Istanbul stories

[Will]

As some people are posting their tales of Istanbul on Facebook, here are all the stories as published on YNWA back in the day! Hope they format OK and sorry about the huge length - enjoy!!

 

PART ONE

 

From Norway to Istanbul by The Viking Kopite

 

 

 

My trip to Istanbul

 

Ahhh.... Istanbul. It just leaves me with a big grin thinking about it. In the days before the final I hadn’t really thought that much about the final.

 

Had busy days at university at the time, so my mind were elsewhere at times.

 

My exam was just a few days after the final, so I had to catch up a lot of reading and do as much as possible before travelling to Turkey. I was still at cloud nine at the time and it was just a fantastic time the days and weeks before the final. I remember myself walking around town with a big smile and it was great thinking: “We’re in the European Cup Final”. Sounded fantastic. I loved every minute of the time looking forward to the final, but at the same I couldn’t wait for it as well.

 

In time, I sorted out the trip, it was unbelievable thinking “I’m going to Istanbul to watch Liverpool play the European Cup Final”. My flight left early the morning the 25th of May at Oslo airport, I had to take a late flight from Bergen the evening before, so when I arrived in Oslo, I just found a bench or something at the airport and try to sleep a bit. Impossible though, I was too excited to sleep.

 

In the morning, I caught up with some mates. Had to sort out the turkish money as well, and when you got those turkish liras in your hands, it felt great. When waiting for entering the plane, it was just superb sitting down with your fellow Reds talking about the trip and the final and you got the chance to really set words to your feelings to people who really understand what you’re talking about. My mum for instance, she hates football, much to do with me being a Liverpool fan and my older brother’s an Evertonian, so we’ve had our fights over the years J. Anyway, explaining to her how big this was, I don’t think she really understanded how big this was, anyway she was just delighted for me.

 

When waiting for the plane, me and my mates had some beer, and then suddenly Veggy Heggem comes through the passport control. I asked him if I could take a picture with him, picture taken and a nice start to the morning. Vegard is a sound lad, quiet and relaxing. He still wears his Liverpool player jacket from the Worthington Cup final in 2003, quality.

 

The flight to Istanbul was an enjoying one. I don’t think the Turkish staff were really prepared for what came. Lots of mad football fans, banners, drinking and singing. Watching them, you said to yourself “They’re probably thinking: Why did I come to work today?” Anyway they managed to smile a bit back at times, and they wouldn’t get anything but smiles back cos we were on our way to Istanbul to watch the redmen play the European Cup Final.

 

Party, party, party.....

 

When landing in Istanbul the excitement grew bigger. I’ve never been so far away, and though the only thing in your mind was Liverpool in the European Cup final, it was really exciting visiting a country you’d never been in and so far away from home. I was prepared to wait for a while at the airport when everything went lightning quick. Show yer ticket, passport, and photocopy of the pazzie and you’re in. Outside the airport stood loads of buses, found one and off to Taksim square.

 

The bus ride was a funny one, lots of singing and watching out of the windows, looking at this fascinating country. On our way to Taksim square, nearly every car and bus blew their horns, smiling and cheering, thumbs up and and all that. Were no booing or any other negative stuff, you really felt welcomed by the locals.

 

Finally reaching the Taksim square, it was just a great feeling coming off the bus. A sea of red as long as your eyes could reached. What a view! Loads of reds everywhere. Loads of banners everywhere, loads of fellow Reds drinking, singing and enjoying themselves in the sun and heat of Istanbul, preparing for the European Cup Final. It was a just some fantastic hours in the sun in Taksim quare. It was such fun that you almost forgot that you were going to see the European Cup Final later that evening.

 

The time flew and we had to find a bus to Atatürk Stadium. Eventually we got on one, the bus packed of Reds, superb atmosphere, singing all the way the ground. When we came, it was a great sight, the huge stadium and the all red fans. A bit of a biblical view when you walked towards the ground. A big stadium out in nowhere amongst lots of rocks in almost desert-like surroundings.

 

After a few hours at the fan festival, I entered the stadium. Block 302, row 32, seat 178. Ahhh.. I’ll remember those words and numbers for the rest of my life.... When entering the stadium, I fancied some food and drinks, but the queue took ages and the food and drink stalls didn’t seem prepared at all, so I decided to find my seat.

 

A fantastic sight, watching around. Apart from the Milan end, it looked like we had fans everywhere. A great noise, banners everywhere and you had a tear in your eye. I couldn’t believe where I was.

 

I could talk about the game for ages, but I keep it brief. I couldn’t believe my eyes at half time. To be fair the game was pretty even, the difference being that Milan were deadly effective, we were not. The ref was poor as well I thought. I’m usually a very, very optimistic person but at half time I was just stunned. I even started to think about the trip back home and how that was going to be like. How could we come back from this? This was our final, our party. It just couldn’t end this way. But we couldn’t lay down, and we started to sing the beautiful YNWA. Fantastic stuff and I certainly think it lifted everyone, and it certainly lifted my spirits. The players certainly heard it and it lifted them according to Carra he said in the post-match interviews.

 

Second half underway, and then came the first goal. Now we at least had a little chance. Then Vladi popped up. What was happening here? Then the penalty, 3-3!! We went ballistic, every Liverpool fan went crazy. What a comeback!!! I couldn’t believe it. We were in it, Milan were stunned and our lads were on a high and played some fantastic football out there, but the passion, commitment and sheer grit and determination they showed out there was just unbelieveable.

 

The extra time was nervewrecking. Both teams having their chances, but no one managed to get that goal. It came to pens, and what drama..... I don’t what to say but when Jerzy saved the pen from Shevchenko........what a moment...... Like the rest of our fans, I went crazy, screaming, jumping, crying, celebrating and hugging the fellow Reds around me which I’d never met before.

 

It was just a unbelieveable moment. The fans, players and staff went crazy....what a night. And when Stevie lifted the trophy, I managed to celebrate but I was also so physically drained as well. And when we started to sing YNWA when the players walked around with the big trophy, I just started crying.....

 

After some time, the players went back into the dressing rooms, and it was time to find the a bus back to Saibha Gökchen airport. Took a while to come to the airport, but it didn’t matter. We were the European Champions.

 

My flight back home was delayed for about ten hours I think, but eventually I got back home. Absoutely knackered and dead tired, but a what an experience.....

 

Five times. European Champions.

 

Best day of my life.

 

Kenneth. a.k.a Viking Kopite.

 

From Surrey to Istanbul by Will

 

 

 

After a long, long wait (twenty years to be precise), the mighty reds of Liverpool were back in the European Cup Final – the pinnacle of footballing achievement. Would I go? What do you think!

 

I was put in charge of booking the trip for four of us – myself, Jonesy, Big Wayne and Senrab_nohj. Flights to Istanbul were already ludicrously expensive by the time I was able to book – only around 36 hours after we had seen off Chelsea. So, we ended up on a magical mystery tour to keep the costs reasonable – a ten hour trip out via Frankfurt and Ankara, and fourteen hours back by the same route, but into a different airport in London. Some people moaned about the final being staged so far away, and in such a hard to get to place. Not me. The adventure was all part of the final for me – I am pleased we had to trek across the continent rather than just get the tube to Wembley, or a train to Paris. Mind you, if I have to take the Eurostar next May I won’t really be complaining!

 

Due to an early start on the Tuesday, Wayne and Jonesy drove down from Manchester to stay at mine on the Monday night. They finally pitched up at 10:40pm after getting lost a few times. After a long evening’s travel their thirst buds were in overdrive, so we hot-footed it to my local pub to squeeze a pint or two in before last orders at 11:00pm. A welcoming landlord and a side-street location ensured that we didn’t actually get kicked out until 1:30am, seven pints later. Jonesy requested further drink when we got back home – anything to help him through the process of taking to Herbie von Smalls on the forum… I thought I might wangle foisting a glass of butterscotch schnapps on him, which was actually more palatable at this time of night than I had recalled it being. The bottle was drained before we finally headed to bed, with Jonesy finishing off with a swift vodka. Three hours later, Jonesy was waken from his sleeping bag by me giving him a kick as our cab had arrived.

 

The trip to Heathrow was uneventful, with Sen awaiting us. After brief hair of the dog we progressed smoothly through our various flights, with the longest stop-over being in Frankfurt where we enjoyed some typical German cuisine of Wiener Schnitzel... There were plenty of reds fans joining in on our route from Frankfurt, including the YPC boys, with Gray carrying his home-made tin-foil 2D European Cup!

 

The cab ride from Istanbul airport was eventful in both the hair-raising manner of the driving, and also in the fact that we made the fatal error of letting Big Wayne sit in the back seat. Needless to say, I was crushed between him and Sen. Still, the hotel was nice enough, especially as Wayne had booked it “blind”, and exceedingly cheaply.

 

Bags dropped, we headed off to the main central square, Taksim, which was jam-packed with reds. Less happily, the bars had apparently run out of beer. After a quick text frenzy, I located Jon Hall in a “nearby” bar. Twenty minutes’ walk later, during which we lost Wayne walking down a very straight main shopping street, we found the pub, ready for a first Turkish beer. But, no! The bouncer would not let us in as they were closing – news to the group of ten or so RAWKites sitting inside (Jon Hall, Terri, Lee & Ally, Christine, John, Brenda, Jon G, etc.). Dejected, we were at a loss until we spotted the man standing in the alley next to the pub behind a small table which had a single Carlsberg pump – not Turkish beer, but beggars can’t be choosers.

 

We settled at the table in the alley for a drink before the RAWK mob emerged from the pub and we could all go in search of somewhere else. However, that alley turned into a pub of its own as our presence soon enticed more passing fans, as well as Slapnuts and Spike_starski, who we managed to direct there. We also exchanged friendly greetings with the Milan fans and Turkish locals that passed by, with Jonesy also getting to know the passing tramps, including the legendary Mini Pavarotti. The nightclub further down the alley eventually took its big speakers outside so the music was blaring out into the street as well, although we regularly drowned it out singing songs of praise to Liverpool FC. We rounded the night off with a top-class late kebab.

 

After a good first night in Istanbul, hopes were high that the second night would be even better. We slept reasonably well, and then Sen and I headed off for a bite of culture while the other two got some much needed extra beauty sleep. Our hotel was in the heart of the Old Town, so we had a look round Hagia Sophia. This was built as a Greek Orthodox Chruch between 532 and 537, and later converted into a mosque before being turned into a museum by President Atatürk around seventy years ago. It was quite an unusual building, with the uncovered Christian mosaics sitting alongside Arabic decorations.

 

We enjoyed a good lunch sat outside, before heading back to Taksim Square which was again absolutely thronging with reds fans. We managed to track down Cobs, Vic, Gravy, Murphman, McGhinty and Matty, and were then joined in dribs and drabs by a whole host of other forumites, including Vlad Jr, Stevieboy2k, Gray YPC, RP, Anny Road, Andy Mac and the Sutty’s. The sun was blazing, and we were enjoying a relaxing afternoon in Istanbul! At some stage I donned my woolly hat – several years ago a friend had knitted it for me. I perhaps foolishly promised myself that I would (only) wear it the next time Liverpool reached a European final. That day had come!

 

Eventually, I hopped into a cab with Sen, Anny Road and Paul to go to the stadium – helpfully located twenty miles from the city centre, with no regular public transport links. About an hour into our journey we spied the stadium, but then the road veered away into a massive loop. The roadside was thronged with young Turkish kids as we got closer, many of whom were carrying home-made placards praising Liverpool! We ground to a halt at a police check-point, at which point my need for a piss became utterly overwhelming. Paul and I abandoned the cab and I hobbled over to the garage on the opposite side of the street which had a toilet, trying and failing to break into a run. Never have I felt so relieved… Another hour or so later, with our cab driver now leading us in ‘Ring Of Fire’, we gave up on the cab, and headed across the half-mile of open fields towards the stadium. A sea of red was already there, with waves descending across the dirt.

 

What followed in the ground was the most amazing game of football I have ever witnessed, and am ever likely to see. After an interminably long “opening ceremony”, the game kicked off with AC Milan scoring inside the first minute – disaster! We played poorly in the first half, and I began to get quite downcast as two more goals were conceded. 3-0 down at half-time to one of the greatest teams in Europe – nobody comes back from that!

 

My spirits were raised by the defiance being expressed in the toilet at half-time, and as I returned to my seat (next to Sen), the crowd sang out YNWA. That just sent me over the edge as I tried to join in, and I spent the first twenty minutes of the second half crying like a baby, as Liverpool staged the most amazing come-back – as goals from Steven Gerrard, Vladimír Šmicer and Xabi Alonso in a six-minute spell levelled the game. An extra half an hour was then played to try to separate the sides, with the reds hanging on at times, and Jerzy Dudek making the most astounding double-save I think I have ever seen.

 

With no further score, a penalty shoot-out was required. My confidence was not high, as we had spent the entire past few seasons being poor at converting what penalties we had been awarded. However, Dudek succeeded in spooking the first Milan taker, and saved from the second as we immediately took a two-goal lead. Finally, it came down to Andriy Shevchenko, claimed by many to be the finest striker in world football, whose kick was saved by Dudek. Cue utter pandemonium! Everyone around me was hugging each other and struggling to believe what had happened. Many tears were shed, although I had none left by that stage. What an amazing match, and what a sight to see Steven Gerrard lift the famous trophy, and see all the Liverpool players celebrating, some of them were clearly as overcome as the fans were.

 

We got a bus back into town, arriving at around 2:30am. We were all still a little shell-shocked, and as our cab to the airport was booked for 5:00am we decided not to go out for a drink, but instead settled for a trip to the hotel bar, and a chat with our friendly night porter. I had about half an hour’s sleep before we headed back on our return magical mystery tour. At each stop along the way we bought more newspapers to see if what we had witnessed was really true. At Frankfurt, our flight was cancelled, but fortunately we were bumped to the next Lufthansa flight, which was going into Heathrow – much more convenient for us all. We arrived back in London at around 7:00pm, with us all very much in need of a good wash, and a change of clothes! Wayne, Jonesy and I got a cab back to Richmond, reeking, and they left pretty much straight away to drive back up north.

 

What an amazing trip.

 

Will.

