“So much for this new Under-21 league eh?”

Last August, we were told that a new era of youth development was being ushered in when the Elite Player Performance Plan came into effect. Part of that was a ‘revamped’ Professional Development League at Under-21 level, with rules limiting over-age players and pushing for matches played between high-quality squads in stadia where fans could go to watch the players of tomorrow.

Clubs were said to be encouraged to keep their best players on their books rather than ferry them off out on loan in a bid to increase the quality of the product on the pitch. One or two did, but Chelsea loaned out a record high players – exceeding 30 – over the course of the campaign, and combined with the fact that nearly half of all U21 league fixtures were played at training grounds and behind closed doors, very little actually changed from the previous Reserve team setup.

Of course, the Premier League claim that the overall standard of play was better, but that can be attributed in large part to the improvements made in coaching in the last few years at junior level, with the players exposed to better learning now coming through at more notable levels.

Essentially, the only change for Chelsea was a fresh fixture list, which saw them take on sides from all round the country rather than just the Southern-based clubs. A return to Brentford’s Griffin Park only lasted for the first half of the season, with six of the last seven games played in front of no crowd at the club’s training ground, whilst even Chelsea TV’s live coverage of fixtures tapered off late in the season. The club’s official station showed just two of the last ten fixtures live, and scarcely carried considerable highlights either.

Throw it all together and you’re once again left with an environment which is hardly ideal for players to make the next step at the most crucial juncture of their careers. Whilst the national rhetoric has largely been to focus on grass-roots development and improved youth coaching, the glaring fact remains that when a player turns 18, the options available to him are scarce.

He’s unlikely to be good enough right away to jump into the first team, and most of the time isn’t ready for a loan spell. Even if he is, it’s not so simple as to just go out and find him a home. Options are finite as the shortlist of possible destinations is whittled down by playing style, potential playing time and those with the available resources, and so oftentimes the player is kept around to play in a Reserve – now Under-21 – league which feels empty and soulless, giving little by way of a taster of what it feels like to play for point, to play in front of a crowd, and to play with a purpose.

New Manchester United manager David Moyes is the latest high-profile name to lend his voice to those calling for B Teams to be allowed into the football league structure, whilst even some lower league bosses – Brentford’s Uwe Rosler most notably – have backed the idea. It’s clearly a non-starter of an idea for so many reasons but unless considerable changes are made in the 18-21 age group, we’re going to be going through the same charade every year and continue to ask ourselves why English (based) youngsters fail to make the same progress as some of their continental contemporaries.

Taking everything on face value this past season though, Chelsea did fairly well. They were ultimately let down in their pursuit of silverware by two spells of five games without a win, but otherwise they performed very well with what was statistically the Under-21 league’s youngest team.

Ten appearances for schoolboy Jeremie Boga and seven for fellow Under-16 Connor Hunte contributed heavily to that, but both got their opportunities on merit and showed that they were not just there to make up the numbers by weighing in with five combined goals; goals which also earned points and victories rather than just adding gloss to a result.

The core of the squad was made up of more experienced faces in Lewis Baker, Nathan Aké, Alex Davey, Billy Clifford and George Saville, but with loan moves materialising all over the place, a total of 43 players saw time under Drummy this season and all did so not only deservingly, but were up to the task to boot.

Islam Feruz – still a first year scholar by age – finished as leading scorer with eight goals, two more than the always impressive Baker, with Patrick Bamford grabbing four early strikes before departing to the MK Dons on loan. So impressive was Bamford that he also notched six assists, which was a team high, whilst Baker laid on five of his own to assert himself as one of the club’s outstanding players of 2012-13 in any age group.

We said goodbye to Conor Clifford, Adam Coombes, Rohan Ince, James Ashton and Ben Gordon midway through the season as Chelsea offered the quintet an early release from contracts which were set to expire this summer, whilst this summer will also see another few depart as the annual shake-up of the final ‘youth’ age group gets underway.

Next season’s team will likely feature much of this past season’s FA Youth Cup squad, as regulars Davey, Baker and Feruz are joined by John Swift, Ruben Loftus-Cheek, Adam Nditi and Alex Kiwomya on a more regular basis.

Hopefully, they’ll be able to kick off the 2013-14 campaign in a league which will have undergone summer changes by the Premier League to give them a better learning experience at this level. Whispers suggest the powers that be will be reviewing affairs; we live in hope that they’ll find the same glaring flaws that many have, and are able to address them as best they can for now.

Coming tomorrow…an international recap

Club: Zulte-Waregem (Belgium)
Appearances: 34 (4 goals)

The Story
Fresh off the back of big brother Eden arriving in SW6 last summer, Thorgan also made the relatively short hop across the channel from the Nord Pas-de-Calais region of France to don the blue shirt of the then Champions of Europe.

It was a curious move, not least because whilst Eden had sparkled on the bigger stages and announced himself as one of the foremost young talents in Europe, Thorgan had taken the quieter road and managed a handful of second-tier outings for Lens, local rivals of his big brother’s Lille. It therefore made most sense (to some journalists) to link the move of one brother to another and suggest that it was a deal made simply to appease Eden.

Ten months down the line, and the second of the four footballing Hazards has gone a long way to assuaging the many doubts people may have had about him as he played a key part in Zulte-Waregem’s unlikely ascent to the summit of Belgian football. They fell short of the title by failing to beat Anderlecht away on the final day – no easy task in itself – but booked themselves a spot in the Champions League qualifiers next season, an amazing feat for a club with such a tiny operating budget.

