It was hard to think where to start this story at. I think the real adventure started for me when the final whistle went at Anfield against Chelsea in the semi final. It wasn’t so much about if I was going to the final, but whom I was going with and how were we getting there. Back at the Oakie that night the usual assortment of reds were there. Jonesy was no doubt up for it, Will was a cert. Anny Road wasn’t sure when he could get the time off, and the rest of the regulars were talking about one day trips. By he following evening everyone had half an idea what was going on, our travelling posse had reduced itself down to myself, Will, Jonesy and Sen. I had travelled on euro aways with Jonesy and Will in the past, but not with Sen, not that this bothered me as he is a top bloke.
Getting the flights however, was easier said than done, and after a frantic night on MSN with Will and various Expedia-type websites, we finally found a route that took us from Heathrow to Frankfurt to Ankara to Istanbul. We didn’t mind, it was cheap, and we were off to the European Cup Final.
On the Monday, the day before our flights, Jonesy’s Focus pulled up outside my house and we were on our way. Our AA Route Planner got us most of the way to Will’s without a hitch, although it wouldn’t be us without getting lost at least some of the way. When we finally arrived, we decided, as you do, on a pint, so we toddled down to Will’s local boozer, and had a pint. It was 10.30 pm, it was only going to be one or two, but the boozer had a lock in, and about 8 pints later we headed merrily back up the winding path to Will's flat. I went to bed, Jonesy and Will stayed up drinking. By the time 6.30 came the next morning we were all up and raring to go, although some needed a bit more encouragement to get up than others. By some I mean Jonesy, and by others I mean Will and myself. Off to the airport to meet Sen, it was only 7.30 in the morning. Too early for pints you might think. Not a bit of it. The rounds went in, and by the time we boarded our flight an hour later, Jonesy was drunk again and everyone wanted a kip.
By the time we arrived in Istanbul 12 hours later, everyone was on their second wind, except Jonesy who was now on his fourth wind, and Will, who is just naturally windy anyway. We jumped into a taxi and headed for the City centre. I have been on some crazy driving trips in my life time, but nothing was like the terror I felt in that cab. The cabbie was playing a game of outrun with the traffic. Even when the lunatic reversed into a bollard he didn’t flinch. Anyway, bags dumped off at the hotel, we headed for Taksim square. And what a sight. The place was covered in banners and thousands upon thousands of reds singing songs. I had been to Dortmund 4 years ago, but it was nothing like this. The only thing Taksim square was missing was beer, as the travelling reds had drunk the place dry. We headed on into the main shopping street to meet up with a few guys and girls we knew from Rawk. But lo and behold the bar they were in had also run out of beer. Luckily we found a fella who was selling beer straight from a keg in a side street. Well, after liberating a few tables from surrounding Cafes and Bars, we set up court in a little side street, and were eventually joined by little groups of stray reds and the songs started. There was a nite club a little bit down the street who kept trying to coax us into it, but all any of us used it for was the bogs. After a while, they gave up, and rather bizarrely moved their speakers outside and kept us entertained, although I think it was the reds who were keeping everyone entertained, as a full array of songs got an airing. All we were missing was Anny Road! Groups of Turks stopped to wish us luck, and watch in a mixture of awe and wonder at the spectacle. We had Galatasaray fans wishing us luck, jabbering on about Souness and the flag, Besiktas fans telling us about the wonder of a certain John Benjamin Toshack, (they insisted on using his full name), it was crackers.
We drank on to the wee hours, before risking life and limb in a taxi back to the hotel. The following morning we all had a bit of a lie in, before heading for a spot of lunch and then onto Taksim square. It's hard to describe Taksim square, I know most if not all of you have seen the pictures, but the atmosphere doesn’t come across in the pictures. The banners, the singing, the great passion and humour displayed everywhere you looked. Groups of Forumites arrived throughout the day, and the craic was great. I had to keep pinching myself that that night I would be at a European Cup Final, to see Liverpool, fulfilling a lifetime's ambition.
Stories started to filter through that it was taking ages to get to the stadium, so myself, Jonesy and Andy Maq headed for the ground.