 

From Walton to Istanbul by hels smicer

 

 

 

Its 9 at night in John Lennon Airport on the 24th May 2005

 

I am checking in & collecting my tickets to go to THE CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FINAL

 

Pinch me I am still dreaming finally after all the ups & downs of my trip being on then off & then on again & having to get my passport renewed

 

I am all sorted on my way

 

Me & My Mum are off to Istanbul

 

After an over night flight full of fellow Liverpool Supporters we arrive about 6 & jump on the bus again full of fellow Liverpool supporters to Taksim Square where we arrive a little while later

 

Istanbul is just waking up so we found a lovely little café for some breakfast

 

By the time we got back to the square more fellow fans with their banners have arrived & started decorating the square - our home for the day

 

Also there are some ex-Liverpool legends to do news broadcasts. We met & had photographs with Alan Kennedy, David Fairclough & Mark Lawrenson

 

More supporters arrive by the minute & soon the square is just a sea of red jumping with excitement

 

By lunchtime the Red Army has taken over the entire square & surrounding areas & is in full voice soaking up the sunshine

 

We stayed in the square enjoying the amazing atmosphere & party till late afternoon when we travelled over to the ground

 

Again the ground is a sea of red as far & wide as you can travel

 

Even more singing, dancing, banners & numerous games of football happening

 

We stayed around the stage joining in the party till just after the gates had opened when we went in to find our seats & get sorted for the game

 

We had great seats behind the goal so take full advantage of the view

 

The atmosphere & tension continue to build until kick off when the whole stadium is jumping

 

I have never experienced an atmosphere like this before

 

I knew at the Semi Final against Chelsea & UEFA Cup Final that I had seen something special but this was something else again

 

The memories & emotions of the rest of the evening will remain with me forever

 

No words can some up the game or celebrations

 

I was shell-shocked at half time & in a state of disbelief & awe at what had gone before by the end of the night

 

Players & fans enjoy a victory party as one to celebrate the European Cup coming home to stay

 

As a Vladi Fan who has been since he arrived at the club & will remain so I was ecstatic when he came on after 20 minutes & have never been more proud of him

 

So finally its all over - still on cloud nine & the reality of it all not sinking in we leave the stadium & jump on a bus to head back to the airport & our trip home

 

All I can say is I am honoured & proud not to mention privileged to be able to say I was there

 

Hels Smicer (Helen Thompson).

 

From Litherland to Istanbul by Snorky

 

 

 

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.

 

From Chorlton to Istanbul by Big Wayne

 

 

 

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!

 

From Ladbroke Grove to Istanbul by LondonLiverpoolFan

 

 

 

OK where to start!

 

Well I was sent an e-mail by Sutty saying he had a spare ticket the Thursday before the final. Now I had turned down the opportunity of a ticket the week before that as I just didn't feel I could afford to go. I instantly regretted turning it down so now that I had been given a second chance I took it. Now to try to find a flight.... I had remembered reading about a flight in a post by Tanman so I looked into that. I managed to get hold of Andy Thurogood's e-mail address and contacted him. He was superb, got back to me right away and gave me all the info I needed. The trip was being operated by a company called BAC Sports. With a flight departing from Luton at 10am the morning of the game, landing in Istanbul at 3:45pm local time. The return flight was departing Istanbul at 4am and landing back in Luton at 6am. Cost £640! Now that was alot of money but compared to the other flights I looked into that day it was at least £200 cheaper.

 

I booked it and later that evening drove down and met Sutty to collect the ticket from him. I couldn't let it out of my sight! On the way home I kept checking my pocket just to make sure it was still there! The five days that followed I was on cloud nine. People couldn't believe I was going. Got the usual "why'd you spend all that money to go and watch your team lose" from Mancs and the like but I couldn't care less, I was going to watch my team in the European Cup final! Tuesday night rolled round and I just couldn't sleep despite knowing that I had to get up at 5:30am to make sure I got to Luton in time for my flight! Having got up I then had to decide what shirt to wear. I went with our current home kit as I'd worn the seventies retro one to Cardiff earlier this season and we'd lost. We all have our superstitions and one of mine is having my daughter kiss the badge on my shirt before I head off to a game. Before I left I had to go in and wake her up. She wasn't pleased but she gave me a big hug and kiss and I was on my way.

 

Got the Thameslink up to Luton and met Tanman (Dave) and his mate (John) at the station. We were in the airport for 7:45am. We all checked in and were in the pub in the departure lounge having our first pint by 8am. The pub was packed with Liverpool fans and it wasn't long before a few songs had rung out. After three or four pints off we go to board our plane only to be told we weren't expected to leave now until 11:30am. On the way back to the pub we decided to splash out and pay to go in the "executive lounge". What a rip-off! £11.50 to get into the lounge and it was sh*te. The only good thing was that you didn't have to queue up for your beer!

 

Finally got on the plane half-cut and we were in the air. As they ran out of beer on the plane by the time they got to my aisle I had a couple of brandy and cokes only to fall asleep for about 10 mins with one on the tray and wake up having tipped it all over myself! Landed in Istanbul at 5:30pm local time. Got into passport control only to be confronted by huge queues of red. There must have been at least a thousand reds all queuing and singing. Got through and then straight onto a coach at about 6pm for the one and a half hour drive to the Stadium.

 

A couple of beers each on the coach before we got stuck in a huge traffic jam on the way. The stadium is in the middle of nowhere, with only two roads leading to it, one for the Milan fans and one for us. It was a shambles. In the queues of coaches and buses there were mental boy racer taxis weaving in and out between them with reds hanging out of the windows. There were also hundreds of Turks lining the roads cheering and waving as we drove past. A few of them were out to make a few bob and were selling beers (well over priced but we still bought a load!) to all the thirsty reds on the coaches, Tanman was the main entertainment on our coach though. All his phone calls ending in "Love You" which everyone then took the pi*s out of. He also went up to the front of the bus and sang YNWA over the tannoy! People kept getting off to have a slash as there was no toilet. One or two lads even got left behind only for them to then catch us up further up the road.

 

Finally we turned this corner and could see the stadium a few miles ahead across what seemed like wasteland. Thousands of Reds had abandoned their taxis and coaches and were striding off down the wasteland to the stadium. Although we felt like joining them we couldn't as we needed to make sure we knew where our coach was parked for after the game. Finally at 8pm we pulled into the car park. There were about 100 other coaches in there. We were then told by the reps that 30 mins after Stevie G lifts the cup to make sure we are back at the coach. As the carpark had no sections we were told to look for a landmark near our coach. A landmark in a huge carpark? Well there was a lamp post near it so that'll have to do. Next thing I'm off on my own walking down this hill towards the stadium. All you could see was a sea of red shirts. Tens of thousands of Liverpool fans in the so called 'fan zone'. That was pure sh*te, completely alcohol free and nothing to do although I was given a couple of cans of Efes by some friendly reds. I then went to try to find a programme only to be told that they were on sale in the stadium.

 

After finally getting through the turnstiles I got into the stadium and proceeded to try to find a programme seller. In the end I gave up and walked up to the executive boxes where I managed to blag a programme from a security guard! Top bloke! Got into my seat which was 27 rows back just to the left of half way in the West stand. AntM was stood next to me and we were soon joined by Matty, Vic (Swan Red) and the Sutty's.

 

Anyway lots of singing ensued and we all know what happened during the first 45 mins. I was in a daze. Couldn't believe we had been torn apart like that. I called the officials bent after they ignored Nesta's blatant handball and I found myself repeating it at half-time. I was talking to Matty and AntM and we all pretty much agreed that was it, none of us could see us coming back from 3-0 down against Milan. All the talk was about winning the second half by one or two, regaining some pride etc.... Suddenly we heard 'You'll Never Walk Alone' emanating from the North Stand and it shook all the reds in the Stadium out of our self pity. We all rose and added to the other thousands of voices. It was a great moment.

 

Second half got underway and when Dudek made the save from Shevchenko's free kick it spurred us on some more. Suddenly Riise had the ball on the left and swung it in for Stevie G to nod a goal back. We celebrated but none of us really thought we were witnessing the start of a miraculous comeback. However when Vladi drove the ball home from the edge of the box 2 minutes later we went mental! Suddenly everyone was roaring. My throat was killing me. We were all bouncing around with a real belief that we were going to find an equaliser. When Stevie G burst into the box everything seemed to slow down.... Suddenly he was on his knees and everyone looked at the ref who pointed to the spot! I had a feeling Alonso was going to miss, not sure why? Maybe it's because I remember how good Dida is/was at saving penalties.... Anyway Alonso turned in the rebound so quickly after the save that I didn't have a chance to feel disappointment. We were flying, bouncing up and down on the plastic seats, people hurling themselves around, it was crazy. I remember just turning and looking at Vic and we both shook our heads, we couldn't believe what we were seeing.

 

Extra time was all but over with our players completely drained. Milan were all over us and there were a few voices concerned that we had sat back. A chant of "Attack, Attack" went up only for Vic to respond with "Defend, Defend!" The players were too knackered to do anything else though. Then though the moment I was sure we were going to win. If you gave Shevchenko that chance another 100 times he'd probably score it every single time. It was as close to a miracle as I've ever seen. Serginho whipped the ball in and play seemed to go even slower than when Gerrard was brought down.... I saw Shevchenko rise and head the ball down, Dudek flung himself to his right and palmed the ball down. Then I noticed it was falling at the feet of Shevchenko and Tomasson. At the time I wasn't even sure who missed it, all I knew was that it was a certain goal that somehow found it's way onto Dudek's hand and up and over the bar. Me and Matty turned to each other and just hugged. (Not in a Macca type way!) Just out of sheer relief. That was far too close. I thought right then that we'd win although I didn't dare say it for fear of putting the 'mockers' on us.

 

So then we were faced with the lottery of penalties. The feeling that this was to be our night was reinforced further by Serginho's miss. Suddenly I saw Didi striding forward to take one! To say I wasn't confident is an understatement but Didi proved me wrong. As Pirlo missed me and Matty started jumping around like mad men only for AntM, to turn and say "it's not over yet!" Cissé and Tomasson both scored and when Riise missed (a good penalty and a great feckin save) doubt began to creep back into my mind. Kaka levelled things although we still had our 4th pen to come. I wasn't confident in Vladi either but he did us all proud in what was his final game for us, slotting home to Dida's left. Shevchenko stepped up next and I did not expect him to miss. He had been excellent that night but hit possibly the worst pen I've ever seen live. Dudek palmed it away and the whole stadium went crazy.

 

We were jumping up and down, everyone was hugging each other and falling about, grown men were in tears everywhere. I've got severe bruises on the back of both of my legs from hitting them off seats as we were jumping about. It was amazing. My voice was gone. I could barely speak. I watched the presentation and I really didn't want to leave. AntM had to get back to the car park as well though so we said our goodbyes and then walked back to try to find our coaches.

 

Could I find mine? Could I f*ck. The car park now had about 300 coaches in it and about 20,000 Liverpool fans swarming around trying to find their own coaches. I searched for over an hour before giving up and trying to call one of the BAC Sports reps. Not much was going right for me at this stage though. After using my phone to take pics of the presentation I'd only gone and completely run down the battery. I ended up giving a lad £10 to use his mobile. I then legged it up the road to a roundabout and tried to get a taxi. It was now 2am (the game had finished at about 1am local time and I'd searched for my coach for an hour) and my flight was due to leave at 4am. I was beginning to think that I'd be stuck in Istanbul for a few days.

 

I got into a taxi and asked him to take me to the airport, he wrote down 750 million Turkish lira! I told him to feck off and got out. Suddenly I saw this old yellow Skoda reversing down the road so I ran up to him and managed to persuade this old cabbie to take me. He couldn't speak a word of English so I had to show him my boarding card for him to work out where I wanted to get to. We got stuck in another huge traffic jam but to be fair to him he took me down this dust track and managed to avoid half of it. I got to the airport at 3:45am. It had cost me 120 million Turkish lira (about £55-£60) but I was there. I legged it into departures only to see that our flight was going to be delayed for 3 hours! I could have got a free shuttle bus from the stadium had I known that!

 

I managed to locate Tanman and Cobs just outside the tent and had another few beers while we waited. The airport was a shambles with Reds kipping all over the floor in the terminal. We weren't even given boarding cards for our return journey. You could have got onto any plane you wanted. Anyway we landed at Luton at 9:30am Thursday morning and after buying pretty much every newspaper I could I was back in the office by 1pm. I was completely knackered as I only managed to get 20 minutes kip in over 42 hours. But feck me it was worth it.

 

It was magic. Easily the 2nd greatest night of my life (after my daughter being born of course!) Hopefully we'll have many more.

 

YNWA

 

Michael – LondonLiverpoolFan

 

 

From Liverpool to Istanbul by beejay

 

 

 

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, w***, w***, w***” 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.

 

From Huyton to Istanbul by Jeff guitar

 

 

My travelling mate, Carl, and me arrive at JLA around 5am for a 7am flight, the weather is cool and drizzly but this hasn't deterred a large number of fans from arriving in their shorts. Outside the airport, time is spent browsing the wares of a souvenir seller and I purchase a baseball cap with 'LIVERPOOL ISTANBUL 25/5/05' emblazoned upon it, 'All them 5's' I think to myself 'it's got to be our year; there’s so many omens'.

 

Check-in is painless and takes only a couple of minutes at the Lonsdale desks. We decide to have a wander around before going through to gate 5 for boarding. Carl calls our mate Andy, to see if he has arrived yet, as we know he is due to fly out on the 7.30am Lonsdale flight. Andy has also just arrived and we greet him and his brother Jamie as they check-in. At this point I become aware that my 'Danger Mines! Cambodia' t-shirt is highly inappropriate attire as it consists of not one ounce of the colour red within it, and, what with Carl and Andy sporting their Retro tops and Jamie wearing a Shankly t-shirt I feel somewhat out of place. I make my way to the Liverpool FC shop and purchase a souvenir t-shirt with 'Anfield’s our Church, Football's our Religion' along the bottom and a big beautiful picture of the big eared one on the front of it. After a quick change into my new t-shirt I meet up with the boys in Burger King and discuss the possible day's events over a cup of BK mud.

 

At Passport control people are handing out ‘don’t buy The S*n’ stickers and we take some for ourselves and some to pass onto friends. A transfer bus is waiting at our gate and we are soon settled in for what turns out to be a decent flight with a fairly tasty breakfast. A couple of songs are sung on the plane but the atmosphere is generally one of anticipation and is fairly low key, much to the displeasure of the cabin crew, who comment 'we thought there would be more chanting'.

 

On landing in Saibha Gökchen we disembark and get through customs in no time at all and there is a straightforward transfer onto our coach with just enough time to stop and chat with an outward bound Turkish cabin crew asking for a go of Carl's flag and commenting that they love Liverpool - a good start.

 

My first impression of Istanbul, especially on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, is of how downtrodden most of the areas seem to be and of how the splendid and magnificent Mosques protrude from the depressed suburban dwellings. This impression slowly changes the closer we get to the European Istanbul.

 

The coach doesn't get lost but progress is slow through the narrow streets of the old city of Istanbul. Everyone is out on the streets with smiles and waves and all seems to be extremely friendly. We eventually make it to the Hotel Cara and check-in is really quick and well organised and we are in our room and out again within 20 minutes of arriving. The first Taksi we see is hired and we head for Taksim square.

 

The journey to Taksim is quite eventful, with more lane changes and horn use in 15 minutes of travel time than the average UK driver would do in fifteen years. Every vehicle in the traffic seems to be honking horns and some of them beep when they see our flag hanging out the Taksi window or for one of the numerous others. Taksim square is heard long before we see it as 'Fields Of Anfield Road' comes floating out over the roar of the traffic like the rallying call of a huge army ready to go on the march.

