With all the money suddenly at the disposal of the Club, it was inevitable that the next bit of gossip would be about the ground. After all, we have signed – or could have signed – just about every player in the world and now the transfer deadline is almost upon us. Thank goodness would say some, but not the Sports Editors of the various tabloids. What on earth will they have to fill their pages with if we are not buying up another player? So no one should have shown surprise when a story appeared in the Mirror that plans were afoot to demolish the Hotel and build a proper stand where the Shed once proudly stood. What a load of rubbish. Or is it?

On the face of it we have a ground that is all nicely finished, years of building works and poor facilities being at an end. And, of course, we rarely sell out nowadays so what would be the point in starting all over again? Well things have moved on a pace in the last 7 weeks or so haven’t they?

At the start of July we had no money, and quite probably faced the prospect of losing at least one or two players. What sort of challenge were we going to be able to make on the Premiership or indeed the Champions League? In truth we would have done well to hang on to fourth spot. But the millions that have been pumped into the club since then have put a totally different slant on it. Forget all the waffle about players needing to gel and settle in, if we are not there or thereabouts at the seasons end then someone needs taking to Siberia to be shot or put to work in the mines. My own gut feeling tells me, incredibly, that it is the Champions League where we might really shine. Well I do have a big gut!!

And it is here that we get to the point of this little ditty. If we are to be truly successful as a club, is forty odd thousand as a capacity ever going to be enough? I think not. So is there any truth in rumours like this? Well the whispers are certainly gaining some pace. I was actually told on Saturday – by someone who has reasonably close links to the club – that a discussion had already taken place about uprooting the whole club to a new super stadium, possibly at Harlington. Again, this could all be something and nothing but at this moment in SW6 reality has been totally kicked into touch. If you had asked me a few short weeks ago if I would be happy with Joe Cole signing I would have had a grin wider than the Thames. Now the links – and bids – we have really are with the big name superstars of this wonderful game, and it all seems like one, long, crazy, wonderful dream.

In the real world success brings in the punters. You only have to look at Cold Trafford and the Library to notice that. 10 years or so ago at Arsenal they were still selling season tickets part way through the season, while today they have a waiting list almost as big as Romans bank statements. More seats would also mean an ability to lower prices, something that most blues fans have argued in favour of for years. The problem at the Bridge is doubtless going to be the local authority. However, without Ken managing to antagonise all of them maybe this would not be such a major concern. We can never have a 60,000 seater stadia on the current site though, two exits (both onto the Fulham Road) would make this impractical and in all probability dangerous. We have a railway line and a graveyard behind the East Stand, a railway line behind the Matthew Harding and rows of houses and flats beside the West Stand. So, even if we could convince the Council of the benefits of a super stadium at Chelsea, would it ever be allowed? The more you think of it, the more a move away seems the likely option. Unless Roman is prepared to buy up some of the housing stock for demolition – always a possibility – then we stay as we are or up sticks and move.

So is it possible that we suddenly find the Hotel being pulled down and replaced with a stand worthy of the name? Of course it is. But it is equally as likely – if not more so – that with a pit of money that appears to have no bottom to it we simply uproot and move to pastures new. Like many I would have very strong views about any attempt to move away from the Bridge, but times they are a changing and changing fast. Our only saving grace might be that Roman does – or hopefully will have – the concerns of the supporters in his mind when making plans, and that in itself has to be a welcome relief from what came before.

It is a long drive back from Leeds, made worse when they have beaten you, but it gave me lots of opportunities to think about how low I felt, and how the blues could put me through this emotional turmoil!

A little over nine years ago, November 22 1993 to be exact, I sat with my son in the family stand at Stamford Bridge and watched a pile of rubbish draw 0-0 with Manchester City.

It was a freezing cold night – and boy, do I mean cold – with just over 10,000 fans in attendance. I remember about one attempt on goal, a Neil Shipperley header, and that my coffee went cold in about three seconds. I think it was also the last game played before the terracing was demolished to make way for the Matthew Harding stand. Kevin Hitchcock even came and sat with us, as we were about the only people daft enough to be in there.

“Get on,” I told him, “You can’t be any worse than the rest of them.” Oh happy days!

But what exactly has this got to do with Leeds? Well plenty actually. We got beaten 2-0 today, and that means we remain in second place in the Premiership. I came away from that City game totally fed up with Chelsea – wasting my money in the freezing cold, only to have my heart broken.

But I was back two weeks later to see us draw with the mighty Ipswich Town – in between we had lost to Sheffield United – and that really is my point.

