Up until recently, the only thing I had up on Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi was that I’m ginger and they are not.
Now, I am able to brag about another thing – I have scored more goals at Stamford Bridge than both of them combined. During his time at Manchester United, Ronaldo failed to hit the back of the net in any of his six matches against the west Londoners at their Fulham-based ground – weak!
Unlike his more handsome colleague, Messi did manage to score a singular goal at the Bridge, slotting home a late equaliser for Barcelona in a 1-1 draw against Antonio Conte’s Blues, all the way back in the 2018 Champions League last 16. His record is better than Ronaldo’s, but still not great – my record is superior to both, even when they combine forces.
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I am not a Premier League footballer – I did not even turn up for university football trials as I didn’t fancy my chances. Yet, when I rocked up at Stamford Bridge for a tournament arranged by Hilton, I felt a wave of over-confidence surge through my veins.
For added context, I knew absolutely nobody who was competing. Perhaps, this made things even easier. My relative anonymity provided me with the safety blanket that even if I did make an idiot of myself on the pitch, I’d depart at the end of the day, safe in the knowledge that the likelihood of bumping into these people again is as slim as Todd Boehly and Behdad Eghbali’s patience.
Maybe, it was this fearlessness which helped me notch two goals and an assist at the stadium of my beloved Blues. Yes, I am a Chelsea fan. Poke fun at our meagre finish last year and our re-discovered habit of changing managers quicker than some people change their underwear.
Kindly, Hilton was able to afford me the luxury of starting my day with the fuel of World Cup and Champions League winners – a full English breakfast buffet. Having eaten my body weight in my favourite breakfast items, I hopped onto the Chelsea-sponsored coach that brought us to Stamford Bridge.
Have you ever scored a goal in a Premier League stadium? Let us know in the comment section below
(Image: Photo by Darren Walsh/Chelsea FC via Getty Images)
We arrived at the press room of the stadium where we were able to sign a novelty contract before we were taken to the changing rooms. I changed into my boots in the very place Reece James sits in the home dressing room. Well, considering his recent injury and suspension record, I guess it’s the place James rarely sits now.
Anyway, I stepped onto the hallowed turf of Stamford Bridge ready to compete. Those of you who tuned in to watch Soccer Aid 2024 would have noticed that the usually pristine pitch of the two-time Champions League winners looked more like a terribly dug cabbage patch – well, you have me, my team-mates on the day and my opponents to blame for that.
Matches were small-sided and eight minutes long ensuring maximum intensity – well, that was the theory at least. As a defender by trade who has always fancied his abilities on the ball, I, more often than I should have, ignored the calls and angry glances of my team-mates calling for the ball and insisted on trying to run through the opposition. In our third game, I learned my lesson the hard way when I received a pass and somehow slipped on the ball, allowing the opposing striker to pinch the ball off my toes and place it into the bottom corner.
I reacted as many top players do. By shrugging my shoulders and shouting ‘Where were my options?’ when I knew full well there were at least three ahead of me. Not to worry, I had a mistake to make up for. Boy, did I make up for it.
(Image: Photo by Ian Walton/Chelsea FC via Getty Images)
(Image: Photo by Darren Walsh/Chelsea FC via Getty Images)
I will not mention the four previous attempts I stuck into the upper echelons of the Shed End. Thankfully, I found my scoring boots to make up for the error. I made a run down the right-hand side, took a touch and then rifled a wonderful effort into the far top corner.
Messi and Ronaldo were not able to do that. No, I will not listen to people who say, ‘But, they were playing in the Champions League and the Premier League’ nor will I tolerate naysayers blabbing to me that I was probably only eight yards away at the most. And no, it does not matter that the goalkeeper was about 17 per cent committed and not wearing any gloves – what did our forefathers do before goalkeeping gloves?
To tell the truth, I was loving every moment. As a youngster we dreamed of playing on the very pitch our heroes strutted their stuff on. Frank Lampard was my childhood hero and to score on the same hallowed, if not dug up, turf as he is truly special.
Despite a few gaffes made by myself, our team got to the final of the tournament. I’m not sure if this was due to the fact that I did not realise there was going to be a final or the sudden entrance of around 50 tourists at the top of the Shed End, but I began to feel nervous.
(Image: Photo by Ian Walton/Chelsea FC via Getty Images)
(Image: Photo by Ian Walton/Chelsea FC via Getty Images)
These were banished when the first whistle was blown. Our central defender recycled the ball – I think that’s the trendy football term now – over to myself on the right-hand side. A lovely space opened up down the line and I curled a floated pass into its heart. Our forward managed to outrun his marker and send a crisp effort into the bottom corner. An assist in the final? Yes, that was me.
The game began to become a little bit frantic and the other team had some chances to score. Luckily, our goalkeeper, who was dressed in a full lime-green Chelsea kit with Robert Green on the back, was there to tip any chances away. In the last 10 minutes, we had a counter-attack. As our forward and wide players looked to score, my spidey-Frankie Lampard sense began tingling – this ball was going to emerge on the edge of the box.
I started edging closer towards the area until the ball hit a defender’s knee and came spinning towards me – the moment had presented itself. With a little shuffle, which probably added absolutely nothing to my attempt even though it felt right at the time, I hit the ball first time with the instep of my foot and watched it zip into the near post of the goal – No, I did not know where the keeper was either.
(Image: Photo by Ian Walton/Chelsea FC via Getty Images)
(Image: Photo by Ian Walton/Chelsea FC via Getty Images)
Throughout the day, we had been playing in what was a behind-closed-doors atmosphere. A throwback to the Coronavirus period which still feels like an odd dream rather than the horrible reality we endured for nearly two years. But with the addition of the tourists, a huge roar emanated from their small section of the stadium.
An added sense of joy and excitement overcame me. This must have been what it was like for Cole Palmer when he scored that late winner against United at the same end – we won 4-0 and I gave myself the Player of the Match award.
Maybe I was too excited. Maybe scoring in an empty Stamford Bridge in a football tournament arranged by the Hilton is not the same as a winner in the Premier League. Maybe we should get Ronaldo’s opinion. Oh, that’s right, he wouldn’t know what it’s like to score at the Bridge, would he?
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