The summer transfer window doesn’t seem to have been kind to Marco Silva, but the fixture computer delivered deliciously. A trip down to the south coast for Fulham’s first Premier League fixture of the new season was exciting enough – but a Saturday three o’clock kick off has to be savoured given how rare they will be this year. It was extra special for me – as I could celebrate my birthday in Lewes before the start of the new season. Last year’s celebrations were dampened by Joshua Zirkee’s late goal at Old Trafford, so I hoped against hope that things would be different this time around. I might be the lucky charm that Fulham need.
The early signs weren’t promising. I’d barely made it to my hotel before Silva was savaging the club’s recruitment in his pre-match press conference. The immediate worry was that this might be the last season that we could watch the genius work his magic with the Whites. I set that aside for the birthday festivities that took in some of Lewes’ historical sites and a liquid lunch in the Volunteer. It isn’t your usual pre-match warm-up, but as a history teacher I quite like discovering some of Britain’s past before preparing myself to fret about Fulham’s fortunes.
Matchday saw 3,000 Fulham followers descend on Falmer more in hope that expectation. We exchanged nervous smiles as we made our way to Brighton’s purpose-built stadium. Our journey was not without incident. Aiming to avoid the traffic jam, I booked an Uber, which seemed like a great idea until our driver Yvonne didn’t seem to know where she was going and almost ran down plenty of pedestrians quietly doing a spot of Saturday afternoon shopping. It’s never a good sign when your driver repeatedly asks you if she was allowed to drive on the pavement or if she should turn left or right. When we got to the stadium car park, a spot of negotiation was called for. Yvonne insisted on getting us as close to the entrance as possible – but she wasn’t quite certain where the entrance was located. Mercifully, we managed to escape, picking up our programmes before heading through a phalanx of security guards and dogs to enjoy one of the top flight’s more inviting concourses.
Tony Bloom’s programme notes might have been penned by Silva for the benefit of his own board. Highlighted in a green not quite as bright as the brilliant Fulham second shirt, just in case anybody missed it, the Albion chairman wrote: ‘You cannot stand still in the Premier League because, if you do, other ambitious clubs will overtake you’. It wasn’t all that mischievous.to wonder whether Tony Khan, watching from the directors’ box, had read that.
As I munched on my first chicken burger of the season, a few familiar faces took their seats behind us at the front of the South Stand. We debated whether Rodrigo Muniz was really on his way while Tom Cairney toured the centre circle to rapturous applause from the keenest of the away contingent. The Brazilian emerged deep in conversation with Raul Jimenez and sheepishly gave a thumbs up to the travelling fans. Then came the team news. Josh King got his deserved start in the number ten, with Calvin Bassey and Jorge Cuenca in the back four as Sessegnon had failed his fitness test. Muniz was on what looked like a strong bench.
I wonder where all the North Stand regulars were with plenty of empty seats staring back at us with fifteen minutes before kick off, but the home fans filed in time to see both sides take to the field. Albion’s side included Matt O’Riley, the talented midfielder who had left turned down another Fulham contract in Scott Parker’s time and was supposedly on the brink of a move to Juventus, as well as rumoured Manchester United target Carlos Baleba. I briefly wondered how King would cope with so much resting on his shoulders, but he had the exuberance of youth I recognised in my students. Every Fulham attack flowed through the teenager, when he wasn’t being chopped down by a blue and white shirt, or seeing one run in the penalty area crudely curtailed by Bert Verbruggen.
Brighton, who made have opened the scoring early on had Baleba not taken the ball beyond the byline in front of us, looked more dangerous as the half went on. Yakuba Minteh, responsible for a couple of crazy challenges on King, breezed past Bassey a couple of times before the Nigerian settled into his new position. O’Riley crossed cleverly for Karou Mitoma, who headed over. Kenny Tete kept the Japanese star quiet, thereafter, producing one brilliant bit of skill and an outrageous through ball for Raul Jimenez immediately afterwards. Harry Wilson might have sneaked a header home at the far post, but you couldn’t be too disappointed with it being all square at half time.