Losing and staying second, drawing and remaining in 18th, is there any difference? Is the pain any less or any more? I suppose when your stars are Hasselbaink and Zola as opposed to Paul Furlong and Shipperley you have a right to have higher expectations.

But were our expectations any less then than they are now? I’m not so sure. Each season before kick-off I had this undying belief that we were going to win the league. Even when we had Darren Barnard and Andy Myers for goodness sake!

The strangest thing to me is that this season my expectations were as low as they had ever been. I had little faith in the manager and was concerned our finances appeared to be in such a state that we could only afford to sign one player, who I had never heard of, from some second string Spanish club. And he was free!

Nearly five months into the season and suddenly that expectation is back with a vengeance! Chelsea, my Chelsea, the only constant in my life, has done it to me again, lifting me up only to throw me back down again.

Do I feel any worse today than that day in May 1988 when Middlesborough sent us down? If we qualify for the Champions League will I feel any better than that wet day in Bolton when Clive Walker became one of my all time heroes by scoring the goal that kept us in the old second division?

Each time the answer is going to have to be no. And that is what drives Chelsea to the very heart of my soul and why I could never live without them. This emotional roller coaster is a ride without equal. I don’t want to end up like those sad Man United and Arsenal fans who despair because they lost one game, didn’t get a penalty or weren’t given enough added time.

Strange as it may sound, I quite enjoy the fact that on any given day I believe we will win the league and then the next think we are staring relegation in the face. But without those deep lows how we will ever learn to appreciate the highs?
Maybe I’ve read this all wrong. Maybe we are a club destined to win the league on only one occasion. Do I care? Do you care? Are you here to see us lift silverware or are you a fool like me?

One of the greatest moments in my life was when Furlong smashed in the second goal against Bruges in the European Cup Winners Cup. What did it get us other than a trip into the next round? Nothing. Ask an Arsenal fan for their highlight and it will be something akin to Nick Hornby’s famous book Fever Pitch.
Do I want to be taken over by that arrogance? Do I want to have to wear rose-tinted glasses for the rest of my life? Do I want to fail to see any foul ever committed by one of our players? No.

I know I’m not alone. Piers, who sits in front of me in the Matthew Harding stand, attended his 1,000th game last season. How big a commitment is that? How many good days have there been in that 1,000 and how many bad? Yet he is always there, come rain or shine, as are so many others.

So Chelsea, my Chelsea, I will be there at Highbury come New Years Day, full of hope, expectation and loads of turkey. If we win I will love you forever. Same if we lose.

That’s why I love my Chelsea, they are a mirror of life in general. Just when you thought things were going okay, we lose to Wigan. Just as your wife throws you out on the street, we beat Barcelona! You keep it going Chelsea. Come rain, snow or Chris Sutton – Piers, thousands of others and I will always be here, shouting at you to do better!

I have never really understand how certain teams have an Indian sign over another, there is no logical reason for it. It’s like reading in the paper that a Cemetery has raised the price of burials due to the cost of living. Not only has their record in Bolton against us been impressive, but now they have started to beat us at the Bridge as well! How fitting therefore that the hero of this game should be John Terry (yes him of Barmy Army fame!).

This was always likely to be a test. Losing Carlo was a bitter pill to swallow, to have to replace him with a tin of rice pudding was a real trauma for us all. That Ambrosio came through it, not quite with flying colours, but at least with us all smiling, will maybe hold us in good stead in the weeks ahead. Maybe. Well OK, I know Bolton are no Arsenal, but you have to have some straws to clutch on to!

It must be something in the damp, dirt ridden air of the north, for this was a game very similar to our trip to Manchester City the other week. Bolton simply battered us for the first 45 minutes and really should have gone in at least two goals to the good. That they didn’t was due to Ambrosio making one excellent stops and a couple of others where he managed to get his body in the way and keep the ball out. Oh, and of course, Mr Graham Poll. Everytime I start to hate this bloke he appears to come up with a decision that makes me rethink my whole philosophy on Referees. He turned down an appeal from the Bolton players where Marcel made no attempt to play the ball, but decided simply to take the man out. I thought it was pretty blatant, but then what do I know about the laws of the game?!

