“Defensive header from Chelsea. Barcelona win it back though. Big shout for hand ball then [as Cole clears, Torres alone on half way line]. And he’s in! This could be the most dramatic story of the Season. It’s Torres. To give Chelsea. A place. In the Champions League Final [he rounds Valdez, cue Neville orgasm] UN-BE-LIEV-ABLE! Unbelievable!”
Torres has settled it for Chelsea; we are in the Champions League Final! The away crowd are going berserk, every Chelsea fan in London, the UK and around the world are going berserk. Torres is covered by his team mates, we’ve done the so called impossible!!!
From that moment on, just after I’d got carpet burns after knee sliding in my front room as unfortunately couldn’t make it to Spain, there were only two places any Chelsea fan (in the south of England at least) could watch the final, either Munich or Stamford Bridge. As I wasn’t a STH and didn’t have enough members’ points, my only realistic option was to be at the Bridge. So at the last game of the season I enquired where it would be on (front office desk between the Megastore and ticket office were shocking and barely knew what the CL final was!). Brogans turned out to be the best option. Just see YouTube for some reasons. Sarah had also emailed me saying what time to get there.
Then every day seemed to build the tension once we knew we’d be playing Bayern Munich – in their own stadium. At least we already know we’d lose on penalties if it went that far!
The week before the game I wrote my second blog for www.tattooedfootball.com, as I was only thinking about the final anyway so may as well share my thoughts. One of my daughters Hannah wrote a comment on it and even she was getting excited for me, Luke gave her the title of unofficial mascot of the site and she’s still beaming about it. And no I didn’t put Bertrand in front of Cole, but I’m glad Robbie did!
Then on Wednesday 16th through to the Friday afternoon I had a faint hope of getting a ticket through a long and unlikely grapevine, I could actually make the final!! The virtual ticket seemed to be in my grasp more times than Tottenham ‘had’ a Champions League place throughout the season. Then at the death, like with Tottenham, it was taken away. By now my mind set was ‘I’m going to Germany’. I’d already dug out my passport the Wednesday night. That’s it, I’m going anyway. So I booked the earliest ferry I could and explained the situation to my gorgeous girls Megan & Hannah, who I usually have every weekend. They understood as I’d already planned to have them on the Sunday so I could be at the Bridge for the game. They seemed a little shocked that I’d drive to Germany, but pleased I’d be there. Their main concern was ‘so you’re going to Germany and I didn’t even know about it?’ thinking that it was planned and hadn’t told them.
The car would be filled with drinks, snacks, duvets, my girlfriend Katie, my Mum, who was born and brought up in Chelsea, and with all things Chelsea. Mum had to get to mine for when I got home from my work near St Paul’s, which would be about 7pm and we needed to leave about 10pm for Dover. When I got home, I had already started shaking my fist in excitement: I’m going to Munich!!
My Chelsea top was hanging in the bedroom window and my step daughter Ellie kept asking in amazement, ‘what, you’re going ALL that way and you haven’t got a ticket?’.
I think the only reason we wouldn’t go would be if any of the 3 girls had an issue and wanted to be with us, so a big thanks to them all for understanding my illogical loyalty to being at Chelsea games where they happen.
10pm came and we bundled ourselves into the car, duvets and pillows and all. These would be the best things besides our passports as we didn’t have any hotels booked. The neighbours were none too pleased with me singing Carefree on my way to the car, so I sang a song for them too, “I’m going to Germany, you’re going back to bed, I’m going to Germany, you’re going back to bed”. Couple of quick pics with the scarf and flags before getting in the car and we were off. 740 miles to go.
Fast forward to Dover, getting told off for driving 20mph in the Dover Port 5mph zone, forgetting to get ANY Euros, Scooby Doo on the ferry TV and arrive in France about 3.20am, 19th May 2012. After today, the world will never be the same.
It was obviously dark in Calais as I drove off the ferry and we hadn’t actually sorted out the sat nav by the time I took a right, instead of left out of the port. A quick search for the Munich town centre on the Tom-tom, my first experience of going round a roundabout the wrong way and we were heading in the right direction towards Dunkirk, which stirred up the old England v Germany rivalry, as if I needed to be stirred up for this match!
