Build-up
Our journey to the Ataturk Stadium for our momentous 6th European Cup Final actually started on Thursday 14 April, the morning after our 0-0 draw at Juve had clinched a semi-final tie with Chavski. Let me explain…
I’ve been going to the match since, as a 9 year old in February 1968, I watched my beloved reds recover from a half-time deficit to beat a young Peter Shilton and his Leicester City team mates 3-1. That's just over 37 years, the last 18 as a season ticket holder (currently in the Lower Centenary). In all that time, and for a variety of reasons but mostly due to a lack of funds, I’d never been to a European Final (excepting the two UEFA Cup Final first legs at Anfield against Borussia Mönchengladbach and Bruges in 1973 and 1976). I didn’t even get to Dortmund in 2001, as I’d given my son the choice when the semi-final draw paired us with Barcelona – a trip to Barca for the first leg of the semi or take a chance on us getting through and go to the final instead.
Like any normal 15-year old, Tom opted for the immediate prize of the semi-final trip to Barca and we missed out on the final (why I didn’t just say “sod it” and go to the final as well is a bloody good question but not one to be answered here!). Anyway, I vowed after missing out on that great occasion that next time we got to a European final we were going wherever it was (and to make up for missing the Alaves game we did go to one or two Euro aways over the next couple of years. Barca again and Leverkusen in 01/02, Valencia in 02/03. But nothing since then). Added to that, my wife Sandra was at Wembley in 1978 to see us retain the European Cup against Bruges. She was 1-0 up on me in the European Cup Final stakes – that deficit had to be corrected!
Anyway, having got past Juventus, the possibility (though far from certainty) of a place in the CL final was on the horizon and, if I was to get the time off work, annual leave had to be booked pronto! So, a dilemma; should I tempt providence by booking the days off and hope that we prevailed against the Chavs? Or should I wait until we were definitely through and risk not being able to get the time off? My wife, being the superstitious type (and probably my son as well) would undoubtedly blame a semi-final loss on my jumping the gun and jinxing us!
However, not being the particularly superstitious type myself (though I did wear my 1970’s retro away shirt to all CL games I attended after we’d won the first one!), the answer to my dilemma was surprisingly easy. Book the time off and don’t tell anyone. If we didn’t make it I’d just cancel the annual leave and nobody would be any the wiser.
Well, as we all know, the Chelsea tie came and went in momentous fashion – who will ever forget that Anfield night? – and my annual leave was confirmed! We qualified for final tickets having been to all the home games bar Graz in the qualifier, so as soon as the Lonsdale packages went on sale I booked a 1 night stay for me and Tom (San would have loved to be there but doesn’t fly – c’est la vie!)
On the Saturday before the game I picked up our new banner “Excellence is not an Act but a Habit” from my brother in Liverpool who had arranged for it to be made by a mate – I never was very creative! He had it hanging on the wall outside his antiques / renovation workshop on Smithdown Road (near Penny Lane) when I picked it up at about 10 in the morning. He said it had already nearly caused half a dozen accidents as passing drivers clocked it – LOL!
Down to work in London on the Monday morning was followed by a speedy return back home on the Tuesday night. Lonsdale phoned to say my return flight had been brought forward by 5 hours to 3pm. I was a bit miffed because I’d planned on seeing a bit more of Istanbul on the day after the game. (As it happened we were eventually only delayed until 6pm so we were among the few who actually got home earlier than originally planned!). Tom and San were already building to fever pitch when I got in whilst my two youngest (Dan, 17 and Olivia, 12) whilst not being “into it” like us, were still looking forward to the final (or, I suspect more accurately, looking forward to the final being over so life could return to normal – little did they know!).
San had taped the Sky build up from the previous evening so I just had time to eat, watch the tape and pack before trying to grab a few hours kip before an early start in the morning.
Match-day
The alarm woke me at 3am and I bounced out of bed like a 5-year old. No need to wake Tom though. He hadn’t even bothered trying to sleep the night before but had watched SSN and Liverpool DVD’s through the night instead – he was already up and raring to go. Just after half past three we raced past Peter Kenyon’s Cheshire gaff – horn blaring – on the way to Liverpool’s John Lennon Airport, where we arrived at about quarter past four. As you will know / can imagine, the place was packed but check-in surprisingly quick and smooth. Well organised – at this end anyway.
We bumped into a mate (Mike - more of Tom’s than mine) who was travelling on an earlier flight than us. After a bit of breakfast and a few piccies it was time for Mike’s flight so we said our farewells and pledged to meet up in Istanbul. The place was really buzzing, red and white everywhere (must be a big game on or something!).