Thorgan plays more central and deeper in midfield than Eden does, adopting a more cerebral game of string-pulling and control, but still possesses some of the apparent family traits in being able to use both feet extremely well and having the flair for a spectacular goal or assist, as his highlight reel more than adequately testifies.

The Future
Thorgan spoke late in the season about being likely to stay at Zulte should they make the Champions League. An automatic berth would’ve made a return easier, giving him a stable environment which would doubtless provide comfort and confidence in a season where a strong impression could give him an outside shot of making any Belgian World Cup squads.

However, they’re likely to face a much bigger seeded team in the qualifiers and so the exposure of playing in a better league – England, Germany or the Netherlands stand out as options – could accentuate his profile even further and give him an even grander stage on which to shine. He’s also been linked with Anderlecht, who are themselves bound for the group stages and will be playing on the stage he now demands.

He might never scale the heights of his eldest brother but then again, very few will. Opportunities have come Thorgan’s way in the last twelve months and he’s made good on them. More will certainly come, and he has plenty going for him.

Club: Werder Bremen (Germany)
Appearances: 34 (10 goals)

The Story
De Bruyne is one of a few Chelsea loanees who many supporters would have loved to see in London this season instead of hundreds of miles away in Germany. His proven versatility – being able to play anywhere in central or attacking midfield and use both feet well – would have been a boon to a Blues squad which struggled under the weight of its longest ever fixture list, and his impressive production at Werder Bremen only rubbed salt into the wound.

The Belgian was the club’s outstanding player in a relegation-threatened season and put up some impressive statistics; ten goals and nine assists alongside some excellent passing and dribbling rates. There were times he appeared to be carrying the team on his back, especially given beleaguered manager Thomas Schaaf regularly moved him around the team in a bid to change shape and arrest poor spells of form. Regardless of the merits of sending him away, he’s doubtless a better player now for the experience.

It’s striking just how quickly he does everything; he’s dynamic in so many senses of the word. He’s blessed with sharp acceleration, he loves to play quick and incisive passes, and always appears to a step ahead of things mentally, seemingly seeing things others don’t. When he’s put in front of goal, he’s instinctive and unerring in his accuracy. He’s wonderfully complete for his tender age.

He’s also emerged as Belgium’s in-form player as the Red Devils look to qualify for a first World Cup Finals in twelve years. They’re firmly on track to be in Brazil in 2014 and whilst their squad features the likes of Eden Hazard, Romelu Lukaku, Thibaut Courtois, Vincent Kompany, Christian Benteke and others, it’s De Bruyne who has stood up and made himself counted when it’s mattered most. He’s had an outstanding campaign by any standards.

The Future
Unfortunately, whilst most clubs would take full advantage of such development and reap the rewards themselves, Kevin’s future at Chelsea is as up in the air as it ever has been. His Bundesliga performances have not gone unnoticed and he’s attracted attention from leading lights in Bayer Leverkusen and Borussia Dortmund, who may well go into next season as defending European Champions.

De Bruyne himself has been quiet, but his agent has regularly expressed that all he wants to do is play regularly. If Chelsea won’t guarantee him a consistent place next season, he could depart to a better club on loan – certainly one playing in Europe and ideally the Champions League – or even on a permanent basis if there’s a good enough offer and if the player is inclined to force the issue.

It would be a crying shame to lose a player of such gifted ability and talent without having ever had the chance to see him strut his stuff in SW6, but it wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened in recent years, so Chelsea fans are quite understandably nervous whilst awaiting to discover his fate.

Yet it’s precisely because, for the fourth season running, the young Blues have found themselves in marquee occasions playing for prestigious silverware that the outlook remains exceptionally positive. There are scant few clubs in the county who are able to speak of on-pitch academy records like Chelsea have put up in recent years – Fulham are perhaps the only one who come close with three Under-18 National League Final outings in a row – and whilst the success in translating that to the first team is yet to come, they are clearly on the right path.

Entering the campaign with as large a squad of eligible Under-18 (Under-19 for the NextGen Series, although the core of the squad were eligible for both) players as they ever have done, there was a clear aim to be competitive on every front, both in weekly league fixtures and in the cup competitions which ran throughout the season.

An unusual and favourable fixture list saw the youth team begin their new-league slate of games – created by a revamped playing structure under the EPPP guidelines – with six consecutive home games. Adi Viveash’s boys won all six to put themselves in the ascendancy, and whilst their form in the following six away games was less spectacular, they suffered just one defeat in twelve and were the highest-ranked team to qualify for the post-Christmas ‘Elite’ phase of competition.

Unfortunately, they weren’t able to keep that run going in a second half of the season heavily affected by injury and a packed cup schedule, but that was always likely to happen. Once again, it instead facilitated involvement for a crop of very talented Under-16s and Under-15s who we’ll be seeing a lot more of going forward. They got valuable playing time against a number of supremely talented and capable Under-18 teams and their development will have been done the world of good for the challenge they’ve been able to face.

That’s the way the academy operates though, and it was rarely greater evidenced than the body of players which made up the teams competing for silverware at home and overseas. Schoolboys Jeremie Boga, Charlie Colkett and Connor Hunte all made their presence felt at every level whilst Ola Aina and Charly Musonda both came into the reckoning later on when more options were required.

Sure, Chelsea could perhaps have won two cups with their ‘strongest’ available teams; Nathaniel Chalobah was eligible to feature in both, whilst he, Patrick Bamford, Lucas Piazon, Thorgan Hazard, Todd Kane and others all played in the group stages of the NextGen European jaunt.

That approach, though, would have minimal tangible benefit. Instead of having them tread water in search of glory, they’ve all been pushed on to bigger and bolder things in the professional game – the international game in the case of one or two – and asked the lads on the next rung of the ladder to continue climbing.