By now my caring Mum had asked my if I’m ok (not too tired to drive) approximately 10 times. I’ll update you on this count throughout this story. I’d driven around the UK in past jobs and have never been too bothered about sleep, so driving through the night and not sleeping until the next night didn’t bother me. Plus I’m 31 with two kids, step daughter and haven’t lived at home for 13 years. I kept myself awake with memories of past Euro nights at the Bridge seeing as after Dunkirk I was heading for Brugge. ‘You’re French and you know you are’, ‘Let’s all do a Seaman’ and ‘Furlong from the 6 yard box’ end of season songs (2.1 v Arsenal after the Nayim goal), my first European season when we beat, amongst others, Club Brugge in the CWC. Happy days and one of the last for the old West Benches.
I knew the route the sat nav was taking us so knew we’d be going near the autobahn, which has always been a dream to drive around (talking specifically about the section Top Gear raced a van round), though perhaps not with a sleeping GF and Mum in tow, at 6am by the time we got to Germany through Belgium. But at least this was a good time to stop for a rest, stretch the legs and grab some breakfast.
“Are you OK?” Count 34. Yes Mum I’m fine thanks.
After the first proper pit stop we got back on the road with me making out I knew exactly where we were in Europe, explaining how we’re following part of the route the brave men took after landing on the beaches in 1944. It was, of course, bollocks. I didn’t even know when we’d crossed the border into Belgium let alone realising when we were in Germany. I’m still not entirely sure if we took a slight detour at one point and passed through a bit of South West Holland. Either way, it was a lovely early morning on the day that would change our lives forever, and I’d been awake since 7am the previous morning. This is where we started a tradition that would last till we hit Munich, taking pics of the Munich road signs. I’d seen on Twitter the day before someone else show their first Munich sign so I wanted one. Katie did a great job of catching it and also managed to get pretty much everyone from there on in.
“Are you OK?” Count 64. You’re getting tired I’ve been watching your eyes (from the backseat). Mum can you not look at my eyes it freaks me out. I’m fine.
Then, somewhere near Frankfurt, about 500km to Munich, the car lost power. Anyone with an A3 Turbo knows what it’s like when the particle filter goes. It’s happened to me before and what happens is you drop down from your average 90mph to 60mph maximum instantly. We had to stop. FFF####k!! Pulling over in the next town we rang Katie’s mechanic friend (9am sat morning) to get an idea of what we should/ could do. One of my best mates John Butcher (also Chelsea so would know my predicament) is my usual go to when my car goes wrong (and there’s been plenty in the past) but I was driving when Katie rang Tony, so we went by his advice, and he’d seen the car before. Lucky item number 1 for the day. He said drive at 70mph for twenty mins and it should go. I had already started thinking about looking for a pub where we were to watch the game nearby and could have cried thinking we wouldn’t be making it to Munich, let alone getting home! So for keeping the dream alive with that advice, Tony Greasby is a fucking legend. So we got back on the road, stayed in the slow lane and managed to hit 70mph somehow, and sure enough once we’d stopped for petrol an hour later, the warning light was off and power approx. 75% back. Nothing was going to stop us getting to Munich now.
“Are you OK?” Count 81. Mum I think it’s best if you get some kip so you’re not tired later, it’ll be a long night.
Past Frankfurt the Munich signs were coming thick and fast, as were my useless facts about Nuremburg and VfB Stuttgart, which were also on the signs.
Stuttgart, as with all other Chelsea fans, will always hold a dear place in my heart, but for me there’s more reasons than most. Yes it was them we beat in the Rusanda Stadium in 1998. Yes I was there. Yes I’d missed my first 6th Form May Ball to go. Obviously, as if there was a choice! And I was with my Dad. He is the reason I support Chelsea and thought that it was law you had to follow your Dads’ team, I’d never heard of people ‘choosing’ who to support. He took me to all my games and brought me our first season tickets in the late 90’s, MHL Gate 10. I grew up on the shed steps and then the West Benches but you didn’t need a season ticket then. We used to go home and away as much as we could and when it came to renewing our ST, he couldn’t afford it, but still paid for mine. As he worked for British Gas his whole life, we’d go to games in the van and park in the gas works, often late so ran across Kings Road and to the ground. For away games, Selhurst Park in particular, we’d sometimes have to use the ‘Gas man on emergency call’ sign in the van window to park where we wanted if we were late for kick off. He was and always will be my hero, inspiration and will also be indebted to him for bringing me up as Chelsea. Unfortunately he never got to see us win the Double, passing away at 51 years young in October 2009. So in so many ways, passing Stuttgart and remembering our trip to Stockholm, this journey was for him.