The journey itself was another crazy taxi ride. It's hard to describe, but if you have ever seen “The Italian Job” with all the mini’s, well, it was like that except for yellow cabs. There was an endless entourage of these cabs snaking its way round the winding roads to the stadium, with the odd bus thrown in. there was even singing from the taxi’s and the whole place was rocking.
When we got to the vicinity of the stadium, we had to get out of the cab and track down a big hill to get to the ground. And when we got to the stadium itself and turned back the site that we saw was one of the most bizarre I have ever seen. Thousands and thousands of reds walking over a hill and down the other side. It was like Braveheart. Thousands of reds with banners singing and chanting, coming over the hill. At one stage they were singing “The reds are coming up the hill, boys” and I suppose this was it. The reds were literally coming up the hill. In their thousands!!
The sparse facilities at the stadium meant that no programmes, drinks or food were readily available, so we just stood around in groups talking about the game, singing, and invading a stage, much to the horror of the organisers who had some poor soul trying to get a couple thousand Scousers off a stage by screaming about how it would collapse and the stadium was now open!!
Anyway, about an hour before kick off, we made for our seats. I was trying to take it all in, this was the European Cup Final, this was it. I was there. A lifetime's ambition fulfilled.
And then Maldini scored! 50 seconds into the game. We were one down. The 45,000 or so reds in the ground rallied, we tried to get behind the team, make ourselves heard. And then it was 2. Crespo. I couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be happening, this wasn’t in the script. I sat there shell-shocked. And then it was 3, right before half time. I sat down, head in my hands, I felt like crying. The text messages started coming in from my manc supporting mates. I almost bounced my mobile off the ground. I could just imagine it back home, how we were disgracing English football, how we should never have been in the competition, never mind the final!
And then something happened, something magical, something mythical, and I think only the people who were there will ever truly appreciate it. The first few bars of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” started. It gathered momentum. By the time it got to “Don’t be afraid of the dark” it was a crescendo of noise echoing around the Ataturk. It was an armed aloft and fists clenched act of pure defiance from the reds. it was a battle cry.
We have always prided ourselves with being being the best fans in the world. Well, at half time we not only showed our team what we were about. We showed the world what Liverpool fans are all about. the Kop might have been uprooted and transported to the Turkish wilderness, but it was still the Kop.
When the team came out you would have thought we were 3 up rather than 3 down.
Then it happened. We scored. And we were still celebrating when we scored again. And then the pen. I couldn’t watch. But I couldn’t not watch either. Who would take it. Xabi. OK, he should score. But no he’s saved it, Xabi to the rebound, and absolute pandemonium. Someone fell down the steps beside me. I was hugging strangers, I almost cried. The rest of the game I just sang myself hoarse. My heart was in my mouth every time Milan had the ball.
Extra time, I couldn’t take much more, our players looked shattered, we had to hold on, then the ball fell to Shevchenko, he must score, and Dudek somehow saved it. I sat back in my seat. This was unreal. When the ref blew for pens I was relieved. We looked shattered, we were on the back foot, and we always win on pen’s, don’t we???
Anyway, I was at my wits end. If we lost, at least we had our pride back, but we couldn’t lose now surely, not after that!
They were up first. I said a small prayer. It must have worked, as the penalty went high into the Turkish night sky. I looked at my watch. It was half an hour past midnight. This must have been the first European Cup Final played over 2 days.
Hamann stepped up, no, not Hamann, not him! Scored! Never doubted him! Great pen.
Their second taker walked up. Dudek handed him the ball. I remember thinking that was great by Dudek, eyeball him. And then he saved it. Get in! A roar went up around the ground. Cissé. He had to score hadn’t he. And he did. We were two up with 3 to go. Surely we couldn’t lose now. They scored. We missed. Riise’s pen was the best of the night too! They scored again. 2-2. Šmicer! Dear God no, not Šmicer!!! Scored! Never doubted him. Great pen! Shevchenko next. If we score our next we win. I couldn’t believe it.. Shevchenko ran up. Dudek saved it. For a split second nothing, no one moved. Then we collectively realised that that was it. There was pandemonium in the stands. We had won, we were European Champions. I couldn’t believe it. We had won the greatest final ever!
That night was the best night of my life. I was there. I witnessed it. Even the 13 hour journey home didn’t matter now. We were champions of Europe. I was part of it. I was there, and I still can't quite believe it!
