The Long-Distance Travelling Fan
Stamford Bridge has been Ceri Levy’s home for over 50 years. But for the past decade, a move to the countryside has meant every Chelsea game has become an away day. In this new series for the Chelsea Sideline Club, he documents the trials and tribulations of being a long-distance football fan, especially when TV kick-offs and train strikes can ruin everything…
It’s 9am, the morning after Chelsea have beaten Manchester United in the Premier League for the first time since 2017. Us Chelsea fans have been waiting seven years for this.
Last night - sorry, earlier this morning - I got home just shy of 2am. All because of the desire of my wife and I to leave London for a rural life in the East Midlands 10 years ago. But the Chelsea spirit in me has never allowed me to relinquish my season ticket. Consequently, I make the journey south religiously to SW6 and make a day of it wherever possible.
I take in some meetings; visit an art gallery; have a decent dinner. Going to football has always meant a day out and in the old days that meant meeting up with people before a game for a few bevvies and afterwards, too.
I don’t drink these days (I retired from drinking about 15 years ago) but there were many games viewed with hardly the clearest of heads. In more modern times, clarity is with me, although the naysayers would suggest that now is the worst possible time to have an attribute such as clarity while Chelsea are in the middle of a painful rebuild.
And every game is now an away game.
That said, if I go on a Chelsea away trip to Leicester City, I can stand up and sing, “I only live round the corner...”, because I literally do.
I don’t care about travelling for matches as it was my choice to move from the city to the country. Plus, I have always enjoyed travelling. It’s just the promise of being somewhere else other than where I am. I have never lost the wanderlust of life, probably because work has taken me all over the globe. But travel has changed in the modern world. Terrorism and fear put paid to carefree travel, but I learned the art of switching off my mind while on the move. Otherwise, it can be all too frustrating. But the routes and methods to get around in this country are precarious at the best of times and train strikes really don’t help.
I’ve found that out all too frequently this season. Matches get switched for TV coverage, moved to Monday nights and Thursdays and low and behold, there’s a train strike that makes my journey ever more perilous.
Back to United.
My day was good as I got into town at midday and went to Tate Britain to see the exhibition, Women in Revolt! Art and Activism in the UK 1970-1990.
The previous weekend before Chelsea’s 2-2 draw with Burnley, I had walked from Earl’s Court tube station to Stamford Bridge via Brompton Cemetery. Being a beautiful day I wandered the graves looking for illustrious residents and found the grave for Emmeline Pankhurst, who organised the British suffragette movement in the early part of the 20th century.
She was buried in Brompton Cemetery in 1928 and her headstone (pictured below) is beautifully carved in the Art Deco style in red sandstone, topped with a celtic cross.
Emmeline Pankhurst’s headstone in Brompton Cemetery, a stone’s throw from Stamford Bridge (Credit: Ceri Levy)
The headstone is the work of artist Julian Phelps Allan, formerly Eve Dorothy Allan. It’s stunning. And being in Brompton Cemetery, seeing the resting place of the quintessential woman in revolt jogged my memory to go and see the Tate show before it finished its run.
Five days later, there I was.
The exhibition reminded me of the misery of growing up in the monochrome years of the Seventies and the repression of so many people by the government. I wish I had been more of an activist growing up, although the lives we led were alternative and in defiance of the authorities.
I had a couple of business meetings through the afternoon, then went to see an old friend of mine I haven’t seen for many a year down in Fulham. Around 6pm I was headed up the Fulham Road to Rosa’s Thai for some food with my old mucker and podcast companion on the now defunct The Chels, Andy Saunders.
You will get to hear Andy again in all his analytical and statistical glory on a new series we are launching as part of the Chelsea Sideline Club with Garry Hayes, naturally, called Easy! Next!. (We explain the title in the podcast!)
It’s a series about the culture of being a Chelsea supporter and we’re getting into everything from our favourite kits to managers, players - everything Chelsea, all at once!
