...a bet lengthly but the pool fans on here may find it interesting...
I’ve been back home for a week now but the enormity & absurdity of what Liverpool have achieved in this year’s Champions League campaign is only just sinking in. For Rafa to overcome crippling injury problems, tough draws and the limitations of a patchy squad (in comparison to those teams at the top tier of European football) and make it to the final was, in my mind, a truly massive achievement. To drag this raggle-taggle bunch from 3-0 down at half-time, against a side who are both supremely gifted & vastly experienced, to victory in the final simply cements his spot in the glorious history of this club. All this in his first year using a squad largely assembled by the previous manager. This man is truly exceptional.
Much of the comical logistical nightmares surrounding the journey to Istanbul have been done to death by other but in truth, and in restrospect, they all added to the occasion in my opinion.
The 6 hours commuting to & from the stadium – Simply an opportunity to chat over tactics, marvel at the local’s boundless enthusiasm and marvel too at the antics of some of the scousers (People running on top of buses & jumping from one to the other, travelling the entire 3 hours in the boot of a cab, jumping off the bus for impromptue piss stops & games of footie in the barren wasteland that surrounds the Attaturk stadium.
The 6 hour wait at Istanbul airport for a flight which never once appeared on the departure board (yes…I was bricking it) – Simply a chance to devour all the post-match analysis in the press, have a few pints of Efes and play some poker
The ordeal of having to sleep overnight in Manchester airport on the Thursday night because your connecting flight (which will cost you £100 to change) to Edinburgh left before you even left Istanbul – Well in all honestly it was a kick in the balls. No silver lining on that cloud, having to go straight to work upon arrival didn’t help either.
The game itself was a truly unique one. I’ve never seen a team look so composed, clinical & confident for 45 minutes look so lost, afraid & vulnerable for the second 45. By half–time I had screamed myself hoarse at the ineptitude of our marking, not a word was spoken between myself & a buddy of mine next to me for the 15 minutes. Head in hands, contemplating why I’d spent so much for so little reward – I looked at my ticket stub and saw £1000 worth of magic beans. This trip was becoming a nightmare.
While the rousing rendition of YNWA at half-time did something to raise my spirits they were plunged to the depths of despair when, for the first 5 minutes of the second half, the players seemed to lack any interest in regaining some pride. Not to mind putting us back in contention. “I just hope we show some heart in the second half” I said, “this is embarrassing”.
As Riise surged down the left our captain heeded my call. You will struggle to see a better header than that this season, anywhere. While the delivery was good what made it was the cleverness of the run (in between two of the best defenders of my generation) and the sheer desire in the header. You hear coaches telling you to “use the power on the ball” which is perfectly valid but when Gerrard got so much power on the ball from a relatively standing position you’ve got to marvel at it’s execution. Every sinew in his neck was strained, the direction on the ball perfect…Dida stranded. Game on.
I’ll be honest, much of the next hour or so is a bit of a blur. The atmosphere was intoxicating & as we edged closer and closer to the impossible I became more and more relaxed. With each step those Liverpool players edged away from embarrassment & towards immortality. The calmness of our players’ penalties was both a surprise and a delight (all 4 were fine penalties, Dida did exceptionally well to keep Riise’s out). I was delighted that Dudek & Smicer effectively ended their spell at the club in such fine style. Didi Hamann, who is great value for a new contract, truly was our match winner. For all Gerrard’s gusto it was Hamann’s steady performance that laid the foundations for that famous comeback.
As our bus back to civilisation had abandoned us we were quite literally the last Liverpool fans to leave the Attaturk stadium. Not a lot was said on the 2+ hrs journey back. Many were physically drained from being witness to such an enthralling spectacle. Only when we arrived at Taksim square did we truly realise the scale of the cub’s achievement. A few beers & kebabs later we decided to grab a taxi back to our hotel (with a lunatic who used to turn the radio volume up to an eardrum-splitting when he did over 80 mph to disguise the strange rattling noises) but our night was not yet over…
We knew since Tuesday that the players were staying in the hotel next door, the Crown Plaza, which was owned by the same folks that owned our hotel & had a shared garden. We’d even done a reconnaissance mission the afternoon before & managed to make it as far as the player’s pool without detection…they were all taking their mid-afternoon nap though. When we returned Wednesday night we saw that a security guard was guarding the area we hoped to sneak in through so we decided to be cheeky and try and blag our way in. We strolled in the front entrance telling security that we were staying in the Hotel (1/2 true) & were meeting friends in the bar (1/2 true).
The first person we saw when we made it in was Rafa, big beaming smile, chatting to a group of Spaniards. A few minutes later Josemi came strolling through with his bird & some food. He was very friendly and stopped to sign my ticket & my mate’s programme (even suggesting he re-sign it on a different page as it didn’t come out well on a red background). Nunez & Alonso were soon to follow (both with truly stunning Spanish birds). Alonso was chatting with friends of his but was very happy to take time out to have a quick chat, sign a few things and pose for a few pics (just got them developed, will have pride of place in my photo album). Nunez was having good banter with the fans, he let a load of people have his medal for pictures & was messing about trying to play the piano. Carson (with his fairly average, plump bird), Welsh (with a stunning looking blonde slapper) and Sami (an absolute colossus in the flesh…beast of a man) all came down and signed programs etc.
