It isn't that the following part of my trip was my favorite, it just happens to be the one I wrote most about on the flight home from Heathrow to LAX. I went to Wolves at Home, the reserve match at Brentford two days after, the CPO lunch and then capped it all off with Arsenal away. My first day in London actually took me by surprise as we went to a last minute fundraiser for Kingstonian FC that featured Kerry Dixon, Peter Bonetti and Gary Stanley on the mic, with Neil Barnett of course doing the hosting. There are so many stories that I could tell but I would be telling it for months if people would listen. I just think that Arsenal was something that I should share with you all. I have been writing a whole journal with stories about every day I was there, but this site probably doesn't have the space. There are a few people mentioned in here that most of you won't know, but this write up was also for my CIA friends so that's the reason. Hope you all enjoy. Danny ARSENAL AWAY: 11/29/09 The alarm clock was set for 8am the night previous. Beth and I wanted to be up and ready early for the big day ahead of us. The plan was to be at Kings Cross tube station at around half 10 and meet up with the Barmy Army at a pub called O’Neill’s. We were both a bit sluggish out of the gates that morning but we managed to make it to the station at around 15 till and after asking the news stand man just outside of the station to point us in the right direction, we made it to the pub in just a few minutes more. The tube on the way up was the most crowded I had seen it since I experienced rush hour a few days earlier. It was the weekend suppose. We walked into O’Neill’s and saw the Army sitting down with pints on the table. We all shook hands and said hello again for the second time during my trip, and as Beth went off to treat us to our breakfast of freshly squeezed Stella, I answered questions about whether or not I was enjoying my trip. I had been asked this question a number of times during the 10 days and to be honest, I was running out of answers. Amazing, brilliant, fantastic, the best…I was starting to sound like David Beckham in an interview. Only I actually was telling the truth. A quick pint was finished but we were in desperate need of food. So we all migrated to another pub just around the corner. The name was Mabel’s Pub if I remember correctly. The Christmas decorations were in full swing and I quite liked the pub apart from it being so empty. I should mention that I envisioned the pre away match festivities to include a raucous sing song with other Chelsea nutters at a pub nearer to the ground, but again as I have seen on this trip, everyone has their own groups, rituals and hang outs. I decided to settle for what I had but because the Army are such a good group of people, I didn’t have to settle. I enjoyed myself very much. Our lovely and loveable Kent Blues Gill turned up again, only this time without Graeme who was busy that day and would sadly miss Arsenal as well. Gill was decked out proper in her signed Lampard home shirt. I noticed more blue fabric in her bag and I didn’t have to guess twice to know what it was. The famous Kent Blues CIA flag that made its 10 second appearance on live television those few matches ago was in the building. Bless Gill. She just doesn’t leave home without it. This time around I put her to work and had her sign my CIA flag. It was then passed around for the Army to leave their marks, and as they did it made me think of what an opportunity I missed at the CPO. That flag will be signed by the legends the next time I go. We sat for a while doing our best to cheer on Everton against the other non Champions League team from Merseyside. I watched Mascherano’s “goal” go in and shook my head, but to be honest my mind was on getting to the Emirates as soon as possible, for I had a funny nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach that something might go wrong with the ticket duplicates that were supposed to be waiting for us at the box office. With that in mind we finished our food and pint # something, took Gill’s lead who had left 20 minutes earlier, and set of for the tube to take us to the brand new library. The tube car was packed to the doors yet again, only this time all you could see were red scarves, Fabregas shirts and cannon badges all around. Standing right in the middle of the filth were Beth and me. I thought back to the stories of Agro that I’ve either read or heard of. As much as those stories grab my interest and as much as other clubs supporters sometimes make me want to stick the boot in, by the end of this trip I was glad the over the top violence was in the past. Seeing little Gooner youths with their parents (who clearly could and should be put away for child abuse by dressing the kids in red) strengthened that opinion. I realize the agro