The old Stamford Bridge
¶ 1
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Greyhound track that separated
us from our idols. Banging
the corrugated back of the Shed.
Boys’ turnstile. Rosettes, rattles,
hot dog sellers, trains that rumbled
behind the North Stand.
¶ 2
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One of the best matchday
programmes in the world.
The ‘lack of atmosphere’
the press always cited whenever
we lost. The Headhunters
made headlines at away games.
¶ 3
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Passion of floodlit nights.
Cheerfully obscene chants
you could hear on Match of the Day.
Ugly racist boos that greeted
our first black player’s
entry on to the field.
¶ 4
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Before tickets were bought in advance
the ground filled up slowly
from two hours before kick-off,
allowing anticipation to build,
noise to grow. Now it’s wam-bam,
all over far too quickly.
¶ 5
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All things must pass. If only
some players could. Pass
the prawn sandwiches, Roy …
Passing on blue fervour
to your children, no matter
how hard you tried not to.
Great memories Greg. Took me right back.
Today I stand on a small terrace in the hills where I live watching Forest Green Rovers in L1, and keep up with Chelsea on highlights. It’s a far cry and a world away from those times when I lived as a child within walking distance of ‘The Bridge’ – just off the Ifield Road, which led to Fulham Road. The Blues were rubbish for so long, but we loved them and somehow we stayed in the old First Division for so many seasons. And of course we got to see Greavesie at his impudent best, scoring goals for fun. Mad unpredictable games where we’d score 4 and let in five.
The looming floodlights in the dark and mist on magic night games. The big games when the ground heaved.
I don’t think we ever realized how magical and incredible it was back then. The atmosphere and arriving there so early – like you said.. just to make sure you got in. Back when Bovril, tea and cake and roasted peanuts for sixpence a back were just about all on offer.
Good times.