Home stretch to Munich. Car cutting power a total of 4 times on the way and yes Mum, I’m fine, we were almost there. Each pit stop seemed to take ages and it was eating into my plans of getting there in time to tour the place before kick-off. But it was necessary to let the car cool down and whatever it needed to make it. This is where I saw the Germans selling Stamford lions in lederhosen’s. Hope he got some royalties for that!
The Munich fans at each stop were friendly enough and one group put on Blue is the Colour for us as we were stretching our legs. However I still think it was ironically, as we all know how much they expected the game to be a formality (would love to know the outcome of whose idea to make the “Our City, Our Stadium, Our Trophy” flag). At these services I left the car door open. No, not open, WIDE open as if someone robbed me and ran before shutting the door. As we went back to the car I walked around to see the door, trying to think think what might have happened. A quick check showed nothing had been taken and it was my fault. Luck number 2.
At pretty much each pit stop there were couples having picnics, so much so I am starting to think its a valid weekend away in Germany to visit service stations. These were more than the normal snack and rest you’d see in England. One stop was just a brick hut with holes in for toilets (more associated with France) and still picnic tables full of romantic meals for two. They also gave us a few looks too though when we got our heads down for an hour or so to let the motor cool down. And make sure I would definitely not fall asleep come 7.45pm that night.
As the sat nav got down to double, then single figures in the ‘KM to destination’ field, the sun shone brighter and the cars with Munich and Chelsea scarfs intensified. Some acknowledging a beep from fellow Chelsea fans, one moany CFC caravan looking like they forget their ticket. Some Munich fans also getting in on the act and little races on the motorway ensued.
Then all of a sudden it was there, the Allianz Arena in all its glory. We past the first turn off right next to the stadium as coaches were going to the next one, so I followed to try to find a car park. This is where I wished that instead of just looking at twitter pics and the route to Munich, that I’d researched about parking. I didn’t have a Scooby. Pulling up to the entrance of one I asked a couple of Chelsea fans on the off chance they knew, but they pointed out there’s the Olympic stadium 6 or 7 miles away. No chance. I’m not driving all this way not to be near the stadium or city centre, not that I knew if there’d be anywhere to watch it near the stadium, or more importantly if we could get 3 tickets!
So back round the other side we drove and there were people driving towards the car park directly opposite the stadium, they seemed like TV crew so I followed. Lucky number 3. Straight in. Top floor (after worrying about the car making up the ramp) and possibly the best view of the stadium from the outside. We’d just managed to find parking bang opposite the stadium, at 4pm – just 3hours and 45 mins before kick-off. I can’t find parking this close or this quickly at the Bridge where I know all the back roads and best places!! It wasn’t even pay and display, which was lucky number 4 as we still didn’t have any Euros.
A call to the kids to say we were there safe and sound and a couple of photos later we were walking up to the stadium. Unbelievable. Thought they could have cut the grass leading up the little hill but this was it, the Champions League Final. Incredible.
The stadium was magnificent and just as good as it looks on TV. We pottered about outside and had a look at some of the standard stalls, gutted that we didn’t have any cash, despite questions of ‘can you pay in English?’ from Mum. Not having Euros also put a stop to any hopes of buying tickets from a tout as there weren’t even any cash machines in the area. Not that we saw any touts, we didn’t see or hear of anyone selling tickets at all. So we looked on in envy at those with a cold plastic pint cup in one hand and ticket in the other. We couldn’t get either.
One thing that I’ve not seen mentioned that much in the blogs I’ve read about the weekend, is the amount of Spanish Barca fans we saw having pics with Munich fans outside. They must have expected to beat us and bought tickets for the final and came anyway to support Bayern. Couldn’t help sing ‘he scores when he wants, Fernando Torres’ as we walked past a big group.
We took our photos outside the ground and started to make our way back down the hill, with the plan of getting to the city ASAP for some grub and find a place to watch the game. This is when we were stopped by a friendly Japanese fella asking if we could cheer in the back ground on live TV. Yeah sure, no problem guv. We walked over to the camera and posh bloke in a whistle (boiling heat by now, he must’ve been sweating) and were then told they are getting two Munich fans too and we’re to sing when they say go. So we decided on Super Frank and Carefree as they’re clear, quick and loud. The cue guy nodding and two poor Munich girls they got might as well not have bothered. This was the first out singing we did that day, live on Japanese TV.
