Gael Kakuta sat down this week with Thomas Siniecki of Sports.fr – read the original interview at this link to discuss the end of the 2011-12 season at Dijon, where he spent four months on loan, and also his future as a Chelsea player.

The interview has been translated into English below. Apologies for any minor inaccuracies, the content is generally as published in French.

Gael, is it not annoying that you’ve had to delay your holidays because of Under-21 duty?
Let’s say that we expected it a little; we were warned that there would be a match during this period. It was prepared for. I’ll be on holiday next week, so it doesn’t matter.

What does it mean to you, playing for the Under-21s?
It is a pride to wear the blue shirt. In addition, there’s a new kit, so it’s good for us to wear it before anyone else. It’s like a reward for our performances for out clubs. To be called up to international level shows that you’ve proved your talent and that you’re part of the group close to the full squad.

Erick Mombaerts still called you up despite your lack of playing time with Dijon in the last three matches of the season. Does this confidence show that you’re a key part of his team?
In four months I have been able to show what I could do with the ball, I made a mark with my club. I didn’t play in the last three games…I do not know if I am a part, but the fact that the coach selected me proves that he has confidence in me.

Will you stay at Dijon?
No.

And in Ligue 1?
No neither.

Could you be loaned out again?
No. If I leave, it will be permanent.

Can you tell us what happened during the strange end of the season, where we had the feeling that everything has exploded in Dijon?
This was a settling of scores between the coach and sporting director…It’s a bit sad from a club that had been promoted to Ligue 1.

Were you taken hostage by this situation?
No, the coach got fired, everything he did and he should not be turned against him. But hey, it’s true that I suffered a bit.

Did the decision not to play you in the last three games come directly from Patrice Carteron?
Yes, it was his fault. He’s the coach, it is he who decides.

Do you know what happened between him and the general manager Sebastian Perez? Did you pay for being close to the latter?
I didn’t pay attention to any of that. I’ve know Perez for years, it was a childish reaction from the coach.

Do you have a grudge against Carteron on this end of season?
Yeah, well…he’s a person who thinks of himself. With Sankhare and Koro Kone I had scored the most goals in the second half of the season. So it’s a bit inexplicable that I was left out of the team, because my performances were not bad.

On the first of three games you missed, Carteron claimed you were injured…
I do not know what he said, I didn’t pay any attention. It doesn’t interest me…to say I was hurt, it was perhaps to justify whatever. But I was not hurt at all.

Will you be returning to Chelsea next season? Will you play with Hazard?
Playing with Hazard, I don’t know. But I want to return to Chelsea, yes. I hope we will play together. After that, it’s up to me to earn my place.

Is there a chance that you go on loan again? It didn’t go so well at Fulham and then at Bolton…
I will return to the club, and I myself will take the decision based on the situation. Otherwise, at Fulham, I did get playing time. I only started two games, but I was involved every time. It was more complicated at Bolton as the club was already in a bad way when I arrived.

Ligue 1 gave you that this season?
Yes, I started playing regularly. I was able to string together games of 90 minutes, I found my rhythm and level, I think. I was also able to show Chelsea that I had lost nothing and they could always trust me. It was a good experience, I still started 12 games. I gained some things, got some experience.

It’s unclear who will lead the Blues next season. So, do you think Roman Abramovich has looked at your games?
Him directly, I don’t know. But I was watched in every match.

It’s still a real disappointment what happened to Dijon. The team had defensive problems but often offered an enjoyable game, and often made a ‘pschitt’ at the end…
As I said, there were things that should never have happened. Without that, we would have survived. The coach made decisions that should never have been taken, he wanted to show he had the power. But everything went wrong, and finally he got fired.

Returning to the Under-21s, how do you approach the two games coming? What is the aim?
Win both matches without conceding a goal. We must continue our momentum.

Personally, what do you expect? Is it another opportunity to impress Chelsea, or do those who will decide your future already know where they stand?
As usual, I want to play. And then we’ll see. As for the people of Chelsea, they’re on holiday, I don’t think they’ll watch the matches…They had time to visit me in Dijon for six months. If I play and I perform well in both games, they’ll be aware, for sure. It’s up to me to be decisive if I’m on the pitch.

What are your personal goals for next season? There will be fantastic players at Chelsea…
There are also many people who will leave. Drogba, Kalou surely; Malouda, I do not know…

Have you ever thought about your shirt number?
No (smiles)…As I play, the number doesn’t really bother me. I was 44, I will try to Anelka’ 39. He was a great example. We exchanged a lot and he taught me a lot. He sat next to me in the changing room.

What other players do you get along well with at Chelsea?
Drogba, Malouda, Kalou, Bosingwa…all those who speak French!

For you, is it less of a blessing that the Blues have won the Champions League? Without this trophy, the club would have been less attractive and you would perhaps have found your place more easily…
No, it means nothing. Football moves fast. If anything, next year will be my year and I’m going big. But maybe it will not be my year…it’s up to me to work hard and show that I’m able to play at Chelsea.

Do you feel more ready, in fact, that in previous seasons?
Yes, because I received game time and I picked up the pace, so it will be easier to join the group. Before, I tended to be worse than the others physically. As I play more regularly, I think I’ll be fine.

In many ways, it’s not a question you can answer with particular ease or brevity. After all, what is ‘ready’?

We often see players head out on loan moves to help them refine their game and develop in order to be ‘ready’ to compete for a first team spot upon their return.

It usually entails some combination of developing physically against older players, progressing mentally with points and league positions to play for, and working out how best their game translates to the professional level.

Of course, that’s all well and good and in many cases entirely valid, but there comes a point where you have to sit back and ask yourself if your definition of ‘ready’ is unrealistic.

Gael Kakuta really sparked this discussion earlier in the week on Twitter, and indeed over the course of the season. Consensus amongst Chelsea supporters was that he needed to go away, perform consistently and prove that he can play at the level required of first team footballers at Stamford Bridge.

Yet there’s a very strong argument that he’s been just that for a while, and is simply better placed after a relatively successful spell at Dijon because he’s shown the ability (at least in patches) to perform in top flight football.

