Having just had the most expensive season of all time, and no trophies to show for it, I thought I’d come up with a couple of positives to try and get some perspective on things for fellow Blues. I recently caught a bit of one of those old Premier review programmes on Sky with Andy Townsend scoring against Leeds in 1992. The commentator said Chelsea were mounting a challenge at the top of the table. As I couldn’t remember this happening I looked it up and our challenge petered out as we finished eleventh, not winning a league game in 12 and going out of both cups in successive midweeks at a rainy Crystal Palace and a miserable Middlesbrough. So have a think about that next time you get a bit down. Also it’s better than thinking back to the early eighties.
The other positive is our current European ranking. UEFA work this out on a rolling five-year cycle so we now have a final, three semis and one other knock out defeat counting for ranking. This puts us top, up from seventh equal at the start of the season! Hard to find the statto details on UEFA’s own site so if you’re interested look at: Click Here
So we are very consistent and were only inches away from a trophy too.
Personally I seem to have had more trouble than I’d have liked on European trips this season. Missing flight connections in Norway and then flying back to a different airport, a cancelled plane to Athens, delays from Istanbul and the sheer hassle of Moscow being so far away. At least the potential farce of dealing with 40,000 plus visas was knocked on the head. However the trip out for the final was pretty smooth despite getting to Gatwick just before one in the morning. I stayed awake enough on the flight to finish my book and decided I didn’t want to watch the film. Who picks “27 Dresses” for a bunch of football fans?
At the Moscow end we made a surprisingly speedy exit through passport control to board our waiting coach. This was quite smart and not like the crappy buses some got on match day. The journey to the hotel was a bit tedious in the traffic and with a running commentary from Olga the guide who I am convinced was the same woman who was on our coach from the airport in 2004. She could prattle on for hours with useless statistics and bizarre comments about passing buildings.
After sorting hotel check-in, my friend Kevin had a rendezvous planned with some mates and we knew which metro to go to and successfully negotiated buying return tickets. The metro is pretty amazing and even has chandeliers in places though even this lighting doesn’t make it easy to tell one station from another, as signs are far from obvious. I wonder if the very long escalators break down as often as those in London? I certainly wouldn’t fancy walking up from some of the stations. Having counted the right number of stations and even changed lines we surfaced near the rendezvous. We then spent a fruitless 15 or 20 minutes failing to find the bar we were looking for and found out that those we were meeting were not there yet anyway!
Eventually we found a really nice restaurant called Faro, as in the Algarve, though I couldn’t work out any Portuguese connection. We ate at leisure and the service was pretty good. But Kevin’s wife did manage to order a cognac that made up about 30% of the bill! Strolling down the road outside we thought we knew where we were and entered the metro. We then couldn’t spot our station on either platform list but a very helpful member of staff came over and explained where we were and precisely how to get back to our hotel. She obviously enjoyed practising her English; we were just embarrassed that we were not even in the station we thought we had entered! Anyway it turned into a straightforward journey back to the hotel, where the lobby and surrounding bars were now packed with English football fans, the vast majority being Chelsea. We however settled for a night’s sleep though I did hear that things didn’t quieten down until gone 4 in the morning.
Next day I met Maureen, who sits behind me at The Bridge and is another 100% European game fan. Our party soon swelled to four including one bloke who was squatting at our hotel. Thomas Cook had had a few flight only trips left and he’d gambled successfully on getting a bed for the night! So back to the metro having worked out how to get to the Kremlin. As we came into one station the train screeched to a halt and the doors didn’t open. We appeared to have hit something and loads of railway staff and police crowded round on the platform at the back of our carriage peering down at something. Meanwhile inside the carriage the temperature seemed to rocket considerably in a short space of time. Eventually they decided it was okay and we edged forward so that the whole train was in the station. We couldn’t work out what all the fuss had been about and all the Muscovites seemed to go around their business as usual.
Arriving at the Kremlin Maureen knew where to go so I didn’t repeat my fruitless queuing of my previous visit. There finally seemed to be some Reds about, as up until then we seemed to have more fans around. We were also meeting someone else so upset the ticket woman by changing the number of tickets from 4 to 5 and back again. Not happy. Our fifth member, Tim, was there from Oslo as Maureen had met him in Trondheim and made sure he got a ticket. He knew someone in Moscow so was staying with her and also had several tips on where to eat and drink. The Kremlin itself lived up to expectations in terms of the architecture and remnants of the days of the Tsars.
We wandered around meeting various friends and acquaintances as well as bumping into a lot of old Chelsea players including Ron Harris and Peter Bonetti. I think the club had flown out the old boys team as lots of 80s players were there. Quite a few fans were getting photos with them, which they all took in their stride. Only one I got my photo taken with was Pat Nevin who was getting around with the aid of a stick following a recent operation.