 

It takes a few minutes to get our bearings, and find some ale, but we stake our claim on top of the shops across the steps from McDonald’s and proceed to immerse ourselves in the wonderful ambience of the occasion. Beer is plentiful with local entrepreneurs walking around with buckets filled with Efes for varying prices. We purchase some beverages, chat to some fellow supporters, sing some songs and take some photos. The local Turks seem thrilled at our revelry and some take videos of us singing songs and dancing. Looking back on it I don’t think it had sunk in that we were in Istanbul and that we were hours away from what could potentially be one of the greatest nights in our clubs history.

 

Whilst waiting to be served in McDonald’s I have a few surreal minutes, as the girl behind the counter instead of asking ‘who’s next’, starts each new order with a rendition of ‘Ring Of Fire’. ‘der,der,der,der,der,der,der’, she goes, ‘der,der,der,der,der,der,der’ reply the waiting customers.

 

We scoff the scran and notice the square is emptying and decide to make our way to the stadium. So, off we set with hope in our hearts, a song in the air and a McDonald’s bag full to the brim with ale. We find the free buses and cram ourselves onto one of them. The atmosphere on the bus is hot, sticky, noisy but magnificent.

 

There is a fantastic sing-along on the bus – with one lad getting all frustrated because no one would join in with his Alonso song – every one seems to want to sing Luis García’s song and this goes on for about twenty minutes. The rest of the Liverpool repertoire is then brought into play. All along the side of the road are Turkish locals, both adults and children, out waving us along and wishing us well.

 

After what seems an absolute age we start to catch the odd glimpse of the stadium but it is obvious it is quite far away in the distance? As the traffic starts to crawl the banter starts to fly between taksi’s and coaches with the ‘Alonso’ guy entertainingly telling people to 'purra smile on yer face, yer going to a European Cup Final, for Christ's sake' if anyone looked even slightly like they weren’t enjoying themselves. To be fair, he had a point. The bus eventually came to a stand-still and we decide to get off and walk (As I lift the McDonald’s bag it feels unusually light, and then I realise that the bottom has fallen out of it. Cue Carl and me stuffing a can into every available pocket).

 

The stadium appears like a ship on the horizon and is so big it only looks half a mile away but it must be 2 miles or more because it takes us ages to walk to it. As we start the walk to the stadium across the ‘fields of Attaturk’ with the rest of the red army, the enormity of the events unfolding hits me and I have one of those moments that everyone must have at some point and start walking and mumbling to myself ‘oh my God, I can’t believe this, this is awesome!’ It’s finally hit me.

 

As we approach the festival site I can hear the last strains of 'Heart As Big As Liverpool' being sung. The sight of all them Liverpool fans with the stadium in the background is breath-taking. I start chatting to a bloke walking alongside us and realise it’s Tony Warner, Carl gets his photo taken with him. I think this must be another omen as we also saw him at the Chelsea semi-final at Anfield as we were taking our seats.

 

I take some photos of the stage invasion when the now infamous ‘Pleeeeese leave the stage, it is for your own good, pleeeese go that way’ incident takes place. It is one of the funniest things I have ever heard and seen, although I’m glad everyone decided to get off the stage in the end.

 

I meet an old friend I haven’t seen for years, by the side of the stage and we get a photo taken by the 'Them Scousers Again' banner (probably my favourite banner of the ones that I saw).

 

Carl tries to contact Andy and his brother, who we knew had been delayed at JLA and got bussed straight to the stadium. Amazingly Andy is walking past us just as Carl gets through, but we don’t see him as we have one eye on a bit of trouble brewing between a few lads at the back of the stage. I suddenly see Andy just in time to hear him saying ‘Alright, you sound really clear’ as he turns round and sees us.

 

Andy and his brother tell us that they arrived straight from the airport only to find the only beer on sale was alcohol-free so they took a Taksi to the nearest off-license to buy some real beer. The next couple of hours are spent chatting and singing and watching people making their way to the stadium.

 

As we make our way to the ground I spot Anny Road, who I recognise from the pictures that have been posted on ynwa.tv and go over and introduce myself. Out of the gloom stumble 3 more ynwa.tv regulars Sen, RP and Will who has a tea cosy on his head for some reason. Anny Road kindly offers me a can of beer that I gleefully accept from him and we part with ‘right then, lets go and win the European Cup, good luck’ or something along those lines.

 

The match…… well, you all saw it, plenty have tried to explain it, you all experienced the emotions, and none who were there (or wherever you were) will forget it. If you could experience those emotions through a song – then that song would be number one forever. If a director could make a film that, in the space 130 minutes, could send you to the depth of despair and bring you out the other side with the highest possible elation, - you’d pay to watch it, every single day.

 

I, like everyone else, was thinking ‘damage limitation’ at half-time. If we could get 1 goal we could salvage some pride. The ‘YNWA’ and ‘we're gonna win 4-3’ was on reflection us saying ‘okay, if you the team go down, we all go down together.’

 

Gerrard’s goal was met with relief and a wave of renewed optimism. Šmicer’s goal was with disbelief and a ‘Flaming hell, were did that come from’. If we hadn’t got the penalty we would have scored with the next attack or the one after that. We were on a roll and we were all over AC, they had completely gone at this point – our players believed and more importantly the fans believed.

 

The next hour of football I spent whistling as loud as I could whenever AC had the ball and clapping and singing whenever Liverpool had possession. I believe I contributed in some small way to that beautiful trophy coming home, along with 35-40,000 others of course, oh…. and some very important people actually on the pitch itself.

 

The penalties brought more whistling and lots of people giving a running commentary ‘right, we only have to score 2 from 3, and we win’ or ‘If he misses it, it’s ours’, etc. and then the sudden realisation that we had done it ‘Oh my God, we had done it.’ What a feeling, what celebrations, what elation. If it's this good as a fan I can only imagine how good it must be for Gerrard and Carragher and the rest of the players.

 

The bus journey back to Taksim Square was long and everyone was emotionally drained. I couldn’t speak – I had no voice left. We saw Andy and his brother on the bus in the next lane and we celebrated across the traffic. No thought was given to the fact that their flight was 3.00am and it was now 2.15am and we hadn’t even hit the centre of Istanbul. He didn’t care – we’d just won the European Cup for the fifth time and this time for keeps

 

We celebrated for a while back in Taksim square and then made our way to our hotel and met up with a couple of lads for a few drinks in the bar. The next day we had some time to kill so we hit the hotel pool for an hour or so and relaxed with a couple of beers whilst we soaked away the aches and pains of the previous day's exertions.

 

We walked around one of the market bazaars in the Sultan Ahmet area and around one of the many Mosques before heading back to catch our coach to the airport. We started hearing horror stories of delays on the flights home and I met someone who had already been delayed 10 hours and whose plane was still showing 6 on the board. We got told by a Lonsdale steward to go straight through to check-in as our flights were showing as on time. We went through but there was nowhere to check-in. we decided to stay in view of the stewards who had no info to pass on but would let us know when they knew anything.

 

I don’t want to criticise the Lonsdale stewards too much, as the chaos at the airport was not their fault and I’m sure lots of stewards tried their best but the ones on our flight pretty much left us in the lurch. On hearing that it was ‘get on any flight’ none of them told any of the people hanging around they just made a run for it through to the boarding gates. Anyway, it was quite annoying to see about 10 of them go straight through a gate onto a transfer coach (basically pushing in front of hundreds of fans who were already queuing – blatantly using their steward status to get through). A lot of heated exchanges took place as they frantically tried to get the 1 steward who didn’t ditch us to join them on the bus. Oh how I laughed when the girl in control of boarding said ‘zat bus is for Dublin – Liverpool flights use gates 4&5. I hope they enjoyed their Guinness.

 

We got extremely, extremely lucky travelling back and landed at JLA only 1 hour late, but we could have been there for God knows how many hours if we had been relying on information from our guides. Even so, if we had been delayed by 5, 10, 15 or even more hours – I wouldn’t have cared one iota, not after the 48 hrs I had just had.

 

Well done you red men!

 

Jeff Guitar

 

From Ellen MacArthur to Istanbul by RP

 

 

 

“Guess who I’m talking to in the hotel bar”

“No idea”

“Go on guess”

“I have no idea. I’m at work and I couldn’t care less”

“Ellen MacArthur. How about that? What’s she doing at an airport? I thought she’d sail everywhere”

 

I guess I already knew it was a mistake allowing Anny Road to get a head start on me in the bar. Nevertheless it was with a sense of excitement that I left work and set off up the M11 on the evening of Tuesday 24th May, my destination Istanbul, via the Hilton Hotel, Stansted.

 

One hour later, settling into burger and chips and a pint of lager, I felt that the trip I never dreamt would happen had finally begun. I was going to see my team in the European Cup Final. Swiftly moving up a couple of gears from a regular lager to Kronenbourg (I had to catch Anny Road up somehow) the conversation began to flow. Followed by the vodka. Our sensible early night was coming to a reasonably calm close just before midnight when we retired to our room.

 

Walking into the room, I think Dave was a little surprised to see a bottle of ‘Evian’ and 5 cans of Red Bull sat on the shelf next to my rucksack. Evian indeed. The Evian had been poured away and replaced with Smirnoff. I had called Lonsdales earlier in the week and they assured me that the flight to Istanbul would not be dry. My ar5e. On an organised trip, you take no such chances.

 

“Well it’d be rude not to have a nightcap I suppose”. Because the walk up to the room had clearly made us thirsty??? A quick vodka and Red Bull (well know for aiding restful sleep!) later and it was time to kip. It was 1am and the alarm was set for 4.30.

 

At 1.05am the light went back on, the tv went on and two large vodka and Red Bulls were poured. We were beginning to sense it wasn’t going to be that easy to get to sleep. But before you knew it, it was 4.30 and we were up, showered, checked out and on the bus at 5am to the airport. Checked in no bother and time for breakfast. O’Neills or the rather disgustingly named juice bar ‘Lovejuice’? O’Neills it was. A couple of Extra Colds and a sausage barm and we were set.

 

Off to wait in the Lounge. Dave goes for his second clear-out of the day and of course the flight is called – as it was ‘free-boarding’ (i.e. first come, first served) I was off to the Gate and onto the plane while Dave finished his business and then ‘made friends’ with an Arsenal fan on the monorail to the Gate. I think he was off to Magaluf or somewhere, wherever he was going you could tell he wasn’t exactly overjoyed at seeing us all heading off to the European Cup Final. Good.

 

So we were on the plane and had a short delay whilst Euroepan Air Traffic Controllers tried to work out how the hell they were going to get half the world’s aircraft into a holding pattern over the Bosphorus. A bit frustrating but fair play to Lonsdales (and special mention to Steve, our LFC Steward who was a top bloke, more later) they immediately started handing out the match tickets, which soon appeased everyone before we even had time to get annoyed. Tickets in hand, we took off, just 45 minutes late.

 

“Excuse me love, are you serving alcohol?”

“No”

“No problem, 2 large orange juices with lots of ice please”

 

“Can I have another couple of orange juices please love?”

“And lots of ice please”

 

“Another couple of orange juices please”

 

Well the flight was supposed to be four hours but we were suddenly there in bright and sunny Istanbul, slightly dazed if truth be told. Straight through Passport Control, and then for a brief wait in the airport whilst they brought our coaches round. Unfortunately (for her) we spotted Alyson Rudd on our flight, the excellent sports journalist from The Times, a Liverpool fan and a rather attractive young lady to-boot. In case you didn’t see it she had written an excellent article the previous day about how she had been given Steven Gerrard’s Liverpool shirt, the one he wore the first time he captained the team, and how it had become her ‘lucky charm’. Dave had his lines all prepared “Nice article Alyson, really enjoyed that, but where’s the shirt?”. “I can’t wear it now, it might drain its magical powers”. “You scare me” and we left Alyson to it. We were genuinely scared. She was travelling with a fella who I was sure I recognised, I guessed he must have been a fellow journalist, a colleague of Alyson’s.

 

The coach journey to the hotel was relatively uneventful save for the whinging gits behind us who made us realise that we were wasting our time even thinking about going to the game, all our players are crap you know? Dave and I decided we’d see what was on at the pictures instead.

 

Oh and the Fenerbahce fan (are there any Gala fans in Istanbul??) who saved my life. Well not quite but he made it clear that wearing an HJC wristband alongside a Livestrong band was not really advisable. Fair point, well made, the yellow band was discarded immediately.

 

After a very efficient check-in at the Hotel Sultan in Sultanahamet, Dave had another visit to the bathroom (and then informed me that he had also put the plane toilet temporarily out of action on the way over!) and it was into a cab to Taksim Square. Well everything was going well up to this point. But the taxi journey was the most exciting, eventful and downright scary journey of my life. The traffic was quite heavy and all the drivers seemed to quite enjoy sounding their horn every 3 seconds. For some reason we suddenly turned off to make a short-cut. The atmosphere changed absolutely. The Locals started staring blankly at us, there were stray animals roaming freely, children playing with no regard whatsoever for mere traffic, washing hanging on lines across the streets, in fact it was like being back in Kenny. The sun even went in.

 

“Cheeeecken people” the taxi driver helpfully informed us. Well we had no bloody idea what “cheeeecken people” were but we felt we’d best hang onto the door handles keeping the doors tightly shut even when we were moving. When we stopped (all too frequently) at junctions, menacing looking local fellas appeared at our windows staring in at us. It was a little unnerving to say the least. Our driver informed us we were just a couple of hundred yards from the square now, “Shall we wal….” “No, we won’t bloody walk, Dave”. I think my ‘excitement’ was becoming rather apparent. I thought I was going to start crying (again, more of that later). Finally we rounded a corner, jumped out of the cab and almost (almost) ran to meet the others – Will, Sen, Vic and the Suttys initially.

 

Never in my life have I been so happy to see Will, even in that soppy hat. Sen was talking gently in his usual “I’ve had half a lager” shouting kind of way whilst Vic looked strangely distracted yet happy enough. The Suttys were the Suttys, Mr Sutty trying to convince someone else to go and get a case of beer (he had got the first) and Mrs Sutty just brightening up proceedings generally in that way she does.

 

The YPC wandered past and then Andy Mac arrived and we were off in a cab to Taksim. Sen in the front with a crate of Efes, me, Will and Dave in the back. For anyone who was there, the journey to the stadium is probably one experience that will live forever. It was like wacky races with all cars the same (yellow cabs), all passengers the same (Reds) and locals lining the streets in places to cheer us on. Songs were being sung, drinks were being passed between cabs, we had Saddam Hussein driving us who soon learned the tune to Ring of Fire and if ever we went quiet he’d start up “der der der der der der der der” - it was all very surreal. A quick stop at a petrol station, about an hour after first seeing the stadium, for a ‘relaxation break’ and bladders suitably emptied, we were on our way again. Only another hour to go, till the cab dropped us the best part of a mile from the stadium. People have made reference to this last leg of the journey to the ground taking on almost Biblical proportions and that is absolutely spot on. Everywhere you looked was desolate wasteland and rising like a mirage, all illuminated was this incredible looking stadium. We were there. Not in the way “we were there” back on the incredible evening of May 3rd. Now we had actually physically made it. Outside the ground we met up with a few more Reds we knew (Big Wayne, Jonesey and someone I hadn’t met before Jeff Guitar) and negotiated our way through the chaos, somehow finding our seats towards the back of Block 209, in the Lower Tier right on the aisle nearest ‘the home end’, the North Terrace.