The same will happen next year, and the demands will be increased even more when they take their place in the UEFA Under-19 Champions League, which will replicate the group stage draw of the competition proper and run alongside the NextGen Series, for one year at least.

The finals themselves were ultimately disappointing in isolation, especially after the boys played some scintillating football en route to them. They had more than enough chances to win both games but across the three matches they conceded four penalties and scored an own goal to boot. Viveash spoke of small lessons to be learned and the need to score goals when opportunities arise, and they’ll be valuable experiences as these players develop.

Alex Kiwomya and Islam Feruz both netted ten goals (Feruz added more at Under-21 level), with the majority of them coming in the cups, whilst Lewis Baker, Jeremie Boga and Connor Hunte all weighed in with their fair share whenever they turned out for the Under-18 teams. In the league, Reece Mitchell had a stellar first half of the season before breaking his leg, laying on seven goals for his team-mates to remain the leading assist maker despite his premature end to the campaign.

Dion Conroy, Jordan Houghton, Jesse Starkey, Isak Ssewankambo, Jonathan Muleba, Fankaty Dabo and Kevin Wright all enjoyed productive first scholarship years and all bar the injured Houghton were given Under-21 bows before the end of the season. Towards April and May the likes of Ambrose Gnahore, George Cole and Chike Kandi saw increased playing time and they will feature heavily next season alongside the incoming group of already experienced first years.

Of course, there’s always departures in youth football, and to that end best wishes go to Nortei Nortey, Tom Howard, Ismail Seremba, Samuel Bangura and Walter Figueira as they leave Chelsea in search of the next step in their careers.

It’s been another fascinating ten months in the world of youth football. It all kicks off again in July, and we’ll do it all all over, with just as much fun.

Coming tomorrow…the Under-21s.

Club: Millwall
Appearances: 3

The Story
It’s a shame that things didn’t really work out for George this season, because he put himself in as good a position as possible only to be let down by decisions outside of his control.

A stand-out performer in the Under-21s, the next logical step was for him to find a loan move. Having made the first team bench on occasion, a debut failed to materialise despite ample opportunity to give him a cameo. He even travelled to Japan with the Club World Championship squad, but no playing time was forthcoming.

Neither was a loan deal, with Championship clubs turning down his services. That was, at least, until Millwall came along in January. Kenny Jackett took the defensive midfielder to The Den until the end of the season but despite a congested fixture list and a faltering team, Saville was afforded just two starts and three appearances in a wholly underwhelming stay in South London.

The Future
Chelsea must do better by George next season and find him a home – ideally in the Championship – where he’ll be able to play, and play regularly. He’s good enough to help out a number of second tier teams, and with a lot longer to strike a deal over the summer transfer window, hopefully good things will start to happen.

Club: Middlesbrough
Appearances: 38 (0 goals)

The Story
Whatever the collective thoughts of Chelsea and Middlesbrough fans about Josh, the young midfielder will have learned a lot about professional football in the 2012-13 season and he will be a much better player for the experience of a first full campaign in the adult game.

Since exploding onto the scene as a 17 year-old midfielder under Carlo Ancelotti, hopes have been exceedingly high for the left-footed schemer, but having been on such a fast-track to reach that stage, things have slowed down since then, and it’s arguably for the greater good. A failed loan spell at Swansea in 2011-12 drew concerns as to whether he ‘had what it takes’, but whilst many watched a fellow young left-footed midfielder in Jack Wilshere pushed on to become an England regular, they grew concerned about the progress of young Josh.

Those comparisons were unfair in the first place, though, for Wilshere and McEachran are two very different players. The former is a more dynamic and robust midfielder who is keen to play with a high tempo and assert himself on proceedings in the attacking third, whilst McEachran has gone to often great lengths to portray himself as a puller of strings, preferring to sit deeper in midfield and build the play patiently and creatively.

That’s where he spent most of the season under Tony Mowbray at Middlesbrough, and he generally did very well. The Scottish boss occasionally used him on the right of a flat midfield four – particularly early in the season – in a move which brought his defensive game along leaps and bounds, but as the campaign wore on he gave his young loanee more tactical responsibility and the player responded in kind with a growing role.

Critics will point at a lack of goals – he failed to notch at the Riverside – and a low tally of assists, but that falls upon a false perception of the player creating unrealistic hopes. In 65 youth and reserve outings at Chelsea, Josh scored just 8 goals, with a decent number amongst those coming from set pieces or simple opportunism. He likes to play a more unassuming role and when analysing what he did in a Boro team which fell off a cliff in the second half of the season, there were more positives than negatives.

The Future
Having spent a full season away from home, learning about the rigours of a campaign fighting for points that matter and results which are more valuable than anything he’s previously played for, the puzzle is beginning to look a lot closer to completion for Josh. He has long since had the requisite technical ability to play a role for Chelsea, but, like most players of his age, needed a bit of work on the mental and physical side of things.

He’s never going to be much bigger than he is right now, but appearances can be deceiving and he’s surprisingly strong when he needs to be. It’ll take a brave manager to really integrate some of the burgeoning young talent at Chelsea into the first team but in McEachran they’ll have a genuine candidate to play in a deep-lying creative midfield role who is closer to being ‘ready’ than he ever has been.

It started on the morning of the draw for the semi-final, when I had an attack of “Early Booker’s Syndrome”. I had made my mind up. If we were drawn against Basle, with the second leg at home, I would organise the trip and secure a flight and hotel at hopefully a reasonable price, rather than wait until after the first leg. This course of action does require a certain degree of commitment; if you book a cheap (i.e. non-refundable) flight, you either have to be prepared to say goodbye to the cash or go ahead with your trip whatever happens. So I waited with baited breath for the draw and – bingo.