At the Frottmaning station we grabbed the one way tickets to the city and fought our way through the crowd in red going the opposite direction. How I wished we were going the same way.
As we got closer to Marienplatz each station got louder. It was a strange loud though, nothing like that of the District line getting closer to Fulham Broadway, more of a New Year’s Eve sort of noise, no one singing songs, just rowdiness and drunkards. It seemed that most of the Munich fans were corporates and this was their first game. The Chelsea fans I saw heading towards the ground were mainly families singing their songs and soaking up the atmosphere.
Disembarking at the city centre was easy and clear, even giving me time to take a picture of the Torres ad, saying it’s ‘his time’. God I hope so.
Making our way back into the sunlight we found ourselves in the main square, surely the best place for people that didn’t have a clue where to go. We grabbed some Euros at the German Bank and went in search of a cafe for some grub. Getting our bearings this is where I heard the first new song of something along the lines of “John Terry John Terry, if Ashley don’t make her cum we’ll send in John Terry”. We went to a couple of places around the square but really wanted to sit down and try to find a proper restaurant/ cafe. I agreed to this in spite of feeling it would cut down the time to find a pub. I’d be wrong.
All the seats that were occupied were Chelsea and we found a table in the corner, next to a bunch of lads that some had tickets, most didn’t. My first pint, great food, a read of CFCUK and banter/ singing with the lads settled us in and we could relax properly for the first time, albeit with ‘where are we watching the game’ in the back of my mind the whole time. At about 6pm when those with tickets had said their goodbyes and left, with the rest of us discussing where to watch it, the mediator of their group starting chatting to the owner of the cafe. He’d spotted they had a pull down screen and could he put the game on. The bloke look worried about how rowdy the English may get, but we all showed him how pleasant we were and he started to set up. Result! We’d found a cafe with waitresses that served quickly and efficiently, great food and even the game!!
By 7pm the songs were in full flow and all the other chairs had been taken by Chelsea, with a couple of Munich fans standing in the alleyway. I honestly can’t remember much between 6pm and kick off, but I know I was getting more nervous and yet more confident as time went on. Zigger Zagger was one of the favourites during the time, especially with a 14 year old kid leading the song, about ten times before kick-off. He played a blinder and wish I’d got a pic with him now as well as Jay from MHL, being the only name I remember from the group. Jay, sitting next to us, and a couple of the lads seemed like mates we’d known for years before long and joined in winding up the Geoffrey Archer lookalike eating his dinner with the Mrs. They were strange to say the least. Not just smoking a pipe and placing it on his forehead after each puff, nor trying about 15 different tobaccos in middle of a packed cafe, but she was complaining about the noise!! Love, you’re a local and didn’t realise there’d be noise? Surely you noticed all the thousands of people in the city for the last couple of days? It bothered her so much she ripped off some tissue and stuck them in her ears!! They didn’t last long and cleared their table before the screen was ready for the game.
Then, as the daylight faded and the rows of Chelsea became more apparent in front of us (as opposed to cafe tables formation), all of a sudden the teams were walking out onto the pitch, no TV build up or interviews, this was it. Destiny. Hopefully.
This was the first we heard of Bertrand starting in front of Ashley. That’s it, we’re going to double up on Ribery and Robben and use Drogba for relief. Come on Chelsea!!
The cafe was full now and our perfect seats started to have heads popping up from the bottom of the screen.
COME ON CHELSEA, COME ON!!
I can’t write about the game as it progressed, mainly as it’s a blur and we have all seen it. Throughout the warm up to kick off and throughout the first half, the Chelsea and Munich fans, who had rapidly grown in numbers as there seemed to be a massive lack of venues to watch the game, were singing loud and proud to each other without any breaks. Chelsea won this friendly battle of course but we tipped our hats to our local counterparts, who did well despite seemingly only having one song, which we turned in to, “HEY HEY, who the fuck are Bayern Munich? HEY HEY”. They seemed more edgy now we’d got to half time and their script wasn’t being followed. The half time whistle bought on massive cheers from Chelsea and the waitress went into over drive. Fair play to her, she and a couple others were still serving through packed, cheering and jostling crowds throughout the whole night.