Few would have claimed that Ryan Bertrand was ‘ready’ to have started in the Champions League Final but, given a clearly defined role and set of duties, and trusted entirely by his manager, he put in a solid performance and contributed towards his team’s success.

The likes of Lionel Messi, Cesc Fabregas, Wayne Rooney and others exploding onto the scene as top class sixteen and seventeen year-olds has helped perpetuate a myth in the last decade that players can only contribute as youngsters if they’re able to be key players, amongst the first names on the team sheet and individuals you can turn to in moments of need.

Kakuta, like Bertrand, is ‘ready’ to play for Chelsea. At the age of almost 21, he’s not going to become much more than he is now, certainly not for a number of years. If and when he does, it will simply be a maturity which comes with experience.

He is what he is; a flair player, a luxury. Critics will be swift to note that he doesn’t defend with particular commitment, that he drifts out of games, that his right foot isn’t good.

If your team can accommodate such a player, and trust him to produce what he’s clearly capable of doing in attack, then he’s ‘ready’. You might equally match each of those flaws to a Juan Mata or a Daniel Sturridge – both are also luxury players, albeit better and more effective ones.

This is no slight on Kakuta, but it doesn’t mean that he can’t be one of a squad of 25/26 and be of use to whoever the new Chelsea manager may be.

It’s easier for attacking players to be ‘hidden’, but if you show sufficient trust in your players and have a solid, well-structured environment for them to play in, they can be ‘ready’.

Oriol Romeu isn’t ready to be a regular for Chelsea but was effective in his role last season. It helped that he was given protection from a group of players around him, but it was something that his manager understood and as a result the Spaniard looked capable more often than not.

Ability will always separate the wheat from the chaff at the upper end of the scale but, strictly speaking, you could take any one of close to a dozen reserve teamers at Chelsea (including those who have spent the last season out on loan) and plug them into the team without a problem, as long as their strengths are accentuated and their weaknesses protected.

Talent evaluation has numerous intricacies and differs from sport to sport but one constant found amongst them all is that a player will a) do some things well, b) struggle to do other things, and c) develop over time. Very, very few are the finished product, but they need not be for them to be of use. It’s part of the charm of team sports that whilst individuals make the headlines, the true value of the team as a sum of its parts always comes to the fore.

A 10/10 player is always nice, and producing a John Terry is a magnificent thing for any academy. However, producing two or three 6/10 players every season is just as useful. A dependable, maybe versatile player who can feature for 20-25 games a season is more valuable now than ever.

We’ll never know if those who have departed Stamford Bridge in search of first team football were ‘ready’. We do now know that Ryan Bertrand is. He might not be great in every game, he might never be a consistent 9/10 player, but he’s more often than not been a 7/10 and that is more than adequate at this point in time.

Positive reinforcement is encouraged throughout the academy setup up and down the country, but appears to stop when players leave youth team football and try to make the hardest step of all into the professional ranks. It needn’t be this way.

There are others at Cobham waiting to be given the same opportunity as Ryan Bertrand. Expecting perfection is ambitious. They’re perhaps more ‘ready’ than many realise.

Friday saw the Premier League publish their official Released and Retained lists for the end of the 2011-12 season and in doing so all but confirmed the departures of five Chelsea players.

Didier Drogba’s exit has already been announced and is the most high-profile free agent in the game. He’ll be joined by Salomon Kalou and Jose Bosingwa, whilst two reserve team players will also depart at the end of their contracts.

Swedish forward Marko Mitrovic turns 20 at the end of next month and after a career in London which has largely been beset by injuries, he will be moving on.

Academy top scorer during the FA Youth Cup winning 2009-10 season with 16 goals, Mitrovic often looked very good as the lone striker in a 4-3-3 formation, proving adept at occupying two defenders and being able to finish off either foot and with his head.

Unfortunately, he just wasn’t able to stay fit, as after three different medium term injuries in his first season at the club, he missed most of the 2010-11 campaign with an ankle ligament problem before being absent for much of the last ten months.

Earlier this year, former club Malmo invited him to return to the club in a pre-season training camp, but they extended the offer to all of their former academy players who have departed without making progress elsewhere. There is no great indication where he may end up but a return to his homeland would be amongst the favourite options.

Also leaving is Welsh goalkeeper Rhys Taylor, who moves on in search of regular first team football after proving himself more than capable in League Two over the last two seasons at Crewe Alexandra and Rotherham United respectively.

Taylor, now 22, has long been highly rated in the goalkeeping fraternity and has occasionally served as third-choice goalkeeper for the first team, working with Christophe Lollichon, Petr Cech and others.

However, with Cech showing little sign of slowing down and a host of other alternatives making waves, it’s been a long and uphill task for him to impress at Stamford Bridge and he has reportedly agreed terms with his new club, but is yet to confirm their identity.

He made the trip to the United States with Chris Coleman’s senior Wales squad this last week to play Mexico but remained an unused sub, as he did against Georgia as a teenager some years ago.

Also released but not included on the Premier League’s documents is second-year scholar Reece Loudon. Another who struggled with injuries in the last two seasons, the left sided player spent six weeks on loan at Potters Bar Town in early 2012 and most recently played in a trial match for Inverness Caledonian Thistle.

Everyone at TheChels wishes the six all the best of luck in the future. You can read Tweedy’s homage to the legendary Drogba HERE and over the next month there will be appropriate content for fellow European Champions Bosingwa and Kalou.

The alarm clock on my mobile rang. I was surprised. Why was I using my mobile as an alarm? I reached out and looked at the time. It said 06.00.

Why was I in an unfamiliar room? Suddenly I realised I was in Stuttgart and in less than two hours I was going to be on a train to Munich to watch my beloved Chelsea play in the Champions League Final.

The previous day’s beer-garden tour had tired me out. We should have been taking it easy instead of walking several miles. I hauled myself out of the little bed and headed for the bathroom for the first major hurdle of the day-washing and drying my hair ahead of getting it into it’s lucky bun. The small hairdryer in the bathroom proved unexpectedly efficient, and the bun went up first time; a lucky omen, I thought.