Having spent some time earlier that morning negotiating the time off work, and sourcing a flight, as soon as Basle were the third team out of the hat I pressed select for my £120 flight to Amsterdam and followed this purchase up with a reservation for a four star boutique hotel near the Rijksmuseum that didn’t have to be paid for until the day, and could be cancelled with no charge. The hotel location was a matter of some deliberation. Having experienced the bedlam around Munich railway station after the 2012 final, there was no way that I was going to spend precious sleeping hours listening to the sound of breaking glass. There was also the issue of who else would qualify for the final; the Benfica fans were definitely more likely to make for a quiet night than Fenerbache’s fanatical support.

As the week of the semi-final first leg approached, I watched the price of my flight climb northwards. After the narrow first leg victory, it became steadily steeper, and I prided myself on my foresight. By the time the aggregate victory had been secured, it was vertical. May Bank Holiday weekend found me paying a visit to Old Mother Baby in Birmingham. After we’d watched Chelsea’s brilliant victory against Manchester Utd, I decided to show my nephew @THEREALMODDERZ how much the flight would cost if booked now. It was a staggering £593.

The final came around very quickly – a bare 13 days between reaching the final and the game itself. I had been liaising with the usual suspects who had been making their travel arrangements separately. I was flying from London City. Mr E, who has now decided that he really doesn’t mind the publicity generated by this column and will henceforth be known by his nickname of CeleryCelery (Celery for short), was flying out from Southampton.

H., having relocated to the West Country, was undertaking a nightmare outbound journey in order to keep costs down of coach from Taunton to Amsterdam – just 21 hours – and flying back. Dazza A. was also flying from London City, albeit on a different flight to myself. Celery had booked the boys a budget hotel in De Wallen –€120 for the three of them. Normally the room costs €80. I looked at the website. It looked….adequate.

The good thing about London City is it’s my nearest airport, so there was going to be no overnight stay, and the fare there would simply be a deduction from the PAYG element of my monthly Travelcard. My flight was at 08.40, so I wouldn’t need to get up till 5am, but unfortunately 3.39am saw me wide awake. I lay there listening to the wind and hoping it wouldn’t affect the flight. Last time I’d flown out of London City had been to Nice with The Former Mr Baby when Chelsea played Monaco in 2004. I’m not exactly keen on the runway – planes take off almost vertically.

At 04.50, I heaved myself out of bed and got dressed slowly, making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything crucial like my passport or match ticket. Almost everything else was expendable. It only took 50 minutes to get to the airport via bus, tube and DLR. Indeed, the security check seemed to take longer. Unfortunately, despite all my efforts, something triggered the alarm and I was given a severe and thorough search by a boot-faced female official. Recovering my equilibrium, I headed for Departures in search of breakfast, which consisted of porridge and cappuccino. As my flight was called, and I headed to Gate 2, I heard my name being called. It turned out Dazza A was boarding the BA flight that was due to depart slightly before mine. We greeted each other enthusiastically and looked forward to meeting at the designated pub in Amsterdam.

I had no idea how short the flight to Amsterdam actually is; only 40 minutes. Although we didn’t get in the air until 08.55, we touched down on Dutch soil at 10.30 local time. Fantastic, I thought. Be at the hotel by 11.30. The problem with Schipol is that it’s absolutely massive. It makes Heathrow look like Altenberg (outside Leipzig), which is almost literally a portacabin. And if you’re coming in from the east, you land about 10 miles from the terminal and taxi in, so it was almost 11.00am before we reached the stand. I honestly thought we were driving all the way to Amsterdam. Eventually, however, the passengers, many of whom were Chelsea, staggered off. It took ages to get to Arrivals – I found it confusing that we seemed to be coming out through Departures.

I circumnavigated passport control by choosing the quicker queue of ‘EU Passports Only’, and made my way through towards the exit. Another vast space. Where was the train station? Where could I get a ticket? I was feeling decidedly disorientated. I managed to find the ticket office and parted with €4.40. I located the correct platform for departures to Amsterdam. There was a text from Celery saying he’d emailed me details of the pub. I hadn’t received it. He texted back he’d send details. I just missed a train and had to wait 15 minutes for the next.

I’m very partial to a double-decker train as we don’t have them in the UK. I found myself sitting opposite someone who sits in the row behind me in the West Stand. At Amsterdam Central I skirted the crowds by following the locals to the other end of the stairs. A nice man in the ticket office directed me to where I could buy tickets for the trams and metro. As I crossed the square, I was stunned by the number of English touts trying to sell tickets for the game. My two-day travelcard secured, I made my way over to the tram stop, and, after an anxious twenty minutes, found myself at Hoobestrat, just around the corner from my hotel, where I received a warm welcome and was able to check in straightaway. The room, though small, was extremely well-appointed and comfortable. I doubted if the boys would be able to say the same of Ben’s.

By this time, Celery had texted to say the pub was “The Wildman”, but failed to provide an address, so I took this information to my new friends on reception, who were able to tell me exactly where it was. Back on the tram, tracing my way back into town, I judged the correct stop to get off and, much to my surprise, found my way to the pub, which is actually called Indewildman, where Celery and H. were already in situ (Dazza had gone for a fag).

The boys were already on their second half-pint, but I declined a drink. I wanted to have lunch, and had spotted a little Italian restaurant a couple of doors away. We were expecting as many as half a dozen other people to turn up for drinks/collect tickets, but by 2.30pm Celery was getting tetchy as 2pm had been the appointed muster time. I started rocking forward and backwards, moaning ‘I’m hungry, daddy’. Eventually at 3pm, H and I had had enough and sallied forth to the Italian, where we rapidly consumed pizza and tortelloni respectively. When we returned to the pub 45 minutes later, the rest of the party had arrived, and I decided it was probably time for a drink.

