On Our Way to Leipzig 

Crystal Palace in the 2026 UEFA Conference League Final - a Fan's Eye View

Spoiler - we win it. Photograph: AFP

Monday May 25^th

It’s Monday evening and I can feel the anticipation grow inside me as I pack my bags ready to travel to Leipzig first thing in the morning. I’m the only member of my Crystal Palace-mad family who is able to go to our historic UEFA Conference League final against Rayo Vallecano and I’m proud to be the one representing us at this momentous game.

I sleep fitfully, my head swirling with memories of Wembley last May, when we won our first major trophy – the magnificent FA Cup. Could Leipzig top that experience, or even come close? Will it be joy again, or bitter regret? Only time will tell.

As Palace fans we’re habituated to disappointment. The sporadic peak of a playoff final or high-profile cup run punctuating what can feel like a lifetime of frustration. Finally winning the FA Cup, the world’s oldest and most iconic cup competition, after coming so close in 1990 and 2016, was undoubtedly the greatest achievement in the club’s 120-year history. Beating Premier League Champions Liverpool in the Community Shield on penalties back at Wembley a few months later was another major achievement, but maybe that was as good as it was going to get.

Departing manager Oliver Glasner will surely want to bow out with another trophy, and he’s shown he knows how to win cups, but perhaps he’s taken us as far as he can. Have we peaked, or can we squeeze one last night of drama and glory out of Glasner and his squad before he strolls off into the sunset, head held high in the knowledge that, whatever happens in this final, he is the most successful manager in Palace’s long and erratic history?

Tuesday May 26^th

I wake with a jolt at 7am and feel the first pangs of anxiety. Nerves and excitement build on the short train ride from East Croydon to Gatwick where I check in for the flight. The airport is filling up with Palace fans – some flying straight to Leipzig, others having to make more convoluted trips as direct flights quickly sold out once Palace’s place in the final was confirmed with the 5-2 aggregate thumping of Shakhtar Donetsk in the semi.

On the chartered plane, replete with CPFC livery and crammed with Palace fans, I’m surprised the atmosphere feels muted. I had expected excitement and singing but, looking around at the faces of my fellow passengers, I wonder if everyone is feeling as nervy as me.

On our way!

Soon after take-off a recorded message from Dean Henderson, the Palace goalkeeper and captain, is played over the plane’s intercom, followed by the first airing of “On our way, on our way, to Leipzig, we’re on our way!” The atmosphere is further enlivened when illustrious former Palace winger John Salako stands to address the fans, talking up our prospects in the final and reminding us how far we have come in the last two seasons under Glasner, and that we are just one game away from another huge milestone in the club’s development – victory in a major European competition, and more silverware to add to the FA Cup and Community Shield.

Oh, Johnny Johnny...

Salako is right. Not long ago we were in administration and on the brink of extinction. My mind drifts to memories of Survival Sunday at Hillsborough; fans marching on Lloyds and occupying Selhurst in protest at the mismanagement of our beloved club; the chaotic reigns of deluded Marc Goldberg and loudmouth Simon Jordan; Steve Parish and his 2010 consortium buying Palace and reuniting the club and ground; our climb from the lower leagues to becoming established in the top flight, culminating in the victory over billionaire-backed Manchester City on that famous Wembley afternoon, when all the stars and planets in the universe aligned and Ebereche Eze smashed the ball into the City net, breaking the FA Cup hoodoo at last and sending the red and blue hordes into a dreamland of joyful relief.

Salako also announces that the airline Sun Express has donated two pairs of free tickets to Turkey, placed at random in passengers’ magazine holders. I scrabble through mine and find what I think is an envelope, then stand and victoriously wave it around, assuming I am one of the lucky winners – all captured for posterity by the CPFC cameraman. As I sit back down I hear a voice behind me: “That’s a sick bag, mate.” He's correct. I’ve been joyfully waving a vomit repository, not a golden ticket. I hope this isn’t some kind of cruel omen for the next day’s big game.

