My Champions League adventure did not start until the day after the last game of the season. I couldn’t afford the hundreds of pounds needed to travel across Europe to see the final, the only way I could get there was by winning a competition, winning the lottery or getting a phone call off the club saying that I had been selected to work over in Istanbul. Thankfully the latter came and I could start the build up.
Even better news came the following week when I was given an ‘overnighter’ and found out that I was flying out on the day before the match.
The last time I went abroad with Liverpool I left it too late to change my money over and spent an hour or two trying to find a bank, this time though I was well prepared and ordered my Lira well in advance.
My father gave me a lift to the airport picking a friend up on the way who had managed to get on the same flight as me. The airport was packed full of reds all excited and most of them drinking. A number of camera and radio crews were around but I managed to avoid them.
Not being the best of flyers, the thought of being in the air for nearly four hours was starting to make my stomach worse, the impending match had already made sure toilet visits were pretty frequent to say the least, but this had to be done if I wanted to go.
The flight was not actually that bad, a few bumps here and there along the way but nothing serious, and with having to hand out the match tickets to the passengers made the flight pass pretty quickly. Phil (Statto on ynwa and Hightown Phil on RAWK) introduced himself on the flight, it was pre-arranged with emails days before the flight so I was expecting it. Then with a quick adjustment of the watch to local time we landed safely.
The transfer from the airport to the hotel was very smooth indeed, I had over 40 people in my group and everyone got on the coach very quickly, a quick head count and off we went to the Orient Minur Hotel – wherever that was.
The young Turkish lad acting as a rep was sound, he could speak broken English – just, but it was a lot better than my grasp of Turkish which was non-existent.
An hour or so later we checked into our hotel, again very smoothly indeed – too smooth I thought, something must have gone wrong. Once everyone had checked in I got to my room, threw my bag on the bed and went downstairs to the bar where there were a few other Liverpool fans settling down for a session.
Tonight was the only night that I could get hammered as drinking during the day of the game was not recommended, so I sat at the bar determined to accomplish my aim for the evening, or rather morning as it was then.
My head hit the pillow around 7:30 – mission was indeed accomplished. Even though I awoke some three hours later there was no hangover or tiredness, and even the smell of sick from the bathroom never put me off – I know you cleaned it up Alan, but you left a bit and I did tell you to avoid the bar nuts!
A breakfast of something resembling ham and cheese, fresh orange and countless cups of coffee got me back on track again. We checked out of the room and left the bags in reception and jumped a cab to Taksim Square, something that I was so looking forward to.
Everyone in Istanbul seemed to drive a taxi, those yellow perils were everywhere. I have seen better cars at Southport fair on the dodgems, I was half expecting a fella to jump on the back and tell us we were going the wrong way. Istanbul was not like any other city I have visited before, my only regret was that my eldest lad could not witness it himself – he would have loved it just as I did.
The taxi ride nevertheless was fine, but is it part of Turkish law that every driver has to beep their horn every five seconds ?
I don’t know what I expected Taksim Square to look like, but it wasn’t what I expected – if you know what I mean. All you could see was Liverpool fans everywhere, flags and banners were hung from every single possible point with fans sat anywhere they could. I managed to get one or two drinks – only to fit in and calm the nerves you understand. Bumped into a few people that we knew and some introduced themselves to me, sorry if I can’t remember you but I’m terrible with names and faces – just ask IUD and Bromage.
As the coach was leaving the hotel for the stadium at 6pm, we only had a few hours at Taksim Square but it was an experience that I will never forget. The lad who shinned up the lamppost in record time, the crate of ale catching fire and the banners, we must have some of the most unique banners in the history of football, every one seemed to tell a story.
So it was off to put our lives in the hands of another taxi driver and head back to the hotel. I handed the business card of the hotel to the driver and we set off. Now I cannot understand Turkish but the fact that the taxi driver was talking to every other taxi driver within earshot it became obvious that he didn’t have a clue where our hotel was. I ended up phoning the hotel and giving the phone to the driver – job sorted and I am not looking forward to the phone bill this month.