As usual, the continental measure of vodka turned out to be a treble. After that, my curiosity got the better of me and I went for a little wander around the narrow alleyways surrounding the pub. I passed an English pub proudly displaying a Chelsea flag with the legend ‘MINGE, PUFF & BEER TOUR 2013’. I decided against investigating further. Arriving back at the pub, I found myself feeling dizzy. This I attributed to my stroll, the streets around the pub being full of smokers. And I don’t mean Benson & Hedges. I decided another drink would make me feel better.

About 5pm, the Irish Bruvvas, together with Dazza A., decided they’d head for Dam Square, where they heard Chels were out in force, but Celery wanted some food prior to heading out to the ground. So we went into a nearby coffee house and had some more drinks. The Bruvvas and Dazza then headed towards Dam and the rest of us wandered off towards the Central Station, albeit unwillingly in the case of myself and H., being partial to some blue mobhandedness ourselves. So Celery sent us off to the Dam, but unfortunately we couldn’t find the rest of the firm and wandered about a bit. Then we decided we’d get the Metro out to the ground, and H. decided to take on Benfica all-comers in a singing contest, and a nice chap offered me a seat, which I gratefully took. The train we were on was an express. Good. Problem was it didn’t stop at our end of the ground. Bad. So we had to hike from one end of the stadium to another, but we stopped for a pint of Grolsch between us and had another passive smoke.

We finally reached our gate and H. spotted what looked like a Portuguese camera crew getting ready to interview some Benfica fans. He decided he was going to divebomb it and spent the duration hanging around in the background. It was nearly 8pm by this time, so we decided to head into the ground, and managed to keep our celery intact.

The Amsterdam Arena is a strange ground in that it appears to be on stilts. Usually if you are in the lower tier of a stadium, you don’t find yourself having to walk up several flights of stairs. My knees were giving out by the time we got to the top. I hope those who were in the upper tier had access to an escalator. I decided to visit the facilities (two toilets for the whole of the Chelsea female support) and bought a €10 payment card for some half time refreshments. I then went to find my seat and was delighted to see that I was effectively in the front row, with no-one sitting around me and I would have an unencumbered view of the game and be able to sit down as much as I liked.

I managed to spot where the reunited Celery, H. and Dazz were sitting, and went over to tell them I’d bring them a cooling drink at half-time. Then it was time for the opening ceremony, which was rather pretty, involved windmills and tulips, and for some reason was reminiscent of Euro 96. Patrick Kluivert brought the trophy out. Then the teams came on to the pitch and lined up for the sci-fi-esque Europa League anthem and pre-match handshakes.

Benfica spent large parts of the first half all over Chelsea, however, the Blues negotiated the first half safely. On 40 minutes I decided to beat the rush for the two loos, and discovered that Amsterdam Arena’s plans to mitigate queues at kiosks had resulted in most people not being arsed to buy payment cards, so I swiftly purchased two cups of water and an alcohol-free beer and took them to share with the grateful chaps. My route back to my seat also enabled me to stop off with various friends dotted around the lower tier.

As the second half got under way, it was clear that Chelsea were upping their game. Attack followed attack and then, in the 60th minute, it happened. Cech’s long punt upfield cut through a sloppy Benfica defence and found Torres, who showed immense composure to round Artur, frantically scrabbling at the forward’s ankles, and slide it into the net. The Chelsea end of the stadium erupted, and all around the ground pockets of celebration broke out. But our joy was short-lived. Just seven minutes after taking the lead Benfica equalised through Cardozo’s penalty after Azpilicueta was adjudged to have handled the ball. Stalemate. Surely we weren’t going to have to suffer extra-time for two years in a row?

After 82 minutes, we were lucky not to be 2-1 down, as Cech brilliantly tipped a 20-yard volley from Cardozo over the bar. Another minute later and Jardel nodded a corner over the bar. We were hanging on for dear life. And then, on 88 minutes, Frank Lampard’s brilliant shot hits the crossbar from 30 yards. Every Chelsea supporter in the stadium seems to put their hands on their head.

It became clear that if either side scored now, that would be the end. Three minutes of injury time. It looked like another late night. Then, in the third minute of injury time, Branna Ivanovic rose in the air like a salmon to meet Mata’s cross, and his header looped over Artur. Cue every Chelsea fan jumping around like a thing madder than Mad Jack McMad, winner of last year’s Mr Madman competition.

Well over the three minutes injury time allotted, the referee blew his whistle. I stood there with my hands on my head and watched the players celebrate. Munich was such a massive turning point in our history that my main recollection is being hugged by friends and crying. This time I wanted to remember seeing the players celebrate their success. Then I watched as they formed a deserved guard of honour for the defeated Portuguese. You could see Platini looking decidedly miffed as he handed out the losers’ medals. It’s pretty certain that this time last year he would never have guessed he’d have had to hand out UEFA’s top prizes to us twice in the space of a year.

And then it was time for the players to go up. It had been announced that Branna had totally deservedly been awarded the man of the match award. John Terry surprised virtually no-one by turning up in full kit to collect his medal. Eusebio looked sad, but was extremely gracious in defeat, and then as the puffing UEFA chairman struggled to get the awkwardly shaped trophy into the optimum position for lifting, it was celebration time once more. As the players posed for the obligatory picture on the pitch, the stadium P.A. launched into a Chelsea medley including Blue Is The Colour, The Liquidator, Blue Tomorrow and a joyous One Step Beyond. Branna was on the crossbar. Again. David Luiz had spent some time praying on the pitch. I hoped that SW6 was having a good party.

