May 19, 2012, 10:20 pm - A teenage boy was sweating hard while praying on his prayer mat. The boy is me. I’m him. I was begging for forgiveness while promising God I would never sin again (why you lying bruh). I was praying to God for victory in the Champions League final that was already on.
The familiar feeling of anxiety on matchdays had already enveloped me in the early hours of that day. I could feel my mouth drying up, my stomach turning, my head spinning, my appetite disappearing, and my body getting hotter.
My Mum would always tell me, “Chelsea o ni fun e l’owo,” which roughly translates to Chelsea won’t pay you,” but at some point, she understood my love for the club. Also, I had told her we needed to win because one of the worst nights of my life was one Saturday in May 2008 when we lost the same Champions League final to Manchester United on penalties. I made her understand the stakes and guilt-tripped her into getting behind me and my madness.
We had a chance to turn what had been a disastrous season into one of the most iconic seasons the club has ever had, and Bayern Munich was our only obstacle; red hot Bayern Much at Allianz Arena. In Pep Guardiola’s words, “we cannot compete”. But everyone was feeling confident because of the way we defeated the star-studded Barcelona side. Something about the way the other knock-out games panned out made it seem like it was our destiny to win.
I tend to run from the grind during high-pressure games. I do not watch, or I watch in bits partly because I’m convinced I’m a jinx but also because it’s easy for me to do.
The game started at 9 pm, and as usual, there was no power, and for some reason, our generator set got faulty, so I had to watch at a hotel opposite our house. I watched the first 25 minutes in the hotel, then returned home at the half-hour mark. I would let you take a wild guess on what I went home to do. Yes, you got it. I went home to pray. I prayed until I heard the first scream, the first loud noise from the hotel. I left my mat and ran to the hotel as fast as possible; to my shock, Bayern had gone one up. I caught the last seconds of the replay as Muller wheeled away as he headed home the ball.
With barely 10 minutes of normal time left and all hopes lost, I waited until the referee blew the final whistle. When you’re on the losing side, you want the time to run out as slowly as possible, but that’s the time hours turn into minutes and minutes into seconds. Call it answered prayers but come the 88th minute, we equalised. Didier Drogba responded with a towering header which would have taken at least three goalkeepers to stop.
I was happy again, but it only lasted for so long because my hopes had been restored, and I smelled victory again and with that hope came a new wave of pressure, more intense than it had ever been throughout the game. Victory seemed close but yet so far. Extra time was a nail-biter, but we pulled through again after Cech had been called into action several times, saving a spot-kick in the process.
Chelsea triumphed on penalties, with Didier Drogba scoring the winning penalty - a befitting farewell for a legend. It was the happiest night of my life, and I dreamt of the glorious night for the next three weeks.
Great piece
You love football/Chelsea this much???😂 Nawaaa
I enjoyed reading nonetheless 😊❤️