could be avoided most of the time back in the day, but I would just hate to see kids being exposed to that. We got off the Piccadilly at Arsenal tube station and began our walk towards big fancy bowl in the near distance. Just like on Fulham Road a week earlier, the streets were filled and bustling with supporters. Noticeable aspects included merch stands, program vendors and a man, who in similar fashion to an Arsenal fan, preached his specific religious ideals and beliefs as “the only way.” I thought to myself that there are always other ways to go in anything, ESPECIALLY when it comes to Arsenal. The rest of the walk up was a nice one, but had a much less enjoyable feel in comparison to Stamford Bridge and the Wolves match day crowd. Aside from the obvious point that this wasn’t my clubs ground, the Emirates felt like a huge airport terminal. Or dare I say it, a bit like the new Cowboys Stadium. I can’t knock the shiny bowl for its lack of history since that wouldn’t be fair, but the homely throwback community atmosphere that Fulham Road radiated just wasn’t there. We looked for the Box Office and we found it. With a nice big “Closed,” sign in the window. STRIKE ONE. We approached the Old Bill to see if they knew where to go, and with a noticeable lack of confidence in their answers, they pointed us in a general direction. Wonderful. We ended up finding another box office that was labeled “Pre arranged,” tickets. Jackpot. “Alright mate, we have two tickets with Chelsea away support that should be under the name “Wild,” or “Campos.” “Yes, just one moment. Let me check.” As he looked at the list, I just skipped ahead of his eyes and scanned the names. Just as I’d figured. “There are no tickets under these names.” STRIKE TWO. He then sends us to another box office down a flight of stairs. By this time, the air has one damn freezing bite to it, the wind is here there and truly every f*cking where, and the rain was taking no prisoners. I had now gotten my wish for some proper London weather. Only we didn’t have any tickets. Beth went in one line and I approached a different window. No luck for me and no luck on Beth’s side either. STRIKE M.F’ING THREE. It was now 45 minutes to kick off. I was standing in the pouring rain next to a bunch of Gooners, all the while hearing our away support singing from inside the ground. The 45 minutes distance on the tube back to the Shed Hotel now appeared from behind my minds curtain to front stage, ready for its solo act. This wouldn’t be the best way to cap off the trip but at this point I was honestly coming to terms with it. My heart was now set on biting the bullet and getting on with life but thankfully Beth’s mobile weathered the storm long enough to make some quick calls to a truly wonderful friend who was already inside the ground who helped us get a hold of a club contact. With the ticket queues dwindling, the street rush over and just 5 minutes until the scheduled kick off, we were good to go with freshly printed duplicates from the Goon staff. If it weren’t for that wanker on the pitch, and the Chelsea official we would have been royally Wengered. We quickly made our way to gate L which was the entrance for away support. Fences and remnants of a steward force presumably to deal with the Chelsea animals surrounded the already empty area. Right before walking in, I received a text from my mate Axon. “Near the front in the corner, wet but happy.” Bastard. If only he knew what I'd just gone through! A ticket scan, a push of the bars, and we were in. Section 23 beckoned and as we walked through the tunnel out to the crowd, I was in awe. My mind took everything in, but not surprisingly, my voice went ahead and chimed in with “Who’s that team they call the Chelsea…,” even before I knew I was doing it. This was finally coming true. The chance to stand for 90 minutes with away support singing my Arse off. Little did I know at that point that I would be soon singing THE Arse off. We played like shit in the first half as Arsenal crisply passed the ball spent most of the time attacking our end as Ash, JT, Carvalho and Ivanovic stood with their backs to us fighting them off. For all of the opportunities the Goons created, they still never looked like they would score. We looked bigger and we looked stronger. We were. Our support meanwhile was exactly what I expected it to be. Superb. We cheered on Ashley and stuck it to Gallas. We questioned Wengers private pastimes, and honored our favorite vegetable. Finally after a number of tunes and no reply, the Goons gave us the tired and lame, “Shit club no history.” As opposed to their shit club that is history, I guess. At any rate, we ironically applauded them remembering how to use their voices and replied with a raucous “Five years, and you’ve won ******** all, five years…” 15,000 fingers were held high as our support