Finally, the fans started drifting out of the stands. I’d arranged to meet the boys by their gate and we invested the remnants of the payment card in another cup of water. The way down the stairs was much easier than the way up. We met Dan The Badge Man, collecting the Flight Options punters. This time we were going to the train station nearest our stand. And here was the one part of the day that was disappointing. Stewarding and policing had been very light, however, the entrance to the train station is through a tunnel and then you funnel off to the various turnstiles. Unfortunately, because there are always those who can’t be arsed to wait for just a few minutes longer, mainly because they can’t wait to get back to the pub, there was quite a lot of pushing and it became rather dangerous. ‘Don’t worry!’ boomed Celery. ‘I’ll protect you’.

Thankfully we managed to untangle ourselves from the crush and made our way through the turnstiles and up to the platform. It took three attempts to get on a train, but we were back in town at 11.45pm, all in agreement that other than the crowding outside the train station, it had not been anywhere near as bad as Munich.

Happily, Indewildeman had said they would be open till 1am, so we staggered back down through De Wallen, with both H. and Dazza detouring in to McDonald’s for some food. However, they took one look at the size of the queue and came out again, only to disappear into the burger shop next to the pub. Celery stood at the bar whilst I scouted for a table. I gave him €20 and told him to get a round in. I managed to snaffle a table and five minutes later he appeared with two beers and a vodka and something that didn’t look like lemonade. It wasn’t. It was tonic. I hate tonic, but I said I’d drink it. At least it was a drink, which was more than I got after the Champions League win last year. I said ‘Where are the other drinks?’ Celery said ‘What other drinks?’ ‘The ones for H. and Dazza’ I replied. ‘There aren’t any. They chose to go and get food’.

Now, in spite of appearances/reputation to the contrary, I’m actually quite a gentle soul. I hate violence and conflict. I rarely row with my friends on the grounds it’s not worth it. However, on this occasion I opined that not buying H and Dazza a beer on the grounds that they needed to go somewhere to eat was a low and scurvy trick, that I had given him €20 and told him to get a round, i.e. everyone, in and he had failed. I went to the bar immediately to rectify matters but it was too late. Last orders were 12.30 and they couldn’t serve any more. I was not a happy baby, I felt terrible for Dazza and H. deprived of a celebratory drink and, by now, outside with their burgers. I went out to explain the situation, but a young chap outside the pub said that the pub literally one yard opposite was still serving, so I went back and drank as much of the vodka and tonic as I could stomach, Celery consumed his two half-pints and we repaired over the road.

Unluckily for me, they’d run out of vodka (disaster) so it had now reached the stage where the boys had drinks but I didn’t. So I perused the wide variety of beverages behind the bar and spotted a magical bottle bearing the legend ‘LICOR 43’. My favourite post-dinner drink in Spain. And one is enough. So I had what appeared to be a double measure with masses of ice. Strangely enough, the pub was getting busier rather than emptier, and Dazza voiced the opinion that there was no point moving on again as the optical evidence suggested other pubs might be closing. By this time (about 1.45am) H. was threatening to go to sleep on the snooker table, and I wondered if I should make tracks for Jan Luijkenstraat if I was to do the cultural bit in the morning. So I bade a fond farewell till Sunday to Celery, and see you next season to Dazz, and H and I left.

After protracted negotiations with a couple of cabbies (I thought €20 back to my hotel was a possible scam), I said goodnight to H. and went off in a taxi. In fairness, even though it was the middle of the night and there wasn’t much traffic, it did seem the hotel was further out than I had thought it was, must have been at least a fifteen minute journey, so €20 was probably just about right. I rang the doorbell of the hotel and stated my room number, and was admitted. It was 2.15am and by the time I’d scraped off my face, put the TV on BBC News to see if they’d mention our win (they didn’t) and had some water, it was 2.45am.

I’d set the alarm for 9am to have a shower and wash my hair, but I was awake at 8.30, so the TV went on again in time to see BBC Breakfast’s handsome account of our triumph. I decided I’d eat breakfast at the hotel in spite of the cost, and managed some orange juice, cereal, scrambled egg, bacon, smoked salmon, pineapple, melon, toast, rye bread, croissant and chocolate brioche, together with a pot of delicious coffee clearly designed for two people. My head ached a little, but other than that, I felt quite well and decided I’d check out of the hotel, leaving my holdall at reception, and visit the Rijksmuseum and then either the Diamond or van Gogh Museum, all of which were five minutes’ walk from the hotel. A sightseeing bus and canal trip would have also been nice, but due to the inclement weather forecast, and the fact I’d need to leave for the airport at 4pm, I decided to do just the two indoor trips.

I started off at the Rijksmuseum, which only re-opened at the end of April following a nine year refurbishment programme. The €15 entrance might seem a little steep, but is worth every penny. From the outside, the building is reminiscent of the restored St Pancras in London, but the inside is more akin to the Musee D’Orsay in Paris, and is full of treasures, each of which has room to breathe and plenty of space for visitors to move about. The only exception to this is the salon where Rembrandt’s greatest hits, including The Night Watch, are displayed. That was packed out with visitors. I absolutely loved the dolls houses, each of which contained staggering details, and had little steps on front of them for visitors to be able to see into the top floors. The early rooms – 1100 to 1600AD – also score highly for religious artefacts, many of which date to before The Alteration. If you’re looking for van Gogh, there are a couple of fine works including a self-portrait on display here, but you will need to visit the van Gogh museum (also recently re-opened) five minutes down the road.