I am going to ignore the first half, as we didn’t really arrive in this game until the second 45 minutes came along. Clearly Claudio had read them the riot act at half time for we came out looking a totally different team. Jaaskelainen saved brilliantly from Frank Lampard, then Geremi fired just wide before Jimmy-Floyd Hasselbaink failed to hit the target from 10 yards after 57 minutes. On 65 minutes Crespo was replaced by Joe Cole and we suddenly turned things up a notch. Five minutes later we took the lead. In many ways it was an odd goal. JT and Marcel got in each others way before the ball finally found itself going forward towards the Bolton goal. JT continued his run and hit home a superb volley at the far post after Hasselbaink had flicked on Duff’s cross. Three minutes later it was 2-0 and game over when a superb ball from Cole saw Jimmy Floyd play in an excellent cross behind the Bolton defence which Duff managed to get his foot to. Despite the best efforts of the Bolton keeper the ball found itself in the back of the net. A fantastic run and shot from Joe Cole deserved a goal, but sadly it was cleared off the line by Simon Charlton. There was still time for Ambrosio to deny Okocha once more, before Poll decided to blow for time and three points against Bolton were finally ours.

Personally I feel that the title is out of reach, but if we keep getting results like this one then there is no shame in taking second spot. If only we could do something about our bloody home form! Of course, if Bolton want to do us a favour next time out…

TEAM; Ambrosio – Gallas, Desailly, Terry, Bridge – Gronkjaer (Huth 89), Geremi, Lampard, Duff (Parker 90) – Hasselbaink, Crespo (Cole 65). Subs Not Used: Makaba-Makalamby, Melchiot.

Of course he cannot be blamed for the result today, although I am writing this without the benefit of an action replay, but to say that he fills me with dread is not even getting close to the emotion he stirs in me. My Grandmother would perform better in goal than him, and she has been dead for 18 years. Go on Claudio, stick her urn in the goal, I bet she gets a higher rating than ‘Sully’ and she wont cost anywhere near as much.

Don’t you just hate that feeling of deja vu? It was obvious to a blind man (maybe even Neil Sullivan) that we were going to be drawn against Arsenal. It was even more obvious that despite them not having the luxury of the va-va-voom man we were certain to lose. My Mum used to tell me – on those days when I actually took any notice – that there are only two certainties in life. You are born, and you die. Well Mummy dearest, you can certainly add number 3 to the list, we are destined to draw Arsenal every year in the FA Cup and they are certain to beat us even if they put out a team of dustmen (blimey maybe even dustbins!) AND had Neil Sullivan in goal.

Having Arsenal twice in 6 days always meant the crap question would be asked. You know the one, “which game would you rather us win”, like we have any choice at all in the matter. Personally, if the choice really existed, I would always go for the League game. But that does not mean that I would want us to play virtually an entire 45 minutes with so little passion and interest that at times I thought about catching the early train home. Of course there would not have been much room as most of the players would already have been on it!

Oh, and then there was Paul ‘I am a short arsed twat but just love the feeling of power this yellow card gives me’ Durkin. Now maybe he had a good game in your view, but in my eyes he sucked – again – and just his presence on the pitch makes me know that bad things are going to happen. 7 yellow cards in the end wasn’t it? And we picked up the majority? Yes right Mr. Hob Nob. Best we pickle this bloke right now to show future generations of referees how not to officiate a game of football.

We probably just, and I do mean just, shaded the first half. There were chances at both ends and only another blind twat of a linesman who clearly fails to understand the offside law prevented us taking the lead earlier than we actually did. 10 minutes before the interval Jesper Gronkjaer headed Frank Lampard’s perfect cross past Lehmann only for the w**ker to wave his flag in the air.

It was only a brief reprieve for the sad and quiet gooners as we went ahead with a marvellous goal from Mutu after 39 minutes. Lehmann’s poor clearance went straight to Parker, and when he fed Mutu, the Romanian raced at Toure before flashing in a 20-yard finish with his left foot. If it were possible the Library got even quieter. Not only could you hear a pin drop, you could hear it bounce down the steps as well!

Of course, Chelsea being Chelsea we had to go and throw it all away. This time to some young twat who decided to score his first ever goals for the gooners against us. Is he Patrick Berger in disguise one wonders? The Spaniard picked up the ball 25 yards out, and fired an unstoppable drive into Carlo’s top corner. Give him credit, it was some shot. But deciding to let him run for 10 minutes without a challenge then have a free shot is not the defending of champions.

Then on the hour we lost Carlo who, despite having started the game, was very clearly not match fit. Sullivan’s first task as his replacement was to pick the ball out of the net. Vieira’s brilliant pass left Mario Melchiot flat-footed and Reyes stole in to beat Sullivan as JT tried desperately to clear.

That was it really, half an hour left yet game over. With few exceptions, most notably JT, we were second rate, slow to challenge and the better team on the day won with some ease. I can only hope that whatever team he puts out next week, and I don’t think the numbers have been drawn out of his hat yet, perform a darn sight better than this. Win, lose or draw, all I want is for us to go down fighting. The one thing more than anything else that Arsehole Whinge has instilled into his team is the one thing that we so desperately lack.

