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at pub for the usual abusing of the staff discount. Only this time was
different, i was to get no more than a little merry, i explained to
everyone. 'We'll see about that' piped in my boss, and bought me a drink.
The next thing i remember is hearing our home phone ringing. My dad will
get it in a minute, i decide, and hide head under pillow, not stopping for a
moment to realise that i am now at home in bed, when the last thing i
remember is being in the pub.
Ten minutes later and my alarm clock is still going.
Finally crawl out of bed, a mere two hours after crawling into it, and
fall down the stairs, via bathroom and medicine cabinet. Down paracetamol
and two pints of water, and finally wake up. The failure of my alarm clock
to, well, alarm me, means rather less time to get ready. Begin packing small
bag to take. Feel knackered but not ill - i have survived. Bag packed, and
after looks of disgust from my father, we finally set off, later than
planned, the bag containing battery-less walkman, an apple, and not much
else, clutched close.
Arrive at Deepdale after turbulant trip feeling worse for wear, and worse
still when the sight of the coaches remind me of the journey in store.There
are blue and white blurs everywhere - it looks busy. Noticably more so than
for the Brighton game - no surprise there then. Feel proud for a moment that
i was there. Stumble aboard coach and begin to feel ill - just what you need
with a 5 hour coach trip in store. Dad looks at me and laughs, before
passing me a plastic bag.
Spend trip down to the big smoke in hangover hell, sat forward clutching
(thankfully unneccessary) plastic bag and taking the customary vow of
tee-totality. Watch most of the Everton vs Crewe game thanks to sister's
Game Gear and tv adapter. At least i think it was Everton Vs Crewe, couldn't
really tell - just red blurrs and blue blurrs. Enjoyment of game increased
as we finally spot the ball.
Suddenly remember where we are going and begin to feel better, if nervous.
Get to destination and everyone piles off coach. Wander round Chelsea
village for a while, listening to some comments of passing Chelsea fans
which seem to centre around whether the scoreboard would hold double
figures. Would retaliate but still don't trust only words to come out if i
open my mouth so i let it pass. Dad also gets collered by Sky woman, and i
stand well out of the way -i may have let myself go out into public in this
state, but i wasn't about to go on national TV looking like i did - or
rather like i'd died (a long time ago).
Walk around the stadium - if you can call it that - and feel impressed by
how intimidating it feels. Remember back to the Withdean on a Tuesday night.
Comment to my dad that soon we will be playing at grounds like this week in
week out. Block out the sound of a group of Chelsea fans laughing at
statement.
Stamford Bridge, for all it's visual impressiveness, doesn't look like a
football ground. Feel like i should be shopping. Once inside the ground
however, it's obvious. The dirty, litter-covered concourses and tiny toilets
complete with cobwebs, broken locks and spitting taps, serve to remind you
that times weren't always so good for Chelsea, and confidence in PNE's
future fills my mind (if you can call playing your football in a hotel and
restaurant complex good).
After chatting to a couple of mates i met at Brighton, we make our way to
our seats. Row C, our tickets tell us. C obviously standing for crap as we
are shown to our places next to the Chelsea dug out. With only an empty row
of seats between us and the pitch, we will certainly feel close to the
action, my dad adds, trying to sound optimistic. Optimism drained when the
guys sat directly behind us disclose that their tickets were given complete
with the restricted view warning and discount. Decide now would be a good
time to get a drink. Return 1.50 pounds worse off, cup of brown, fizzy water
criminally advertised as Coca-cola in my hand.
The North End players come out to warm up and are applauded in true cup
fashion, everytime they run towards our stand. McKenna, last week described
as having a potentially serious injury, has made a miraculous recovery and
returns to the midfield to partner Keano. The rest of the side has
practically picked itself.
4 o'clock appears out of nowhere, and as the two teams run out onto the
pitch i look at the Chelsea side for the first time (having previously
refused to acknowledge what the team was or watch them warm up). Remind
myself and anyone that will listen that it is still only eleven men versus
eleven, and try to believe it.