 

I texted my Missus and also my Chelsea-supporting mate the same message “Milan cannot win this game. Our fans just will not allow it. This is our trophy”.

 

I don’t think there’s much to say about the game, to be honest. It’s all been said. Milan caught us cold with an early strike that I felt at the time Jerzy could have done better with. I didn’t think Maldini had caught it that cleanly and I was disappointed to be down so early. Seeing it again on tv and in the context of what came later, any criticism of Jerzy for the goal would have been ridiculously harsh. Then things got worse and we really started to take a beating. With ten minutes to half-time, I thought we’d be lucky to get in the dressing room just one down but at least Rafa could then work his magic and we’d be back in it. Then the world fell apart. Everything just seemed to freeze in my mind as we conceded a second and then a quite brilliant third.

 

It was all over. We were a long way from home and I was regretting the earlier text messages. This was going to be an embarrassment, the like of which none of us could have possibly ever imagined. 3-0 down and getting battered. Everyone was silent. You could hear a few mutterings of “f*** off” as people read their text messages from home, no doubt some bluenoses and mancs were having the time of their life. The messages I received confirmed the fact that things were as bad as they could possibly be – they were from mancs, Chelsea and Celtic fans and they all said broadly the same thing “you are getting stuffed, we feel for you, hope you can shore it up in the second half”. I would have preferred p***-taking.

 

I was stood with Dave and Andy Mac and we just looked at each other blankly. Jonesey appeared looking as dazed as everyone else. “What are we going to do now?” was the question. The answer was hard and unexpected “we’re going to sing, we’re in the European Cup Final and we’re going to effin well enjoy it”. A cynical “yeah right” smirk passed my lips, but how can you resist joining in with “We shall not be moved, just like a team that’s gonna win the UEFA Cup again, we shall not be moved” and “Oh we’d rather go to Warsaw than Madrid”??

 

“You’ll never Walk Alone” as the team came back out was one of the proudest acts of defiance I have ever witnessed or been a part of. It felt like 45,000 Reds facing the firing squad spitting in the face of the enemy – somehow incredibly satisfying but ultimately pointless.

 

The frankly rather ridiculous songs continued at the beginning of the second half – well they did amongst three of us in our area. What happened next is still quite unbelievable – on many levels.

 

I said to Dave “I’m off for a pee, it’ll all be alright when I get back” and I wandered off up the steps, just jumping on the back of someone’s seat to see Steven Gerrard rise magnificently to head home our ‘consolation goal’. I continued on my walk to the gents. As I stood and contemplated life and what the hell I had witnessed out on that pitch in the previous hour, I looked over my shoulder as the crowd rose again and this time started going absolutely mental – it seemed twice as mad as when Stevie had scored two minutes earlier. Funnily enough I just stood there, remaining perfectly calm. Looking back, I think I had accepted that fate was going to have its way that night and I felt utterly helpless to influence anything that was occurring around me.

 

I returned to my seat and it was chaos. A couple of minutes later and Stevie was down in the area and the Ref gave us a pen. Totally calm. Who would take it? Up stepped Xabi Alonso – the man whose name I had on the back of my Champions League Final shirt. Totally calm. After a brief flutter as Dida saved, the stadium erupted as we all saw Xabi lash the ball into the roof of the net with his left foot. The scoreboard changed to show the score was now 3-3. It wasn’t really happening.

 

The rest of the game passed quite quickly. I felt we took our foot off the gas for five minutes to consolidate our comeback and then when we tried to pick it up again, there was nothing there. But we were still the only team who were going to lift that trophy, I was absolutely convinced. Into extra-time and all I can remember is Jerzy Dudek. Right in front of us, Jerzy made a good save but unfortunately the rebound fell straight to Andriy Shevchenko. He doesn’t miss chances like that - I know, I read it on the YNWA forums the week before. How Jerzy made that second save I will never know. A huge slice of luck but if ever someone made his own luck, it was Jerzy at that precise moment. He flung himself at the ball and crucially stayed strong. Any other Goalkeeper who had managed to get in the way off that point-blank shot I am convinced would have merely deflected it slightly on its way into the net, the result would have been a goal. Jerzy’s strength saved us, no doubt.

 

I hate penalty shoot-outs. I was even strangely nervous when Arsenal had beaten Manchester United in Cardiff four days previously. But now I was absolutely calm – Dave, Andy and I all agreed, what was the worst that could happen? We could lose the Final on penalties. Compare that to an hour and a half earlier, what was the worst that could happen then? The unthinkable, we could have been humiliated in front of the entire football world.

 

First Milan penalty saved. I thought at the time it was going wide but seeing it again it was going right in the corner. Great save. As they stepped up to take their second I said that they had to miss this one. They did and that was that for me. Now we had won it. One last mention of the shoot-out. What other fans in the world would have stood and cheered and chanted a player’s name as he walked back to the halfway line having missed a penalty in the European Cup Final? I firmly believe that the way we reacted to John Arne Riise demonstrated once again that we are indeed unique.

 

All through the evening I had been glancing down at the presentation podium that sat covered up on the running track just down to our left. Now the covers were off and they wheeled it into position. The trophy appeared and it all seemed very real all of a sudden. My total calmness was beginning to wobble, just a touch. The team went up to get their medals and as Steven Gerrard waited patiently, I fell apart. By the time the trophy was held aloft in the Istanbul sky in the early hours of the morning of Thursday May 26th, I was bawling like a little child. And I am 100% proud of it.

 

Funny it has just come back to me - the people around us in the ground who came and found us when the team were doing their lap of honour and congratulated us on never giving up hope, even at 3-0 down. “You lads certainly did you bit tonight, you should be proud”.

 

After the game, we met up with the lads we had been with before the game. Will still had his stupid hat on but that was alright now. Everything was alright now. Even the text message I got from my Chelsea mate telling me what he was doing at that precise moment round at my house (details censored to protect the innocent). Walking along we got chatting to a fella and his 12-year old lad who had travelled from Australia just for the game, it was the first time that the lad had seen Liverpool play live. “You can come again lad”, “It’s like that every week”, “Can you take Harry Kewell back home with you please?”

 

Off into the chaotic coach park and onto a bus to Sultanahamet – took forever but who cares? The only downside was seeing the Sutty’s, Vic and Matty walking along the road as we sat in traffic – we got the doors open just as the traffic cleared and we never managed to meet up with them again that evening. That was a real shame.

 

The bus dropped us in town and we found the first bar we could, The Dolphin Bar. We had picked up a couple of friends along the way. A lad from Liverpool who now lived in Australia, he had flown over for two days just to see the game, we spent two hours on the bus and then the next four hours in a bar with him but made of a point of never asking his name – he looked (very vaguely) like Lee Sharpe so he was Sharpey, that was good enough. We did however make a point of finding out the names of the other two new friends we had picked up along the way. Anna and Natasha, your presence made a perfect evening complete ;-)

 

Tetti, Hally and friends texted us and made their way over from Taksim Square. Tetti was hugging people as though they were Luis Garcia in disguise and even after all we had witnessed that evening, one image has stuck with me more than any other. It was totally and utterly unbelievable. Jon Hall was smiling and laughing and looking like he was actually enjoying himself – now that is something that none of us will ever see again, however long we may live.

 

Dave was hugging ‘random Reds’, actually Paul B, but I didn’t find that out till yesterday. We were all taking the mickey out of Tetti’s new yet brilliantly out-of-date flag “FOUR stars? What’s all that FOUR stars nonsense then???”

 

7am, it was just Dave, Sharpey and the lovely Anna and Natasha left. Off to another bar. Sensing the evening should probably now be drawing to a close, I dragged Dave off and we crashed out for a couple of hours before hauling our tired and delighted bodies down to our hotel lobby for the Midday journey to the airport.

 

The miserable sods on the bus were still miserable. Happy but miserable. All looked fine at the airport, a big tent for us all to relax in and have something to eat and drink while we waited for our flights. We thought there might be a few delays but when one fella went past and said he had just been told that his flight was delayed 10 hours, we feared the worst.

 

This is where Steve The Steward really came into his own. Off he went to find out what was going on, returning 10 minutes later having found our Pilot and Crew and exchanged mobile phone numbers with them having extracted assurances that they would call him as soon as they had a clue what was happening. Sure enough that all went to plan and our boarding was relatively painless.

 

Just before we boarded we had another chat with our new mate Alyson, who was now wearing the famous Stevie G shirt and autographing the relevant article for those who recognised her. It turns out that she only put the shirt on at half-time. We didn’t believe it either but the story was verified by a witness (you know the YNWA Editorial Rules by now!). She should be burnt as a witch. Oh and never allowed to take that shirt off!!!

 

The flight back was quite calm really, the highlight being when the stewardess announced that she was indeed going to be serving alcohol on the flight. 9 cans of Stella for the boys and a water for the witch please. “Float in that”.

 

The final little amusing episode came as we waited for the shuttle bus to take us back to pick up our cars from the hotel. Some old fella, a bus driver, came up and had a chat with us about the game, congratulating us on an extraordinary win. He mentioned he was a Manc but he seemed alright. He told us about an Evertonian who works in his bus depot – he called in sick that day as he had sent too many text messages at half-time the previous evening and couldn’t face the humiliation of turning up and facing the music. Classic Blue behaviour.

 

And so ended the most amazing 48 hours of my life, gone in a flash, but it will stay with me until the day I die.

[Raj]

Completely forgot about Mini Pavarotti

[Will]

PART TWO

 

From Newcastle to Istanbul by Slapnuts

 

 

 

My first thoughts of going to the final came on the night of the semi-final 1st leg versus Chelsea. I was in London at a meeting that morning listening to Chelsea fans around the meeting table talking about going to Istanbul. I was just sat there thinking to myself are there not 2 games to play first? I travelled through London in a cab after the meeting and saw all the reds in Trafalgar Square getting boozed up and with banners everywhere. It looked great. I got to the airport and got my plane back to Newcastle and eventually ended up in my local club where my mates were waiting for me. I had missed 20 minutes of the match, but it was nil-nil so I was happy. We got a draw and Baroš was unlucky not to have scored with a great header.

 

I was walking back home after the game thinking job done, we’ll do these at Anfield - I think I’ll book a holiday to Istanbul. A couple of days later I was in Liverpool with my mate for the Boro game, I don’t think anyone could be bothered with it we just all wanted the Chelsea game to come. I wisely took my car to the Boro game so it was my mate's turn to take his jalopy for the Chelsea game, so I could enjoy a few beverages in Redkop35’s favourite place.

 

So this was it, make or break, winner takes all. García scored, or did he? Who cares, not me for sure? We held on at times and my heart was in my mouth on 95 minutes when the ball dropped to Eider Gudjonsson. How that one kick could have changed everything. Luckily he missed, the whistle went and the place erupted.

 

I had been to all of the home Champions League games before the Chelsea game (bar Olympiacos d’oh) and every game the atmosphere was better and better. But the Chelsea game was something else. I have never ever seen Anfield like that before, but hopefully Rafa and the boys will be bringing nights like that back on a regular basis.

 

So what followed was trying to organise tickets and travel. I eventually got sorted on a one night stay through Lonsdale and booked into Spike_starski, Stevieboy2k and Spike's mate Steve’s trip. Job done, Lonsdale even rang me to sort it out after I sent them an email.

 

Spike kindly let me sleep at his house the night before flying. I got to Spike's about 8 o’clock Monday and was greeted with a can of lager. Then we went out for a few scoops at his local followed by a kebab. Back to Spike's, we had some Martini but I couldn’t finish the glass as it was stirred and not shaken.

 

I woke up the next morning feeling ill. I was sick then had a shower and we set off to pick up Stevie. Spike dropped his car off at work where I was again sick in the car park and inside his work. I think it must have been the roofie Spike gave me the night before. Stevie turned up and we set off for the airport.

 

We got to Istanbul, dumped our bags in the hotel and headed out for some beers. We had a good few in what must have been the dearest bar in Istanbul - 14 lira for a corona, so we quickly started on the 2 pint glasses of beer. We then headed into Taskim Square. We got in a taxi and I stared telling the Turkish driver a few jokes and it’s hard enough for English people to understand me so Fowler knows how he felt. But the lads in the back were enjoying it so I carried on.

 

The bars in the square were brilliant. Full of reds all having a great time singing etc… Me and Spike then met some fellas from this site. We were in this back lane drinking beer from this guy who had a keg outside. I was talking to a few local tramps and was trying to get the lads to give them beers. One who looked like a slim-line version of Pavarotti kissed me on the lips when we left. Spike ended up leaving so I stayed out with the YNWA’ers and ended up going for a really nice kebab.

 

We then went for a taxi. Them together and me alone even though Jonesy kindly said I could sleep on his bedroom floor. I got in the taxi but I had forgotten my hotel card. All I could remember was it was called something Paris. So me and the driver drove round for ages, me drunk and smoking his tabs (and I don’t smoke) until he eventually found the hotel. Much to my relief and probably more so to his.

 

So this was it, the day of the match. The biggest game I would probably ever go to in my life. We went out for a bit scran, Spike looked like he was going to die which was nice. He perked up and we had some beers which Spike kindly paid for all day which was even nicer. We went to the square, it was just full of reds singing, getting boozed up and generally having fun. We then met the lads from this site including Ginger nob which made my day.

We headed for a taxi at 5 o'clock which would give us one hour to get to our hotel to catch the bus transfer to the stadium. The taxi driver was completely clueless. He couldn’t find the hotel, kept stopping and asking people. At one point he stopped and a little lad reached in and stole Spike's phone. We eventually got back to the hotel but had missed the bus. We got a taxi to the ground. On the way to the ground the traffic was at a standstill. So me and Spike got out for a slash and lost the taxi. So we had to walk the rest of the way to the ground. We found the bus and the 2 Stevies and put our bags on and headed towards the ground. We even saw Mr Snorky.

 

We met some more YNWA’ers outside the ground including Molby, the walking drinks dispenser. He had some kind of bottle of aniseed vodka in one pocket and a bottle of whisky in another.