Now we only have the Champions League and the Premiership to go for. Bugger.

TEAM; Cudicini (Sullivan 60) – Melchiot, Terry, Gallas, Bridge – Parker, Makelele, Lampard, Gronkjaer (Cole 69) – Hasselbaink, Mutu (Gudjohnsen 64). Subs Not Used: Crespo, Huth.

Why all this inane drivel? Well there we were in Leicester, sitting pretty in a rather nice pub, when suddenly the place was in total darkness. The birds stopped singing, the flowers went in, and it looked like the day of judgment. What had caused this I hear you ask? (Well you should have asked regardless), well in walked a man – I use that term so loosely – who was the size of a medium sized island off of the Greek coast, resplendent in Leicester shirt which was bursting at the seam. He ordered a bucket of beer, a small reindeer as a starter, and took his place on a specially constructed stool. Now this was of special interest to Martin, the mad Vicar, who could not help but notice that as this hulks trousers slipped somewhat, a space appeared where a small Harley could be parked. Much against our better judgement he decided to introduce himself.

“Hi, I am Martin,”

“What do you want?”

“Just wondered how you were doing”

“Doing fine. Eating. Bog off.”

We stood in both awe and amazement as this conversation took place. How the man could speak with a small hoof sticking out of his mouth was beyond me. Still, Martin survived to bless another day and we took the short walk to the ground. Did I say short? Getting to the North Pole on a snowy day would have been quicker, but make it we did for our first visit to the Walkers Peanut Bowl.

What a wonderful ground it is. It is amazing what you can do with enough concrete and no plans. “Pour a bit more here, just for a laugh” must have been the normal everyday conversation during construction. And quiet? This place makes the Library seem like a Who concert on a particularly noisy day. But then being a Leicester fan can hardly give you too much to shout about I suppose.

Recent results had given this game an extra level of importance as Manure and the goners continued to steam ahead. A win, any sort of win, was crucial. A resounding victory would be better still. It was a little surprising therefore when Claudio decided to go for a team that featured 9 of last season’s squad with just Makelele and Cole from the new boys.

We started well, really well, and with just 12 minutes on the clock took a deserved lead. A great run to the by line by Joe Cole, a good cross, and a lovely little flick by Jimmy and we could start to relax. One goal is never good enough in games like this, and we did somehow contrive to miss a number of chances until a minute or two before half time. We were then awarded a free kick which Jimmy gave a fair old whack too. Now when Jimmy whacks, he whacks. (Though not in the biblical sense I hasten to add!) From where I was sat it looked to be heading in. However, Nikos Dabizas stupidly stuck his head in the way, which took the ball into the opposite corner of the net and his head into a field just outside of Nottingham.

2-0 at half time was a fair reflection of our dominance, and gave us a chance to relax somewhat. The supporters (well ours) were in really fine voice today from the very first minute, and the more we dominated the more we sang. If only every game saw our support like this!

Leicester started the second half in a much better way, and we seemed happy to let them attack us with us having a go on the counter attack. Callum Davidson brought a flying save out of Carlo Cudicini with a well-struck shot which could have put us under some pressure. Once more though it served only to remind us what a top class keeper we have in the great Carlo. We then saw JT – who grows in stature with each passing game – clear off the line from James Scowcroft. What could easily have been 2-2 and game on knocked the stuffing out of Leicester.

Mutu came on with 15 minutes left and broke his barren spell with a real peach of a goal that makes you wonder how it is that he does not score a hatful every week. Almost on the stroke of full time even Baba decided to get in on the act when he intercepted a dreadful back pass, slid the ball past the inept Walker, then treated us to his usual flip. If only I could perform such tricks!

This was an excellent all round team performance with no one letting the side down at all. Marcel does deserve mention after his recent down turn in form as he looked, once more, the rock that we fell in love with all those years ago. Important not to get carried away as this was against a poor team who, to give them credit, tried to play football against us. A win against Watford on Wednesday might just start to give us back the confidence we have been lacking of late.

One final point, as a way of showing our respect to the mad vicar, we will be going to the Stuttgart game in Germany dressed as Vicars ourselves, complete with dark glasses of course. Watch out for us, with us giving the side our blessings (and possibly even communion) we cannot fail to progress to the next stage of the Champions League. Isn’t it great being a Chelsea fan?

TEAM: Cudicini – Melchiot, Desailly, Terry, Babayaro – Gronkjaer (Geremi 64), Lampard, Makelele, Cole (Gallas 79) – Hasselbaink, Gudjohnsen (Mutu 74).
Subs Not Used: Sullivan, Huth.