I’ve been watching Chelsea - home and away - with Andy and Garry for a while now. Below is a carousel of photos of us together at matches, including the view from my seat in the West Stand lower. Garry is the younger one, if you can spot him.
After a pad Thai, it was in for the game. My main concern was that because of upcoming train strikes the next day, East Midlands Railway (EMR) had announced that my train home could be subject to short-notice cancellations. So there’s some added drama and jeopardy, if watching Chelsea this season wasn’t enough.
After 11pm, the trains which normally take 47 minutes to get back north become slow trains taking an hour-and-a-half or more. It’s a pain in the arse getting the late train home and leaving it to the very last potential train at midnight - before a strike! - meant that it seemed sensible to get the earlier train at 11pm.
I wanted to check live times of my train throughout the game but as anyone who goes to Stamford Bridge will tell you, the wi-fi and date connection is beyond inept and nearly non-existent.
What is wrong with Chelsea? Do they do this to make everyone just watch the game and not scroll through their phone? Well, that doesn’t seem to work as so many fans watch and film the games anyway. At least, they won’t get interrupted by calls! And don’t even start me on the sound system. Another non-goer. We live in the 21st century but we are still waiting for the Industrial Revolution to kick in inside Stamford Bridge.
* * *
The game is a fascinating mix of magic and mistakes. The paucity of defenders who can defend is extraordinary. Yes, teams are coping with many injuries, but the art of defending is missing from so many clubs. In the search for attacking football, coaching seems to have insisted that defensive players are able to attack more than they defend.
In fact, some of the worst defensive offenders are surprisingly skilful going forward. Look at the runs Axel Disasi makes as he slaloms past two or three Manchester United players heading up the pitch; but then watch him struggle defensively with a bouncing ball.
The key to every great team’s success is a solid centre of defence. John Terry, Ricardo Carvalho, Marcel Desailly, Gary Cahill, and Branislav Ivanovic were all hugely successful for Chelsea in the heart of the blue wall. They knew when to defend and when to play out. That’s changed.
Arsenal are sadly becoming successful, not just because they attack well, but because their defensive base of Gabriel and William Saliba defends well. The great teams can defend and the game with United showcased two teams that could not.
Schoolboy errors littered the match. The ones that bug me the most are lazy passing and the blind pass into the middle of the field, expecting a player to be there.
This was demonstrated in all its glory by Moises Caicedo when he passed inside without looking and gave the ball to Alejandro Garnacho. It was a lapse that ensured all of Chelsea’s great work up to this point was immediately undone.
Chelsea were cruising at two-up and Caicedo’s error invited the visitors back into the game. They may not be a cohesive side, but they have the individuals who will bury the ball in the back of the net if they get the chance. (Incidentally, that mistake seemed to mentally finish Caicedo for the night and he was subbed later. I think he will be fine as a player for us, but having moved from a more stable side like Brighton and Hove Albion to the chaos of Chelsea hasn’t suited him, but he will find his place. I have faith, maybe a little less than I had last summer, but it’s still with me.)
* * *
I sit in the lower section of the West Stand, block 6 in fact.
It takes me roughly an hour from my seat inside Stamford Bridge to get to my departing platform at King’s Cross St. Pancras. So, when I reluctantly left at 10.03pm, Chelsea were 3-2 down and I felt the guilt of my exit. It’s horrible leaving a stadium early, especially in only the 83rd minute. It feels illegal.
But that’s what late kick-offs do to some of us supporters. This game starting at 8.15pm was always going to mean leaving early, regardless of the train crisis.
I entered streets full of police working out their tactics for the onrush of home and away fans mixing outside the ground. I hoped to hear the mighty roar of a Chelsea equaliser, but there were only the cheers for every United pass from the away fans as their team rode out time to the end of the match and three points. Cocky.