Being so close to the pitch, it is my view that the players heard my rally
call, and we begin the game like we are the Premiership side. Chelsea's
defence were all over the place, and the North End Massive could sense a
shock. And with nine minutes on the clock we won a free-kick. '1-0' i say to
my dad, 'Grezza to Lucketti, bang!'. Well it was neither Grezza who took the
kick, or Lucketti who planted the beauty into the back of the net, but we
didn't care. Joy unconfined as Dicky C wheels away in celebration and it
finally sinks in that we have scored! Against Chelsea! Dad's are hugging
their children, couples are hugging, strangers are embracing each other, and
my dad's hugging the steward, obviously feeling too scared to come anywhere
near me as i am far too busy having a fight with the air. COME
ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Barely have our bums touched our seats when Carts puts a sublime low cross
along the penalty area. Super JM, practically stood on the goalline,
connects and surely it is Arse revisited? but no, Cudicini pulls of a
sickening save.
Then Chelsea begin to play. We are still having the majority of possession
but Gudjonsson and Hasselbaink look menacing every time a ball is played to
their feet. It is impossible to truly judge a player until you see them
close up, and watching Pink-Floyd Hasselbaink's pace as he effortlessly
skinned Edwards before passing for Gud'son to score was astonishing. He's
bloody fast you know! Feel scared again.
From then on, the script usually goes that the Premiership side take
complete possession of the ball and cut the 'minnows' to pieces. but we
refuse to give in. even when Gud'son and Pink combine to send the latter
through and Chelsea are leading we continue to play and to create.
Into the second half, and the pattern of play is continued - with both teams
looking dangerous going forward. It's very even. Get a call off my boss just
into the half but can't really tell what he is saying. Something along the
lines of 'you're gonna stuff them' i think, followed by 'we're all cheering
for you in the pub'. Not bad coming from a stout Yorkshireman.
Even though we are putting together some good moves, we don't seem to be
creating any clear cut chances, and i turn my attention from the fact that
we are probably going to go out of the cup, to just watching the lads play.
Against a team of full internationals they are passing with confidence, not
scared to try that flick or pass it out of defence. And we are matching
them.
At the death, Dicky C crosses and Super JM's header is superbly saved by the
annoyingly superb Cudicini, and hopes are fading. Now i suppose we should
have been prepared for Tepi's antics, going by how much he seemed to enjoy
being outside his area during the rest of the match, and all i can say is
why not? Had his overhead kick gone in (lol) he would have been the hero. We
had nothing to lose. The fact that Forsell went on to make it 3 just after
is no reason to condemn the Tepster. 2-1 or 3-1 didn't change the fact that
Chelsea were going through.
It was harsh though, very harsh.
Left the ground full to the brim with pride. As always, i shook hands with a
random opposition fan and wished him, and Chelsea, all the best for the
future, before wandering to the coach and collapsing - PMK (Post Match
Knackeredness) kicking in like never before.
A few other things to mention:
1) the prescence of Bryan Gray and family on the coach with the North End
fans - he's one of us now! lol
2) The stewards. It was difficult to see the match from below pitch level in
the first place, especially with the dug outs and Messrs Ranieri and Moyes
in the way, but we were threatened with ejection every time we stood up.
Trying to explain that the only reason we were standing was because all we
could see were the stewards themselves didn't work, and both sides were
becoming frustrated. It was simple really - stewards sit down=we would be
able to sit and still see the game!
3) having watched the game again, courtesy Sky tv, it looked like a normal
Premiership game - and that's one hell of a compliment.
4) Nearly forgot...the ref was s***e, as usual so biased towards the big
boys.
MOTM had to be Greegs - his display was awesome - he was solid, committed,
and took to making neat passes out of defence instead of just hoofing it.
but every single North End player should be extremely proud of the way they
played. And so should we as fans.
The thing that strikes me the most, reflecting a day on, is that we played
with so much belief - we weren't intimidated by the opposition or the
occasion.
Moyesy's boys are growing up!
Naomi :o)
Still not recovered