We had a few small lengths of rope in our bag for tying the banner up at the ground, but these were confiscated on our way into the departure line. Apparently “they could be used to restrain aircraft personnel”. I reckon the muppet who confiscated them was a jealous bluenose!
Anyway, we eventually boarded our flight and took off just under an hour late at about ten to eight. A fairly uneventful flight followed (during which we received our match tickets) and we landed in Istanbul (not Ataturk airport, the other unpronounceable one!) at about 1.30pm local time. Straight through customs – with a nice “CL FINAL” memento stamped into our passports – and onto our coach for the hotel. All very well organised so far. Things were to go less swimmingly from now on.
As we hit the centre of Istanbul, the traffic snarled to a virtual standstill – a taste of things to come. One of the stewards called out from the front of the coach – “3 minutes to the hotel, lads”. Half an hour later we were still on the coach! We eventually disembarked for our hotel about 2 hours after leaving the airport!
Check-in at the hotel – good enough for a 1 night stay, if somewhat expensive I thought - was relatively smooth and painless, but the delay meant we had 2 hours max to find Taksim Square and sample the atmosphere. Fortunately, we were only 10 minutes walk away, and what a sight greeted us when we got there. Red and white as far as the eye could see. Banners everywhere. Nearly everyone seemingly in a club shirt of one kind or another. The atmosphere was bouncing as we met up with Mike again (briefly) before he left to catch one of the free buses to the stadium. We were due back for our coach at 5.30 so we spent a bit of time soaking up the atmosphere and fuelling up on kebabs and coke – no beer for me, I wanted a clear head for the events that lay ahead (the thought of being stuck on a coach for any length of time with no toilet didn’t appeal much either!).
Back on our coach, which eventually left at 6pm, I wondered why we were leaving nearly 4 hours before kick off – I’ve been to Newcastle to see us in less time than that! The reason for the early start soon became clear however – the traffic was horrendous. It was relatively smooth and free flowing for the first few miles until we hit the tailback. Then we crawled the rest of the way, with frequent impromptu toilet breaks at the side of the road, and hundreds of locals on the street to greet us. It really was phenomenal! Everyone was in fine fettle. It was also just beginning to dawn on me that we were about to play AC Milan (the mighty AC Milan!) in the European Cup Final – the nerves started to kick in.
Approaching the stadium the fields were alive with yomping reds. It seemed nearly everyone had given up on their transport – bus, coach, taxi – actually getting them to the ground on time and were hiking the rest of the way instead. It really was a sight to behold. Ours must have been one of the few coaches that did manage to arrive at the stadium with all its passengers still on board. We arrived at the Ataturk with just about an hour to go to kick off.
The organisation outside the ground was pretty non-existent – no programmes, no food, no drink and lots of queues, but we eventually got into the ground with about half an hour to go, the atmosphere – and nerves - really building now. The Milan fans looked impressive in their colour co-ordinated plastic bags (or whatever they were) but must have been outnumbered 3 or 4 to 1 by reds. We managed to get a Turkish steward to lay our banner on the track behind the goal – one of hundreds it seemed. Then we took up our places behind the goal about half-way back - we were ready. Hopefully the team would be too!
Up until now the day had been just about perfect. Even the traffic chaos couldn’t dampen our spirits. Then we kicked off.
The Match
How can you kick off in any game, let alone one of this magnitude, and still find yourself a goal down in less than a minute? If I hadn’t been at Villa Park for the Crystal Palace semi final in 1990 (we kicked off in the second half and had conceded an equaliser within half a minute) I’d have thought it impossible. For it to happen once is unfortunate, but to happen again, and here of all places, was all but unforgivable!
Being the pessimistic (grumpy old man) git that I am where LFC is concerned, since the semi-final I’d been telling anyone who cared to listen that we needed to score first against Milan to stand a chance. We couldn’t afford to concede the first goal, couldn’t afford to fall behind. I honestly didn’t believe we could recover if Milan got their noses in front. Fast forward 45 minutes and not only are we behind but the deficit is now three! They didn’t just have their noses in front, there were lengths of clear water between us as they disappeared into the distance!
I was strangely calm at this time (if severely depressed!). All nerves had gone and, like many of us I suspect, I was just hoping for a return to respectability in the second half. Hell, I was praying we wouldn’t be humiliated any further and would have gratefully accepted any result that wasn’t worse than 3-0. I consoled Tom with the thought that at least he’d now been to a European Cup Final and there would be more in the future (I wasn’t so sure about this last bit but it was the best I could come up with at the time!).