It was now time to think about going to the ground. My regular away day companion Clive, who sits next to me at the Bridge, had been dropped near there earlier so knew the basic route. We rejected the first metro station, as it was very full of loud Reds. So we walked up the hill towards the Lubyanka instead and had our one worrying experience of the trip, even if it seemed very innocent at first.
As we crossed a side road a bloke started gesticulating and pointing at the ground. He then picked up what seemed to be money in a small plastic bag and gave it to a bloke in front of us. He insisted on thanking me as well and shaking my hand, fine I thought but nothing to do with me. He left but the first bloke was still babbling and walking in the same direction when the other bloke came back going on about a second bag and dollars. Then out of nowhere a third bloke appeared flashing a badge and claiming to be a policeman. We had no idea if he was or not but didn’t argue.
He wanted to see passports and the other two produced theirs so we did too, showing we were tourists. He then asked about what we had seen and we shrugged and said nothing to do with us. He got the first bloke to produce his wallet, took the money out and gave it to the one going on about dollars. He shuffled it; no dollars and the “policeman” returned it. He then wanted to do the same with me so I showed him the roubles in my wallet. He then wanted to see what else I had and when he took the match ticket out I think time momentarily stopped. But he wasn’t interested in that and gave it back as he wanted to look at my other currency, good old sterling. He then took that and the roubles and gave it to the other bloke to shuffle before returning it to my wallet and repeating this with Clive. As we had no dollars he dismissed us so we got the hell out of there.
This was probably more disconcerting as it was mainly done by gesture with very little English being spoken. When sorting out the money he’d shoved back in my wallet I realised he’d nicked some of the sterling. He must have palmed it when putting it back in my wallet for me. Clive thinks he might have lost some roubles in a similar move. The first two guys were definitely doing some sort of scam and although I’m not 100% convinced the third one was with them he was the only one who could have taken the money. Frankly he could have taken all the money as long as he left the match ticket. Also I’d not admitted to having a load more roubles elsewhere on my person!
We didn’t really need this hassle to get pulses racing with a Champions League final ahead of us. After that the journey seemed easy and we soon emerged outside the Grand Sports Arena of the Luzhniki Olympic Complex where the game would take place. There were now thousands of fans milling around and for the first time it was obvious that there were an awful lot of people going to the game who hadn’t come from England. We failed to get programmes at the stalls as they were just selling out and the pushing and shoving was like a New Year sale.
We wandered round the stadium for a bit taking it all in and I then said let’s go and look at this Fan Zone they’ve been on about. There wasn’t a lot going on by then but they did have thousands of programmes with hardly any queue and no pushing! We decided to go into the stadium then to find our seats and went through a couple of layers of hassle free security. The seats themselves were okay rather than great but it isn’t really a football ground. Mind you they were better than the first seats we had had at the new Wembley the May before, and not much more expensive. The atmosphere was good and we even got a slightly odd opening ceremony.
It seems pointless saying much about the game when millions watched it. A dodgy first half-hour, who would put a midfielder at right back and not realise Ronaldo would then attack down that side? Not a dull game like the previous year’s FA Cup final but a lot of near misses and too much woodwork. Can we please have old fashioned drop balls back when the referee stops the game, can’t be as fractious as what it leads to otherwise. At least three such incidents and all caused controversy!
I’ll admit when it went to penalties I thought we had no chance. As Ronaldo went up we were joking about it being funny if he missed. We then got the false hope when Cech saved it. By now it was chucking it down and it was even more of a lottery than most shootouts. Enough said.
Afterwards it was apparent the area around the complex had poor drainage as we paddled back to the metro. It was now some silly time of the morning for a football game to be ending but they’d kept the metro open especially. Only a few locals about and I’m sure their chants at us of United would have been different if we’d won instead! Back at the hotel no one was going to bed, despite the hour, so the bars were busy. I met a few more people I hadn’t seen up until then including some I didn’t know were going to the final. It took me over 45 minutes to get across the lobby and back for a bottle of water as I kept bumping into people. The mood was fairly sombre but resigned that supporting Chelsea can still deliver an unpleasant kick. I finally went to bed just before 5 a.m.
The rest of the next day I just wanted to be somewhere else. Everyone congregated at a café in the airport to wait it out. They tried to rip people off by saying the English menu prices were wrong but word soon got around and I don’t think anyone was caught out. Finally got home gone 11 p.m. and the three-hour time difference just messes with your head after such a long journey. Then to work the next day where I just didn’t want any discussion.
So after all those semi final defeats we had made the final and then lost that to end the season firmly second to the Reds. But think of all that money you can now save by not going to Japan for what is now two games in the FIFA Club World Cup right before Christmas. Plus with the Super Cup too the Reds will be playing catch up for a good part of the season. Anyone think they may not take the domestic cups too seriously?
Roll on Rome next May!
The full length version of this article originally appeared in The Blue – the official journal of the Chelsea Supporters’ Club