By the time I had dressed (black vest, Chelsea shirt, pink hoodie, jeans) and hurled my belongings into my holdall, it was 06.40. The party had agreed to meet in the breakfast room at 06.45. I was down at 06.42. Somewhat to my surprise, I was the first one down. I decided not to hang around and helped myself to coffee and cereals. A couple of minutes later Matt appeared, looking a little fragile, followed by Pick Six, on whom the previous day’s drinking had taken its toll. Matt said that Steve was doing his hair too.

By 7am the whole squad, including Steve, were making inroads to the buffet. I decided that after the cereals and coffee, I really couldn’t face anything else but a yogurt. About to pull the lid off, I noticed something. The brand name was “FRANKENLAND” – Frank? As in Lampard? My mind went back seven years to Chelsea winning the league at Bolton, when hoardings behind the goal advertised “Franking Sense”. Could this possibly be a similar omen?

Breakfast finished, we handed over our keys and departed the hotel for the short walk over to the Hauptbahnhof. The station was pretty deserted and the train wasn’t due for 25 minutes. Dazza and Mrs A. wandered off to fetch coffee and snacks for the journey. A combination of yesterday’s alcohol and cuisine was leading Pick Six to create what can best be described as “gas incidents”. The rest of us mooched about.

Finally, some ten minutes before the scheduled departure, and with more people now on the platform, including a number of Bayern fans, the train arrived. We located our seats and settled down for the journey. As the train made its way smoothly out of Stuttgart, the landscape changed from modern cityscape into woods and countryside, and as we sped through Bavaria, we passed towns with the typical red roofs and cream walls which probably originated prior to late 19th century German federation. The sun shone, and I got the ipod out for some house and disco before listening to what @mowingmeadows describes as the winning playlist – Three Little Birds and The Liquidator.

The train made three stops en route, each time picking up more and more Bayern fans, before arriving in Munich just after 10.00 as advertised. The noise at the railway station was colossal. Air horns were being blown, and groups of Bayern fans were singing “WHO THE FUCK ARE CHELSEA LONDON!!” (a refrain we were to hear a lot of throughout the day). We gathered ourselves together on the concourse.

Our plan was to locate the hire lockers in the station and leave our luggage there. It had also been thought a good idea to purchase some refreshments and nourishing snacks for the return train journey that five of us would be making to Stuttgart at the unearthly hour of 03.25. We found the lockers and stashed the bags. Pick Six decided to absent himself at that point to use the facilities. We hung around by the escalators waiting for him to return.

Quite a long wait actually, until he returned with the look of a man at peace with the world, and providing too much information about his time on the lav. We then visited Munich’s answer to Whistle Stop and returned to the lockers to discover, to our collective anguish, that we’d have to pay another 3 Euros to re-open and re-close them. However, that done, Munich was our oyster, and, leaving Dazza and Mrs A to check-in at the hotel they had booked for the night, the remaining six of us headed for the famous Augustiner Keller which wasn’t too far from the station.

Notwithstanding the fact that it wasn’t 11.00 yet, the beer garden was open, and we negotiated with a traditionally dressed, albeit slightly surly, waitress to let us have a large table until 5pm. Originally I had tried to book a table indoors, in case there was a problem with the weather, but their 1000 seater capacity had already been filled when I had emailed them at the start of the week. We sat down, and the boys ordered a steiner each.

I had Orangina. Half a litre of it. Decided I’d probably eke it out for a couple of hours. So we sat there under the chestnut trees in the warm Munich sun. Just after 12, we decided it was time to think about lunch. I chose red snapper, Mr E. had the nine sausage platter, and the rest of the boys ordered half a chicken, or hendl as it’s called, which caused us some merriment, especially as I started chanting

“Who put the ball in the Tottenham net?
Arfur, Arfur
Who put the ball in the Tottenham net?
Arfur ***ing hendl!”

The food arrived and was perfectly edible, and just after another party of my friends arrived for a drink, followed shortly after by Dazza and Mrs A. The beer garden was filling up fast, although Chelsea were heavily outnumbered by Bayern fans. However, everyone was in a marvellously happy, friendly mood and if I’m being honest there was something refreshing about sitting there in a civilised fashion, with the home fans everyone having a drink and a laugh.

Speaking of which, I decided it was now time to have an alcoholic drink. “Wodka Lemon?” I asked our surly waitress hopefully. “Nein”, she replied. I settled for 20cl of pinot grigot, which meant I’d have to be careful. And it was served in a mug. Not even a glass. About 14.30, the oompah band arrived and, after playing a local song which all the Bayern fans sang, they turned to our table and struck up “God Save The Queen”. We got to our feet and sang with all our hearts. The noise volume around the garden was increasing and the Munichers massively outnumbered Chelsea fans.

Although we’d told the garden we’d stay till five, Steve had had word from a friend in town that he was in the Marienplatz, and we decided that we would head off about 16.00. We called for der rechnung and the usual lively discussion took place as to who had consumed what.

Just as we were leaving, we met our mate Seb going in, who took little persuasion to accompany us to the Marienplatz, and further down the road we met Darren Mantle of The ChelseaFanCast fame, who was heading to the Augustiner to meet his twin Steve and Ross Mooring from the fancast, who had arrived shortly before we left. We decided to get on a tram back to the Hauptbahnhof to take advantage of the free travel for matchgoers. However, we got into a tangle around the station’s complicated underground/S-bahn complex, and after milling around for a while, we eventually found our tube train thanks to a German Chelsea fan.

The Marienplatz was absolutely heaving, and we headed over towards Bohne and Malz, the bar where Steve’s friend had said he’d be. Everyone else dived into the express bar, where pints were on tap, but that wasn’t much good to me, so I wandered off down to the arcade in the hope of finding something more to my liking. And I found a divine little bar where they were selling vodka and sprite to take away, which made me very happy. When I got back, the rest of the class were still hanging around the front of Bohne and Malz, but we could see a little courtyard which appeared to lead into a residential block, which had tables and benches.

After the short but very hot journey from Augustiner Keller, we were happy to have a drink and sat down. I’d suggested moving off at 18.00 to give us plenty of time to get to the ground, as there was the possibility of not getting on the first U-bahn, but eventually we all compromised on 18.45. The Marienplatz was still heaving, and the U-bahn was crowded.