held up the five digits toward the Goons just in case they were covering their ears. Mind you, I’m not adding the middle and two finger salutes to that tally, so you may make your own estimation. The singing and fun continued until, BANG. The Drog show began. One nil to the Chelsea from a great redirection of the ball by our big Ivorian. As the goal was scored at the opposite end, it took our section just a second to react and it went off. Didi's song was screamed, a carefree followed, and the loveable mental bouncy ensued. Before I knew it, Ashley Cole, who’s boos had stopped while he was on the attack (the Arse sensed danger) put in a cross dangerous enough that the Vermaelen put it in his own net. Two nil. Again because of the distance it took a second to finally react, and I personally thought it was Ashley’s goal to claim, and because of that, my “Going f*cking mental” meter had gone up a million clicks above any shred of sanity. Hugs, fives, arm bars and back suplexes were exchanged between anyone who was around me. For those 90 minutes at football, there is no such thing as a complete stranger. During the madness, Beth spots and points out the Axonator near the corner flag. We waved with both arms and he tipped his Yankee cap in my general direction. I flipped him off with about as much respect and friendship one could give with such a gesture, and displayed the L.A. sign. From Chavez Ravine to the Emirates, we’ll keep the Blue Flag(s) flying high. More verbal abuse was heaved at any red shirt in the ground, though many had already retired to the beer lines to escape the big 2-0 on the scoreboard. I made my way to the beer lines to take some video of the half time singing. I saw and said hello to Axon for a brief moment and went back toward the tunnel as kickoff was nearing. As I reached the tunnel I finally heard the much rumored new Ancelotti song. Weeks before the trip I had read a post match report by a supporter on a Chelsea internet board page. In that report, he mentioned a new song about our Gaffer that was sung by only 3 or four supporters to the tune of La Bamba. An-ce-lo-tti, An-ce-lo-tti, It’s Ancelotti! It’s Ancelotti, with Didier Drogba and Su-per Frank Lam-pard! I sang along for a line or two as I walked by, and you can tell the tune is still in its infancy, at the crawling stage almost able to stand. Hopefully it learns how to walk soon and the supporters catch on, because I very much enjoyed it. I will do my best to introduce it to Southern California. The start of the second half came, and instantly it looked like we were much more awake than we were in the first. Apart from a few shaky moments, including the goal that was called back, we basically did the business. That Arsenal goal waved off was such a beautiful thing, for it not only preserved our two goal lead, it gave us the opportunity to serenade the Arse as they all slowly sat back down. To be honest, I can’t remember many specifics of the action on the pitch in the second half, only because of the party that was going on in the stands. We continued to remind them of their 5 year drought, pointed out that we were the only team in London (only one worth watching anyway), made sure they knew we were top of the league, proclaimed that their support to be quite shit and best of all, inquired as to whether they were indeed T*tt*h*m in disguise. The strongest Bison known today was then hacked from behind by the Gooner Princesc. Essien had been surging forward with the ball on one of those runs that made even me cower with fear. Fabregas, no matter how much of a see you next Tuesday he is, probably made the right decision to make a red card worthy tackle, for it just didn’t look like anyone could stop him cleanly. The free kick is awarded by the referee just outside of the 18, and the big man steps up again. I look on as the Arsenal wall is being pushed back to the ref’s personal definition of 10 yards and I think to myself that if there was ever a time to capture a moment that will go down in my personal history with Chelsea Football Club, now is the time. I had to hurry. Didier was hovering over the ball with his concentration at 97% reaching that 100% usually seen in his eyes on the tele just before he takes his first step toward the ball. I fumbled around in my pocket nervously until I got a grip on the small video camera, pressed the power button, aimed it at the pitch and pressed record. Perfect. Timing. [ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwwkK_kp94o"]YouTube- Drogger Madness[/ame] ABSOLUTE MADNESS. I've been camping a number of times in my life, and I know that there are shrieks, screams and noises only wild animals are capable of making. That all changed after that goal. I used a vocal chord I never knew I had, and I believe it was one that could only be used once. Drogba’s state of the art