West Ham are through to the third round of the Carabao Cup

 West Ham are through to the third round of the Carabao Cup.

The only disappointing aspect of West Ham's second round victory against Bournemouth was their pairing with Liverpool in the next round of the Carabao Cup. We were looking for redeeming features from last night's moderately entertaining Carabao Cup tie between West Ham and Bournemouth but found ourselves desperately trying to look for them. Admittedly, this was eminently watchable and, to some extent aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but it will never be regarded as one of the greatest of games.

But it was Stratford, West Ham's comparatively new location, that held us spellbound. For those who remember Upton Park and its gorgeous sense of intimacy and electrifying atmosphere where the mid- week matches were at their liveliest, Stratford came as perhaps the biggest cultural shock to the system. Stratford shopping centre, now called Westfield, is a giant retail palace, the most stunning piece of architecture and Stratford is now a classical East London suburb where the merchandise on offer stood side by side with the most astonishing variety of restaurants, hotels and office blocks, leaving us open mouthed and speechless.

As you wandered through the Stratford shopping centre, you were reminded of the Olympic Games of 2012 where hundreds and thousands of tourists, local residents and, seemingly the entire world, converged on one of the most memorable sporting festivals. Admittedly, almost 50,000 football fans descended on this particular occasion but the spectacle itself was equally as breathtaking. You were transfixed by the vastness of it all, the almost ostentatious wealth, the gigantic grandeur and that constant air of rampant materialism.

All of the old dockyards and warehouses that gave the East End such a lovely charm decades ago are no longer in evidence but Stratford has undergone the most radical transformation ever since London's new Docklands became an economically viable proposition. Now the London Stadium just looks handsome, the Westfield shopping centre in Stratford a place to shop, admire, eat and drink at your leisure, wallow in consumerism, spend money as if it's going out of fashion and just enjoy the remarkable surroundings.

A visit to the Westfield shopping centre is one that, once seen and experienced, may never leave you. As the evening progressed, a huge forest of claret and blue shirts flooded the shopping mall, pausing for breath and then strolling nonchalantly around all of those familiar brand names that have become so ingrained in our lives. You thought back to those halcyon days when Green Street market was alive to the rousing roars of salesmanship at all of those magical fruit and vegetable stalls. 

Your mind travelled back to the day when the Barking Road  was a heaving, seething mass of match day fans and Saturday lunchtime shoppers. There were the collective chants and the salty obscenities, turning the streets completely blue with some of the most foul and abusive language ever heard. There was the mutual hatred of Spurs and Millwall, the vaguely threatening undercurrent of violence and aggression. It was desperately unnerving and intimidating. For a while, both Millwall and Spurs were once again the unwitting victims of circumstance. The match had been over but the rivalry was still there. But maybe we'd got it all wrong and this was just harmless joviality and good natured banter.

But last night's experience couldn't have come as a starker contrast to those late days of the 1970s when everything seemed so easier, travelling to the game became an instant pleasure and you could make your way into the Boleyn Ground with all the ease of somebody walking into their local park. In those now distant days, there was a simple delight and instant gratification about match day because nothing was difficult or awkward about Saturday afternoons at 3pm.

Of course you were surrounded by the souvenir sellers with their attractive array of claret and blue scarves, the permanently cheerful scarf sellers who were there back then and, although the 21st century has dawned, the voices were as heartening and uplifting as ever. Back in 1978, there was the girl with a huge bag of monkey nuts walking around the edge of the pitch, the melodiously stirring sound of the brass band  near the players tunnel at Upton Park and the characters on the terraces with mountainous piles of hot dogs and burgers oozing rivers of tomato ketchup and mustard. 

Now though we were at the London Stadium and while the fish and chip shops were still doing a brisk business, very few housewives and girlfriends were to be seen bartering and haggling for shirts, ties, shoes, socks, skirts and blouses, apples and oranges, pineapples and mangos. They may have been there in the background but didn't really stand out. Instead, they were all huddled together in the indoor Primark, stocking up on all of the paraphernalia needed by parents hunting around for last minute bargains for the children who go back to school next week after the traditional six week summer holiday. 

But then you were caught open mouthed with wonder and amazement. Approaching the stadium and out of the corner of your eye, you saw a Sadlers Wells theatre. Yes, you heard it correctly, the Sadlers Wells, the timeless home of ballet and opera. The juxtaposition of the Nutcracker and Swan Lake with the earthy blood and thunder of football's Premier League seemed infinitely hilarious. You thought it must have been a figment of your imagination but then realised you weren't imaging it. West Ham United and the highest culture were on nodding terms. You could hardly believe the strangeness and incongruity of what you were looking at.

Still, it was just the most magnificent sight of them all and you went on your way towards the entrance which felt like the most gruelling expedition to the Himalayas. And then you arrived at retail therapy, Marks and Spencer, Pret a Manger, Footsore, innumerable Chinese restaurants and, of course, McDonalds, who this year celebrate their 50th birthday. Where would we be without McDonalds, the world famous junk food outlet on every high street around the globe? It was unmistakable, branded on your consciousness on the TV and radio, in your vision quite clearly and just staring at you appealingly. The queues were phenomenal, its popularity almost stratospheric.

