On the Trouble in the Chelsea End: Blame the Football Association

(Photo by Stephen Hird-Pool/Getty Images)

The 2009 FA Cup final at the new Wembley Stadium, Chelsea v Everton; witness the scene.

Twenty-six seconds in, Louis Saha swivels on the edge of the area, strikes the ball. He beats Petr Cech on the near post and GOAL...the hordes of celebrating Evertonians, in one half of the stadium, go wild.

In the end holding the Chelsea fans there is a different emotion; shock, a stunned silence. This isn’t meant to be happening, this isn’t the script.

This is the mighty Chelsea, strong in midfield, physically strong; Packed with talent, with world-class players; playing against honest, workmanlike, Everton. This should not be happening.

It’s worse than that for the Chelsea fan. The assembled superstars of the Russian oligarch’s millions are returning to the field after the travesty of the Barcelona Champions League semi-final; a game that hinged on the decisions of a woefully over-matched Norwegian referee; a game they should have won.

And they’ve just seen that same Barcelona side go on to dismantle Manchester United in the final, playing a style of football that has been lauded throughout the world. It could have been Chelsea, it could have been them; it should have been them.

There is a stunned silence in the Chelsea end, not quite. There are small pockets of supporters, shaking each others hands, hugging each other. In the relative silence you can hear the distinctive accents, the most recognizable accents in the country. There are Scousers in the Chelsea end; Everton fans.

There is no longer a silence in the Chelsea end; there are murmurings, people looking around. They notice now, the same true-blue shirts, the ones with a different logo on the front, the club colours; Everton.

People are standing up; there’s shouting, anger. You hear the comments, a different accent now; London accents. “What are they doing in here?” “This is a fucking liberty.”

The Everton players are still celebrating as the procession starts; the Everton fans in the Chelsea end walking quickly down the aisles, 30 or 40, looking about nervously; some holding the arms of friends, helping them, bloodied friends.

One, two, three, four, bleeding. One with blood streaming from an ear, another with a white handkerchief clutched to his face, blood spurting from an obviously broken nose. They make their way to an exit point, and safety?

Wembley Stadium 2009, on the forecourt, by the turnstiles at entrance P, at the Chelsea end. It’s 20 minutes before kick-off; witness the scene.

A Chelsea fan waits, looking at his watch. He’s waiting for his son, his son is late, he’s always late. He shakes his head and looks at his watch again, thinks to himself “Wasn’t it hard enough getting him the ticket and he can’t even be on time?”

The Chelsea fan is a season ticket-holder; he’s a life-long Chelsea supporter. Partisan when it comes to football, but in essence a humane man. He’s only got this spare ticket for his son at the last moment when someone dropped out and he doesn’t want to miss the game.

You're currently logged into Facebook

Do you want to share your Bleacher Report activity on Facebook?