I am one of the lucky ones – 3 season tickets for me, beejay junior & deejay – and having been to 6 of the 7 home games, we qualified for the official club trip to Istanbul.

The 3 of us agreed at the outset back in August that we had no chance of winning the European Cup so we were just going to enjoy the competition and hope to see a few great European nights. Our progress in the earlier rounds – losing at home to Graz and away to Monaco & Olympiacos – seemed to confirm that we were not good enough but the home games when we dominated against Monaco & Deportivo whetted our appetite for more.

And so to the final group match against Olympiacos. On the way to the ground I said to the lads “In 3 hours we will be heading back down the East Lancs Road either in despair that we have been dumped into the UEFA Cup or rocking & rolling because we are through to the knock-out stages”. At half-time the despair I was feeling could only be compared to my emotions at the same juncture some months later in the Attaturk Stadium. Rivaldo’s soft goal meant we were out, I was suffering with the flu and all I could think of was the trip back and the GERRARD IS OFF headlines to follow in the morning. Fast-forward an hour and there we are headed back down the East Lancs in jubilant mood, my man-flu had magically improved and we were debating whether that was the greatest come-back since Lazarus…

At no stage during the knock-out phases did I truly believe we would make it all the way. Deejay didn’t agree and whenever we passed the “Road to Istanbul” signs at Anfield he looked up and said “we could do it, y’know”. “No chance, son” was my worldly-wise refrain, “Dream on” and he did…

Immediately after the whistle finally blew in the semi, our attention turned to the logistics of tickets & travel for the final. The three of us qualified okay so I booked one of the Lonsdale packages leaving Liverpool at 11.20am on Tuesday and returning straight after the match. But my wife, teejay and beejay junior’s best mate Ash were also desperate to go. The 5 of us had been to Dortmund together for the UEFA Cup Final and the chance of repeating that great experience was surely too good to miss. All seemed well at first because a mate who was also up for it knew some guy with an executive box at Anfield and we were on a promise for the extra tickets off the club’s corporate department. Each day that passed without the tickets materialising was agonising but “no worries, mate he’s never let me down before” was the reassurance we needed. I finally gave up on this avenue the weekend before we were due to go and turned instead to the black market & the internet. By Monday I had pretty much given up completely after checking out the cost (& risk) of e-bay tickets for £400-500 and the flights at a grand each.

On Monday morning I tried one last fling of the dice – I posted “ANY SPARES” on YNWA and left my e-mail address. A few minutes later came a reply from “Sykesy” saying his mate had 2 spares at the price he paid of £300 each. I frantically scrolled down the cheap flights websites but either they were fully booked or the price was still extortionate and again, I nearly conceded defeat until one popped up – 2 seats on the Heathrow-Attaturk flight leaving Tuesday afternoon returning Saturday at £500 each. So the question was : “Do I trust the YNWA forumites sufficiently to book the flights for £1,000 ; the hotel for 4 nights for £300; and then arrange to meet someone I knew feck all about at a service station near Knutsford and hand over £600 in cash to someone known only as Shandy in the hope the tickets are kosher?” You bet I did and Sykesy & Shandy you have my eternal thanks for responding in my hour of need.

And so there were the 3 of us the following evening in Istanbul with the other 2 on their way, due to touch down at 11.30pm. So after a beer in the hotel with our fellow reds we walked through the streets, where most of the locals treated us like celebrities wanting their photo taken with us but a few shouted “Milan” at us prompting a “Yeah, Milan BAROS” riposte. We decided to have a bite to eat before meeting up with the others and some guy with a Liverpool top jumped out and said “Man Utd, Man Utd, wank, wank, wank” so we had to go in his bar for more beers and eats.

I was now beginning to trust every one in red as a true, loyal friend & ally so I asked a local wearing an old Hitachi Pool jersey for directions to me wife’s hotel only for him to commandeer a taxi. I made the fatal error of not demanding a price so 15 mins later after constant references to Dalgleesh he stops in a side road off Taksim Square, points towards a hotel 50m away and says that will be 100 turkish lira which I later find to be ten times the going rate! After some haggling he lets us out but at least we do find the hotel at about 10pm then set off for Taksim Square. Unfortunately, the main bar has stopped serving so we retreat to a café round the corner where the singing is loudest and get stuck into beer after beer after beer accompanied by song after song… There is a skeleton of a multi-storey new building opposite and soon some reds are up there dancing away and playing footie with the police content to watch in amazement. I meet so many people it’s incredible – all nationalities Aussies, Irish, one guy from Cameroon and a Danish film-producer who wants Tomasson to score but Liverpool to win…..

We meet up with teejay & Ash. They got upgraded to Business Class and had a 4 course gourmet meal sat next to Gianluca Vialli and Ray Wilkins who are over to commentate!! Their hotel is streets better than ours as well and they are staying for 4 nights!! After another dozen or so bottles we catch a taxi back (10 feckin lira) but the driver can’t understand our pronunciation of the hotel and some time later he drops us off gesticulating thatta way and at 3 o’clock in the morning we are hopelessly, utterly lost in the backstreets of Istanbul. I then get a call from teejay saying she is in a bar with John Aldridge & Gary Gillespie who send their best regards. Right. Anyway, we find a policeman who waves down a taxi, we write down the hotel name as best we can remember it and sure enough he gets us safely home. The hotel bar is still packed full and we sit down with some feckin hilarious Irish fellas and carry on til about 4.30. What a night!!

A bit gingerly, we check out of the hotel about 11am and head back to Taksim Square where the party continues. The banners, the banter are truly awesome and I keep pinching meself that we are actually in Istanbul for the European Cup Final with 40,000 brothers-in-arms. After several top-ups in the bar we split up as we go back to the hotel where a coach is picking us up and the others take the bus from the square. Everyone on our coach is rolling drunk and the songs continue. We get stuck in a side street by double parked cars so out jump the biggest lads and bounce the cars out the way! The tears are running down me face and the locals roar them on.

The funniest thing about the 3 hour coach trip to the stadium (apart from all those getting out for a leak then having to sprint to catch the coach up again – by the time we can see the stadium it’s like the London Marathon with lines of fat boys in jester hats running behind us) is the sight of the locals lining every street, most of them with some sort of Liverpool gear on or with hand-written messages of support. We feel like royalty, waving to the kids who run after us going mental. It’s incredible – 20 km of road packed with the good people of Istanbul come out to see us. It could never happen anywhere else, unbelievable.

As we enter the stadium and I witness the wall of support on 3 sides of the ground I think to meself – we are actually going to do this, we are unstoppable and that impression stays with me for precisely 52 seconds into the match. At half-time I am stunned but beejay junior is made of sterner stuff and together with a fellow bunch of young scousers near us they lift us all screaming out “Hey yous, we can still f*** win this, it’s not over yet, remember Olympiacos”. I cast my mind back to that night when we were dead and buried, I noticed Hamann warming up and wondered whether our subs could make the difference in the 2nd half just as Pongolle & Mellor had done and whether Stevie G could save us again. Then “You’ll Never Walk Alone” started up and we sang our feckin hearts out, the loudest I have ever bashed it out as on came the “12th man” to drive the team forward.

The rest is a blur, a rollercoaster of emotions but at no time did I contemplate victory until that astonishing save by Jerzy from Shevchenko right in front of us. The scenes at the end will live with me forever and I am just so honoured to be a part of this glorious red army and to have beejay junior, deejay, teejay and Ash to share an experience of a lifetime.

Thanks again to Sykesy & Shandy and to all those I met and sang and danced with.