I discovered the full range of the AMEX’s culinary delights at half time. They far exceeded the Hammersmith End fare as I returned with fizzy apple sweets and a container of potato waffles. I’m not still six, readers, I promise. But I can’t deny that the sweets were superb. The group of supporters near us discussed what the Whites needed to do in the final third with possibly the most well-dressed Fulham fan in Falmer, or anywhere else for that matter. The gentleman was wearing a light suit with a monocle and pulled out a rattle for the second half, which made me feel like I was watching 1920s football. It only served to rattle Sander Berge, who needlessly brought down Georginio Rutter inside the box, and O’Riley converted the penalty Sam Barrott couldn’t wait to give.
Barrott had already angered us by ignoring a succession of physical challenges committed by Fabian Hurzeler’s side. Bassey was particularly astonished to be pushed to the ground as he looked to cross in the Fulham box and to see the referee point for a goal-kick. Barrott, who ruined my last visit to Brighton by penalising Harrison Reed in stoppage-time in March, then missed Yasin Ayari clipping King’s heel inside the area, and frustrations mounted as Silva’s changes only seemed to offer the Seagulls more chances to score a second goal.
There was almost a mutiny when the Fulham head coach substituted King, who was afforded a standing ovation as he strode past the away fans, with Emile Smith Rowe. Muniz had sprinted down the touchline to join the action and quickly closed down Verbruggen after replacing Raul, but barely had a sight of goal. The clearest opening fell to Tete, who blazed over from ten yards, but Barrott had apparently already given a free-kick for reasons passing understanding.
Our need for an equaliser had long since turned to desperation but Marco’s men were still playing short, sharp sideways passes. Suddenly, Sasa Lukic slipped a ball to Smith Rowe, who skipped through a couple of challenges to unleash a low shot that deflected off Jan Paul van Hecke and just wide. Harry Wilson hadn’t been all that involved but he whipped in a terrific corner that skimmed off the head of Lewis Dunk and fell for Muniz at the back post. You all know what happened next.
The bundle to end all bundles, where I briefly feared for my life (but readers, this time I held onto my hat!) enveloped the first three rows as Muniz mistakenly climbed first into the Brighton section before celebrating the latest of last-gasp levellers with the right set of fans. Someone threw our Brazilian a scarf to hold up – and he did. Who needs Bergamo when you can add Brighton to list of locations where he’s scored as a substitute: this one felt almost as special as the Stamford Bridge winner. It almost felt like Fulham had won, especially the way everyone hugged each other in the aftermath. The Fulham fans drinking outside the South Stand afterwards even sung ‘We’re going to score in a minute’ before the highlights showed Muniz’s magic moments. More celebrations.
We headed for the car park and I tried my luck with the fickle finger of taxi-summoning fate. Tony Gale, fresh from his co-commentary duties with Sky, clenched his fist and laughed when we suggested Muniz might have put a few million on the asking price. I was too star struck to tell ‘Stroller’ how much I enjoyed his autobiography and that I had taught at his old school. Then, Rodrigo himself appeared – walking in his Go Mongolia t-shirt towards a car in the centre of the car park. He posed for pictures with a few disbelieving Fulham followers and then joined his wife, clad in that great green throwback shirt, in a vehicle that carried him away from the scene of his latest glorious goalscoring exploits.
Our own taxi eventually arrived. It wasn’t the second coming of Yvonne, but a garrulous South Africa (is there any other kind?) who remonstrated with the police motorcycles and was only silenced by the news the Springboks had blown a 22-0 lead to lose to Australia in the first round of the Rugby Championship. I watched the Sky and BBC highlights on repeat, before celebrating with a beautiful beef burger and a brownie.
We braved Southern’s Sunday service to head back to London but the overcrowding did deliver a free first class upgrade. We were set next a party of festival goers, who were returning to the capital themselves but appeared to inhabit a different planet. One man was wearing an Arsenal shirt but wasn’t going to watch the Gunners’ first game of the season. Another woman wondered what cows talked about in their sharing circles. Her friend was stumped by the concept of a vestry and then a church as their conversation ranged from rambunctious to ridiculous. There wasn’t even a Victoria Sponge in sight. I was glad to alight at Clapham Junction, even if the Mildmay Line back to Shepherd’s Bush was suspended.
The last car of the weekend allowed us to enjoy the first half from the City Ground. Keith Andrews, who I remember harbouring a hatred for Fulham as a Sky analyst long before he became involved with Brentford, is clearly taking to Premier League management like a duck to water. Long may it continue. Long may Rodrigo reign. And God save Josh King.