 

We went into the ground - the place was a sea of red, pure class. The game started, one nil straight away - I couldn’t believe it. Then the other two followed. Half-time came, I came away from my seat and away from the lads just to collect my thoughts. My phone was going wild with messages, I was gutted. I was thinking of going back home and all the stick I was gonna take. I walked and saw men sitting down crying. I didn’t feel like crying myself I was too shocked. Then I witnessed the nicest thing I saw all trip. Some guy went to every single person crying pulled them to their feet and said “come on lad, get in there the team need you, and sing your heart out.” I got back to my seat and said to Spike “I hope we just at least get a goal so we have something to cheer.”

 

But instead we got out and Gerrard scored a header - the place erupted. We hadn’t calmed down and Šmicer banged a great goal in. I think then Milan panicked and we got the 3rd. There was only going to be one winner then I thought. Dudek’s double save was amazing. To think all of the stick Šmicer and Dudek receive and these guys had such an impact on our win. Dudek was class for the pens. Normally I had him down of a bit of a wimp but the way he handed their players the ball and put them off was great.

 

When he saved the last pen it took a few seconds to sink in what had happened. I was lucky enough to be there to witness the best match ever and soak up the atmosphere. We stayed in the stadium for a while celebrating and watching the presentation. The texts poured in from my mates back home. As “Champions League we're having a laugh” boomed out I felt like the proudest man alive.

 

We were lucky enough to get back on the coach and almost immediately get to the airport, board the plane and get way home. We got back to Stevie’s, had a brew and watched the goals, well they did I fell asleep. We then went back to Spike's and I drove home completely wrecked. My lass rang me on the way up home too, she’s not even keen on football but she said she watched it and was crying at the end. I had a voicemail off my Mam and she was singing we are the champions and she’s not to keen on football either. I got home and everyone I spoke to was overjoyed. I got told the Geordies were going wild in the bars for us.

 

It was a pure class trip worth every penny. I spent it with 3 really nice lads and was glad we met up with the guys of this site too as everyone I have met from here seems spot on. (Even Matty ; - ) ….. ).

 

Peter

(Slapnuts)

 

Istanbul through the TV by Herbie von Smalls

 

 

 

Wednesday 25 May 2005 A.D. - the day after Bob Dylan's 64th birthday and my own mother's 63rd, and on a more noteworthy front - the day our beloved club returned to the dizzying heights of European Cup success.

 

10:00 - Rise and shine after another fitful sleep. On with the kettle and the toaster while I log onto the laptop. Despite the restlessness, I'm calm as regards the match tonight - surprisingly calm at that.

 

10:05 - 16:45 Mostly taken up with reading and replying on the YNWA forums. It's amazing how much atmosphere can be generated by looking at a screen and interacting with a bunch of (mostly) strangers. It's compulsive reading, no matter how trivial or trite the threads. Sly Sports News is on my telly the whole time - I'm eager for new snippets, but it's mostly retread reports, with the odd live update.

 

Something in my water's telling me Baroš will start ahead of the expected Cissé.

 

16:45 - On with my white LFC 60s shirt and out to the supermarket to stock up for the evening. I've got Gregarious Pete (GP) and Affable Brian (AB) calling round to join Mrs von Smalls (MvS) and me for the match. GP is a part-time gooner, AB plays five-a-side... they're not going to be here for the love of LFC, but they're both from back home (Norn Iron) so they'll be up for a good evening anyway.

 

17:00 - In the supermarket... dilemma in the drinks aisle. Am I being premature or even tempting fate by eyeing up the champagne section?

 

Bugger it... whatever the result, for us to have reached the final of the European Cup is an achievement in Rafa's first season is a triumph and worth celebrating. I offer up a quick prayer in the general direction of Sainsbury's ceiling and grab a bottle of Moet Chandon rose... no half-measures on a night like this.

 

17:15 - The cheque book makes a rare appearance at the till. It's payday on Friday, so this is the only way to fund my decadence this evening. The cashier seems to notice my top and the champagne and flashes a grin. I wink and show her crossed fingers.

 

17:30 - Back at the house now, having struggled home with the case of beer, the champers and a raft of "nibbles". I switch on the radio to catch the sports news and to enjoy the build-up to the match, while I shell avocados and dice chillis for the dips.

 

17:40 - GP arrives, with cold beer. Hallelujah! I'm too busy to get him really pumped up for the match as I had intended. So we chat about this and that as I work.

 

17:55 - Time to decorate now. My YNWA "Carnage" t-shirt now goes up in one front window, my red 60s home shirt in another. GP and I shoot the breeze and I remark to him how calm I'm feeling still.

 

18:00 - Text message from MvS. "want anything from the offy?". She's got out of work early, in fact her office - nary a 'Pool fan amongst them - is given an early day.

 

18:10 - MvS arrives home, two big bottles of Bud in a bag (party on, eh?). She's missed my reply. I resume pottering around the kitchen, already on a second beer.

 

18:20 - Upstairs now to switch into my long-sleeved Reebok home shirt. I pause for a few moments' reflection. Willing all my energy and faith into a good performance tonight, whatever the outcome. A decent showing on the pitch is all I ask for, anything else would be a bonus.

 

18:30 - Rejoin MvS and GP. I'm excited and positive, for the most part. Occasionally, I stop and think of the Milan line-up and how formidable they are in each position. Every time that thought has popped up though, I call to mind how we held off in four matches against both the English and Italian champions. All is calm again.

 

18:39 - Txt msg: from Kahnee - team line-ups.

 

We exchange a few replies with our comments - so Kewell made it then, no Didi. Rafa knows best. And I fire off (and reply to) a few more texts with fellow Irish Reds, including Corkman Gerry (CG), whom I haven't contacted since New Year's Eve. LFC is always a good "icebreaker".

 

18:58 - I turn the telly down and crank up Elvis's version of You'll Never Walk Alone, much to the bemusement of GP and MvS. Once he's done the deed, I'm ready to sit down for the ITV coverage. Let battle commence!

 

19:03 - It's pregnant Gaby, Macmanamanaman in pink and "El" Tel. Good grief. The text messages are almost constant. I'd vowed to switch off the phone too.

 

19:30ish - Still no sign of AB. I'm getting a lump in the throat, and a swelling of pride at the pictures of the crowd. Thoughts turn to people I know are over there and I'm really regretting not being out there.

 

19:35ish - The opening ceremony is over. The teams are coming out. Stevie G looks focused, eyes straight ahead. He looks proud, but undistracted. My heart surges at the reception they're getting. I'm sweaty-palmed by now.

 

19:42 - The formalities of the parading of the teams and the anthems are over. It's time for the ref to toss the coin. I'm willing a great performance all the way. As Stevie leads the huddle, calling his teammates together, I'm itching to know what he's saying. He talked about it earlier on TV, but wouldn't give away what his final words would be before kick-off.

 

19:45 - And we're off. The excitement and passion for the long-awaited event is about to plateau at a new high for the next while.

 

19:46 - Maldini's scored! A feeling of utter surprise grips me. Just hadn't bargained on that one. Only one solution - Attack Attack Attack!

 

txt msg: to CG - Christ! nailbiter ahead

 

19:55ish - AB arrives at last. "Aw sorry, guys. I thought it was an 8 o'clock kick-off". I barely notice him at first, absorbed in the game.

 

A lull in play gives the chance to be a better host. MvS disappears to the kitchen, radio commentary on... in fact no one part of the house is without coverage beyond the tv room, even the shower radio is left on. She soon returns with a tray of homemade sausage rolls, prepared the night before. Nice one! I love my missus. The chips, dips and beers are taking up nearly the whole coffee table. Everyone's engrossed by the match again, in between munching and sipping.

 

20:08 - Harry pulls up, holding his leg. Bugger. That's the tactics shelved then. But no, Šmicer's on, rather than Didi.

 

txt msg: from Davey Doc (DD) - "This could be Šmicer's moment" - he's always stood up for Vladi, despite my uncertainty over our no.11

 

txt msg: to DD - "if he's good enuff for Rafa..."

 

20:26 - Luis's handball shout is waved away, Milan break swiftly and suddenly... Crespo's only gone and scored! Shocking defending, we looked amateurish then. More texts. I urge everyone in the room and on the phone to be positive.

 

20:31 - They're bulldozing their way past us again, it's gone to Crespo and he's clean through. Boom! 3-0. "What if we get humiliated?" I think to myself. The guests will no doubt be bemused by my boundless enthusiasm if this turns into a rout. From somewhere, I summon the belief and the faith. Memories of Emlyn, Hillsborough and Heysel jolt me back from the brink of doom. "We CAN do it." I just can't visualise how we'll do it yet, mind.

 

20:32 - The Red fans have gone quiet as we enter the injury period.

 

txt msg: to Jonesy (at the match) - "SING UP!"

 

I feel like we all have to be in this together or it won't happen. I doubt he'll even look at his phone, but what else can I do from here?

 

20:33 - txt msg: to Belfast Red Micky McCoy (MM) - "no room 4 negativity".

 

txt msg: a gloomy response from MM.

 

txt msg: to MM - "we can only deal w/wot's ahead. b strong keep the faith!"

 

20:40 - Trip to the bathroom. A chance to give myself a mini pep talk. "We CAN do it." is my mantra, teeth and fists clenched. Back down the stairs, touching the "This is Anfield" poster I bought outside the ground for £1. "We CAN do it!" I repeat. Into the kitchen next to pick up some more beers for the guys. MvS and I have a quiet moment. She gives me a hug, though it's clear she is mostly doing so to console me. I pull back, a little miffed. "No, we CAN do this. We can score three goals in this half. They did it, so can we. We've done it before." I assure her. I'm not going down this early or easily.

 

20:42 - I put the telly on mute, rather than face the dronings of Venables and co. It's time for Elvis again, louder still than last time. I hear AB and GP cheering in bemusement. I stand at the door of the living room and sing along, not caring if they reckon I'm crazy.

Once the song's over. It's back to the sofa, a sharp clap of the hands and cry "C'mon 'Pool!" Thoughts turn to a bobwright post... "Power of Constantinople, Reds, power of Constantinople!" I urge. The guys laugh, I daren't even begin to explain that choice of phrase.

 

20:46 - We're off again. The crowd are rallying behind the Reds. I'm so proud of their reaction and to be affiliated to such passion. I glance at AB and GP to see if they are moved. They're getting into the match more. If nothing else they sense my urgency. Didi's on for someone, so a change to our first half system has been implemented. I would love to have heard how Rafa delivered his speech. I'm recharged with confidence.

 

txt msg: to CG - "got elvis singing ynwa. if the king can't save us..."

 

txt msg: from CG - "told you b4 the king is dead."

 

21:04 - Stevie G's scored! He feckin' did it. I jump up, slapping GP on the knee "Game f***in' on!". A couple of texts arrive. I'm glad I didn't switch off the phone. I need some equally passionate Reds to help get through all this.

 

21:06 - I'm trying to send a reply, but my credit's now run out. So soon? Ah, er... hang on Šmicer's gonna have a pop and...

 

"Yeeeeeeeessssssssss!" I'm hoarse now, screaming and hugging. The rest of the room is charged up now too. "We CAN do it! We can!"

 

21:07 - We've got Milan shellshocked and are ploughing through their midfield. They look disorientated.

 

21:09 - Another move forward, good work from our Milan and... GERRARD'S THROUGH, he's gonna .... PENALTY!!! "Penalty" I scream. All of us are up on our feet now. I remain standing as Xabi flits his eyes, waiting to take the kick. I'm pumped up.

 

21:10 - Dida's got a hand to it... OH... but Xabi's follwed up and I hope that was the back of the net, rather than the side...

 

"YEESSSSSSSSSS! Three goals, we've done it. We've got our three. The momentum's with us," I yell. Hugs all round in my living room. The guys beside me are now as passionately behind LFC as any time-served fan.

 

21:11 - txt msg: from CG - "Elvis lives".

 

To be honest the rest of "normal" time is a blur. I am racing on adrenalised joy. Slapping and grabbing, drinking and smoking, cheering and happy. Jamie's playing a blinder. Stevie's magnificent. Didi's composed. Djimi clears off the line. Cisse's on too. "Power of Constantinople!" We have got the momentum, Destiny wants us to win. Still the text messages come...

 

txt msg: from Ostrich Man - "this match is s***, i'm away for a bath ;)"

 

... amongst others.

 

Extra time looms, everyone's playing for the whistle, but there's a fair bit of injury time and we can't drop our guard. As the Spaniard blows, I dash to the bathroom. As I dry my hands, I'm at the mirror, awash with incredulous joy and belief. "We CAN do this" has become "We can DO this".

 

Just enough time for me to nip in and play Elvis again. The others are cheering him on fervently too.

 

Again, much of the action in the extra-time period seems a blur. Šmicer gets cramp - how dare he, having come on after 23 minutes. Djimi, Sami and Jamie provide a solid back wall. Jerzy's looking sharp. Stevie G's still chasing.

 

Carra's down injured. I despair for him. But I can see him mouthing "cramp" and he's back up in no time - driving through a wall of pain, but still determined.

 

It's almost headed for penalties, when Shevchenko gets a header. The Dude's down and parries. Sheva's in for the rebound "BLOCK IT JERZY! BLOCK IT!" I think to myself. I wouldn't even have had time to say those words aloud before he got his hand on to the point-blank piledriver.

 

The wry smile from our keeper seems to sum up what everyone must be thinking. His own disbelief at the outcome seems to be an acknowledgment that some unseen force is at work, guiding our path to the trophy. Perhaps it's Shanks, Paisley and Emlyn with 96 Red souls, plus the will of every dyed-in-the-wool 'Pool fan and a lot of newly-won devotees - who can say? There's a special energy tonight, something more magical than I can recall experiencing in 28 years of following the Reds.

 

And so to penalties. I think I had nominated Cissé Stevie G, Riise, Carra and Alonso in a pre-match thread. Jamie's having a word with Jerzy. What a guy! While Stevie is a worthy captain, it's almost an injustice to Carra that he doesn't wear the armband, but I bet he wouldn't even consider himself aggrieved. The Dude is looking chipper. Confident and composed - a good sign. The coin's tossed and Milan will kick first.

 

Jerzy's up to his mischief. Handing over the ball then jigging about on the line. Serginho races up and belts it. It's over!!! I'm up on my feet. 0-0

 

Didi then blows my penalty-takers predictions out of the water by stepping up for our reply... "Yes!" 0-1

 

Their second penalty-taker Pirlo strolls forward. The Dude hands the ball to his opponent - nice gamesmanship... and it's saved!! 0-1

 

I sink back into the sofa, then sit forward as Djibril steps up. Goal! No bother, well taken. "Power of Constantinople!" 0-2

 

Tomasson's up next, as an ambulance passes behind the goal on the running track. He scores. 1-2

 

Riise's next. He's going to thunder this one into the top of the net, I'm convinced. But Dida gets to it and causes me a bit of a palpitation. 1-2

 

I wipe my sweaty palms as Dudek continues his mind games. They score again and even up the contest, but we still have a penalty in hand. 2-2

 

The Smeech is next to emerge from the huddled rank of LFC players on the halfway line. "Come on Vlad" I yell, provoking another round of shouts and claps from those in my company... and it's a beauty. 2-3

 

Shevchenko paces forward to the box. I've almost chalked off this one as a cert and am deliberating whether our captain will be the man to round off our season with the goal that lifts us the cup. The Ukrainian strides up, hits it and... THAT'S IT! Jerzy's kept him out.