2nd half kicks off and we’re shooting towards our end. Memories of Stockholm when we were shooting towards the stand Zola would score in front of came to mind – I was in the back row of the upper tier that game, and in the back row of the cafe for this one.
Bertrand doing well and we were keeping our shape, but how long for? How fit are Cahill and Luiz actually looking? It was difficult to make a tactical judgement watching this sort of game when you’re only thinking about the score and result, as well as the Internet connection keep blinking a little every ten mins.
Hearts sank when Ribery scored, despite a small feeling that it was coming. Bayern were attacking more than Barca did at the Bridge. Then we were lifted higher than we were before when we saw the flag. This was starting to make us believe that little bit more, until the 83rd minute sent us back to Moscow, not for the last time of the night. A couple of the Chelsea fans turned away from the screen to clap the Munich fans to show sportsmanship. It’d been a long day and we were now one nil down and that could’ve been so much more to be fair. Bollocks.
Was this it? We needed to turn one of the best defensive displays in years by any team, into an all-out attacking force to score against Munich in their own stadium. Torres was on with Drogba, which we were all happy about that Didier hadn’t been taken off for El Niño, but where would it get us? We know Drogba and Frank and anyone can score out of the blue. Especially with Torres running down everything he can on the right, now getting our first corner of the game. Really? Hadn’t noticed it was our first corner but let’s see what we can do. Without JT and Ivan in the middle we still have those that can….DRRRRROOOOOOOOGGGGBBBAAAAAAAAAAA!! What a header!
The whole place erupts. I mean it fucking goes mental!! Think Brogans during Barca Away. Now we were all making Neville noises. The Munich fans looked as if they’d already lost. We certainly felt we couldn’t lose. Final whistle. Thank god for that.
The next event was Drogba tripping Ribery. Was a little surprised to see Robben step up, I didn’t know he was their penalty taker and can’t remember him taking that many for us. For some reason I wasn’t seeing this as the end. No one was. There’s time to come back and there’s one other major to factor to consider; Big Pete. Obi didn’t want to give Robben the ball and was talking to him for a while. Wondered if he was copying Dennis Wise in 1994 when he bet Cantona £100 he’d miss.
Robben looked scared, he put it to Cechs’ right and it’s under him, where is it, poking my head above the crowd, he saved it!! This year has to be ours!! Come on, quick counter. No? Ok just keep the ball; they will still be attacking, final whistle! Fuck me, Germans on penalties, yet we were all feeling so confidant, destiny had to be on our side didn’t it? After everything that’s happened this season?
Trying to take in that we’ve survived 120 mins and everyone taking a big gulp of their pint, if they’re lucky to have some left after all the jumping around, let alone the table and chairs going up in the air after Drogba’s header. Looks like it’ll be in front of their end. Of course it will be; everything about this campaign has been the hard way. We believe though. We’ve always believed.
Their first goes in and we’ve got Mata for a strong start. Shit! Surprised at that. But its fine, just one pen. They go 2.1 up and I see Luiz step up. Does he want a longer run up? He’s gonna smash it. Top hand corner, ridiculous penalty. We’re on the way. Neuer scores to make it 3.1. I can’t concentrate enough to think if that means it’s pretty much sudden death now. Frank’s next, easy. The heads at the bottom of the screen in front are bigger now so I can’t see the picture showing the penalty scores. The Chelsea in the cafe are a little subdued, so much going on, cheering, pacing, pushing in to see the screen. I didn’t see Frank’s penalty but saw his expressionless face after, shit did he miss??? Chelsea in front of me didn’t exactly jump for a goal; Olic misses to keep it at 3.1. Ashley steps up and I’m lost as to what the score is. Great penalty by Cole, we’re still there, Munich fans starting to cheer as if they’ve already won with Schrienstiger stepping up. Cech saves!! Yessss!! If only Mata or Frank hadn’t missed. Drogba to push it into sudden death past the five penalties. Calm as you like, bottom left. Keeper goes wrong way. I’d stood on a chair at this point and could see the whole screen. Drogba celebrates. The rest of the Chelsea team run in delirium in different directions. Everyone in front of me hit heaven. I’m standing there on the chair, confused, like one o’clock half struck. Still. Staring at the screen. Katie’s saying we’ve won, babe we’ve won!!! I see Drogba disappear and I know we’ve won. We’ve won. We’ve won the European Cup. I’m still just open mouthed staring. I crouch down, hands cover my face as im still on the chair, then lean into Katie as she tells me to be careful and climb down off the chair. As I get off the chair into Katie’s arms it hits me. I can’t stop crying in her shoulder. We’ve won. We’re European Champions. We’ve won the European Cup. The whole place is rocking. The Munich fans, to their credit some are still hanging around and one is shaking all the Chelsea fans’ hands. Katie and I stop hugging, I can barely focus as I look at her, and to Mum. We did it! I join in with the other lads jumping up and down, hugging each other. Top comes off and swings around above our heads. Every bloke there becomes brothers that have just become European Champions. At least 30 mins of non-stop singing. The screen went off about two mins after Didier’s penalty so we weren’t watching any of the scenes from inside the stadium. As we started to disburse through the ally and into the main square, we were easily outnumbered by Munich fans. Some pockets of them in groups still cheering. Loads of Chelsea in more amazement. Not sure what to do, where to go. European Champions. YEEEESSSS!!