I am seated next to a couple, Sarah and Nicholas. We exchanged brief greetings when I found my seat but since then we’ve kept to ourselves. I try to put the sick bag embarrassment to the back of my mind and summon the courage to tell them I will be writing an article about the trip and ask how they are feeling about the upcoming final. The flight time to Leipzig is around 90 minutes, appropriately enough as our destination is a football match, and as we begin our descent, I break my silence.

To my surprise, within seconds of asking Sarah how she is feeling about the trip, she breaks down in tears. Between sobs, Sarah tells me how she used to go to Selhurst with her father and uncle, but her dad died six years previously, having never seen Palace win a major trophy, and her uncle passed away last year.

At least Sarah’s uncle lived long enough to see us lift the FA Cup, she says, tears rolling down her cheeks, but she was so grief-stricken she hadn’t felt able to go to a Palace match since his death. As she wipes away her tears, Nicholas tells me Sarah converted him from supporting Nottingham Forest to Palace – somewhat ironic given Forest owner Evangelos Marinakis’ role in denying us our rightful place in the Europa League and ensuring our demotion to the third-tier European competition, the UEFA Conference League. Forest took our place in the 

Nicholas tells me how living in the Midlands makes it difficult for him and Sarah to get to Selhurst, but they were determined to go to Leipzig for the final. Sarah emotionally describes how going to this game feels like “bringing my dad and uncle back into the family.” This powerfully reminds me how much meaning and emotion so many of us will be experiencing. Supporting a football team can touch deep sentiments of loss, pain, joy and belonging. I recall my dad taking my brother and me to Selhurst as children, and us repeating the ritual with our own kids. I remember the final whistle at Wembley, how I had wept along with hundreds of others around me, releasing a flood of emotion, bottled up since 1990 and 2016, finally uncorked in the rapture and relief of winning the coveted trophy.

As we land, Nicholas says, “I’ll probably have a breakdown if we win,” but superstitiously doesn’t want to predict a score. Sarah thinks we’ll win 2-1. I hope she’s right.

Landed in Leipzig. Photograph: Molly Winbow

Later, in the hotel bar, I meet father and son Paul and Connor Lambert. Paul lives in Spain and has some inside knowledge of how Rayo play. He reckons they’ll sit deep and try to catch us on the break. He’s bullish about our chances though, and thinks it’ll be a big win. “We’ll fucking smash them!” is his assured forecast. Connor is less confident. Why has he come to Leipzig? “It’s historic,” he says, “I wanted to be part of the journey.” They agree that Glasner spoke out of turn when things were looking less rosy, but both recognise his achievements. “I’m just thankful we’ve finally started winning stuff,” Connor says. Like me, he thinks the game will be close. “One goal either way will probably settle it.”

Connor & Paul Lambert

That evening I head into town to sample the pre-matchday atmosphere. The UEFA Fanzone feels as corporate and plastic as you’d expect, but an adjacent narrow street, lined with bars and restaurants, has been taken over by the Palace faithful. The atmosphere is frenzied and exultant. Fans stand on chairs and tables, steins of strong German beer in hand, singing and chanting, dancing and hugging, celebrating being in a European final and squeezing every last drop of joy out of the experience they can. I spot fans in Palace shirts from down the years, marking the highs and lows of our history and symbolising our journey from lower league no-hopers to FA Cup winners and now, European finalists.

Palace takeover

I speak to Daniel, who looks like he’s having the time of his life, clearly delighting in the Palace occupation of central Leipzig. “I’ve been a Palace boy since I was young,” he tells me, raising his voice to make himself heard over the celebrations. I ask what it means to be here and he replies simply: “Everything. We’re not a big club like Arsenal or Tottenham but we’re passionate about our team and we just love it.” What about Oliver Glasner? Daniel is unequivocal. “He’s the best manager we’ve ever had.”

Daniel

As I inch my way through the boisterous throng, I marvel again at how far we’ve come in the brief period since Glasner took the reins. Who’d have thought this would happen, the FA Cup, Community Shield, and now this, the eve of a European final? Incredible.

Muscular and bare-chested Xander doesn’t look the type to blub over a football match, but I am mistaken. He tells me he cried, like I did, when we won the FA Cup. “It was the best experience of my life. You looked around and there were tears everywhere.” He agrees with Daniel that Glasner is our greatest ever manager and thinks there is a sliver of hope he might stay if we win tomorrow. “I love him,” Xander adds.