We arrived back at the hotel with over an hour to spare, so a quick walk around the corner and a cosy little bar that served food. So me and Alan sat down for one last medicinal beverage and a kebab. A group of lads to our left were singing and we joined in. Then one fella stood up and gave us a rendition of ‘Rafa in Istanbul’ to the tune of ‘Ghost Riders in the Sky’, the song was brilliant – so much so I recorded it on my phone for posterity. When we left I shook the hand of the singer and asked him about the song, he said his nephew had written it. Seriously this song has got to catch on next season and I’ll always remember that hour spent in that pub.
Once again, everyone got on the coach in good time including one extra person, well he did have a crate of ale with him so it wouldn’t be polite to refuse him now would it ?
Then the journey to the ground proved just how much we stick together. One young lad on the coach had his wallet lifted the previous evening whilst touring the local bars. Nothing unusual about that, it happens in every town and city across the world, but inside his wallet was his match ticket. A few phones call during the day and we managed to find a spare but it would cost £100.
So I explained this to everyone on the coach and organised a whip-round asking everyone for a couple of quid. Within ten or so minutes we had the £100 – absolutely superb and the look of relief of the lads face was there for all to see. So may I take this opportunity to thank those fans staying in the Orient Minur Hotel (Coach 13) for their generosity and also for their impeccable behaviour during our stay.
Istanbul rush hour is probably not the best of times to drive through the heart of the city, but as with flying it had to be done. Once we got out of the city and into the suburbs, all the locals lined the street waving cards, flags and scarves in support of Liverpool. It was then that you realised how much it meant to these people to actually hold the Champions League final there. Those locals in the streets certainly added to the atmosphere and made the 20 mile or so trip to the stadium pass as quickly as it could.
The road to the stadium, we had been told that there was only one road to the stadium and to expect delays, but nothing could prepare you for the bumper to bumper snake of traffic that seemed to stretch from the Ataturk Stadium back to Istanbul centre. Our first view of the stadium was on our left, it looked impressive but with nothing around to scale the actual size of it you couldn’t really tell if it was close or just massive – unfortunately at the time it was just massive. The road meandered everywhere and seemed to go in every direction apart from where the stadium was. You could see fans getting out of taxis and coaches and walking across the wastelands, but we decided to stick with the coach as it was still fairly early.
Finally we parked up in our designated car park, and pretty soon the young lad who had had his ticket stolen had a fresh one in his hand. A few photos with the stadium in the background (does anyone else think it looked like a galleon from a certain angle?), and off we went to what I thought was to assist the Turkish stewards with Liverpool fans entering the ground, but that was not the case.
I don’t want to go into what happened outside the North Turnstile in too much detail, but what I witnessed was distressing to say the least. There was very little organisation, no comprehension of what was going on and what was about to happen, and no amount of pleading with those in charge would alter their arrogance. They just did not want us there to help out and we could see the utter chaos outside that was only getting worse with each minute.
I will always remember one couple who approached me for help as the fella found the scenes so stressful it took him back to 1989. I tried in vain to get them through the side gate but as with the North Turnstile I was met with arrogance and aloofness. I was then ordered to go inside the ground by a superior but I still managed to speak to another Liverpool steward about the couple. It was only days later I found out that this steward succeeded where I had failed and got the couple in.
So with about 45 minutes to spare before the kick-off my thoughts turned to refreshments, and then turned off again as soon as I saw the queue and heard the tales of woe of uncooked meat and water costing £5 a swig from those returning from the scrum at the bar.
The first half, what can you say about the first half that hasn’t already been said? I couldn’t believe what I had witnessed with my own eyes, I still think that we never played that bad just that Milan were outstanding. Maldini and Cafu are only a few years younger than myself yet they were up and down the pitch like young pups. Kaka was just excellent, especially the turn on Gerrard for what was sure to be the decisive third goal. I sat down with my head in hands totally numb.