After three hours of wandering around, I thought it was probably time for refreshments, but the museum cafes were heaving, so I headed outside, where it was now raining heavily, to the Cobra Café, where I had an excellent cappuccino. I was still weighing up which museum to do next, and decided on the Diamond Museum, so that I’d have an excuse to come back some day and do the van Gogh.

The Diamond Museum is €7.50, and is good value for a couple of hours. An introductory film has an English commentary available, and is an interesting look at the of the diamond trade and its place in Dutch history. You then move through a series of rooms showing various cuts of diamonds and the equipment used to turn them from rough diamonds. There’s an interactive section where you can ‘crown’ yourself, a screen showing famous diamond-related films, and a wall showing some of history’s most famous diamond heists. Another room shows various crowns and is accompanied by coronation/installation film clips. The final room shows Coster Diamonds’ audacious version of the Hirst Skull. The Coster Skull contains 177,000 diamonds – more than the Hirst version. And if you’ve got time, you can visit Coster’s showroom next door to see diamonds being cut. And if you’ve got money, you can buy some. Sadly the House of Baby doesn’t run to such extravagance.

It was still raining and now almost time to head back to the station, so I went back to the hotel to collect my holdall and use the facilities. En route for the loo, the door to the spa was open and I could see a massive jacuzzi bath. I wished I’d brought my swimming costume with me. I only had a couple of minutes to wait for the tram and the double-decker train took me back to their airport with plenty of time to check in so I ram-raided the Leonidas chocolate counter before I headed into Departures. Much to my surprise, other than my passport being checked, there didn’t seem to be any security checks in place. I thought how odd, for a major hub airport. I had put some money aside for @StamfordBluez’s birthday present so I went into the Duty Free shop and got her something nice and girly, and brought a Chanel mascara for myself which has given me lashes like a spider’s legs, as anyone who saw me at the Chelsea Fancast end of season party will attest.

My gate had already been posted, so I wandered towards it, stopping off at the food court for a hot sausage roll and a coke (I was planning on eating between the airport and home in London). CNN was on in the seating area and the breaking news was that David Beckham had announced his retirement. Tosser, I thought. Trust him to take the limelight from our win last night.

When I eventually got to the gate I realised why I hadn’t been through security yet – because it was at the gate. A novel concept, although rather annoying. I’d rather go through security as soon as I get to the airport and get it over with rather than then be trying to divest myself again. By the time everyone had cleared the checks, it was time for the flight to board, and when the plane was preparing for take-off, the single biggest phrase heard was ‘it’s hot on this plane’. The rain continued unabated outside. Even though the air-time was again only 40 minutes, the cabin staff served drinks and sandwiches. And much to my surprise, when we were on the approach to London the sun was shining, affording a splendid view of London from the air. And although London City was busy with business people returning from meetings in Europe and Chelsea fans returning from glory in Europe, the queues at passport control moved swiftly, and within 15 minutes I was on the DLR, bound for a quick meal, home and bed.

I only did one European trip this season. But it’s very near the top of Travels With The Chels.

I’ll be back later in the week with the next in our series Natters With The Chels, when we’ll be having a chat with Acting Chair of the Chelsea Supporters Trust, Tim Rolls. In the meantime you can follow me on Twitter @BlueBaby67.

Club(s): Preston North End, Blackburn Rovers
Appearances: 5 (Preston North End), 14 (Blackburn Rovers)

The Story
It was an eventful season for young Todd Kane, who spent most of it up in the glamorous North West of England. Initially named as Dermot Drummy’s Under-21 team captain for the season, the energetic right-back was summoned to Preston North End in November by manager Graham Westley, who was searching for cover in an injury-hit position.

He didn’t really hit it off at Deepdale, making five appearances and not earning an extended stay. He was used just as often in an attacking role as he was at the back, but it was generally a woeful season for the Lilywhites, and Westley would receive his P45 not long after Kane departed.

A more positive step materialised early in the January transfer window when Todd linked up with Blackburn Rovers. It’s odd for someone with relatively little experience to actually jump up the leagues in a season, but Rovers’ caretaker manager Gary Bowyer liked what he saw in the player who had scored against him in a Reserve Final a couple of years earlier and secured his short-term services.

He returned after new full-time manager Michael Appleton took charge but shortly before he was farcically sacked, a second deal was struck and he’s been there ever since. The team didn’t play well at all but Todd earned plaudits from supports and fans alike, whilst Bowyer – by now back in charge – said he was an infectious character who seemed to have been with the club all his life.

The Future
A new contract arrived at the back end of the season, keeping a lifelong Blues fan with his favourite team for the next few years at least. With many right-backs ahead of him in the pecking order and a fair bit of development left to do, he knows his time is yet to come, and a return to Ewood Park again next season is a deal which would make a lot of sense this summer.

Club: Colchester United
Appearances: 18 (1 goal)

The Story
Having proved himself far too good to be playing regularly at Under-21 level, and with no first team opportunities coming his way (well, he doesn’t have a Brazilian or Dutch name not the high price tag that comes with it), a loan move was top of Billy Clifford’s must-do list for 2012-13. Despite being hawked to a handful of Championship clubs, none of them took a chance on the versatile midfielder, and their loss turned out to be Colchester United’s gain.

Initially lining up in attacking midfield before being used commonly in the two-man midfield in a 4-2-3-1 formation not dissimilar to the one utilised by Chelsea, Clifford was entrusted with being the fulcrum of Colchester’s play under manager Joe Dunne and proved himself extremely adept, providing impetus (not to mention a number of set-piece assists) and flair as the U’s staged a sensational second half of the season turnaround to avoid relegation.

