TV VIEW: AND SATURDAY had started so well too, with Katie Taylor doing her thing and Leinster doing theirs. But then, two minutes from time, Didier Drogba did his. Three Steps to Heaven, then, had to be put on pause.

“AaaaaAAaaaaAAAaaaaAAaa,” said Gary Neville, whose troublingly lusty responses to out-of-the-blue Chelsea goals are beginning to become a habit.

You couldn’t but feel for Martin Tyler sitting beside him in the Sky’s Munich commentary position, having to explain to his colleagues from Brazil, Belize and Belgium that nothing untoward was going on, it was just Gary being Gary.

Earlier in the evening Eamon Dunphy had warned that Drogba could be a “nightmare” for Bayern, that he had the ability to overwhelm a central defence that was “eminently overwhelmable”. Prescient.

“So, who are you going for, Eamon,” asked the O’Herlihy man. “Bayern, Bill.” And that was the consensus of the RTÉ panel.

“I fancy the Germans, Bill,” John Giles had said, intimating he was more an austerity than a stimulus man, Liam Brady taking the same route.

All, though, had long since learnt never to write off Chelsea, so they didn’t entirely.

Back on Sky, Geoff Shreeves was trying to hunt down Chelsea and Bayern players before kick-off, just to let them know if they lost it would haunt them forever, while upstairs smoke was billowing out of Graeme Souness’s ears as he had to sit listening to Ruud “did I mention I played for Meelan also?” Gullit and Jamie “literally” Redknapp.

(Jamie, incidentally, spent much of the evening referring to Chelsea’s right back as Hosie Boss Winger, even though he didn’t actually feature on the team-sheet. Did Chelsea field an unregistered player? Uefa? Do your job).

And over on ITV, Roy Keane sported one of his perplexed-bordering-on-the-aggravated expressions as the ever effervescent Gianfranco Zola opined beside him.

A lively build-up, then.

But for the first 83 minutes not a great deal happened, leaving neutrals plenty of time to ponder who they wanted to lose more: Ashley Cole or Arjen Robben.

And then Thomas Muller won the Champions League for Bayern. Almost.

Drogba. Boom. Clive Tyldesley reminded us of Bayern’s 1999 woes, as he tends to do.

“It’s written in the stars for Chelsea,” said Gary, Jamie, Roy, Jeff Stelling and Martin.

And you started believing it too after Robben’s less than stellar extra-time penalty, although an eagle-eyed Gary spotted what put him off: “Beach baaaaaall!”

Penalties. “It’s 50-50, innit,” Jamie suggested. “Thanks so much for that,” said Jeff’s face.

And then. Well, you know. Ruud concluded, not for the first time, that “a little blue angel” was sitting on Chelsea’s woodwork.

Then John Terry whipped off his outer layer of suspended clothing to reveal a Chelsea kit, with “Respect” embroidered on the left sleeve, and you couldn’t but feel choked for the fella.

A glorious night for Chelsea, then, Roman Abramovich giving Roberto Di Matteo a hug so restrained you guessed he was thinking: "Simples! I screwed up! I've already appointed your successor.com!"

Roman, though, largely kept a low profile, apart from the moment he joined the players during the trophy presentation and thrust the silverware in a skywards direction – and seeing as it had cost him a billion he was, you have to concede, entitled.

Behind him several rather austere German faces failed to beam, viewing Roman, perhaps, as not quite a poster child for fiscal stability.