WE'VE WON THE EUROPEAN CUP AGAIN!!!!!!

 

The four of us dancing around the living room, incredulous and euphoric! Hugs and kisses abound.

 

"We did it." has become my new mantra, I just can't keep from saying it. "We did it."

 

I'm hoarse and choked for any discernible words. I'm transfixed by the scenes on TV. I laugh joyfully as the players race towards our "Pole in the goal". Carra, having led the way looks like he's going to floor the Dude with his embrace, but as Jerzy readies himself for Jamie's big leap, our no.23 breaks away and runs past him, while the others in the stampede give our goalie the grateful hugs I'm sure every LFC fan would love to be giving right now.

 

Soon the presentation ceremony gets set up. I rise to my feet to savour the moment as the players mount the podium, kissing the cup and revelling in the anticipation of it being handed over.

 

I'm beaming from ear to ear with pride as Steven Gerrard wipes his palms in readiness to receive the trophy. Lennart Johansson looks confused as Carra points behind him to indicate that the skipper is actually our no.8.

 

And there it is! The man who turned his back on Chelsea is holding the trophy in his hands - who would've thought that last summer? A blizzard of red descends upon the players and coaching staff as I continue to mutter my mantra.

 

"We did it"

 

I sit down again transfixed as Gabriel Clark interviews some of the main architects of tonight's achievement. Stevie, Carra, Jerzy and Rafa all pay their dues to one another and their team-mates, as my swollen pride continues to soar.

 

22:36 txt msg from forumite Des: Hahhgbgbhgagbgcgbgcgbgb

 

I couldn't have put it better myself, I too am an incoherent mess of joyous gratitude.

 

22:40 txt msg from DD: "Cant quite belive it" [sic]

 

He's not the only one!

 

22:47 txt msg from a Manc fan mate Sean, who's been rooting for us all evening: "I take it your a happy man" [sic]

 

Sean's the first I phone, purely because he's the only person I haven't been able to reply to by text message. While I'm on the landline, my mobile rings and it's my mate Conor from a pub in Kildare. I let out a long, high-pitched screech - the most passionate of the evening. I've got a phone in either hand trying to juggle two conversations.

 

The texts keep coming as I make a beeline for the chilled champagne.

 

"I was going to open this whether we won or lost," I assure my missus and the two lads, and I'm just so glad I'm not drowning my sorrows in Moet tonight.

 

I speak to DD by phone as another call comes in on my mobile. I can hear myself slur as I try to spit out the words that convey my ecstasy.

 

23.34 txt msg: from Kahnee - "I am singing Beatles songs. That's how happy/drunk I am"

 

Shortly thereafter Kahnee and I conduct a phone conversation, with him telling me the story of how his Dad's mate won us the cup by playing "Band on the Run" at key stages of the evening. It all makes sense too.

 

Eventually my guests depart, hangovers guaranteed for the following morning. MvS hugs me, I'm still murmuring "We did it, we did it". She goes off to bed, while I settle down in front of the TV, by now it's switched over to Sky Sports News.

 

I make up for those six months of being incommunicado with CG, by calling him at home and another lengthy drunken exchange ensues.

 

At last I'm on my own, with a pint of water to try and refresh me. I can finally savour the evening's events, re-running the key moments in my mind. That grin hasn't shifted in hours. I'm starting to feel shattered now.

 

As I nod off, in the early hours of Thursday morning, I'm sure my final thoughts and words are those that I've been muttering repeatedly for the last few hours...

 

"We did it"

[Will]

PART THREE

 

From Liverpool via Leeds/Bradford to Istanbul by Grimesy

 

 

 

Me & brother Joe flew from Leeds/Bradford on Sunday 22nd! As we drove past the small mosques and through the Asian quarter, where all the teenage lads were playing football, it looked great, football crosses all boundaries, race, religions, etc! As the airport signs became more frequent our excitement grew.

 

We could tell on arrival we were not the only Scousers taking this route to Bulgaria and then the long crusade to Istanbul!

 

We arrived in Bulgaria and transported from Varna to Sunny Sands resort, the resort isn't that bad, it has Sky Sports bars, McDonalds, etc.. (is that a good thing?) It’s a very poor country, which makes it real value for money; everything was as cheap as chips! In fact cheaper than chips in our chippy!

 

Next day (Monday) we got the local bus into Varna, it cost us 50p for a 20 minute journey, I can’t get from Palacefields to Halton Lea for that price, a 700 yard journey! We found a travel service shop and booked our coach to Istanbul, departing Tuesday, returning Thursday. The cost was £27 return; it was to be a 9 hour road journey. On Tuesday morning We bought a 1 litre bottle of water (50p) and a 2 litre bottle of local beer (90p) and a salami cucumber & ketchup roll (50p) for breakfast, what more could you ask for?

 

A toilet on the coach would have been my 1st preference! Thankfully there were a few stop off points to relieve ourselves.

 

We and about 20 other lads were on our way, this was to be my 4th European Cup Final & my brother's 1st, we grinned the Grimesy grin at each other, we were already buzzing with excitement, we knew this was to be a special moment in our lives.

 

We crossed the Bulgarian Border, travelled 50 yards then disembarked again to go through Turkish border/passport control; here they requested our passports & our match tickets! These were the two most important things in my possession, not my bank card or the cash! We all got very nervous about handing over our tickets! After about 30 minutes (this was stretching security too far, that's my match ticket sonny!!) the officer then made light of our plight by reading out our names including our middle names, much to the merriment of everyone! "Mark Jude Grimes" Cheers! That’s me mate, ta!

 

The landscape altered dramatically as we entered Istanbul, the huge mosques and high-rise buildings and flats, the whole feel and purpose of the journey was now unfolding in front of of our eyes, this was like nothing we'd experienced before, the sound, the look, the smell, the vastness of the place, the biggest city I have ever seen!

 

We got off our coach at the biggest bus station I have ever seen. It’s on 3 stories, we climbed the stairs till we got to the main area and tried to negotiate our taxi to our accommodation. 20 Lira! Sorted, the taxi driver knew his way to the area of the city, finding the street proved difficult, he asked 5 different people for the street. We found the bar/hostel to find we were to be located in somewhere 5 minutes away for an inflated price "very nice, has jacuzzi, all new, you like" we it was fantastic very sw***y posh!

 

We went to Taksim Square, the lid had been lifted, the place was bedlam and 20,000 Scousers had peaked too early and were partying like it was 1984! It was absolutely brilliant!

 

When you have a small island mentality like us Brits have, when we gather in numbers on foreign shores, it’s a sense of pride, joy and safety in numbers, home from home. Not that we don't embrace other cultures, we aren't philistines, we just like to let them know we've arrived and celebrate the fact! The flags and banners and songs were all out in full force! It really is a force, and the locals came out to witness and some joined in!

 

We fell to bed at 3 am!

 

Match day, morning came, it was time to see some of what Istanbul had to offer! We were close enough to walk to the Blue Mosque, we went via the back streets in the heart of the old town, the shop owners were astounded to see and called to others shouting "Liverpool, Liverpool" and pointing to us, they all acknowledged our presence and probably our bravery for walking through the heart of their community's local shopping area! We were made up too!

 

This Blue Mosque was amazing, followed by a walk back and then onto the spice bazaar and then to the Bosphorus ferry, where we travelled on their version of the Royal Iris (probably the Royal Abdul?) we did two trips and then taxied back to Taksim! Nothing had changed at Taksim, it was still bedlam!

 

I travelled to the eastern side by taxi to meet up with the lads I always go the match with, Syd & Mick Scott, Nello & John Hughes, I asked Syd for directions, he said pass yer mobile to the taxi driver, this guy at our bar will tell him were to go, passing my mobile phone to the taxi driver he was somewhat puzzled (to say the least, like who knows me on this guy's phone, it was like a scene from Candid Camera!) he was then given instruction in Turkish and I arrived after one phone call back for further instructions, which involved Syd chasing the barman round the bar!

 

We all met up, like we do on every other weekend, It was like Riley's on Mount Pleasant but in Istanbul! We all laughed like drains and giggled like school boys with a dirty mag! Magic moment, we spent a good 3 hours, and the bar across from us belted out Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire!

 

I had managed to blag my way onto one of their coaches, but before we set off, we got a txt to say "Bring Beer none on sale!" so armed with a pack of 24 Efes beers we were on our way!

 

As we slowly edged our way, the ground was in sight! the Tuborg beer had well and truly seeped into my system and thoughts of my son back home, wearing the same t-shirt as me and his uncle Joe, would be in our local with the Palacefields massive and the rest of the family came to mind, Dad is in Spain on holiday, along with all the expectation of the reds in our city, the weight of all of this emotion was now running down my cheeks, I was still an hour away from the Ataturk stadium, and I was holding the liquid gold!

 

Along the route the locals had come out in force with little cardboard banners with "Liverpool Champions" all waving, husband and wives, grandparents, and kids all waving, it was touching, Turkey really had embraced this Cup final and more importantly the vast majority were behind us. Grown men, some big hard cases, and young lads and girls all waved back, and the songs rang out in response to the well wishers. It’s just so good to be a Liverpool supporter at times like this, mixing with true ambassadors of Liverpool!

 

We arrived after two hours of slow coach, grid-lock torture, we all met to the right of the stage and I could have sold the beer 4 times over, it had only been 3 hours since we met up previously, but it was still magic moment to be with my brother and my match mate buddies, we've been going to games together for 25 years!

 

We laughed and joked and took team photos, all the usual stuff, then it was time to split and venture off to different parts of the stadium. I agreed to meet Joe by some odd power junction type box, facing the free buses that would take us back to Taksim after the game. We hugged and muttered something like "COME-ON" we don't have to converse at times like these, we are focused and so in tune!

 

I entered the stadium to be greeted by a sea of red, we had taken virtually three quarters of the ground, and apart from the Milan end I couldn't see any neutral areas! We had come in our thousands, this was the furthest we had travelled to a European Cup Final and yet even more had come than our 1st trip to Rome in 1977, were they reckon we took 30,000! This looked like 45,000 - maybe more?

 

It was said by media hacks the Kop wouldn't be able to generate the same sort of passion they do at Anfield because the ground had no roof and was so open! Well I can assure you we roared our hearts out, it was big and loud and just as passionate. I could see Ste and Nello 3 rows back and towards the middle, I went up to join them but a lack of space was going to prevent us staying in the same place, not without feeling the wrath of the other lads who would have to budge up! So I moved back to my seat!

 

The game was going to be an ordinary stalemate, both teams cancelling each other out with one goal in it! Never trust a journalist! This was beyond anything I could have dreamt of, AC Milan started and scored within the 1st minute, and totally ruined our game plan and by going 3 goals up before half time gave them only one way to play for the next 45 minutes! At half-time I looked behind me and Ste and Nello had disappeared. I thought - don’t tell me they've done one and got off!

 

They'd done it before and gone the pub, but here at Ataturk there wasn't anything but waste land and the road out (They hadn't, they just went the loo at half time and met up with some other lads we knew)

 

The second half was to be just as sensational, though even with hope in your heart it was hard to imagine we would get 3 goals so quickly, so dramatically! As soon as we scored everyone started to believe, two goals brought roars of "COME ON", three goals brought roars of "WE'RE GONNA DO THIS". We seemed to have given our all in getting back into the game, the rest of the game was played out, with both sides content to keep possession, AC grew stronger in extra time and an amazing double save by Jerzy and a clearance off the line by Djimi, plus Carra throwing himself in front of everything except the bus we arrived on, reassured the red hoards it was written in the stars, this was surely to be our night!

 

Penalties came and the AC Milan end was chosen, I didn't know it had already been decided. My thoughts returned back to Rome 84, when Roma players felt the pressure, I said to the lads around me, I've seen this before and shouted "as high as yer like son" and sure enough the ball ballooned over, joy broke out then quickly settled as we now need to score, Didi stepped up and with German calm stroked the ball home, then Jerzy stepped back into the area, collected the ball and eyeballed the Milan lad, we could see on the screen he wasn't up for it, Jerzy was acting like a clown on a rodeo bull, legs and arms going all over the shop, he guessed right and saved again, bedlam broke out "it's in the stars, lads". Cissé strolled up and as cool as you like stroked it home, sending Dida the wrong way. Jerzy again handed the ball to Tomasson and eyeballed him, did all the clowning again, but Tomasson then put Milan on the score card. 2-1.

 

Riise started the walk to the penalty area. I want him to strike, as he stepped back I could tell has was gonna side-foot it, and I knew he'd miss, body movement does show an awful lot and Dida dived and in fairness made really good save low to his right. Gerrard ran to Riise to put a consoling arm around him, took him back the team who were all in line linked up, a quality captain's performance.

 

Kaka then scored despite all the tomfoolery of Jerzy 2-2. Vladi started the walk, his last game, his last chance to score, and his last time to prove all the doubters wrong! I was one of them! Never thought he was strong enough mentally or physically for the Premiership! I wasn't thinking about any of that I just wanted him to plant it home, the roar grew and Vladi sent the keeper the wrong way, the place went up the biggest roar so far, Vladi roared YES YES! YES! We could see him on the giant screen; he kissed the badge and punched the air to the Liverpool fans! 3-2

 

One more time please Jerzy, I prayed to my mum as I always do, though as Shevchenko stepped up I thought this lad wont miss! Jerzy was now in full doolally mode, skipping along the line wobbly knees going ten to the dozen, this kind of behaviour anywhere else would have seen a group of strong-arm hospital security staff hold him down whilst a nurse applied a sedative!

 

Then Sheva kicks, Jerzy takes about three steps forward and guesses right and saves! LIFT OFF, queue unabated pleasure and tears and screams all lost in one huge roar, this was the best feeling imaginable!

 

To see Gerrard lift the cup!

 

My God! I looked to the skies with tears tripping me, just saying thank you, thank you! Two young lads jumped on me & hugged me "it’s alright la, we've won it" I know mate, I know!

Having travelled this far, the thought of the 9 hour journey back to Varna on two hours sleep, nothing could be further from my mind!

 

I just thought of my son Joe back home, and my brother witnessing his first winning European Cup Final, my dad in Spain, all my sisters and their family going daft and I just knew the waters of the river Mersey would be quivering with the amount of noise and the tremble of people jumping in the city, I knew it would have gone ballistic back home! It had been building for weeks.

 

The sense of pride was enormous, so proud to be Scouse. My team, my city, my Liverpool.

 

This was truly one of the greatest moments of my life.

 

Mark.