When we got down to the platform, it was to a heaving mass of humanity. We lost Mr. E. and Steve, although the rest of us managed to stick together. In fact we were quite lucky to be at the back of the crush. One train came on and we couldn’t get on it. There was a 10 minute wait. Another (empty) train came in and didn’t stop. After another 10 minutes, a train which would get us part of the way to the ground arrived but it would mean a change five stops on.

People heaved themselves bodily on to the train. It was incredibly hot. The train kept stopping. It took about 20 minutes to travel five stops and we were relieved to get off at (Municher Freiheit). I had a pleasant surprise as I found myself standing next to two friends from the CIU where I drink on matchdays. My only fear was that when the next train came in, it would be even fuller, and we’d have another wait. It was about 19.30 by this time and although the game wasn’t starting till 20.45, I was starting to fret about the possibility of missing the kick-off. However, much to our surprise, the next train that came in was an empty, air conditioned heaven, and the remainder of the journey was comfortable.

We got off the train in high good humour. As we came out of the station, the vastness of the stadium became apparent and I realised, this is it. We are here. And we are playing in the final. Mrs A. had managed to get separated from Dazza on the way out of the stadium, so she accompanied me and my CIU friends on what was a fairly long walk to the ground. We arrived at a little merchandising area where I stopped to get a programme and, after fairly light security checks, Mrs A. and I made our way around the stadium to the entrance for our adjoining blocks in the middle tier. Just as we were nearly there, I heard a booming Irish voice calling “Blue Baby” (see, it does help to have your name on your shirt) and my joy for the day was complete or so I thought, as my favourite Bruvvas from Dublin hoved into view. They’d been drinking at the Shakespeare in town, and filled me in on what they’d been up to, and vice versa, as they knew all of my travelling companions.

Once inside the ground, it was time to visit the facilities as kick off was now only some 20 minutes away. I found my seat towards the back of the middle tier. The stadium was a breathtaking sight. Bayern had a huge advantage in numbers, and as the opera singer Jonas Kaufmann bellowed his way through a new version of the champions league anthem (although it later turned out he’d been miming due to a respiratory infection which has caused him to pull out of his engagement at Covent Garden this week), the Bayern fans lifted cards which spelt out the slogan “our team, our stadium, our trophy”. We defiantly waved our flags in return.

Just before 20.45, the teams emerged from the dressing room into a frenzied stadium. Tens of thousands of words have been written about what happened next and I can’t imagine I’ll improve upon any that have been penned before. From my own point of view, the first 45 minutes seemed to last about 10. The team were holding their nerve on the pitch, even if it was already squeaky bum time in the stands, with Mikel putting in a superb performance. I was slightly miffed by the fact that having paid a hundred and thirty odd pounds for a seat in an attempt to save my wonky knees, I was still having to stand, and a plan was starting to formulate in my mind.

As soon as the half time whistle blew, I headed for downstairs to the Ladies and then to the bar for much-needed water. Coming away after making my purchase, I met Dazza and Mrs A., who’d managed to locate each other. “Dazz”, I asked. “Are they checking people’s tickets going into the lower tier?” No, he replied. “Right”, I said. “I’m relocating”. Because I’d decided that if I was going to have to stand for the second half, I might as well sneak into the lower tier and be with my mates. And as I reached the ninth row of the lower tier, not only did I find Mr E., Matt, Steve, H. and Pick Six, but yards away in the next block were the Bruvvas, Mrs A. who’d obviously made the same decision as me, and a host of other friends, including The Former Mr Baby.

The second half kicked off and sped by in similar fashion to the first. Then, on 83 minutes, disaster as Muller headed down, and the ball looped over Petr Cech. The Bayern end roared in delight. The Chelsea end were stunned into silence. With just seven minutes left, was it going to be yet more heartbreak in a European final? Optimist as I am, I couldn’t see how this was going to end well. I was resigning myself to defeat. Then, on 88 minutes, a miracle. Juan Mata’s corner was met by Didier Drogba, who powerfully headed the ball past Neuer, the Bayern keeper. The Chels support behind the goal erupted in ecstasy. I stood there whilst the rest of the crew jumped on top of me. When I emerged I subsequently found H. jumping on top of the seat back of the row in front and, fearful for his safety, I clung on to the waistband of his jeans until he jumped back down.

Five minutes later, we were going into extra time. Just three minutes later, we were staring disaster firmly in the face again. Drogba’s silly trip on Ribery resulted in a pen to Bayern. I said to the gang “Face it boys, we are not going to be allowed to win this”. Ribery had gone down as if presented with a teenage girl and required several minutes of treatment before the penalty could be taken. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and I resorted to prayer. Three Hail Marys, a Hail Holy Queen and a Memorarie, just finishing as Robben prepared to shoot and I put my right hand to my right eye – the “evil eye”. Seconds later, we were screaming in joy again as Cech got down low, blocked the ball with his thigh and then smothered it.

Half time in extra time led to another exodus to the bar for water before another nerve-wracking 15 minutes, of which I remember very little. I think that night was the first time I have ever been petrified with nerves whilst being in a stadium. Then it was all over. It was coming down to penalties. Again. We were in God’s/deity of choice’s hands now. We watched on in disbelief as it appeared that Bayern weren’t only being allowed to take the first pen, but to take them at the home end. We waited….

Cech was unlucky not to save the first, and we found ourselves one down. Mata, to my disbelief given his record this season, strode up to take the second. And missed. Gomez scored his. We were two down. Luiz put us back in with a chance following his quality penality. Neuer, the goalie, bravely took the third. Frank converted; 3-2. Then Olic – who missed. We were definitely in with a chance. Another quality pen from Ash. 3-3. Schweinsteiger stepped up, only to hit the post.

It all rested on Didier’s shoulders. I murmured to myself “This ends. Now.” Time stood still as Drogs prepared a perilously short-looking run-up.

A moment’s silence.

Didier struck the ball.

Neuer went the wrong way.

We had won.

In that one moment, our world and our club’s history and future had changed forever. I simply stood there, tears pouring down my face. I found myself being hugged by the boys. I went across to rejoice with the Bruvvas. Then I found myself face to face with The Former Mr Baby. Both in tears, we simply enfolded each other in a long hug. I then went right down to the front of the stand in the hope of getting some precious pictures and found myself next to H. I said to him “Could you ever have thought, that night in Naples, that this would be the conclusion?” (but that’s another Travels). His reply was drowned out as the players began to climb the stairs to collect their medals and the precious trophy.