The rain was incessant, and I headed off on a brisk, sodden walk past the now closed Brompton Cemetery to Earl’s Court to catch the Tube, longing to hear the cacophony of noise from Chelsea fans in response to a goal. But the loudest noise was the rain pounding the pavement.
Inside Earl’s Court tube station, I headed down to the Piccadilly line. Getting onto the train, I heard the shout of “Cole Palmer!! He’s fucking equalised!! We’ve drawn the game!”
“OMG!! That’s incredible. Is it true?!” I thought.
The train doors slid shut as the excited fan missed getting on the train and we moved on.
“Well, we got out of jail there.”
Easy! Next! is a new podcast series coming soon to the Chelsea Sideline Club
Palmer is an almighty hero already. Chelsea need him for what’s coming down the line and he is everything that you hope to get when you sign a new player. Time stops when he is on the ball deciding what he chooses to do. He sees and understands so much about the game and as good as he is now, I wonder what he will be like in another two years. If he stays fit, I guarantee he will have over 100 caps for England in his career.
Palmer’s got to be the Young Player of the Year. No challenge. Does Phil Foden still count as a young player at 23? (I’ve since learned he does.) Can you imagine a side with the two of them together? Oh, wait... that’s only going to happen in an England shirt now, thankfully for Chelsea. And it could all have been so different. So thank you Pep Guardiola and thank you Cole for your impatience in wanting to play regular football.
At St. Pancras, I get to the platform seven minutes before my train is due to leave. There are anxious people with anxious faces standing around waiting for confirmation of our departure and for the barriers to open so we can get on a train and get home. And then four minutes before the desired departure, the green arrows light up above the barriers which open and we rush forwards.
What a day! Chelsea pinch a draw, and I will get home. In fact, it’s been a pretty good day all round.
I get on the train, take my seat and open BBC Sport on my phone.
“Chelsea beat Man Utd 4-3 in remarkable finish,” reads the headline.
“What the flying fuck?!”
“Cole Palmer! He’s fucking equalised! We’ve drawn the game!”
I read on... Cole Palmer... I have no words for you. He is our new hero. Already he has attained a talismanic status and an aura of wonder. I immediately think back on the evening as the United fans taunted him for being a so-called City reject. What a response: hitting a hat-trick against them.
Karma for Palmer!
I sit back and allow the next 90 minutes to roll by. This is contentment and I get home, surviving a major aquaplane on the flooded road home as I navigated the country lanes back from the station. I lost control for a moment as the water slid my car toward an oncoming lorry, which was heading straight toward me on the other side of the road. I was certain we were going to collide, but luckily I regained control in time and steered back on to the straight and narrow.
That would have been a poor end to the day but with no further interruptions I finally got into bed just before 2am and imagine what the goals I missed looked like.
I will see them tomorrow. “Goodnight, Cole Palmer.”
I probably feel more for travelling fans because of my own travails over the last 10 years and this story is a sign of the times and how beholden we are to TV schedules as for all intents and purposes, the Premier League has relinquished control of fixtures to TV.
Now Garry would say, as frustrating as it is, that it’s understandable as broadcasters have put so much money into the game to help make the Premier League what it is. They own it now - and probably us, the match-going fan - lock, stock and barrel.
But the demands on supporters, especially the long-distance fan, can wreak havoc.
Garry told me of some American fans who are flying overnight for the West Ham United game on Saturday 4 May, before flying back home on the Sunday as they need to be back to start the working week on the Monday. That’s dedication for you!
But life has a nasty way of surprising us. The rearranged Tottenham Hotspur game has been shifted to Thursday 2 May and subsequently it’s meant West Ham’s visit to SW6 has been moved to Sunday 5 May when those Americans will be back at the airport to fly home.
What will they do?
Changes so late in the day cause huge chaos for a number of fans. Now it transpires that the best our American supporters can hope for is to watch another Premier League game on TV while in England!
The best laid plans of mice and football fans...