The Penalty

Apr 29 • Featured, Joe Tweeds • 48590 Views • 5 Comments

It has been almost two-years since Drogba’s momentous penalty in Munich. Even now it is a struggle to comprehend that exact moment. Words do not seem to do it or him justice. This is an attempt. Please enjoy.

The moment Bastian Schweinsteiger missed his penalty in the Allianz Arena will stay with me forever. The German was the epitome of central midfield play. He controlled matches with a wonderful mixture of perspiration and technique. Capable of doing the dirty work but also gloriously dictating play. Schweinsteiger was the most reliable player in the Bayern Munich side and incapable of missing a pressure penalty.

Being situated at the other end of the stadium the angle of the goal made it impossible for any Chelsea fan to tell that the ball had hit the post and rebounded away from goal. The cocktail of silence interjected with disbelieving gasps from the Bayern crowd felt never-ending. This was a stunned silence smothering the majority of the stadium. For me this was soon cut with rapturous joy. He, of all people, had missed.

At this point a million things run through your mind. You are one penalty kick away from winning the European Cup. One shot from the biggest prize in European football. Yet, we had painfully been here before. The loss in Moscow loomed overhead, a dark cloud pervading any thought of positivity. I still have never seen a single highlight from that game nor re-watched that penalty. Chelsea were domestically akin to England in terms of success in penalty shootouts. What a place to find ourselves in.

Through the celebrations in the Chelsea end, and I should stress that I am certain a large portion of fans thought that we had already won it at this point, a lone figure could be seen walking from the centre circle. Amidst the furore and the deafening whistling Didier Drogba stalked towards the penalty spot. A lone speck of blue wandering into a sea of red shirts.

As a Chelsea fan there was something mythical about Drogba. That number 11 shirt he wore in such a monstrous fashion seemed omnipresent on the big stage. If there was ever a player I would want in my team in a game of this magnitude it would be Didier. Something about him just savoured the occasion. His imperfections actually made him perfect. Without the rough, the smooth would never have been this good. The bond that developed between him and the fans would never have been this strong. He grew from a shaky start (by his own admission) and became the embodiment of Chelsea - our talisman. His doubts and tribulations only serve to heighten his greatness.

The murmurs around the Chelsea end as Drogba continued his walk into the penalty area were riddled with nervous energy. Looking around there appeared to be thousands of people all entering their own bubble of internal reflection. Some muttered prayers, others seemed to recant “please Didier” over and over again. This was the drug that is football; at its best and worst. Young and old alike all focused on this one swing of Didier Drogba’s right boot. Some had seen incredibly bleak times, others had only really know the good, but all shared in this one moment.

It is funny how stress alters your perception. I distinctly remember thinking that Manuel Neuer looked about eight-feet tall and just as wide. My mind at this point seemed to loop the phrase “Neuer’s party piece!” endlessly. Recalling Neuer’s penalty saving antics was not something I particularly needed, but it did prompt some somersaults of the stomach. These next sixty seconds were going to be it – Didier Drogba’s defining moment as a Chelsea footballer.

The ball had found its way into Drogba’s hands as he entered the penalty area. Neuer’s gaze, even from the opposite end of the stadium, appeared steely and resolute. The fixation on Drogba’s every movement was only surpassed by the incredible din from the Bayern end. Such is the European way that any action from an opponent must (probably by law) be met with whistles and catcalls. Neuer jumped on his line and rattled the crossbar: it looked as if he was standing in a 5-a-side goal. Potentially Chelsea’s greatest moment as a football club now stood firmly on the shoulders of the Ivorian.

Placing the ball on the spot he appeared visibly less fussy than Schweinsteiger. However, his impossibly short run-up elicited consternation from everyone around me. “Take a bigger run-up Didier!” someone bellowed from behind. The entire end was thinking it, but the cry actually seemed to heap even more tension onto the situation. This was the best goalkeeper in the world and the most important moment in Chelsea’s history. A two-step run-up? Please, Didier, take another step back.

This was an absolutely agonising time. Very few moments in football appear to drag on indefinitely but this was otherworldly. It felt like the penalty would never come and that I would wake up from some beer induced nap thirty-minutes before kick-off in some random Munich establishment. This was the fairytale ending. This was the script that Hollywood producers would throw away for it being too unrealistic. This was Chelsea on the cusp of beating a German team on penalties in their own town and in their own stadium. This was the icing on Napoli and Barcelona. The cherry on Drogba’s career.

Unified mutterings of “come on Didier…” produced a buzz of noise in the Chelsea end. This was it. Deep breath. Concentrate. A day which had been absolutely perfect up until this moment was about to end. Drogba had always possessed an indefatigable flair about him. This was his moment and he knew it. His short run up was punctuated by a noticeable placement of his left foot. A casual swing of his orange boot and Neuer was falling away from the direction of the ball.

Really?

As the penalty nestled into the bottom corner and Drogba exploded towards Čech there was a palpable delay from our end. If you watch it back the silence lasts for a brief moment. That single moment was the culmination of an extraordinary season. It was a cohesive sense of disbelief about what had just happened. There were probably a few people waiting for the referee to inexplicably make Drogba retake it. Nothing could deny us though. Nothing.

The end erupted. This was the defining moment. The moment you wait an entire life for as a fan and may never see. Deafened by impromptu “Champions of Europe” chants, ending up about five rows down from my seat and already falling in love with every single player in a blue shirt on that pitch all over again – this was it.

Chelsea’s pursuit of European glory had ended with a legendary player winning the trophy with his last ever kick for the club. This was how you leave a football club, at the absolute highest it has ever been. Didier knew it and the fans knew it. The reaction to him at the Galatasaray game this season spoke volumes. He will always be loved.

Scorer of the equaliser. Scorer of the winning penalty. Now the burning memory. Sprinting the entire length of the pitch Drogba ran across the Chelsea end, slamming his shirt into the ground near the corner flag. It was defiant, emotional, powerful and electrifying watching it live. Even now I cannot watch that clip without getting chills. It was a special celebration. In a way that was Drogba’s send-off and his parting gift to the amassed fans.

Never straightforward and always emotional Drogba sums it up best: “I think I’m lucky to have this special relations with the fans. I will miss them but they will always be in my heart. Even today I still want to be in Munich in that stadium, cheering and celebrating with the fans”.

I will never forget Munich nor Drogba’s penalty.

This is why.

ChelseaDrogbaMunich

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