You were attracted to a small pizza parlour almost hidden away from the assembled hordes. For a moment you were tempted to pick up a healthy meat feast in a bread stick at Subways but decided otherwise. You were hungry by now, hungry to be among the claret and blue faithful, the devoted supporters, singing fans at their stentorian best, yelling and cheering at the tops of their voices. This was the second round of the Carabao Cup in the earliest stages of the football season and it felt like an extension of last season. Football in August never felt so communal and harmonious.

And then the match itself moved centre stage and this was the kind of  all Premier League tie that was never likely to end up in the history books but still, nonetheless, held an indefinable fascination. West Ham had both won and lost their opening two matches of the Premier League season with defeat to Aston Villa two weeks ago at the London Stadium and then victory at Selhurst Park where Crystal Palace are still finding their feet with successive defeats at Brentford and at home to West Ham.

Neither Palace or West Ham have disconcerting distractions in European football to worry about but, for West Ham, this was the perfect chance to rest established first teamers and play a team who will, presumably, bear no resemblance to the one they will face on Saturday evening at home to Manchester City, the four time winners of the Premier League who just seem unstoppable. There were times when neither Bournemouth or West Ham seemed particularly interested in the eventual outcome of this game.

The Carabao Cup, in its modern incarnation of the old League Cup, still feels like a poor relation of the FA Cup, particularly for those who never take the competition as seriously as they should because it just doesn't have the same clout or prestige as the FA Cup which starts in January. The obvious indifference to the League Cup must be a direct result of the early years of the competition when the likes of Norwich, Aston Villa and Rochdale grasped the nettle and the scent of glory could be smelt from miles away.

For much of last night, West Ham were always on the front foot, searching and probing, building patiently from the back if occasionally looking very heavy legged and ponderous in their approach work. There was a resolute purpose and intensity about their game but,at times, it all seemed to fall by the wayside when they reached the edge of the Bournemouth penalty area. It seemed as though that they were going nowhere fast, the ball slipping away helplessly from their possession before wasting chances recklessly through rash decision making.

The introduction of Max Killman and the Frenchman Jean Clair Todibo has stiffened and strengthened the central core of West Ham's defence no end and Killman, for his part, looks like an inspired signing. Striding out of defence imperiously and making swift and important interceptions at the back, Killman now looks as though he could be the plug that West Ham have been looking at for ages.Whether there any alarming kitchen sink leaks in West Ham's defence remains to be seen but both Killman and Todibo did look as safe as houses for much of the match.

In midfield, James Ward Prowse, who was perhaps only bought for his free kick and corner prowess by former manager David Moyes, gave stability and a strong anchor in the middle of the park. But Prowse now looks certain to leave West Ham by the end of the the end of the transfer window next Monday. His partner Tomas Soucek continues to provide the kind of tall, imposing presence that at times reminds you of a lighthouse at sea when the ships began to lose their bearings. He is by far and away, the most impressive player the Czech Republic have produced in ages.

In front of Prowse and Soucek, the Mexican Edson Alvarez was back in the side after injury and still could be a decisive influence on the team in the coming months of the season. His goal at Everton in West Ham's 3-1 win at Goodison Park has a special place in the hearts of West Ham's fans. Alvarez is a battling, determined and aggressive player who always seems to mop up the damage from the back with a good deal of efficiency and no little skill.

On the wings, Aaron Wan Bissaka, a recent acquisition from Manchester United, looks an outstanding piece of business on West Ham's part. The former Crystal Palace full back-cum marauding winger was still there when the necessity arose, breaking beautifully on the right with swerving, angled runs inside his opponent and stunning close ball control. On the other flank Vladimir Coufal, although in the twilight of his career, still offered solidity and security with nifty turns of pace and positional shrewdness.

And then there was new West Ham captain Jarrod Bowen, darting through the middle, dribbling with deceptive speed and simply drifting past players almost casually. West Ham's other summer signing Cyrensio Summerville, the Dutch winger from Leeds United, had an excellent game and almost scored with what could have been the goal of the night. Cutting inside his defender on the edge of the Bournemouth penalty area, Summerville jockeyed into position and cracked a curling shot that almost beat the Cherries goalkeeper Neto.

But then the winning goal arrived just in the nick of time. Three minutes from the end, a splendid exchange of passes just inside the Bournemouth six yard box led to substitute Mo Kudus firing a powerful shot that seemed to fly past Neto in goal off Jarrod Bowen. A sharp intake of breath could be heard in neighbouring Newham and Canning Town. West Ham were through to the next round of the Carabao Cup and face the daunting task of yet another tie at Anfield. It only seems like yesterday since Liverpool were crushing West Ham with five of the best in the same competition.

Still, we left the Westfield Shopping Centre in an orderly procession. The journey to Stratford railway station felt like a major mountaineering expedition and some of us were extremely grateful to get home even though you were simply exhausted. But we remembered that pizza for one and a side serving salad and then that thriving chippie outside the old Upton Park. It was all so startlingly different.