The next half hour or so will live forever in the memories of all Chelsea fans. Luiz on the crossbar. Torres on the crossbar. Stamford the Lion on the pitch. The players with the trophy. Blue is the Colour, The Liquidator, One Step Beyond in a glorious segue. People in tears. People looking at their watches (it was now after midnight and it was going to be a tight schedule for those on day trips). I realised we’d be on the train back to Stuttgart in just three and a half hours.

Eventually, hoarse and exhausted, we dragged ourselves away from the arena, laden with flags, back on to the concourse. We decided to have a post match water/coke and use the loos prior to setting off for the U-bahn. I suggested to Mr E. that given the lateness of the hour, the original plan to return to the Marienplatz wasn’t viable (this turned out to be prophetic). I met more friends coming down from the middle tier, and the bars were showing the game again. About 00.40, we set off for the U-bahn.

It had felt like a long walk to the stadium before the game. After, it felt like an eternity. When we got to the entrance, we found that there were many thousands of people still waiting to get on trains. We were quite lucky to heave ourselves (except for Pick Six, Steve and Matt) on to a train which was arriving, but this was the start of a nightmare journey.

However tough the journey out had seemed, it was paradise compared to the hour or so it took to get back to Marienplatz. The train kept stopping in tunnels. Passengers, already weary, were feeling the heat. Some got off when next stations were reached in the hope of finding taxis. Those with flights in the early hours on club/day trips were particularly anxious. My knees were shot to pieces.

Finally we reached Marienplatz, only to find ourselves with another long wait for a train. Eventually, about 02.00, we reached Hauptbahnhof. On the “Up” escalator into the station, I’d noticed something called “Rail and Clean”, which were presumably the loos that Pick Six had visited that morning. I made a note to return for a wash and brush up after I’d picked up the bag. We bade farewell to Dazza and Mrs A. who were off to their hotel. We were still missing Pick Six but texted to say we’d arrived at the station. Disappointed Bayern fans were milling about the concourse, but we were touched to be approached by several, offering their congratulations. They truly are an exceptional bunch of fans. After we collected the luggage, I told Mr E. that I was going to the loos to try and get changed, and made my way back down the escalator.

I paid the required Euro to enter the facility and before popping into a loo, a sign caught my eye. It wasn’t just loos they had, but showers. I went to the desk and asked the attendant how much for a shower. 7 Euros, he replied. With towels? I enquired. Fourteen Euros, came the reply. If he’d said 20, I’d have probably paid up at that point after the long, hot, travel weary 22 hours. He heaved a positive bundle of linen into my arms and unlocked the shower room. It was bliss. There was even a plug socket. I could have washed my hair, if only I’d had a dryer with me.

After the lovely shower, I got changed into blissful fresh clothes, and made my way to the platform, where I found Pick Six, Mr E. and H. propped against a bin, all seeming to be asleep. All over the station the scene was reminiscent of some major disaster. People slumped in heaps. Puddles of vomit. Discarded rubbish. Fifteen minutes later, the train arrived. There was a fearful scrum to board. We couldn’t locate our carriage. Mr E. and I became separated from the others. There were no seats to be had in the carriage we’d ended up in. People were occupying other peoples’ booked seats. I said to Mr E. that having already spent upwards of seven hours on my feet, I couldn’t stand for another two and a half, in line with my knee specialist’s mantra of no running, no kneeling and no standing for long periods. The decrepit joints were already making themselves known in no uncertain terms.

A gallant Chelsea fan kindly overheard and a seat was found for me. I slumped into it, exhausted. I rested my hot head against the cool window and waited for the clock to roll round to the departure hour of 03.25. I hoped to sleep, but failed. 03.25 arrived. The train appeared to be delayed. The minutes ticked by. Announcements were made in German. A fracas threatened to break out when a German passenger (who wasn’t a football fan) actually sat on a female passenger (not me) who was in his seat. It was firmly explained to him that none of us could get to our reserved seats. He was cordially invited to get off the lady or suffer the consequences. He desisted, but continued to verbally protest. Some passengers left the train. A friendly Bayern fan explained that under German law, a train cannot commence it’s journey if passengers were standing (good job that doesn’t happen in the UK…)

Finally, just before 04.00, an announcement to this effect was made in English, and passengers without seat reservations were requested to leave to enable others to take their correct seats. I got up and said to Mr E. ‘”let’s get out of here into our correct carriage, and if anyone’s in our seats, we boot them out”. He kindly hauled my holdall down from the shelf and we set off for the promised land of Wagon 25 where we did indeed locate our seats, with people already in them. The situation was explained, and they left without argument.

The carriage was comfortable and air-conditioned. We’d been sitting there for about 10 minutes, when Pick Six and H., having walked though the train, found us. The snacks and soft drinks bought the previous morning were shared out. Matt was last to arrive. Then, finally, an hour after the schedule departure time, the train rolled into life. “Wave bye bye to the Augustiner Keller” instructed Mr E. as the train left the station. Obediently, we waved wistfully. The dawn was already starting to break over Bavaria. The boys slept. I remained wakeful, not particularly wanting to fall asleep and end up in Dortmund, for where the train was eventually bound.

At Stuttgart I woke them and we staggered off. Breakfast was a burger from a well-known chain that isn’t McDonalds for the lads, with me eating some fruit, pastries and drinking Viennese coffee. We said goodbye to Matt as he wasn’t travelling back till the evening and fancied another crack at Zum Paulaner. We boarded the S-bahn back to the airport and arrived for our flight some four hours early. Pick Six and H. soon fell asleep in the departure lounge. I read and drank coffee, having declined the champagne that Mr E. had so kindly offered me. We blessed those reserved Germanwings seats and boarded, exhausted. Unusually for me, I fell asleep on the plane and twice woke up dribbling.

