My dad made sure my two younger brothers and I were raised in a Chelsea household; the shed at the back of the garden was, we were told, where Arsenal supporters belonged. Growing up, we went to all the games at Stamford Bridge, competed in our local little league as though it were the Premier League, and followed Dad to the pub to watch Sunday matches (the cheeky chips and J2Os were at least half of the allure).
I’m pretty sure I’m 12 years old in this photo and closing in on the peak of my sporting career, as I got ready to play football at a nearby park with my siblings Jevan (then nine) and Kiran (just four). Although we didn’t always have the money for the expensive new kits every season (I’m sure you can spot my mismatched camo shorts), we always had something Chelsea to wear. My dad would often dodge the high ticket prices by taking us to watch the women’s team play, as well as the under-21s, where you would witness great talent at a fraction of the cost.
One of my most memorable football moments was the extraordinary 6-0 Chelsea victory against Arsenal in 2014, which I got to enjoy alongside our extended family from the local area. In south-west London, particularly my area of Worcester Park, there has always been a strong Chelsea tradition as a result of the movement of working-class households out to the suburbs in response to overcrowding in inner-city areas like Kensington. This gave the area a strong football culture, which my family was more than happy to be a part of. Now, as a new generation is priced out of the suburbs, that community risks being broken up and dispersed across the country, where I’m sure it will find new places to call home.
Even though we’ve all grown up a bit since (it’s certainly been a few years since I’ve been to Stamford Bridge or donned a Chelsea shirt), I’ll always look back fondly on the childhood memories, even as our old kit finds its way from the back of my cupboard to a high street charity shop. Today, Dad still goes every Saturday to coach the little league team I joined almost a decade ago, where my youngest brother, Kiran, has taken my place. Even after a torn ligament left him with limited capacity for the sport, my father is still as committed to his club as ever. My hope is that one day I can give my future children their own memories to cherish, as he has done for me.