 

From West London to Istanbul by matty

 

 

 

Sunday morning, 6am, after a day on the lash watching the Mancs lose at Cardiff and then watching Eurovision in an attempt to sober up. It sort of worked. I stayed over at a mate’s house in West London with a very lightly packed bag – hand luggage only. The taxi turned up on time, and the journey began.

 

Looking around for reds at Heathrow, but I suppose it was too early to see any at that point. There were a few English lads getting on my plane for Prague, but they might have been going on a stag weekend. I got stuck into the Sunday papers and my ipod. Great flight to Prague, brief stopover and then flight to Sofia. Sofia, so good. To the taxi rank where the self-appointed chief asked me where I was going.

 

“The bus station, Sofia.”

 

“Why”

 

“I have to get a bus.”

 

“Where are you going? I will take you.”

 

“I’m going to Istanbul.”

 

“There are no more buses today to Istanbul”

 

It wasn’t like I’m cynical, but I thought he had a vested interest in my not getting to the coach station.

 

“It’s OK. I’ll take my chances.”

 

We left for the coach station in the first of many death-defying taxi rides that would be the leitmotif of the next few days. A pretty desolate area, including a railway station which had the first indoor fog I’ve ever seen. Bought a coach ticket, and waited five long hours for the coach. Two really nice modern coaches arrived near to my stop. My heart leapt – a bit of comfort for the ten hours to come. Then my coach pulled up. It was like one of Barry Cooper’s that we used to travel to school trips on. Random bits of carpet and crappy seats. Still, not busy, so room to stretch out.

 

I don’t sleep well on public transport so stayed awake until Plovdiv. And at Plovdiv things started to get strange. A mass influx of locals, excitable, noisy and who looked at me like I had just got off the spaceship. “Ingliska, ingliska” they said, and they weren’t wrong.

 

Still, they settled, although the woman next to me started crying. That bad already….I applied the Lynx surreptitiously.

 

We stopped for a leg stretch, and a slash break, about two hours later. It was now after midnight. A ramshackle collection of shops and cafes with about five hundred HGVs all parked up. Everyone got off the bus, and I wandered around to get some fresh air. It was raining. I hadn’t brought a jacket.

 

I got back on the coach and the guy who was in charge jumped on and began to shout at some kid about five rows in front. He was messing around with some ciggies. The guy then addressed everyone and the word ‘Ciggrettska’ popped up time and time again. I thought little of it. We got to the border and began the routine of getting on and off and on and off the coach. Four times we did it.

 

At the main Turkish checkpoint I queued up. Showed my passport.

 

“Visa” she said.

 

“No!” I said in triumph. “Football” I waved my ticket around.

 

“You must go police station.” She said. She waved airily back down the dark and rainy road. I couldn’t see a police station. I was nearly at the back of the queue and worried that the coach would just go without me. I had a quick think and decided to simply walk across the border where they couldn’t see me. This was possibly a silly idea. I approached the coach and the main man says, “Visa?”

 

“Er, no.”

 

“No visa?”

 

“No. Football. Ticket.” I waved the ticket with slightly less of a flourish.

 

Much mumbled Bulgarian. He led me back by the arm to the checkpoint. A sharp exchange of words and he led me to the visa office. I proffered my match ticket, to a shrugging of shoulders. He got the stamps out and I decided to pay anyway. Couldn’t be bothered to argue. Bought the stamp and back to glowering border guard.

 

“NO! No! No!” she cried, leaving her booth. “Police station!”

 

We tramped off into the dark, consoled at least that the bus wouldn’t leave without the boss. 300 yards away was the police station. Much discussion before I produced my ticket. I seemed to be the first person through the checkpoint as they passed the ticket round and shouted ‘Liverpool!’, and held up fingers to show 5-0. The passport was stamped, and there was that smudgy ink mark that would always be mine. ‘UEFA ECLF.”

 

Back to the visa office for a refund and through the border. Result.

 

The coach ploughed on another 200 yards and our bags were sort of checked. Then a final passport check on board. We made it through the last checkpoint and ground to a sudden halt about 100 yards further away. The Plovdivians looked around anxiously. At the front of the coach a very severe looking chap in army fatigues got on. He had a torch. The mumbling and coughing got louder. He went from seat to seat, aggressively demanding that passengers stood up and opened their plastic bags. There was much pleading and sulking. He took a few cartons of cigarettes from someone and threw them from the coach. Then he arrived near the back of the coach, where I was sat.

 

A roly-poly old woman and another middle aged one sat together. The army guy motioned at them to stand. The old woman wouldn’t budge. Much shouting. She began to weep, he shouted louder. Eventually he encouraged her out. She was sat on two plastic bags full of cigarettes. He moved in front of her and shined his torch under her seat. Meanwhile, she began to pull packets of cigarettes from every part of her clothing. Down her skirt, her bra, her headscarf, everywhere. And while his back was turned, she hurled them around the coach to her friends who caught them like practising slip fielders. Every time the guy stood up, she stopped, and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. His back turned, she again produced hails of fag packets.

 

I had to jab myself in the thigh to stop laughing. Eventually, after hustling a few people off the coach for a telling off, they returned to their seats and we were in transit. I feel asleep and didn’t wake until we were in the outskirts of Istanbul. I glanced up through the grey morning and saw, by chance, the roof of the Ataturk stadium floating over the landscape, and then the top of the stands. A chance viewing I was delighted to get.

 

Totally knackered by this point, we crawled into the coach station as the rain pelted down. Damn that jacket decision. I ran for a taxi, and James Gandolfini’s long-lost twin beckoned me towards his yellow jalopy. ‘TAKSIM’ I said. And we were off.

 

The most beautiful thing to happen so far was arriving at 7am at my hotel overlooking Taksim Square, to find they let me check in so early, and my room had a grade one view of the big screen on the Square, which constantly seemed to be replaying Luis García’s semi-final goal. I took a quick breakfast, and went to sleep.

 

I got up around lunchtime, bought some papers, and found an internet shop. Quick scan, I spent an hour trying to find a couple of adaptors. One English, for my mobile, and one American, for the ipod. That would later be crucial. Eventually after trying four different shops, a tiny back street led me to an electrical shop which seemed to specialise in the little beggars. I went for lunch and settled back for a few hours. I tipped everyone like crazy, grateful to have got there relatively easily.

 

A quick trot round Taksim Square. The fan zone, which at that point consisted of a single merchandising tent, was unimpressive, it had to be said. I suppose it was still early.

 

A bit more skulking around, and I contacted Sutty, who had just arrived with the wonderful Mrs Sutty. We arranged to meet a bit later and I started on my quest to empty the mini-bar. Two cans of the excellent Efes and the evening was beginning. Helpfully, Sutty told me the name of the bar next to the one he was in. Very useful, considering I didn’t know where that was. Still, I found him, and they were with Molby and Mrs Molby (the poster not the player). We got stuck into the booze good style.

 

After a fair bit of time wandering around the dark back streets around Taksim, we found a couple of agreeable bars. One in which the DJ didn’t so much spin the wheels of steel as click his mouse on the toolbar of plastic. Good effort. The next looked more promising. Lively, people dancing, and a very friendly barman who invited us in heartily. We sat down and were surprised to see only the women dancing, while all the men looked on. Fair enough, we thought.

 

After some more refreshment, we were again encouraged to take part in the revelries. Molby in particular was appreciated by the barman, whose tongue seemed to be in our favourite flat-owner's ear. Nevertheless, Mrs Molby and I took a turn on the ‘dancefloor’, and if memory serves, were followed by Mrs Sutty.

 

Within a couple of minutes the music died, to be replaced by silence, before from the back of the bar, a stringed instrument appeared. An old man took it up, and began one of those laments undoubtedly familiar to the Irish among you. 58 verses, and all of them about some tragedy or other. Every now and again the assembled broke into respectful applause. We weren’t disrespecting Turkish folklore at all, but it was a kind of downer. Mrs Molby said it best. “This is rubbish”, with some vigour. We made attempts to empathise, but were too lacquered. We left for another bar.

 

Massive orders of spirits were made, the final straw for some. As ‘It’s Raining Men’ came on the sound system, and some bloke bumped into me a bit too vigorously with his crotch, we gently decided to slope away, saving ourselves for Tuesday.

 

Tuesday morning, and I had no right to feel so…OK. Swan Red, news had it, was arriving, and due to the serendipitous discovery that I had a twin room, not a single, he was on his way to my hotel. His journey was by far the best of the stories I heard on the road to Istanbul, so I’ll let him tell it.

 

We shuffled off from the hotel to find lunch and to see some sights. An excellent lunch was had, even if it was a bit of a lucky dip what the waiters arrived with. We found a cab and headed for Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque. The Blue Mosque was stunning, exquisitely decorated and yet simplicity itself. The first mosque I have ever been into, and quite awe-inspiring in its workmanship. We stared in wonder for some time and paid our respects.

 

We crossed over to Hagia Sophia, and spent a while in there. It’s what I had really been looking forward to, and it didn’t disappoint. Always a pain to find somewhere with scaffolding up, but no matter. The incredible achievement of building this at that time, and its condition now, 1500 years later, is breathtaking. I urge anyone who has never been to Istanbul to go and see it. Needless to say, it cannot be described easily, so I won’t try. Brilliant moment came when Swan Red and I had walked in silent wonder around it, before coming to the descriptive panels at the porch, and the last thing we saw was a picture of Thatcher. I had to laugh. Swan was mortified. I blamed Thatcher.

 

We had a coffee in a caf’ around the back of Hagia Sophia, and planned our next moves. Vic was clear. A nice relaxed beer, a quality meal in the evening, and then a few drinks somewhere. Then Sutty called, and he was a hundred yards away. The agenda was set.

What followed can only be described as the biggest change of plan since Balaclava.

One beer turned into four, we drank Chelsea Knockout Cocktails at the Suttys' hotel, and got quite mind-bendingly totalled over the space of 11 hours. Yes, we did get the quality meal though, although we never actually ordered anything from my memory of it. The waiter just kept bringing these large dishes, a bit like the Spanish raciones. At one point, across the table, I noticed that either we were all sinking, or Mrs Sutty was listing precariously on her chair. It was the latter. She sank, not without some grace, from her chair, as its leg slid down into a gully. In perfect slow motion. Later, Sutty himself made up numbers by trying to destroy the cigar case that was mysteriously located at the end of our table. [by the way, fact fans, a cigar case is also called a humidor.] Swan then went for a vast Castro-style cigar which he smoked over several hours.

 

Happily we subsequently located a large gathering of reds, singing and dancing with the match less than 24 hours away. In this little square, we sat and sang all the songs we knew, wore silly hats and bartered for souvenirs into the wee small hours. Swan made his own request to the waiter.

 

“Can I have six stupid cocktails?”

 

“I’ll get you the menu.”

 

“I don’t want the menu, I just want six stupid cocktails. You know, with umbrellas and sparklers and stuff.”

 

The result, while drinkable, was odd.

 

I managed to upset the only Milan fans we met with a chorus of a couple of Inter’s finest ditties. They understood and we had a good chat with them, even though Sutty gave me a good lecture. I tried to explain Italian politics to Sutty but I fear that whichever language I was speaking, it was previously unknown to man.

 

Back to the hotel, and while the mini-bar was only partially attacked, we managed to get the hotel staff to go out for kebabs at 4am. Swan saved half of his for breakfast, proving again, if it were necessary, his working class credentials.

 

Wednesday

 

Match day, obviously. Also check-out-of-hotel day. We couldn’t extend our stay in the hotel, but not a problem, they’d look after our bags. We nursed our hangovers and decided what to do for the best. My ipod was charged and now I fulfilled what has been my pre-eminent superstition of this European Cup campaign. Since before the Olympiacos game I have listened to all or part of Revolver before the European ties. And if I can’t listen to all of it, I had to at least listen to Yellow Submarine. Aye, I can pick ‘em.

 

Most of match day was as I guess everyone experienced it. We hung around in Taksim Square after locating Cobs and Carl, and the drinking began. Although not for me, as I took an executive decision not to get bladdered before the match, largely due to wanting to actually savour and witness the game, and also because I feared for me internal organs. Various forumites turned up, from Jonesy, Will and Big Wayne, to Spike and Stevieboy, Murph and Gravy, to the ridiculously cheerful Vlad Jr, whose banner was a masterpiece of modern tapestry. A long future in sewing and embroidery awaits that lad.

 

The weather got cooler, and people started to drift off to the stadium, with some dire warnings about how long it would take beginning to filter through. I headed for a cab with Cobs, Carl and Murphman.

 

Our first encounter on the road to the stadium was a very merry chap who hung out of his cab window with a massive Welsh flag, singing “ARE YOU HAVING SOME OF THAT?” Carl and Cobs quickly decided “WE’RE NOT HAVING ANY OF THAT.” This guy didn’t let up all the way as far as we could see.

 

The journey to the Ataturk stadium has passed into folklore, the kids high-fiving us, the taxi driver who Murph was convinced he could understand, the housing estates behind the barbed wire, the gutter we drove through. And then the stadium came into view, rising out of the arid landscape like something out of Blade Runner. And the biblical scene of all the thousands of people walking through the dust in their red shirts. It started to get cold. I hadn’t brought a jacket, did I mention that?

 

The fans festival was not unadjacent to a primary school sports day. As Mike later said, ‘like an Aldi car park’. But with less atmosphere. You all know about the stage invasion and the woman trying to get them off there. Priceless. We saw James A, clearly a broken man as he recounted how the match programmes had been nicked.

 

I decided to get inside the ground, convinced that things would be better. Saw Maradona, who was subject to some cruel taunts but waved at us nonetheless. Then I went and stood inside the ground, taking in the atmosphere. It seemed to me that the reds were very slow getting into the ground. I was sat just to the left of the Liverpool dug-out in the lower tier. The Milan fans were all in position, and I was wondering where everyone was. It was getting colder.

 

Vic and the Sutty’s finally appeared. Vic’s first words were, “It’s a home game. It’s a f***ing home game.” And he was right. While the Milan fans took up their end and a few seats to either side, a swathe of red cut through the Istanbul night like a meteor. I introduced myself to London Liverpool Fan and Ant M, saw Mike, who was calm and said “As long as we give a good account of ourselves….” And the match began.

 

I hardly need to explain the match to you. But at half time, I remembered Mike’s words. LLF was the only person who seemed to have any hope. “If we change things round.” He said. Ant M and I were not so hopeful. That second half is still a blur. At the time of writing I haven’t seen the whole game again, and still find it difficult to come to terms with. Weirdly, and I don’t know why even now, I never felt as nervous in the rest of that game as I had throughout the second leg of the semi. I think I had abandoned all dreams at half time and was so resigned to the idea of defeat that I couldn’t bring myself to believe that we might do it.