And that’s the end really. We bade each other farewell at Heathrow, me to head for the tube home, too exhausted to attend the parade, the boys waiting for a lift. And writing about the trip fills me with a certain melancholy because I know that whatever Chelsea achieve in future, be any trip never so uncomfortable as that to Munich was in parts, we will never again have what we had for those few days. A sense of living in epoch-making times, living history, not reliving it. So thanks to everyone involved in those magical few days, and thanks to our team, for making our dreams come true.

Tuesday saw the final deadline for European Championship squads to be named, and, injuries pending, we now know there will be nine Chelsea players in Poland and the Ukraine next month.

John Terry, Frank Lampard, Gary Cahill, Ashley Cole, Raul Meireles, Fernando Torres, Juan Mata, Petr Cech and Florent Malouda have been selected by their respective nations and are all set to play key roles throughout June.

Lampard suffered a thigh injury in England training on Wednesday and is a reported doubt, but otherwise the European Champion contingent are fit and ready to contribute.

Chelsea are the most represented club in the Premier League but trail the likes of Bayern Munich and Real Madrid in overall contribution to the sixteen 23-man squads.

All bar Cahill have featured in a European Championships before, but for the English quartet it’s a first appearance since 2004, as the Three Lions failed to qualify for Austria and Switzerland 2008.

Then, eight Blues took park, with Cech and Malouda joined by Ricardo Carvalho, Paulo Ferreira, Michael Ballack, Claude Makelele, Nicolas Anelka and Khalid Bouhlarouz.

In Portugal four years prior to that, Terry and Lampard were joined by team-mates Joe Cole and Wayne Bridge in Sven-Goran Eriksson’s party, and were four of another total of eight including Marcel Desailly, William Gallas and Jesper Gronkjaer.

It means this year’s selections represent an all-time high for the club, and it could have been higher had Jose Bosingwa not fallen out with the Portuguese management. Daniel Sturridge remains on the England standby list.

As an aside, there is also a healthy group of former Chelsea players heading East, with Damien Duff, Yuri Zhirkov, Arjen Robben, Ricardo Quaresma, Fabio Borini, Andriy Shevchenko, Glen Johnson, Scott Parker and the aforementioned Boulahrouz all confirmed.

Good luck to all of them.

Just shy of a week ago, Chelsea youngsters Nathaniel Chalobah and Todd Kane were enjoying celebrations in Munich with the first team squad as Champions of Europe.

Preston’s Deepdale Stadium may be a less glamorous place to spend their Friday evening, but both players found the back of the net for Noel Blake’s England Under-19 team as the Three Lions got their European Championship Elite Qualifying Round campaign underway.

Slovenia were comfortably brushed aside 5-0, with captain Chalobah opening the scoring with a deftly curled effort from the edge of the box. It was his first goal at this level and second in England colours after a header in the FIFA Under-17 World Cup last summer. Remarkably, it was also his 47th appearance at junior international level.

Full-back Kane entered the match in the second half and played in a more advanced role on the right hand side. He slammed home from Chalobah’s incisive pass to make it 4-0 in the closing stages, with the other goals coming in the form of a Will Keane brace and a strike from Tom Thorpe.

Blake’s team now head to Rochdale on Sunday, when they’ll host Montenegro, before returning to Deepdale for the final group match against Switzerland. Kane and Chalobah will hope to make a similar impact, as will the third blue in the squad, forward Patrick Bamford.

To conclude our week-long review of the reserve and youth seasons, let’s take a look at some of the very best of the campaign, a celebration of all things young and blue, if you will.

Youth Team:

A second FA Youth Cup crown in three years leads the way, a magnificent achievement for everyone involved…Nathan Aké was named the academy’s Scholar of the Year after a superb debut campaign in England…Lucas Piazon won the coveted Young Player of the Year Award (the first to win it without playing for the first team since Leon Knight 11 years ago), impressing so quickly after arriving from Sao Paulo in November.

Islam Feruz led the way on the goalscoring front and was the most prolific of three schoolboys at the top of the charts; Alex Kiwomya and Ruben Loftus-Cheek excelled as well…Amin Affane weighed in with his fair share of goals and assists as he stepped his development up in his second year in England…Lewis Baker and John Swift saw plenty of playing time throughout the campaign and both impressed hugely, finishing the year in the reserve team.

Reserve Team:

Sam Hutchinson’s return from a year of retirement was the early season feel-good factor, and the defender capped things off with first team appearances…James Russell returned to the club after an absence of five years and filled in admirably as an emergency goalkeeper…Billy Clifford racked up seven assists as the team’s most creative outlet.

Milan Lalkovic would have gone close to the top scorer’s title had he not departed on loan; he had a fine half season….finishing just one goal behind eventual top scorer Romelu Lukaku, who was thoroughly professional and keen to learn…opportunities arose for a number of first year scholars to dip their toes in the water throughout the season, and even a few schoolboys got a look…Jeremie Boga made his reserve debut before his youth team bow, appearing just a few days after his 15th birthday against Fulham and holding his own.

Loanees:

Thibaut Courtois followed up his Belgian title at the age of 18 with a Europa League winners medal as a 19 year-old, finishing a fabulous year at Atlético Madrid…Ben Gordon also lifted silverware in the form of the Scottish League Cup at Kilmarnock…Tomas Kalas and Patrick van Aanholt saw Vitesse return to European competition for the first time in over a decade…Gael Kakuta finally showed what he can be capable of with a red-hot run of form for Dijon before internal politics ruined the end of their season…Kevin de Bruyne offered a glimpse of the future by becoming arguably the best player in Belgium.

Goals:

Lewis Baker’s top corner special in the FA Youth Cup Final against Blackburn…Alex Kiwomya’s presence of mind to lift the ball over a Fulham defender before trapping it and finishing back in November…Islam Feruz’ powerful shot on the turn away to Norwich…Lucas Piazon toying with the Arsenal defenders on a cold December afternoon at London Colney…Amin Affane picking out the top corner on the same pitch for the youth team three months later…Adam Phillip starting the season with a deft volley after a precise pass from Billy Clifford.

Thanks for being involved in another outstanding season of youth and reserve team football at Chelsea, it’s always a pleasure to watch it and share it with so many of you.

Nothing stops during the summer so be sure to keep it here at TheChels and on Twitter @chelseayouth for the very latest on what’s going on at Cobham and at Stamford Bridge, home of the European Champions!

