My few days spent in Las Vegas as a guest of the community of American Chelsea fans really made me think about the importance of these people we call ‘supporters’.

Without them, footballers would be nothing.

Not because our skills would come to fail, but because their unquenchable thirst keeps driving them back every game to watch us play.

It’s their love for us that makes them skip a few dinners so they can take their son to the game. It’s their screams we hear on the field that make us wake up in the morning and want to take on another day of training, another player, another game – for the jersey we proudly wear, for the people who watch us from the stands and those who rush home from work to catch us on the TV.

I was lucky in my career. I experienced an amazing crowd and always felt the love from my fans. I remember being 12 and going to my first game in the stadium in Amsterdam. There was a separate section, which separated the children from the very passionate supporters, also known as ultras.

I never understood why, it always looked like so much fun on their side.

In this case the grass was greener on the other side, and it didn’t take long for me to rebel the rules and find a hole in the fence to squeeze myself through.

The passion you feel vibrating through your body while singing your team’s anthem with full lungs, jumping to your teams actions, hugging strangers left and right as the ball hits the back of the net, is a feeling quite incomparable to any other.

I fell in love with the fans that day; I fell in love with this community of people of all ages, races and background.

They instantly became my reason for playing. They were on my mind when I played well and when I played bad.

I went from being one of them to being the reason behind their tears of joy or pain.

And it is thanks to you, my fans – my friends, that I’ve come to this point. And I thank you for the continued support, long after I kicked the last ball of my career.

#mmlove