The second half started with 3 at the back for us and Didi on to bolster the midfield, allowing the skipper to play further forward. We were seeing more of the ball now, especially in advanced positions, and a rasper from Xabi whistled just wide, lifting the crowd at the same time. Unfortunately, Djimi seemed to have started the second half where he left off the first. A simple pass from Hyppiä casually evaded Djimi’s attempt at controlling it and Milan were breaking again with menace. Kaka, the star of Milan’s first half show, went down (a bit theatrically I thought) under Hyppiä’s edge of the box challenge – a preamble for the game’s major turning point. Up stepped Sheva – another shining light in the first half – to fire a rocket that Jerzy somehow managed to get a hand to. Within a minute we’d scored!
Even when Stevie G brilliantly steered that twice-taken cross from Riise beyond Dida into the far corner, I held out little hope of a comeback. I was delighted of course and celebrated like everyone else, and I sensed we might be spared the humiliation I’d feared only 10 minutes earlier. Two minutes later that all changed as further delight was bolstered by belief. Vladi had rammed one in from 20 yards (I was convinced it was García long after the game was finished!). The crowd was going mental now and I was thinking, “We’ve got a great chance now with over half an hour left”.
With just about exactly half an hour left pande-f***ing-monium breaks out as Stevie G is felled in the box, Dida saves Xabi’s penalty and Xabi smashes the rebound into the roof of the net. Tom’s doing his Zebedee impression and I’m hugging everyone in sight. The nerves are well and truly back as well. Can we finish the job in normal time now?
To be honest, after Riise nearly scored just a minute later I can’t remember too much of the rest of the game – it’s all a bit of a blur. I know I was drained (like everyone else) and my impression now is that we had the better of the rest of the second half (though not by much) and Milan were the better team in extra time – not surprising, mind you, we were dead on our feet. The one thing that does stand out for me before penalties though is Jerzy’s amazing double save of course. It happened right in front of us and I sensed the cup was ours then – and so too did Milan I think!
We all know how the penalties went and – despite my conviction (unvoiced by the way, I didn’t want to tempt fate!) that we were now going to win following Jerzy’s heroics towards the end of extra time – I was still as nervous as a kitten even when we were 2 up on pens. Then John Arne missed and I cursed him. Then Vladi scored. Then Jerzy saved! Then joy knew no bounds…
I remember crying when West Brom beat us in a cup replay at Maine Road in 1968. I listened to the second half on the radio (I think it was Radio 2 then, might have been Radio Merseyside) and I cried myself to sleep when we lost. Other than Hillsborough I’d never cried over a football match since. But I cried again tonight!
Unashamed tears of joy at the end. My son turned round to hug another ‘owl arse’ like me – he’d slumped in his seat after Jerzy’s save from Sheva, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Five f***ing times!” was all he said. You know, I think it’s probably the older generation who feel this one more. The young 'uns have their own glorious memories now and it’s all new for them. Us ‘owl arses’ already had the memories – but could also remember the feelings and emotions that came with them, and perhaps thought they’d gone forever. And now we’ve experienced it all over again and it’s fantastic! Anyway, that’s another debate and hardly important at all. We’ve all – young and not so young alike – got something very special to remember now!
Afterwards
Celebrations were pretty muted on the coach back to Istanbul (journey time 35 minutes!), each alone with their thoughts and reflections on a momentous, momentous occasion. To be honest, Tom and I were that drained – through the emotion of it and the lack of sleep (it was 3.30 in the morning now) – that we just had enough energy to head for Taksim again, grab another kebab and a drink, and then turn in, to sleep, perchance to dream…
As we all know now, chaos reigned at the airport all through the night and the following day, and it could have got out of hand I guess if we’d lost. But we won didn’t we? and I’ve got to admit I’ve had a smile on my face ever since. The highlight during the wait at the airport was Aldo coming through the big tent. The waiting reds gave him a great reception – he still looked p***ed to me!
Nothing could put a damper on the events of the previous day though, and we eventually arrived home about 9.15 pm – in time to catch the end of the homecoming on SSN.
Since then I’ve read everything about the final and the homecoming I can lay my hands on. I’ve watched everything, listened to everything, downloaded loads – thanks guys! – bought and watched the ‘Champions Of Europe’ DVD, will be buying and watching the ‘Road To Istanbul’ DVD, cried buckets again – oh, and renewed our season tickets! I’m not sure if we can ever better what happened on 25 May 2005 in the Ataturk Stadium of Istanbul – but I desperately want to be there when we try!
ALL HAIL THE RAFALUTION!!!