Palace fan Xander (I might have got his name wrong!)

Next I speak to Arlen, another lifelong Palace fan, who gets to Selhurst around twelve times a year, despite living in Scotland. That’s commitment, I think. Why is he in Leipzig? “It’s once in a lifetime,” he replies. Echoing Sarah, Arlen says: “My dad, my grandfather, will never be here. My dad had a season ticket since I was seven years old. Being here means everything to me.” Will it mean more than the FA Cup if we win tomorrow? “As a club, for where we need to go from here, maybe. But being at the FA Cup with my brother…” Arlen’s voice trails off and I can see the emotion welling in his eyes. “Being here is magic, just magic.”

Arlen in Leipzig

Elaine, a wheelchair user who’s been a supporter for 54 years, describes being in Leipzig as “Surreal. A dream. If we win it’ll be bigger than the FA Cup.” Her companion Kev, also a wheelchair user, adds: “The FA Cup was beyond our wildest dreams. Being in a European final is beyond that.” Despite clearly being deeply committed to the club, they agree Palace’s facilities for disabled fans are “hit and miss.”, their PA says of all the grounds he’s been to, Selhurst is the worst he’s seen for wheelchair accessible spaces. Elaine and Kev agree. They love Palace, but unfortunately Palace don’t appear to love them back, if the substandard views and facilities they describe are anything to go by.

Elaine

Kev and PA

I make my way back to the hotel in the early hours, exhausted after a draining but enthralling day. The party is still going strong as I depart the city centre and I know the Palace fans will be drinking and singing long into the night. Rayo Vallecano supporters are also visible in good numbers and the atmosphere between the two sets of fans feels mutually respectful and thankfully free of hostility.

A word about Rayo Vallecano and their similarity to Palace: They’re from their country’s capital and live in the shadow of footballing powerhouses; they are rooted in their working-class area and take pride in their localism; they’ve suffered for years under inept and corrupt ownership but through grit, organisation and skill, they’ve found their way to a major final having never before tasted success; their fans are fervent, loyal and anti-fascist and they know what it feels like to have victory snatched from their grasp at the death. Palace have finally found a way to win silverware and of course I’m desperate for another triumph tomorrow, but in time I hope Rayo can breach the glass ceiling we have bounced off so many times, and claim the trophy their players and fans so richly deserve.

Wednesday May 27^th – Matchday

I rest in the hotel until lunchtime, then make my way into town, first for refreshment and sustenance, then on to the Red Bull Stadium for the game. I find myself on the sun-drenched balcony of a bar in the city centre. It’s packed with the travelling Palace faithful, whose red and blue attire gleams in the bright sunlight. With food and drink flowing freely, I speak to Tracey and Jo, who were travelling alone until they met and bonded on the journey to Leipzig. Both started watching Palace as children but later had to stop for family and logistical reasons, then began again in the last few years.

Jo had been dubious about the cost of coming, but asked herself when this opportunity might arrive again. “I haven’t regretted it one little bit,” she says. Tracey nods in agreement. “It took 50 years of me supporting to win the FA Cup,” she says. “Just being in this final feels like a win.” Jo concurs: “I might never see it again.” I ask their predictions for the game. “7-0 to us,” says Tracey, with a mischievous smile. I admire her optimism but can’t agree. I remain convinced it’ll be one goal either way and won’t be surprised if it goes to extra time.

Leipzig bar balcony

Look who I met in the bar!

The sun is beating down on the balcony and I duck inside to escape the heat. It’s now late afternoon and the red-and-blue bedecked hordes are starting to emerge from the city’s bars and restaurants and head to the stadium. 

The Palace Ultras, AKA the Holmesdale Fanatics, have organised a march to the ground but my Parkinson’s-affected limbs are stiff and aching, so I choose instead to take a bus arranged by the club. As we set off, I’m joined by Hugo, who turns out to be a thought-provoking and affable companion on the journey.