After a wonder through the square, couple pics and failed search for an offy for a soft drink (still had driving back to England to do), it was time to get back to reality.
This picture of me in the square managed to get onto BBC news the following Monday…
It was about 1am. We needed to get back to the car, opposite the stadium as 80000 fans were leaving. We’d walked around and found a cab that clearly didn’t want to help. I showed him a picture of the stadium to make sure he knew where we’re going and he proceeded to drive in 15 different directions around the city, each time road blocks sending him back. We only had €30 left in cash so worried about getting there. Eventually we were heading in the right direction on the motorway but our exit was blocked by police. They directed us to the next exit and turn back, but as we were heading back to that junction the cabby stopped 200 yards from the junction. Suddenly he could speak English for the first time in a 30 min drive. Telling us we need to get out here on the hard shoulder as the police at the next junction won’t let him stop. Are you having a laugh mate? We were in line with the paths leading to the stadium, which was now empty as it was about 1.45am. However we were still on the motorway! The dyke was too big to climb so we started walking down the hard shoulder to the police. They started shouting as if we, a guy in CFC shirt and two women in CFC tops, we’re a terror threat! I moaned at them that the cabby just dropped us on the hard shoulder so they directed us where we were going to walk anyway. Telling us to be carefully, despite the road being closed to the arena. The next road block was much the same, this time I told them their mates told us to and they just let us past. We had walked about a mile now and shattered after the epic journey to that point.
We got to the top of the car park and took a couple more pics of the shining arena in the moonlight. Shame they didn’t make it blue. Back in the car and Katie took the driving seat to get us out of Munich to cut down the mornings drive. We parked up outside a Burger King half hour up the road and shut our eyes, about 3am.
The next morning we woke up with the car next to us sorting their camping gear out. It was about 7am and those 4 hours helped. More petrol, drink and a snack before being back on the way and agreed to get couple of hours under our belt before grabbing breakfast. This time the sat nav would take us west through Stuttgart and into France early, heading to Paris.
The drive home took us past Baden-Baden as the last place in Germany, into France and the rest of the journey was quite uneventful, travelling through few towns and only Paris and Calais being the signs to follow. Neither Katie or Mum wanted to know about each place signposted having football teams (Mets, Nancy, Strasbourg, Reims). At each of the stops I picked up the first and second edition press to see Germany and France’s views on last night’s dream result. They disagreed it was a dream and didn’t have any pics of us collecting the trophy, which I still hadn’t seen.
Back on the ferry one of the staff said well done on winning, and that “you’re fans have been brilliant,you should be commended as much as you football lot are usually condemned.” I half expected to be congratulated for becoming European Champions by everyone we saw back in England, but they didn’t.
As we arrived back home Mum decided to still drive back to her home in St Neots and I checked the sky+ that it had successfully recorded. Fast forward straight to the penalties to find out Frank had scored!! Ah so that explains it!! We watched the rest of the penalties and all of the celebrations, taking pics of the screen along the way. Then, after the 1523km /50 hour round trip it was time for bed, a European Champion.
This article was originally on www.tattooedfootball.com <– Check them out
If you travelled to Munich for this historic final, and would like your story to be included in a book Darren is trying to put together, please contact him on Twitter