 

The match passed, and just flashes remain, burned into my brain. Djimi’s clearance, Luis giving the ball away just outside the area, Jerzy’s save, and the look on LLF’s face, mirrored, I think, in mine, the pens and the rest. I said a lot of prayers during that match, and if there is someone up there…he’s a red. At the end, as in that nanosecond we realised that, yes, Shevchenko hadn’t scored, Jerzy had saved it, and we were champions of Europe, something happened. We abandoned ourselves to emotion and as Mike clambered across seats and we shouted at the same time, “We’ve won it. We’ve f***king won it,” a million dreams came true.

 

The rest of that night was weird. Everyone was knackered. The late kick off, the draining weight of the drama, and for most, but not me, the lakes of booze consumed, all combined and outside the stadium there was near silence. People tried to get to a bus, a coach, or look for a cab. But it was disbelief, I think. What we had witnessed was unheard of.

 

We found a cab and those great guys selling cans of Efes along the road were a Godsend. The sweetest beer I’ve ever had. Or the warmest, one of the two. We went back to Taksim but, after meeting Canadian Ken, (who hell he?), and drinking some fizzy battery acid, we went off to find RP, Anny Road and the lads. Well, I’ve never sat in a taxi so long. All the bridges across the water seemed closed, and we drove for hours. We finally pitched up somewhere bizarre, and ended up in a little street with a couple of bars and a restaurant or two.

 

As we entered one of these bars, I noticed the preponderance of heavily made-up ladies. Inside, some thumping house music was blasting out, and some rather dubious British guys who were both chatting up the ladies, and managing to be ridiculously camp. Given all that had happened that day, this was a head trip too far. We downed the beer and legged it.

 

We wandered round for a while, meeting Istanbul’s answer to Chewbacca, but no sign of the lads. We headed back to the Suttys' hotel and watched a replay of the end of the match, while Vic bought the most expensive champagne they had. We had some Milan knockout cocktails (sounds familiar), before repairing to the breakfast room. I unfortunately tried to be funny and crack my boiled egg on my forehead to take the shell off. They were very, very soft boiled eggs. I wiped the sopping egg off my head and managed to eat heartily. Vic and the Sutty’s had a bit of a threesome, and I slept on the floor. For all of four hours, when we awoke to a greenish haze, which may or may not have been my fault. Mrs Sutty was not impressed.

 

We met Andy Mac later and headed back on the coach, to find that the cross border cigarette trade was still in full flow. I still don’t know how it makes economic sense to trade cigarettes across both borders, but hey.

 

As we left Istanbul, and we all started to slumber gently, I glanced to my right, and saw the roof, and the stands of the Ataturk gleaming in the evening sun. The enormity of what had happened started to sink in, and, be it tiredness, or be it exhilaration, tears began to roll down my face. It happened again at Prague airport on the stopover, and again back in London, when I got home. You see, ever since the great days, or probably since we started to decline around 1991, I’ve had an image of what I wanted from football, and from Liverpool. Watching the Madrids and Milans and Munichs in the final and doubting we’d ever be back there. Having to put up with Mancs ruling the roost, seeing our boys frustrate and infuriate, and wondering when the hell we would be back up there. And since the Champions League came into being, I’ve doubted, I admit, if we could ever get back there.

 

And when I closed my eyes and pictured what I desired for Liverpool, it was what happened on the night of the 25th May. The perfect circle closed. It was 25th May 1977, when my Dad let me stay up at the age of five, long past my bedtime to watch this football match. On that old rented telly we watched it, although I confess I don’t remember much. That was the day I became a red. And here I was, jammy to get a ticket, and having crossed a continent from top to bottom to see everything I think football should be about.

 

We’re lucky. To have a team like this that can do the impossible. That can come from nowhere to breathe new life into what most people thought was a long dead legend. And to make a million dreams come true.

 

 

From Sozopol to Istanbul by Paul B

 

 

 

Fixing a roadside wheel on the 3-lane motorway leading into Istanbul was no fun. It was no fun at all.

 

The puncture was just the latest incident in the long, long journey to Istanbul from Sozopol via Sunny Beach Bulgaria and what a journey it was! Little did we know that at the end of all our trials and tribulations, we would be returning on this same road having made excellent friends and seen our team crowned European Champions! But what a journey it was, both inside and outside the Ataturk Stadium!

 

Ahh, sunny Sozopol, nestling in an attractive cove on steep, dramatic rocks above the tranquil, lapping waters of the Black Sea. We’d booked this place as it was a short ride from Bourgas airport and michelin.com told us it was then a mere 4 hour drive to Istanbul. At approximately one quarter to one third of the silly prices quoted for Istanbul itself, we could also chuck in a few days' sunbathing as well. What could be better?

 

Well, Sozopol is a tip! The hotel was awful and the resort was a building site but we didn’t know this for a few days after we’d got there. We dumped our stuff in the room and after a quick bite to eat and a beer, we jumped in a cab and rode for well over an hour to Sunny Beach where we met up with a terrific bunch of people in their hotel. By we, I mean my son Liam and myself and this was as much treat for him as it was a dream come true; his first ever European Cup Final! I felt it was just reward for the sometimes awful football and shambolic teams and performances he’d had to put up with for many years. I’d seen us become European and English champions many times and I at lest had that to sustain me, but he didn’t have those memories. Here at last, his team were about to play in the continent’s most prestigious cup final and no power on earth was going to keep us away from it.

 

So much for a 4 hour trip! Our driver, Zhivko, spoke no English and had never been to Istanbul before. Within a couple of hours, we all wanted to strangle him. First of all he demanded the full amount of money up front when we wanted to keep at least some back to ensure he would still be around to bring us back the following day. He would not budge on this and it cost us a good hour before we gave in to him. Then, as we get to the border crossing, he decides he needs diesel and so we had to return 10 kilometres along the road we’d already been down! We watched in disbelief as dozens of other Liverpool fans’ cars and coaches went ahead of us in the increasingly long queue at the ridiculously long border crossing. We got more and more annoyed with him but as the day wore on, he showed himself to be a star and we all warmed to him. The day would end in an incredible, scarcely believable way for him.

 

We’d arranged to meet other people in Taksim Square which we thought we’d reach at about midday. Some chance! We eventually got to our Istanbul hotels at about 4.30PM to be informed by the manager we’d need to set off to the ground right away as TV pictures showed an increasingly long, nightmare journey to the stadium itself. So, with no food inside us, we had to get back on the bus and start the long, slow ride to the Ataturk. This was everything you’ve read; a long snake of cars, taxis, coaches, mini-buses, bikes, trikes and lads called Mike and any and all manner of transport. We could see the stadium in all its splendid isolation miles in the distance and never getting closer. Fortunately, to entertain us, thousands of Istanbullers had lined the streets in front of their homes and flats on the long, climbing hill to the ground itself. They were 95% supportive of Liverpool with some favouring Milan. It was like doing a big city marathon with crowds of well-wishers cheering you on.

 

Anyway, all good things (!) must come to an end and eventually we reached the stadium. We arrived just in time to relieve our advance party who’d gone ahead to the ground earlier to sort tickets out. We quickly discovered they’d had no food or drink at the badly-serviced stadium for hours. Our bags of beer and food rations were a welcome sight. As we all had tickets, we called Zhivko off the bus and handed him the precious spare ticket we had. His face beamed when he realised what we were offering him. To see the European Cup Final! His face was a picture.

 

Me and our Liam had been sorted out with tickets from well-known forumite, Sutty, to whom I am eternally grateful and when we got in the ground itself, Sutty was sat a few seats away together with Mick, or Swan Red as he’s known in these parts.

 

With building excitement, we watched the pre-game stuff and then it was time for the gladiators to enter the arena! What a moment that was: to see the last two teams standing as they marched out to the noise and spectacle behind the trophy that the winners would walk away with was an emotional sight. And talking of spectacles, what about our fans? It hardly needs saying, they really made me proud! They were and are quite simply fantastic. I cannot think of many teams anywhere in the world who’d have taken this number of incredible fanatics all the way to Istanbul. I’ve been fortunate enough to see Liverpool in many cup finals and semis and I seriously think the fans are getting better with more inspiring, witty and imaginative banners than ever before. The curve to our left was a mass of red and naturally all the noise was coming from that end as well. But not for long! After 50 seconds and that goal, my heart sank. Surely we hadn’t been so excited and spent all that money only for it to be over in less than one minute? No, that could not be allowed to happen and we cranked up the noise even more than previously. Then Sami went close with a header and the first half or the European Cup Final became progressively worse for every Liverpudlian. Firstly, the pea-hearted Kewell limped off, then we were denied what looked a blatant penalty and Milan went up the other end and scored. Then they scored again and of course they’d had a disallowed goal as well. We looked to be on the receiving end of a major embarrassment. I could see and hear the mocking of the Blues and the Mancs back home as they lapped up our misfortune.

 

As the half progressed, the noise from our 30-odd-thousand diminished and the joy to our right was cranked up as the Italians celebrated what would be their night. But if that was what was going to happen, we were not going down without a fight, not in our stand anyway! The half-time rendition of YNWA brought a tear to the eye but surely it was a defiant gesture? A last stand before the onrushing white tide swept Liverpool aside?

 

Well when Gerrard’s goal went in, our stand erupted; at least we’ve got one back and we no longer looked vulnerable since Didi had started to get the better of Kaka. Who knows, if we get anoth… wait a minute! Vladi’s shot for me was the moment of the match. Had it not gone in, or gone in towards the end, maybe we wouldn’t have had the nerve to believe. But now, well now we could believe! I looked behind me for the idiot who’d screamed, “Get that shirt off, Šmicer. Yer not fit to wear it!”, but he was leaping up and down on people! Where we were, people were piling down three and four rows of seats to hug and kiss complete strangers. It was an amazing feeling to know that where we had been dead and buried, we were now right back on track. When Steven Gerrard was brought down, pandemonium exploded! I was almost sick with shrieking! There was a moment of anxiety as the lad behind said they hadn’t given it and then when the keeper got a hand to it…but no, wait, Alonso follows up and we saw the net bulge! We’d done it! We’d come back from a mauling to get level with the mighty AC Milan! The scenes now eclipsed the scenes after Owen had scored his second at Cardiff in the Cup Final. I didn’t think many would have much left after the early starts and the energy expended all round Istanbul in the hours before the game but a collective second wind had come to us all. I’ve never experienced such a collective joy before. People were shouting and screaming with total delight. Everyone in that stand was my best mate. I hugged total strangers, lifting them off their feet in huge, happy bear hugs. I remembered to look at my pulse monitor. My normal pulse is 45 but it hadn’t fallen below 90 that night, but now it was 160! That’s sprinting levels and it had all come from delirium! The noise now from all around was incredible, all the more so given the structure of the stadium. We could create an atmosphere on the moon, us lot. I felt an overwhelming pride for those heroes on the pitch and you could tell they felt the same for us, the fans who had driven them on, urged them to defy the odds and stand up and give their all. Like I say, I’ve seen us win some things but this surpassed everything I’d previously experienced.

 

It still wasn’t over though but we looked to be on top now. Milan cleverly played their way back in and I have never in my life looked more frequently at a clock as I did that night. Every few seconds I would turn to my right to check how much more time had elapsed. I hate penalty shoot-outs but I would have given my left b****** if I’d been offered them at half time.

 

The Jamie Carragher incident and the Dudek save convinced me there was no way on earth we could now lose. These men are giants and once again, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride in the fact we have a Carragher in our team. If only we had ten more!

 

When Dudek saved from Shevchenko, I calmy and rationally said, “We’ve won the European Cup”. It probably wasn’t my imagination that the wild celebrations were a little bit muted as we’d all been on an incredibly long journey and we didn’t have as much to give as we might have had an hour before. To look around you was to experience total joy. Big, huge grinning faces with all trials and tribulations forgotten. A sense that whatever people had suffered to get here, this was infinitely worth while. Grown men unashamedly wept tears of joy and pride at what they’d seen. The realisation of what we’d done began to dawn and people were simply beaming with an immense delight at being alive.

 

It was just a long, deeply satisfying sense of pleasure watching the presentation and the cup being lifted aloft. It was a sensation of total contentment and joy. The inevitable long journey back to the city was forgotten as we drank in this moment to our heart’s content. What a team, what a game, what a manager, what a comeback, what a night! All our prayers answered, all our desires fulfilled. Which was nice.

 

To be honest, the trip back to the city was far less of a problem that the journey there. We didn’t get there until 4am so we’d been on the go for 24 hours but we demanded beer and food. After an aborted trip to Taksim Square, we found ourselves going up a small lane where there were tables and some contented fellow Liverpudlians. I saw that one of them was Dave (aka Anny Road) and gave him a big hug. He wondered who it was at first as the roughness of his unshaven face had caused a scouring of my fine film-star features! We were all sat beneath that huge Gladiator picture of Steven Gerrard, along with Pete Sampara (badge man) and a weird Turk smoking from a bubble pipe (or whatever you call them). We were listening to the first UB40 album which takes me back to that magical night and that magical setting whenever I hear it. An utterly fantastic and unforgettable 26 hours in my life which I don’t think will ever be bettered.

 

When we woke late the following day, the hotel manager was full of praise and his main compliment concerned the fact that the police were reporting there had been no trouble at all. We had seen from our coach, hundreds of troops all in riot gear with truncheons drawn and big chest plates, being stood down and marching back up the road from where they had been held in reserve. We waved and some waved back but some looked disappointed they hadn’t been able to go in! An American tourist overheard our conversation so I rubbed it in how good and well behaved Liverpool fans always are wherever we went and that I hoped we’d been good ambassadors for the city. The manager told me we were welcome back there any time we wanted to go! Which I thought summed up the event quite nicely.

[Gunga Din]

bringing back some great memories. my story actually made it into a book

[Nathan Explosion]

Will - easier to read them on the site, instead of copying and pasting them in please. Also easier on the forum database than what you are currently doing.

 

http://www.ynwa.tv/f...ex.php/columns/ - I'll sort out the issue with the menu on the right hand side later this evening.

Edited May 25, 2010 by Nathan Explosion

[Tommy Cockles]

I didn't go.

 

I thought Istanbul would be crap. I went to the semi & thought "that was our night" and "nothing could top that atmosphere"

 

I was certain we would get beat.

 

I thought tickets would be a nightmare.

 

Some of the most pi** poor decision making in the history of man.

 

Watched it at home on my own. Drank a bottle of gin in celebration. Cried.

[matty]

 

Tearful w*nk written all over that, Tommy.

[Gerrardrules]

I remember loads of fans dancing on the Rafa la Bamba song after midnight in Sulthanamet area. Stayed there in a hotel.

Or the we're gonna score in a minute song when hundreds of fans watched the match again in the street the day after. Best week of my life.

[Will]

I'll sort out adding the other tales properly a bit later in the week - bit mad off my feet at the momentt! If people want them, that is...

[Bootser]

Bring 'em on Will. Great stuff.

 

Did Vic do an account?

[Nathan Explosion]

Bring 'em on Will. Great stuff.

 

They are all at http://www.ynwa.tv/features/index.php

 

Did Vic do an account?

 

No.

[Bootser]

Ta v much!