On the bus to the Red Bull Arena. Or near-ish anyway

Hugo, like so many of us, was taken to Selhurst as a child by his dad some 55 years previously and has remained loyal to Palace ever since. We chat about each other’s experience through the long, fallow years and recent successes, culminating in the FA Cup win last May. I ask Hugo how he’s feeling about today’s game. “Calm,” he replies. How can he be? I’m a bag of nerves! “An omen. On FA Cup Final day, and repeated today,” Hugo explains. “A very good friend of mine died five years ago. Completely by chance, I bumped into his son on the day of the FA Cup final. I knew he’d be there but we hadn’t arranged to meet. Today, totally at random, I bumped into him again.”

So there we are, it’s already in the bag if Hugo’s right. I’m not sure I believe in omens, or fate, or superstitions, but I’ll clutch any straw going if it means we might win another trophy. I decide not to argue the toss with Hugo; he does seem remarkably calm and confident after all. Perhaps it’s true, I think. Maybe the universe is doing its aligning thing again and we really are on the brink of European glory.

Hugo and I fall into silence as we contemplate what may unfold over the next few hours. We’re soon rudely jolted out of our daydreams as the bus shudders to a halt and we’re told to disembark. “Bloody hell,” someone behind me says, who’s been following the bus’s meandering progress on his phone’s satnav. “We’re still miles away. It would’ve been quicker to walk!” That’s not much of an omen, I say to myself, as the bus disgorges its passengers and we begin our trudge to the Red Bull Arena.

As the stadium draws closer, we cross a river bridge and I gaze down at the calm blue water flowing beneath. A family of swans are fussing in the reeds for morsels of food and a few small boats glide serenely across the water, which glistens in the early evening sunlight. Above the river, a pale moon hangs silently in the cloudless blue sky and I can see people sitting or strolling peacefully on the lush green riverbank. As I take in this romantic scene, in my mind’s eye I contrast it with what’s to come in the stadium, in just a couple of hours’ time. The swelling strains of “Sarr, Sarr will tear you apart, again” snap me out of my reverie and I restart my journey, now with butterflies beginning to flutter in my belly, and the stadium rising in the distance like Shangri-La, beckoning us to its fabled gates.

Moon river crossing

The sun is lowering in the sky and the air is heavy and moist as we near the ground. Dust rises from the sunburnt path, stirred by legions of feet. I feel my skin prickling with sweat and nerves but am soon swept along in the joyous mood of the thousands of Palace fans singing and chatting, waving scarves and banners, some specially made for today’s game. One says, “Mr Marinakis, who’s laughing now,” which earns laughs and cheers of approval from the joyous fans.

Evangelos isn’t laughing

Andy Johnson’s magic, but he didn’t wear no.3

Palace fans loving it

On our way...and nearly there

Are we going to win it, lads?

The Rayo Vallecano supporters are approaching from the other end of the stadium so it’s just Palace now, apart from one bloke in a Bayern Munich jersey with “Olise” on the back. He turns with a grin as people clock his shirt and start to sing, “Michael, Michael Olise, runs down the wing for me…”

On our way to Glory

There’s thousands of us!

They’re going to be even happier in a couple of hours

Already buzzing

After interminable security, bag and ticket checks, at last we reach the ground. The excitement builds to ever higher levels and as we enter the stadium the entire building, from foundation to roof, feels like it’s buzzing with the vibration of billions of gallons of adrenalin and dopamine coursing through the fans’ brains. Added to these natural highs, hundreds of litres of beer are being served and guzzled at an increasingly frenetic rate, as the red and blue masses continue to pour into the ground and catch their first glimpse of the magnificent stadium, with its vertiginous stands and glistening pitch appearing as if a mythical castle, glimmering in the setting sun.

We need mobile beer sellers at Selhurst! And you can take your drink into the stand in Germany

I try to locate my seat but it's in the section reserved by the Ultras and can’t get near it. Along with many others, I stand in the gangway as the players emerge, a huge roar greeting their arrival. The two sets of fans unveil their tifos - ours rolls over our heads and up into the heights of the stand. Underneath the tifo, we raise our arms to hold it up until it is rolled back again and we can see the teams on the pitch going through their warmups and we know that kick-off is not far away.