Chelsea continued to be extremely well represented on the international scene in 2011-12, enjoying notable performances at every age group from top to bottom.

At senior level, new signing Thibaut Courtois made his Belgium debut against France in November, becoming the youngest goalkeeper in national team history. He is almost certain to become first choice when the Red Devils begin their World Cup qualifying campaign in the Autumn.

Jeffrey Bruma has been a regular part of the Dutch setup and earned his third and fourth camps last October in decisive European Championship qualifiers against Moldova and Sweden. Unfortunately, he is not a part of their 2012 Finals squad.

Welsh goalkeeper Rhys Taylor has earned a long-awaited recall to the senior squad, having first been called up in 2008. He travels with the team to take on the United States in a friendly later this month.

Most remarkably, schoolboy winger Bertrand Traore is already a full international with Burkina Faso, making his first appearance days before his sixteenth birthday before featuring at the African Cup of Nations.

Former Blues Gökhan Töre, Miroslav Stoch and Fabio Borini continue to make a strong impression on the international stage, following on from their impressive representation whilst at the club.

A whole host of current Chelsea players aim to follow in their footsteps, and none moreso than an impressive group of Under-21 internationals.

Josh McEachran has been a regular part of Stuart Pearce’s side since the age of 17 and now, as a 19 year-old, will be relied upon even more to be a key contributor. Despite a lack of playing time at club level, he has been entrusted with a central midfield role by Pearce and continues to impress.

Milan Lalkovic and Gael Kakuta are regulars for Slovakia and France respectively, whilst Patrick van Aanholt has kissed and made up with Netherlands Under-21 boss Cor Pot and earned a recall to the squad after an impasse which lasted almost a year.

Tomas Kalas graduated from the Czech Under-19 ranks last summer as a runner-up in the European Championships and has been an excellent addition to their Under-21 team, even earning outside consideration for a place in their Euro 2012 squad.

Conor Clifford continued in his third season as an Irish Under-21 international, and Chelsea gained another representative at that level this season in the form of schoolboy Islam Feruz.

The Somali-born striker had previously featured for Scotland at Under-16 level and after taking part in European Under-17 Championship qualifiers in the early spring, he received a maiden Under-21 selection for a friendly against Italy.

He is rated extremely highly north of the border and is set to leapfrog a number of age groups in the next twelve months, taking part in an Under-20 tournament in the Netherlands this week.

The Under-20 level is one which is rarely used in Europe, but extensively so elsewhere, and last summer’s World Cup was a big draw in Colombia.

The Blues had Billy Clifford and Ben Gordon called up (alongside former Blue Billy Knott) but Clifford withdrew in order to take part in the first team’s tour of Asia, leaving Gordon to fly the flag alone. Kenneth Omeruo and Ulises Dávila were signed after strong performances in the competition.

At Under-19 level, England have been well represented, with captain Nathaniel Chalobah leading teammates Jamal Blackman, Todd Kane, Aziz Deen-Conteh and Patrick Bamford in regular selection. Bamford, who has also represented the Republic of Ireland at junior level, scored his first goal for the Three Lions against the Czech Republic in February.

Billy Clifford and George Saville have both been on standby for selection on more than one occasion but are yet to be properly involved with Noel Blake’s group. Bamford, Kane and Chalobah will this week take part in qualifiers for the Finals in July later this year.

Swedish duo Amin Affane and Anjur Osmanovic are regular faces in the Swedish Under-18 setup, but it’s at Under-17 level where the largest volume of Blues can be found, headlined by a double European champion.

Nathan Aké joined from Feyenoord last summer having won the European Under-17 Championships, and he repeated the trick as captain a year later as the Netherlands defeated Germany for the second successive year, becoming just the third team to ever retain the trophy.

The only side to defeat the Oranje throughout the entire campaign was England, who failed to qualify for the tournament after falling to the wayside in Georgia during the elite round.

John Swift, Lewis Baker, Jordan Houghton, Fankaty Dabo and Ali Gordon all played under John Peacock in 2011/12, and young striker Chike Kandi played for Wales during their unsuccessful attempts to qualify.

Hoping to follow in their footsteps are another healthy clutch of schoolboys playing for ex-Chelsea man Kenny Swain at Under-16 level. Connor Hunte, Charlie Colkett, Ola Aina, and Aaron Hayden all received their first caps this season, as did standout pair Alex Kiwomya and captain Ruben Loftus-Cheek.

Kiwomya found the scoresheet against Wales, adding to Hunte’s goal against Northern Ireland as the Chelsea boys led the way, but it was captain Loftus-Cheek who evidently stole the show in the Sky Sports televised tournament.

He also found the scoresheet against Wales and drew acclaim for his stylish, capable displays in midfield, where he looked a class apart. The incoming 2012 scholar is, of course, the latest in a long line of Chelsea academy products who have captained England at one level or another, including but not limited to Houghton, Chalobah, Ryan Bertrand, Michael Mancienne and, of course, John Terry.

The ultimate aspiration is to follow in the hugely successful footsteps of the one England captain, and many of them are doing everything right in pursuit of excellence.

Coming tomorrow…we round off the week and the review with our take on the very best of the youth and reserve season.

This night had it all. There was hope. There was despair. There were tears. There was joy. And that was just the three and a half hours after the game it took from the time we got on the U-bahn until the time the 03.25 Munich to Stuttgart express departed Hauptbahnhof. At 04.25. But most of all it was a night at the end of which, for all those who travelled to Munich, we will never be able to hear the words “German” and “efficiency” without uttering a hollow laugh.

So as Julie Andrews says, let’s start at the beginning. Despite many of the advance party setting out for Munich as early as Wednesday, my own little group were leaving on Friday, heading for Munich via an overnight stay in Stuttgart, and I was up at the unearthly hour of 04.20, having managed five hours sleep; a pretty good effort. Dawn had already broken as I left my north London home, and so worried was I about missing connections, that I was at the bus stop for the first stage of the journey a chilly 10 minutes early. However, it was only 10 minutes to Kings Cross, leaving me in good time for the first Piccadilly Line train of the day to Heathrow, at 05.37.