free kick was the last goal of the 8 (7 live) first team goals I had the pleasure of watching while in London. And in many ways it was the best of the bunch. So 3-0 is the now the tally on the big screen and not surprisingly, our 3,000 go f*cking mental yet again. The players come over to the corner, smiling ear to ear, pumping their fists and encouraging us as we encourage them. Make that 3,011 going f*cking mental. Empty seats appeared at an exponential rate as the Arsenal suppoorters decided a hot bath and a history book was more important than their club. It was then that Mr. Gallas got stick from our supporters. “Gallas, what’s the score? Gallas, Gallas what’s the score?” “You’ll always be a…” “Stayed at the big club! You should have stayed at the big club!” [ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDQNwOtcZcU&feature=channel"]YouTube- Dear Billy....[/ame] That last of the three might just have been the song of the night. It was sung over and over for the last slice of the match… More bouncy’s, a Super CFC, a Carefree here and a Carefree there. A “so-long” of sorts to the red fans already half way home, and yet another round of singing about of our position in the table. The final whistle blows and the smile on my face could not be bothered about anything. Most of the support stuck around to look at the highlights that were surprisingly shown on the Emirates big screen. The beauty of that moment was that the highlight reel featured 5 different angles for all 3 goals, slow motion replay, super slo-mo, close ups of Drogba celebrating, the whole lot! We were being treated to free Chelsea TV in the Arsenal Library! How much better could it get? I savored every step I took as Beth and I exited the ground, and to be honest, every step I took all the way up to boarding my flight back to Los Angeles the next morning. We met up with Axon and Parky to make way toward the tube and sit down at Salvo’s back in Earls Court for Italian. We were all pretty well spent as we rested on the way back down, and we showed each other photos. This was the first chance I got to see exactly what I captured on video and when I pressed play on what I knew was Drogba’s goal, the noise turned a few weary nighttime tube riders’ heads. Splendid. The much needed meal at Salvos did us well for the rest of the night. Another perfect touch to an already perfect evening. We sat and watched Barcelona handle Madrid with a 1-0 victory, finished our filling meals and said our goodbyes. Can’t thank Chris enough for treating us and making my London experience as memorable as possible. Beth and I set off for the tube station to get back to Fulham Broadway, for we were meeting up with Spy for one last drink in the Shed Hotel before we went to bed. This was the last drink, the last hang out of my 10 day whirlwind Chelsea tour of London. A hand shake, a hug, and we were off to bed. It was a sad moment but such a wonderful moment at the same time. I can’t complain about how fast it all went by, because in truth it actually felt like I had been there for months. It may have had something to do with getting acclimated to the area so quickly, and when you aren’t spending precious time confused by your surroundings, trying to figure out where you are and what to do as opposed to just enjoying yourself, I think in the end that is what made the seconds tick by slower. I woke up around 6am the next morning. Bags already packed and everything ready to go, I headed out the door and down the lift to the hotel’s bar level. Just to catch a glimpse one more time. It was empty and lifeless. Absolutely nothing like it had been just a couple days earlier for the CPO lunch. I pictured everyone drinking and laughing again. It was raining that morning, but I stood in front of the old shed wall and took one last long look before heading to Fulham Broadway tube station. I looked at the surrounding roads and memories started to flood back. • That’s where this happened! • That’s where that happened! • Uhhh…I know something happened over there but I can’t really remember. • That’s where we went dancing. • That’s where we fell down. This trip was the best time I’ve ever had, for many reasons. I can’t explain how much I wish I was still there or how much I want to go back. I’ll mention here again that whenever you think it’s impossible to fall any more in love with Chelsea than you already have….. Think again.
Fail. Not one word about produce and/or vegetables. I have certain expectations with the title "The Celery Report." Where are the recommendations for tasty recipes, crop reports (ala Trading Places), etc.? I suggest a rewrite, Mr Proust. Wait............I get it. That was a fantastic write up, sir. Plus, some great pics. Many thanks good sir!
If there was any other time I hated Danny more, this is the one that takes all the cake. I hate you man.