Under the tifo, we’re under the tifo

Hold it up, lads

Pyros in the Palace end

And in the Rayo end

The first half passes in a blur. A few chances from both teams, then a big one near the end of the half as Tyrick Mitchell is unable to head home a sumptuous cross from Adam Wharton. It’s 0-0 at the break and all still to play for.

Hedging my bets at half-time

I head to the concourse to use the loo and for refreshment. The queues are long and slow (German efficiency? Ha!) and the game has restarted by the time I’ve endured a long wait for both. I hear a rising roar of anticipation swell from the Palace fans and, hurrying to the top of the gangway, I'm just in time to see Mateta’s instinctive shot send the ball looping into the Rayo net. Boom! Chaos ensues. Limbs fly. Hundreds of pints of beer are flung into the Leipzig night air and fall back as rain, showering the frenziedly celebrating Palace faithful with drops of cool, hoppy jubilation.

When Yeremy Pino’s brilliant free-kick hits both posts and somehow doesn’t cross the line I wonder if we might live to regret the lost opportunity to make it 2-0 and surely seal the win. But it’s our night and as the game wears on the atmosphere rises to glorious, feverish crescendos, even as nerves jangle and twist, just like the FA Cup final. I know at 1-0 it’s still in the balance, one mistake, one moment of genius could still swing it against us. But try as they might, Rayo are unable to break through the red and blue resistance, and at last the final whistle blows and the Leipzig skies echo with the sound of Palace ecstasy and Rayo desolation.

I had wondered, if we won, how it would feel compared to the FA Cup victory. As the players celebrate on the pitch and the fans hug each other in delight, I start to process the fact we’d won yet another trophy. In the moment I am completely blown away by the whole experience, so different to the regular trips to Selhurst or away games in England. To be in a foreign land with so many other Palace fans is unique in itself, and to witness us win more silverware is very special indeed. Looking back now I can say it felt different to the FA Cup win, but equally, very much the same.

Impressively, the Rayo fans all stay long after the final whistle ends their epic, valiant pilgrimage to the final. As is their tradition, the players stand before them for many minutes gazing silently into the crowd, connecting with the supporters on a deeply meaningful level, and in so doing begin to understand what emotions they are experiencing. It’s a powerful ritual which contrasts jarringly with what happens in England, where many fans will be on their toes without hesitation if their team is performing poorly or has lost a big game, and players in England who seem acutely reluctant at times to even acknowledge their fans, let alone spend time trying to understand how they are feeling. It is only after the Rayo players have received their runners-up medals and Palace have been presented the trophy, and celebrated wildly with the Palace faithful, that the last Rayo fans start to make their way to the exits.

Toasting the win, and yet another trophy

The Palace celebrations continue long into the night. Much like after the FA Cup win, we feel a cocktail of euphoria and joy, disbelief and relief. These are but brief moments in time, soon to be gone like a dandelion clock, but forever captured in the hearts and minds of those who were there to see them unfold.

At some point, I know not the hour, I collapse into bed and sleep the sleep of the glorious, victorious and sozzled.

Thursday May 29th

I wake and lever myself blearily upright. I glance at my phone to see dozens of messages have landed from friends, family and fellow Palace fans. One in particular catches my eye: “Seth. What did I say? Never in doubt. Hugo.” I smile, put my phone down and sink back onto the bed. Bloody hell, I think. We’ve only gone and done it again.

Footnotes:

Apologies to anyone whose name I have given here incorrectly. I accidentally deleted some of my recordings and on others the background noise was so high I was unable to make out all which was said – especially in the case of the bare-chested fan I have named as Xander. If you are aware of any such errors, please let me know in the comments. Thank you.

This article was originally written for publication on the Inside Croydon website but they chose not to publish when I was unable to complete it on the day after the final. I decided to finish it anyway, as a record of my experience of the trip and in the anticipation I may find somewhere else to upload it. I hope you have enjoyed reading it.

All photographs taken by the author, apart from the AFP pic at the top, and 'Landed in Leipzig', credited to Molly Winbow, who was on the same flight as me, with her dad Jon. Thanks Molly for taking the photo, and Jon for helping me track her down!

Seth Gillman

June 2026

Last word…