Today was no different, we even had the added incentive of it being cold, bloody cold, so cold that we found penguins on the way to the ground that had died of hypothermia, and playing on a pitch which made the sand pit against Charlton look like a billiard table.

Luckily for us Ray, good old Ray, said that he knew a pub near the station. Of course he did not tell us exactly which station he was talking about, it was probably nearer Fulham Broadway than Watford Junction was. So after a near on 300 mile hike we found the pub had a few beers and set off for the trek to the stadium. We must have looked a right motley crew on our long, long journey. There was Piers whose conversations on his mobile are so loud that you wonder why he needs a phone at all. Chris looking resplendent with an inflatable FA Cup that Piers had so kindly donated to him. The lovely Carol looking like a film star in her pink cap, Ray leading us up and down various streets, “it’s just round the corner now”, poor Rue wondering what the heck he was doing with this strange group of individuals and of course there was little old me.

Somehow we did finally manage to make it to the ground. True we nearly lost a couple along the way as the rations ran out, but the huskies managed to drag those that had started to show signs of slowing up. Once we got into the stadium, if that is what you can call Vicarage Road, we knew it was going to be a bit of a battle. Claudio, despite his promise of treating the Cup seriously, had tinkered once more with the team, and the pitch – I call it that only out of habit – looked every inch a battlefield left over from the Somme.

The real shock of this game I suppose was that we managed to hold out against lesser opposition for a full five minutes before deciding to give away a belated Christmas present. But the ‘when is a goal not a goal’ question was never more pertinent than it was here. A cross from the right and world superstar Helguson was allowed a free header. The ball hit the crossbar and bounced back into play. The Referees Assistant, D. S. Bryan then signalled that the ball had crossed the line. This was odd bearing in mind that (a) it hadn’t and (b) not one Watford player claimed that it had. The Referee decided to accept the word of DS Bryan (I assume that DS stands for Doesn’t See) and we were 1 down.

It could have been so much worse when Sullivan, looking every inch a Scottish goalkeeper, somehow managed to palm the ball directly to a Watford player. He shot straight at goal but fortunately Marcel had stationed himself on the line to block and we somehow scrambled the ball clear.

On the half hour we were back in it when Jesper Gronkjaer tumbled at the feet of super Lenny Pidgely after being sent through on goal by Lumpies pass. Eider coolly slotted home the resulting spot-kick. That was bound to be it, sanity restored, and we could get on with the job of finishing off a less than average side languishing near the foot of the first division. However, we decided once more to press the self destruct button when another punt into the box was headed back across goal by Marcus Gayle for Mahon to nod home Watford’s second. Unbelievable!

We did managed to go in at half time all square, probably undeservedly, when Jesper laid the ball into the path of the onrushing Lumpie for him to hit the ball – albeit with the aid of a slight deflection I think – past Super Len. That at least served to shut up the Watford fans, well the half dozen that had bothered to make some noise in the first place.

The second half failed really to live up to the excitement of the first half. Super Len pulled off one excellent stop, Watford possibly should have had a penalty, and Sullivan even managed to catch a ball!

So game over, cue the long walk back. “Don’t worry” says Ray. “I know a quicker way back than the way we came.” Yep, like fools we trusted him! We did finally manage to make it back to the pub after crossing some seven counties and the meridian line twice. Once defrosted, we reflected that at least we were still in the cup and we had a free game to come in the shape of a replay.

Although today could have gone so much better, it could have been so very much worse. Surely neither the weather, the pitch, Claudio or Watford, (looking like demented bumble bees) can stop our march onwards to Cardiff. Famous last words? I bloody well hope not!

Team: Sullivan – Johnson, Desailly, Gallas, Babayaro – Gronkjaer, Makelele, Lampard, Geremi – Gudjohnsen, Mutu.
Subs Not Used: Hasselbaink, Cole, Melchiot, Huth, Ambrosio.

Prior to kick off Harry Redknapp said that he thought that Pompey would turn us over. Now I have no idea what particular substance he was on when he made that peculiar statement, but it must be bloody potent stuff. Much as I admire Harry, he must really have lost the plot if he feels that his current side are anything other than relegation fodder.

The team selection deserves some mention. Claudio’s decision to drop the Rock, who lets be honest, has been more like a pebble of late, suggests that maybe even he has realised who our first choice centre backs should be.

This really was the proverbial game of two halves. The first 45 deserve little comment and are best marked down as a very bad dream. The second were memorable for an invigorated Chelsea side and three stunning goals.