Not having even had a coffee, I regretted there just wasn’t time to grab one from McD’s before I boarded the tube. Or so I thought. Because the 05.37 was evidently cancelled, leaving a score of disgruntled travellers on the platform till 05.49 (the time the next train was due), with no information from control as to why the first train was cancelled. After that, however, it was plain sailing to Terminals 1,2,3 and I reached Security by 7am, and having taken all possible precautions to avoid setting off the dreaded alarms, fairly zipped through. I hadn’t yet received word that my travelling companions had arrived, so nipped into World Duty Free to pick up a couple of things and then headed over to what looked like a fairly upmarket Wetherspoons. And lo and behold, the first thing I did see were Mr E. and H. (who have both made a previous appearances in Travels) and Pick Six, a season ticket holder of many years standing, who doesn’t get into Europe very often. We were to be joined on the flight by Dazza A. (also with previous form) and the lovely Mrs A., and when we reached Stuttgart would be joined by Matt and Steve who were hacking their way in via Frankfurt and Paris respectively. The boys had just ordered their breakfast, so I beckoned the waiter, having decided that porridge, toast and coffee would provide a nutritious and slow-release start prior to lunch in Stuttgart. Dazza and Mrs A. then arrived, and Dazza quickly departed for Dixons, being in need of a new camera. The boys were already drinking beer, but that wasn’t part of my plan so I started with a juice.

We’d been agreeably surprised that Germanwings let you choose a seat without charge on checking in, thus avoiding the usual budget airline rush for the gate, so we sauntered down to the departure lounge and boarded in a leisurely fashion. It was a short flight to Stuttgart and we soon found ourselves on the S-bahn to the main railway station, and on arrival headed straight for the nearby hotel we were booked in for the night. Whilst checking in (a somewhat laborious process), Matt arrived, but there was bad news from Steve. His flight into Paris had been delayed, and he’d missed the connection. However, he was being put on the next flight and hoped to be with us by mid-afternoon.

As readers will recall from the Copenhagen edition, Mr E. loves his beer. And to that end he had drawn up a tour of beer gardens and halls. I wasn’t really bothered as it wasn’t the day of the match and I wasn’t planning to drink before evening anyway, so we set off for the first venue, the Schlossgarten, which was conveniently located next to the train station. It was 13.30 now, so having had breakfast just after 07.00, it was time for lunch. And as well as huge steiners of beer, the Schlossgarten did a pretty good feed, with even picky semi-veggies (no red meat) like me catered for, and I opted for kartoffeln (potato wedges) with salad. And very good it was too. We sat around for a couple of hours eating, drinking and chatting. We were also waiting for Steve, who had gone to his hostel to leave his bag, but was having difficulty in finding us. So we set off for the Nil Cafe, further down the Schlossgarten. Dazza’s phone rang again and he wandered off, followed by H. Pick Six and Mr E. had steamed on ahead, leaving Mrs A and myself to meander quietly down the park. In the distance we could see Dazza and H. standing around, so we decided to wait…then Dazza started waving his arms expansively around in the air. Mrs A and I kept our eyes fixed on the horizon and….yes! A third figure was hoving into view. Steve had finally made it to the Schlossgarten.

After saying hello, we trundled down to the Nil Bar, which was attractively situated by a lake. The weather forecast for Friday in Stuttgart had predicted rain, but although it had clouded over since our arrival, it was still warm, and perfect for sitting outdoors. I was kept going with the coffee, but everyone else sank another couple of steiners. About 17.30, we decided it was time to move off to the next venue, which was called the Platzhirsch and, on passing through the bar part of the complex, Pick Six, Mr E. and Mrs A shot off into what appeared to be a dance hall. Mr E and Mrs A. partook of a waltz, and Mr Six cut some serious solo moves. All of which have been captured for posterity on video by me. Something else captured for posterity in a slightly more juvenile style was the arse-kicking competition on the way to the U-bahn, but I think it’s best to draw a veil over that.

After some hesitation over the route to the next bar, we eventually found ourselves in a very pleasant pedestrianised square, and sat down to order. As it was 18.00 by now, I was going to have a drink – rather unfortunately for such a beer-orientated trip, vodka is my tipple of choice, as regular readers will recall. Having not eaten for nearly four hours, I also ordered some olives and bread by way of a pre-dinner appetiser to share with the others, although Steve and H. fancied chips, which came with rather vinegary ketchup, reminiscent of Crosse & Blackwell. We decided to have one more drink before dinner, and I saw that cocktails were available, so I chose a White Russian. Pick Six’s eyes lit up, and, being fond of them, decided to have one too. We were starting to get decidedly merry by this time, and, having settled the bill, set off for the final venue, the Zum Paulaner, whose famous beer came highly recommended by my Leipzig-based nephew.

As we wandered off to the Calvinstrasse, we felt the first drops of rain fall. I used my maps to cover my head. We appeared to have lost Dazza and Mrs A, who’d probably wandered off for a romantic dinner. The rest of us scurried into a pleasant looking inn and were greeted by a traditionally-dressed Frau, who led us off to a comfortable table. A glance at the menu ensured that this would indeed be the last post. There was even some food that looked like it wasn’t hugely meaty. The beer and vodka arrived and yet another toast was drunk. Then the food turned up, a meat-lover’s dream. Huge knuckles of port. Platters formed of various birds. A massive steak. A pasta thing with mushrooms that had a small amount of meat in it (mine). Everyone tucked in, and by the time the meal was finished, it was 21.30. We could see outside that the streets were less busy than early due to the heavy rain that had set in. So we decided to wait and have another drink to see if it cleared up. By 22.15, we decided that in view of the next morning’s early start, we’d better call it a night. As Pick Six and Matt had ended up in a room with a sofa, they kindly offered Steve overnight hospitality on that instead of the hostel he was booked into, and they went off to collect his bag. As the evening had turned out slightly less expensive than I’d though it would be, I told Mr E. and H. that I’d pay for a taxi back to the hotel. By 23.00, I was climbing into a very small bed, and trying not to think too much about what the next 24 hours would bring.

To be continued…

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The first design shows two Chelsea lions grasping the trophy underneath a crown. The second is in German and translates as: ‘Your city, your stadium, our cup’, a play on the banners the Bayern fans held up before kickoff.

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