The Future
Billy clearly enjoyed his first taste of the professional game and the tangible meaning and reward that comes with every game. He’ll turn 21 early next season and has a couple of years remaining on his deal at Stamford Bridge, so you would imagine another loan spell is in the offing. Hopefully, those Championship clubs which chose to pass on him earlier this season will have had a re-think and he gets the chance to try his arm in the second tier, because everything he’s shown over the last two seasons or so suggests he’s more than capable of succeeding.

Saturday 19th May saw tens of thousands of Chelsea fans stream into Munich via air, train, and even road, with hotel rates going through the roof, and many fans planning to make their way back in the middle of the night after the game. A glorious spring day saw beer gardens and squares throughout the city packed with supporters of both clubs enjoying the sunshine. Even problems with the U-bahn system failing to cope with the numbers of passengers couldn’t spoil the day, and as the sun set, the Champions League anthem rang out around the Allianz Stadium, and the Munichers unveiled a giant mosaic with the ominous words.

Unsere Stadt. Unser Stadion. Unser Pokal.

Our City. Our Stadium. Our Trophy.

The teams shook hands and the game began. A tense 45 minutes ensued, with John Obi Mikel a titan in midfield, and young Ryan Bertrand showing no sign of youthful nerves. 0-0 at half time. So far, so good, but Bayern were looking ominous. Into the second half. Gomez and Robben both miss sitters. On 83 minutes – disaster. Kroos’ cross met Muller, who headed the ball down into the ground. It bounced up, over Cech and, to the utter horror of the Chelsea support, went in off the crossbar. In an attempt to shore up the defence and keep Chelsea out, Muller was replaced by van Buyten.

Then, on 88 minutes, blessed relief. Mata’s corner found Drogba’s head, and he powered it into the net. Indeed, Chelsea could have won the game in injury time, but Drogba smashing a late free kick over the bar.

Extra time. Drogba foul on Ribery. Penalty to Bayern. Inevitable defeat for Chelsea. But Robben’s weak shot was saved by Cech. The game limped on to penalties. To the outrage of the away fans, not only did the penalties take place at the Bayern end, but they took the first one.

Lahm slammed his penalty into the right-hand side of the goal past Petr Cech. 1-0 to Bayern.

Next Mata delicately chipped Neuer to make it 1-1.

Gomez’s pen also hit the bottom right – 2-1 to Bayern. Luiz buried Chelsea’s second penalty into the top corner. 2-2.

Goalkeeper Neuer’s bravery was rewarded when his shot crept into the bottom left hand corner, just beating the diving Cech. 3-2 to Bayern. Lampard smashed his penalty down the middle to make it 3-3.

Olić stepped to take the fourth Bayern penalty and sent Petr Cech the wrong way. 4-3 to Bayern. Then disaster. Ashley Cole’s right-hand shot was brilliantly saved by Neuer, who pushed it round the post. The Bayern fans around the stadium jumped up and down with delight as they realised they were one kick away from winning.

Bastian Schweinsteiger put the ball down on the penalty spot and walked calmly away. The stadium held its breath. A five pace run up, a clean strike of the ball, left-footed into the net, sending Cech the wrong way. 5-3 to Bayern.

The stadium exploded. Bayern fans on all sides of the ground jumped for joy. Their Chelsea counterparts stood in silence. It was too much for some Chelsea supporters, particularly younger fans, many of whom wept and had to be comforted by family and friends. Several thousand left the stadium immediately for the long trek back to the u-bahn, unable to watch another team go up and lift the trophy following a new shootout failure. Many, however, stayed on to salute their heroes. David Luiz sat in the centre circle and wept uncontrollably. Didier Drogba sank to his knees and sobbed. Player after player trudged past the Bayern guard of honour up the stairs to collect their losers’ medal from UEFA President Michel Platini, who was barely able to keep the smirk off his face. One by one, the players pulled their silver medals from around their necks and made their way down the stairs to sympathetic applause from the home support, and dragged themselves over to the Chelsea end of the stadium. Both the old and young guard were on the verge of tears. John Terry thumped his chest and saluted the crowd. Hands over head, Frank Lampard clapped the supporters with tears in his eyes. Meanwhile, Bayern captain Philip Lahm had reached the platform and was collecting the Champions League trophy to the acclaim of the crowd. Ticker-tape exploded around the stadium and the Champions League anthem rang out.

That was enough for the disconsolate Chelsea supporters, who left the stadium for the long drag back to the U-Bahn station, where already heavy queues were building up. The transit system, which had struggled to cope with the volume of passengers throughout the day, was becoming downright dangerous, with supporters fighting to get on trains and get back to town for a consolation drink. Trains were held in tunnels for ten, fifteen, minutes at a time, causing passengers serious discomfort. Even back in town, the travails weren’t over, with sporadic outbreaks of disorder in the centre of Munich as the jubilation of the Munich fans became too much for some supporters.

The defeated Chelsea team arrived back in London on Sunday afternoon, the hoped-for victory parade cancelled. On Monday Chelsea issued a press release stating that a decision on Roberto Di Matteo’s future as Chelsea manager would be made by the end of the week. Radio phone-ins and social media were flooded with calls and messages from fans saying that Robbie had taken the club as far as he could and a more experienced manager was needed.

On Friday 25th May, Chelsea issued a statement advising that whilst the club thanked Roberto Di Matteo for taking the club to two cup finals in 2012, his contract as manager would not be renewed.

Speculation as to the identity of the new manager continue to rage until it was announced on 21st June that the new manager of Chelsea FC would be ………..