It wasn’t just because Pompey insisted on doing little more than 10 men behind the ball in the first half. We have come to expect that from these little provincial sides, it was more a tale of our players trying to outdo each other as to who could put in the most inept performance. The winner in the end was undoubtedly Jesper who, on the few occasions he actually took a player on, seemed incapable of putting in what could even be described as a half decent ball. He was not alone of course. Geremi again did his best to make us wonder why we had spent the best part of two seasons chasing him and even the normally solid Makelele seemed unable to find a blue shirt. Just the one point of interest in reality. A real belter of an effort from Lumpy that nearly broke the post in two. The ball then hit the keeper but instead of going into the empty net it rolled to safety.

Pompey could have taken the lead after just two minutes of the second half when Steve Stone had a shot that was heading in at the near post until Sullivan managed to claw it wide.

We were gradually improving all of the time, and the increased effort we had put in since the break finally paid dividends after 65 minutes. Wayne Bridge, who had been the victim of some real abuse for his previous life at the south coasts real premier league side, chested the ball down and drifted past a couple of defenders before rifling the ball past the Pompey keeper. He then bombed across to the East Stand to where the Pompey fans were sat to offer them the chance to get involved in his celebration. For some strange reason they declined. What a strange lot!

8 minutes later and it was game over. Some good work from the ever-industrious Mutu ended with man of the match Lampard receiving the ball and smashing it past the keeper for a goal he thoroughly deserved.

With 82 minutes gone we were treated to one of those rare goals that even the away supporters have to recognise as a sublime effort. Geremi received the ball some distance out and hit a volley that fairly flew into the net and was, in truth, worth the admission money alone. If you were not at the game, beg steal or borrow a tape of it as even the Pompey fans stood and applauded it.

Not the kind of performance we were hoping for, but the result is all that matters in our quest for silverware. The only downside was that we did not get to see Teddy Sheringham on the pitch so that we could abuse him one last time. Shame on Harry for that!

Dave McCrossen – 28/12/2003 18:18:48

All the talk should have been of a 36 year old Russian, with a bigger bank account than Ken Bates ego, taking charge with a promise that money would no longer be a problem for the Club. Yet what is it that has dominated all our thoughts instead? The loss of one player, not the purchase of lots of others. A small Sardinian who somehow managed to win a place not just in the hearts and minds of Chelsea supporters, but of football fans everywhere.

When I first sat down to write this piece many thoughts crossed my mind. Shall I write about why Franco is so special to me? Shall I write about my favourite goal of his? My favourite moment of skill? My favourite story about him? Just where exactly do you begin? The more thought you give a piece like this, the more difficult it becomes. The truth is that every single one of us has a special Zola moment and, unlike with any player before him, every single one of those moments is both special and unique.

Why not begin with the 1996/7 season which, I believe, shaped the future of the football club that we all hold so dear. How well do you remember the 1996/7 season? It was a term of tremendous highs and one awful low. We forget very quickly, with the team often turning over quickly, but before that season started we said a few goodbyes. Glenda, Flecky, Gareth Hall, Andy Dow, Spackers, Tony Barness and Paul Furlong to name but a few. Now there’s a real mixed bag for you! Of course there were a few hellos too. Ruudi became player manager, Roberto Di Matteo arrived from Lazio, Frank Leboeuf from Strasbourg, Luca Vialli fresh from lifting the European Cup at Juve and, of course, a funny little guy from Parma who went by the name of Gianfranco Zola.The awful low came just one month before Franco signed upon the dotted line. Not that many should need reminding, but on the way back from a League Cup defeat at Bolton we lost Matthew Harding.

I have to admit that although I had heard the name Zola before, I did not really know much about this player who seemed to have fallen out of the Subuteo box. How quickly that state of affairs changed. Not just for me, but for thousands of football fans the length and breadth of the country.

Franco made his debut for us at Ewood Park. A 1-1 draw – thanks to an equaliser from super Dan – and an OK start. Not earth shattering, and certainly not a hint of what delights laid in store for us. December 7th 1996, not a date that readily springs to mind its true, but it was the day that we saw Franco hit the back of the net for the first time. One of his trade mark free kicks, a great strike against the blue of Everton. He also managed to hit the bar – from a corner! – and saw Vialli hit the bar after a great ball in. We didn’t win, but already you could feel the warmth of the smiles whenever the ball landed at the feet of the little number 25. A great goal against West Ham when he turned Mr. Dicks inside and out before slotting the ball home and two more goals against Villa in a brilliant performance and another against Sheffield Wednesday in an awful game 2 days later and the man was already half way to being a legend.

