As a Leeds United supporter, the words Stamford Bridge ordinarily conjure up the name of Chelsea football club’s stadium. Our West London rivals who us Loiners have ‘enjoyed’ an uneasy relationship since 1970; a splinter in relations following an FA Cup Final defeat at the hands of the blue shirted cockney wideboys.
“Well, you lost in two other FA Cup Finals, Gary. Why do your fanbase not detest Liverpool or Sunderland with the same vigour?”, I hear you cry… Although, unless you’re a fellow Leeds supporter, or 1960s/1970s football geek, you probably won’t have known that, so wouldn’t!
Footnote – Liverpool and Sunderland defeated Leeds United in the 1965 and 1973 FA Cup Final respectively.
Anyhow, if you did know and were still intrigued enough to ask, the answer to your enquiry is disenchantment at the tactics employed by the Chelsea side to lift the trophy. A victory underpinned by the Londoners engaging a far superior footballing side in an overly physical encounter, particularly in the Old Trafford replay. The second tie required after its original Wembley encounter ended in stalemate.
The replay a gruesome encounter bearing the brutality of that era’s World Heavyweight title bouts between boxers Muhammed Ali and Joe Frazier. I’d suggest Chelsea and Leeds’ unsavoury pugilism, witnessed on the Old Trafford pitch that evening, would’ve made a worthy warm up event for 1971’s Ali versus Frazier ‘Fight of the Century’.
Anyhow, I do not wish to dwell on bitter tribalism borne from my first memories of professional football as a seven-year-old. No, today’s literary modus operandi is to highlight my weekend was spent visiting a village bearing the same moniker as the Chelsea stadium. A venue evoking far fonder emotions for GJ Strachan than those triggered by its West London namesake.
During the two-night tarry in my campervan, I was accompanied by partner in crime Sarah and her beguiling German Shepherd dog Zella. The two ‘ladies’ joining me in soaking up much welcomed solar rays at a campsite close to York’s fair city.
When not basking in the sun, my rebellious beau habitually spending time snubbing convention. Her edict disobedience including walking the wrong way down a one-way street; along with, the sacrilege of spreading clotted cream before her jam when prepping scones.
Whenever somebody or something confronts Sarah with a set of standards to adhere, her “Rules are for suckers!” mantra always triggers teenage-like defiance. Vaping on the back of buses, flicking peanuts at pigeons and tutting disapprovingly at passing vicars just some of the ways she snubs her nose at authority.
When not alienating bus companies, pigeons and the clergy, my anarchistic buddy utilising curse words with a frequency and volume which, in my humble opinion, should see her tested for Tourettes Syndrome.
Sat basking in mid-May sunshine, Sarah’s people watching observations bore a creative poetry hard to match for invention. “Have you seen his conk?… It looks like hose on my vacuum cleaner!” and “If that bloke smartened himself up a bit, he’d make a good tramp!” among her more inventive putdowns.
At this juncture I think it is only fair to reveal my observations relating to my partner in crime’s rebelliousness, along with cruelty to passers-by, are fictional… That being said, my comment about her relentless cursing is valid. Consequently, her getting tested for Tourettes is certainly a behavioural undertaking worth considering.
In all seriousness, we had a drama-free and tranquil few days in the village of Stamford Bridge, and to clarify there were no individuals with noses resembling Sarah’s vacuum cleaner hose… Well, apart from one fella who could have used his to drink his iced coffee instead of a straw… Kidding!
It was great to see how contented Zella was throughout… It was wonderful to witness the old girl enjoying a mixture of exploratory campsite walks, copious dog treats and the excitement of play with a bevy of spaniels camped close by… Incidentally, that was still Zella, not Sarah!
Here’s to the good Stamford Bridge!
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