Something stirred inside me, I stood up and took a photograph of the screen behind me that said ‘AC Milan 3 Liverpool 0’. I don’t why or how I did it but I felt it had to be done and I sat back down again to look for answers to all those questions I had.
People shouting in front of me made me stand up, fans were trying to get everyone to sing. “Come on, they need us we can still do this”, “Get behind the team”. I thought to myself that it is easy to support a winning team, but it’s when the team is losing – and boy we were losing - when the team needs us most. So I decided to join them and get everyone going and we joined in the most emotional rendition of You’ll Never Walk Alone that I have ever sung.
When Gerrard scored I started to think that we could do it and then when Šmicer scored it became a real possibility. My old refereeing instinct still made me look at the linesman who had raised his flag for offside in the attack before the goal to ensure I could celebrate properly. Then came the penalty, for the life of me I still cannot believe that Gattuso was not sent off and the taking of the penalty seemed to take ages. Despair then joy in seconds it was 3-3. I couldn’t help but think of those few fans around me who left at half-time, what would they be thinking now?
I honestly felt that Cissé would score the winner as he had predicted it when his leg was in plaster and no-one expected him back until August, yet there he was coming on for the last ten minutes.
Extra time passed without much until that unbelievable double save by Dudek right at the end. I stood there motionless as the ball went over the bar, I looked at Mick next to me and we both had the same expression “How the **** did that happen”. It was then I felt that we would win - our name was on the cup, but I daren’t say it in case I put the mockers on everything.
When Šmicer made it 3-2 my thoughts went to who would take the final penalty. Would it be Gerrard, Alonso, García or would Carra round off what had been a wonderful season for him personally. Shevchenko wouldn’t miss his pen would he!!! I never realised Dudek had save it until Shevchenko smashed in the rebound. Tears flowed all around me, hugs and kisses and that was just the men! Once more my thoughts turned to Antony and Liam my two sons. I knew they would be watching at home and running around the house causing murder, but their mum would understand.
My coach filled up pretty quickly at the end, everyone was in the same state of mind – total euphoria of what we had witnessed, the best ever European Cup Final. The roads to the airport were empty and even though we had won in the most unlikely of ways the coach was fairly quiet. It was as if everyone needed to collect their thoughts and was hoping what we had seen was not a dream.
At the airport it was total chaos again, no organisation what-so-ever. The holding tent was in theory a great idea but thanks to the woman on the mic it was a nightmare.
Planes took off leaving fans behind, planes took off with empty seats, it was pathetic. We could see our planes waiting but for some reason the airport authorities would not let us board them. In the end the airport became a taxi rank and people just got on any plane that would take them out of Turkey and closer to home.
My flight took off 4 hours later than what it should have done, I was one of the luckier ones as some fans were sentenced to spend the best part of the next day and night there.
I finally opened my front door at 10:30, 24 hours without sleep but I didn’t care one iota. I switched on the TV and watched Sky Sports News without blinking. I went to the school that afternoon to pick up the kids and give them the few things that I had managed to buy them over there, except a programme – thanks UEFA – 15,000 for a crowd of 80,000. I also gave them the package that was handed out at the airport that included a t-shirt and a guide to Istanbul. It was given to me on the way out of the country – kind of summed up the organisation around the final for me.
I took them to the home-coming, two hours of standing on Scottie Road for a one and a half minute look of the team and the trophy. I dropped them off at home and headed to work for a night shift. I had forgotten that I had not been to bed yet, even if I had done I don’t think I’d have slept anyway. During the night Sky replayed extended highlights of the game, and I relived every moment once more.
My head finally hit the pillow at 8am Friday morning, 46 hours without sleep, but did I care ? Did I hell, I had been to Istanbul and back and witnessed one of the greatest ever comebacks in the history of football. It was only when I woke up and read the reports that the players had heard us sing at half-time, it made the victory more personal because it felt that I had actually helped them. I have seen us win Championships, European Cups, FA Cups virtually every trophy open to us, but this one will always be different because I, like those around me who sang at half-time really were the 12th man when it mattered most.