Here, I guess, lies the problem. I could spend the next 500 words talking about the goal against Wimbledon to take us to Wembley, the goal that lifted us the Cup Winners Cup the following season when even Franco lost his mind, the sublime flick against Norwich in the FA Cup, the free kicks (oh those free-kicks!) against Barcelona, or Tottenham, or Blackburn or, well it just goes on and on and on.

To me Gianfranco Zola changed the shape of this football club forever. He gave us a profile not just in this country but right across the world. His passion for the game, his skill, his smile, his never to be defeated attitude, his time for others. Gianfranco Zola may have been a tiny footballer, but he was truly a giant of a man. The words world class are banded about just a bit too often for my liking, but Zola really was. Not just as a footballer, but as a human being, and that in itself is a pretty special – and almost unique – commodity.

My head tells me that it is best that he goes now, after what was possibly his best ever season for us we will always remember him at the top of his game, my heart though tells me something different. When I consider that we will never again see him running out in that blue shirt, something tugs at me deep inside. I guess it does not help that he left under a slight cloud, and that once more the powers that be tried to rewrite the history books. Watching Uncle Ken on Chelsea TV he assured everyone that the reasons for Franco leaving had nothing at all to do with money. He absolutely assured us that this was not the case. Some 48 hours later Franco gave his press conference and painted a very different picture. He also revealed that Colin Hutchinson – the man who has been blamed for everything that has gone wrong at the Bridge lately – kept him at Chelsea three years ago when the lure of Naples was strong. That press conference really summed the man up. After fielding all the questions the various hacks could muster he stood up to see the room burst into a round of applause. I doubt if that has ever happened before, or is ever likely to again.

What will always remain with me was the rapport that he had with the fans. Franco said at his press conference that we will always retain a special place in his heart. “It’s been great,” he said. “They gave me everything I was looking for. They made me feel a very, very important player. Even when I wasn’t playing very well. And that is something. I felt special since day one here. That is really supporting the players. As a player you receive an extra boost. If I was playing somewhere else I’m sure I wouldn’t still be playing at 37.”

So, after 312 appearances, 80 goals, 108 assists, 14 free kicks scored, a Footballer of the Year award (it should have been at least two), medals from a brace of FA Cups, the Worthless Cup, Cup Winners’ Cup, Uefa Super Cup, Charity Shield, and Chelsea Player of the Year 2003 it is time to say goodbye. We are promised that he will be back with his new team to play a friendly for charity. I hope so, I hope we really get to say goodbye in the way we would all want to.

Who would have thought those seven years ago that a pint sized Sardinian would have had such an impact on each and everyone of us. The new millions might bring us highly rated and world class footballers. It might even make us the best football team in the world. What it can never do is bring back to us the unique talent that is Gianfranco Zola. I have a signed photo of him on my wall and when I look at it I cannot help but be thankful for all that he gave us. We will never see the like of him again, he was special to us and we were special to him. He will always be a Chelsea player in our hearts, and we will always remain in his. Thanks Franco for everything. World class? Of course. To me you are, and always will be, a true Chelsea legend.

To say there was a lot of traffic on the way to the ground is a bit of an understatement, and the A13 seems to be one mass of roadwork’s. On one of the flyovers (they have flyovers to try and get you above all the crap on the streets below) they were doing resurfacing work. Not with Tarmac, oh no, they were cutting up – and laying down – wood. Now I know that people from East London tend not to have motor cars, most still have Horse drawn Hackney Carriages, but surely the Horses will get splinters! They have also chosen to move the away end, which meant we had to walk past the Neanderthals that inhabit the Boleyn Pub not once but twice. Both times I was certain I could hear a bunch of rednecks playing banjo, with perhaps just a small dose of some twat playing the spoons.

Before the game I guess a win was not vital. After all, there was no way the scousers were going to lose at home to Manchester’s real team, so it would winner take all next week. The fact that had we won we would now be looking at a Champions League place really does bug me, and draws me to one inescapable conclusion. Regardless of the outcome of next weeks game, I for one have had enough of Mr. Ranieri and his clueless tactics. I recall him saying that he would win us the title within three years when he took control. Sorry Claudio, your time is now up. At the start of the season he said that we had to aim for a Champions League spot. Well maybe I am alone on this one but with the squad we have, to aim only for fourth spot in the League is not what I would call ambitious. Of course, and however, he is not going anywhere – very much like the team in fact. Clearly our lack of signings in the summer has had a bigger impact than we might at first have imagined.

This was – for the third time in four games – an extremely poor performance. The four strikers used during the game failed to register a single shot on goal, and bearing in mind who was between the sticks that should in itself be a hanging offence. In fact I can only recall two efforts on target, both from Lumpy. The first a header that hit Calamity James legs before being belted clear and the second a shot that was parried well by the keeper. Against a team looking forward to a Nationwide tour that is simply not good enough.

