Mark C is a Chelsea fan who is partially-sighted but has never let that stop him attending matches to watch his beloved Blues.
Sometimes, it makes him wonder if he should when confronted by the behaviour of so-called Chelsea fans while abroad.
Here is his sobering tale of his trip to Turkey in the first leg of the Champions League last month to watch the lads face Galatasaray.
I love Chelsea. My love for the team goes back to the 1970s when I first stood in The Shed and worshipped Ray “Butch” Wilkins, Gary Stanley, Pat Nevin and Clive Walker. My love has remained a constant through the course of my life. Chelsea was, more or less, cited as the other party when my ex-wife petitioned for divorce.
She claimed that I became unbearable when my team lost. I always dismissed this as a rather spurious claim as it was the season when we won The League!
Although my sight has deteriorated to the point that I am now registered as being blind, my love for the team has remained strong. So now I cannot “see” the game but I still love being at the game as a registered disabled supporter, both home and away. European away games offer the opportunity of experiencing different European cities whilst supporting the team. Consequently I have enjoyed trips to Madrid, Barcelona, Seville, Valencia, Bordeaux and Turin. Hence the prospect of a trip to Istanbul was a temptation too strong to resist.
Having booked flights and accommodation, I was able to secure match tickets for myself and my helper. To do this we were required to complete European Away declarations so that we would be known to the club. Or so I assumed.
My friend and helper who came with me to Istanbul is a relatively recent convert to coming to Stamford Bridge. Rob was born in Parsons Green and had always been an armchair supporter. But this season was the first time he had enjoyed the experience of seeing the team in the flesh. He has embraced the passion of the game and verbally contests every wayward decision by the officials. At the match he becomes “Football Bob” and screams and shouts like a diehard fan. When I suggested going to Istanbul he jumped at the chance of his first European away game.
As we came from the airport on the Metro, the skies were grey and it was raining hard. The architecture we passed was of very functional, almost Soviet Bloc, housing estates. He leaned across to me and remarked: “We seem to have come on holiday by mistake.”
After the first night in the hotel that did not seem to be quite as it had seemed on the online website, we wandered from the old part of the city across The Bosphorus into the newer part of the city where Taskin Square is located. Not only did this give us a taste of the city and the contrast of where Asia meets Europe but it also allowed us to check out where the buses to the game would leave from.
The club had passed on the information that the local police had strongly advised that Chelsea fans did not travel by Metro to the game as they could not guarantee their safety at the hands of notorious Galatasaray fans. Hence we followed the advice and queued for the bus. There was a police presence but the organisation was non-existent and the queue became a free for all scrum.
Tickets became almost immaterial as fans just walked on without any pretence of scanning the Istanbul equivalent of an Oyster card. Many of the fans were quite boisterous, possibly fuelled by an afternoon of drinking the local lager, Efes. Initially, the behaviour was simply high-spirited and the inevitable “Bouncy” soon ensued. (I have always found this to be an extremely funny display of collective unity, partly because it is so puerile and silly but totally harmless.)
As the bus moved off the songs turned to what the Turks might do with their Donar kebabs. Shortly after this there was the sound of breaking glass which was possibly the smashing of a beer bottle or a window of the bus. Some older passengers could be heard remonstrating with the “young bucks.” However the subject of the taunts was local Muslims and the suggestion that they “take their shoes off” and the equating of Muslims with “Pakis.” As I sat squirming in horror at the overt racist nature of the chanting things went from bad to worse.
To my total disbelief and horror, there followed a song that claimed Eto’o was “a monkey man.” This was followed by a “song” about the difference in the degree of blackness in Rio and Anton Ferdinand’s skin colour. It was absolutely disgusting. I was horrified and mortified by what I was hearing. I thought that such overt racism was a thing of the past. The journey seemed to go on for ever.
As we got closer to the ground the bus got stuck in traffic on the dual carriageway. With the ground in sight a number of fans decided that they would be better off walking. Although the plain clothes policeman tried his best to persuade them not to leave the bus a number of fans forced the doors open and went on to the dual carriageway. He remained patient in the face of extreme provocation and did his best to persuade people to get back on the bus. Consequently, the bus was going nowhere as the doors were not shut.
This was finally rectified by over-ridding the electrical safety system. When we got to the stadium the police made the bus go round again as it was deemed unsafe to allow us off the bus. Consequently the bus journey lasted two hours and we got into the ground just before kick-off. As we turned to look at the bus we could see that the back door had lost a pane of glass. It was a two-hour bus journey from Hell.
The level of overt racism was disgusting and frightening. I had never experienced anything like this before. What’s more, I was absolutely mortified that I had asked Rob to come with me as my carer/personal assistant as he, as a black man, had been exposed to such hateful racism. He was visibly shaken by the experience and said that he had not experienced such racism since he had been growing up in Mitcham, South London when he was the victim of racist bullying from school children and teachers.
Having reached the safety of the ground, we spent the whole of the game contemplating just how horrific the return journey was going to be. Fortunately, we could not get on any of the buses and the 50 Turkish Lire cab fare was money well-spent.
I would like to think that great strides have been made to fight racism within football within the UK but evidently it is still horribly alive and kicking when English fans go abroad. Does the club have a responsibility to try and stamp this out? I would like to think so. Surely there is a way to police and monitor the behaviour of fans when they go abroad?
Would we go to another European away game? You must be joking! Quite clearly not all Chelsea fans, who go to UEFA away games, behave in the same way or hold such offensive views but the, hopefully, small minority ruin the reputation of Chelsea fans and the enjoyment of genuine supporters of our great club.
Oh, yeah, Istanbul was beautiful and all the Turkish people we met were welcoming and helpful.