I am not a great fan of Zenden, but how can it be right to start Jody Morris on the right while he is sitting on the bench? Then again, why no Carlton Cole? Both Zola – and in particular Eidur – had poor games today. To be honest this performance was almost as bad as the one at Villa Park a couple of weeks ago. Luckily Carlo was on form (again) and West Ham failed to perform even half as well as Villa did.

The goal, when it came, was a little farcical but totally inevitable. Trevor Sinclair’s cross/shot should have been blocked by Baba, Willie Gallas then had a chance to clear but didn’t, before Mr. Bloody Di Canio belted the ball high into the roof of the net. Cue lots of banjo playing (of course) and another away defeat for us.

In truth West Ham totally deserved this victory, and you have no idea how tough it is to have to say something like that. It not only means that they might avoid the drop, but that 15% of their entire points for the season have come at our expense. Will someone try and explain that one away to me, because at this moment I cannot fathom it out.

Walking back to the car, with them ready to light their gas lamps, was gutting. Surrounded by a bunch of muppets who had done the double over us for the first time in 20 odd years hurt. Let us hope that the players, and more importantly the manager, felt those same feelings as well. If not, we face another early exit from Europe’s second cup competition next season.

Cudicini – Melchiot, Gallas, Desailly, Babayaro – Morris (Zenden 77), Petit, Lampard, Le Saux – Gudjohnsen (Hasselbaink 72), Zola (Cole 72). Subs not used: de Goey, Stanic.

Maybe it was the weather – about a million degrees warmer than Villa Park on Saturday – maybe it was because it was Everton who have decided to make themselves our puppy dogs this season, maybe it was as simple as the players realising that the effort they put in on Saturday – or more importantly the lack of it – was just not good enough. Whatever it was that managed to turn things around in those 48 hours needs to be bottled and sold as a cure for all the worlds ills.

Much criticised because of his, at times, frustrating performances, Jesper Gronkjaer was the inspiration behind this victory and at the centre of everything until he was subbed 6 minutes from the end. He is his own worst enemy as when we see him put on a show like this there is bound to be a rise in expectation. But, at last, he showed us his pace. He showed his ability to take on, and beat with ease, the opposition players and – most importantly – he showed that he can really put the ball into the penalty area in a spot that causes harm to the opposition. I just hope that he keeps this up for the last three games of the season and does not revert back to type.

We were treated to – what looked at the time – four good goals. The first came when Weir lost his footing to let in Eidur, who controlled first time and beat Wright with a comprehensive finish. That was the only goal of the first half which was scant reward for the possession and inventiveness that we had shown. It took though only two minutes after the break for us to add the second. The Gronk left the Everton right back for dead before crossing well for Hasselbaink to float a header over Wright into the top corner. Wright was injured after nearly destroying the post in his effort to stop the ball – but was able to carry on after treatment. It was only after the game that JFH admitted he had completely mis-headed the ball, saying that if he had caught it properly the keeper would probably have saved it!

On the hour a simple long ball from JT was superbly controlled by the Gronk and in a flash was nesting in the back of the Scousers net. At 3-0 that should have been game over but being Chelsea – and liking to do things the hard way – we somehow managed to take our foot off the pedal which almost allowed Everton back into it.

Poor defensive play saw Carsley shoot past Carlo to make it 3-1, and had he repeated the trick a few minutes later it might well have been a different game. Thankfully he didn’t, and apart from a poor header from Campbell we once more regained the initiative.

The best was saved for last thanks to Referee Riley who – from somewhere – added four minutes of time. Another long ball from the back – this time from Willie Gallas – and Zola, heading towards the corner flag hit a first time lob over Wright which proved to be inch perfect leaving the scoreline looking a much fairer reflection of the afternoons performance, and a repeat of the Worthless Cup game earlier this season.

Leaving the ground you could not help but be frustrated by a performance like this. Had we done this every week we would be heading the League rather than scrapping for a place in the Champions League. But then, I guess, this is one of the traits that make supporting the blues such a roller coaster of emotion. Lets just hope that we come somewhere close to repeating this show on Saturday, we can then look forward to sending West Ham down to the Nationwide a week later. Who said this was going to be a poor season?

TEAM; Cudicini – Melchiot, Desailly, Terry, Gallas – Gronkjaer (Le Saux 87), Petit, Lampard, De Lucas – Gudjohnsen (Cole 84), Hasselbaink (Zola 81).
Subs not used: de Goey, Stanic.