We then mustered up the courage to go up and meet Rafa who still had his beaming smile and was an absolute gent, taking time out for everyone who approached him (Our conversation was limited to – “Ah, congrats rafa, great game” and “Sure”). When the man mountain Carra came down and posed for pics we thought it couldn’t get any better until Gerrard emerged from his room with the European cup in hand (both players looked absolutely drained of all energy, in a total daze). I managed to jump in for a quick photo with our captain & the cup. This seemed the most unlikely event imaginable just 10 months ago.
We strolled back to our hotel safe in the knowledge that this hadn’t been “the biggest waste of money I’ve ever come across” (my HT thoughts) but a truly amazing night that I, and any kids/grandkids I subsequently have, will never be allowed to forget.
...a bet lengthly but the pool fans on here may find it interesting...
I’ve been back home for a week now but the enormity & absurdity of what Liverpool have achieved in this year’s Champions League campaign is only just sinking in. For Rafa to overcome crippling injury problems, tough draws and the limitations of a patchy squad (in comparison to those teams at the top tier of European football) and make it to the final was, in my mind, a truly massive achievement. To drag this raggle-taggle bunch from 3-0 down at half-time, against a side who are both supremely gifted & vastly experienced, to victory in the final simply cements his spot in the glorious history of this club. All this in his first year using a squad largely assembled by the previous manager. This man is truly exceptional.
Much of the comical logistical nightmares surrounding the journey to Istanbul have been done to death by other but in truth, and in restrospect, they all added to the occasion in my opinion.
The 6 hours commuting to & from the stadium – Simply an opportunity to chat over tactics, marvel at the local’s boundless enthusiasm and marvel too at the antics of some of the scousers (People running on top of buses & jumping from one to the other, travelling the entire 3 hours in the boot of a cab, jumping off the bus for impromptue piss stops & games of footie in the barren wasteland that surrounds the Attaturk stadium.
The 6 hour wait at Istanbul airport for a flight which never once appeared on the departure board (yes…I was bricking it) – Simply a chance to devour all the post-match analysis in the press, have a few pints of Efes and play some poker
The ordeal of having to sleep overnight in Manchester airport on the Thursday night because your connecting flight (which will cost you £100 to change) to Edinburgh left before you even left Istanbul – Well in all honestly it was a kick in the balls. No silver lining on that cloud, having to go straight to work upon arrival didn’t help either.
The game itself was a truly unique one. I’ve never seen a team look so composed, clinical & confident for 45 minutes look so lost, afraid & vulnerable for the second 45. By half–time I had screamed myself hoarse at the ineptitude of our marking, not a word was spoken between myself & a buddy of mine next to me for the 15 minutes. Head in hands, contemplating why I’d spent so much for so little reward – I looked at my ticket stub and saw £1000 worth of magic beans. This trip was becoming a nightmare.
While the rousing rendition of YNWA at half-time did something to raise my spirits they were plunged to the depths of despair when, for the first 5 minutes of the second half, the players seemed to lack any interest in regaining some pride. Not to mind putting us back in contention. “I just hope we show some heart in the second half” I said, “this is embarrassing”.
As Riise surged down the left our captain heeded my call. You will struggle to see a better header than that this season, anywhere. While the delivery was good what made it was the cleverness of the run (in between two of the best defenders of my generation) and the sheer desire in the header. You hear coaches telling you to “use the power on the ball” which is perfectly valid but when Gerrard got so much power on the ball from a relatively standing position you’ve got to marvel at it’s execution. Every sinew in his neck was strained, the direction on the ball perfect…Dida stranded. Game on.
I’ll be honest, much of the next hour or so is a bit of a blur. The atmosphere was intoxicating & as we edged closer and closer to the impossible I became more and more relaxed. With each step those Liverpool players edged away from embarrassment & towards immortality. The calmness of our players’ penalties was both a surprise and a delight (all 4 were fine penalties, Dida did exceptionally well to keep Riise’s out). I was delighted that Dudek & Smicer effectively ended their spell at the club in such fine style. Didi Hamann, who is great value for a new contract, truly was our match winner. For all Gerrard’s gusto it was Hamann’s steady performance that laid the foundations for that famous comeback.
As our bus back to civilisation had abandoned us we were quite literally the last Liverpool fans to leave the Attaturk stadium. Not a lot was said on the 2+ hrs journey back. Many were physically drained from being witness to such an enthralling spectacle. Only when we arrived at Taksim square did we truly realise the scale of the cub’s achievement. A few beers & kebabs later we decided to grab a taxi back to our hotel (with a lunatic who used to turn the radio volume up to an eardrum-splitting when he did over 80 mph to disguise the strange rattling noises) but our night was not yet over…
We knew since Tuesday that the players were staying in the hotel next door, the Crown Plaza, which was owned by the same folks that owned our hotel & had a shared garden. We’d even done a reconnaissance mission the afternoon before & managed to make it as far as the player’s pool without detection…they were all taking their mid-afternoon nap though. When we returned Wednesday night we saw that a security guard was guarding the area we hoped to sneak in through so we decided to be cheeky and try and blag our way in. We strolled in the front entrance telling security that we were staying in the Hotel (1/2 true) & were meeting friends in the bar (1/2 true).
The first person we saw when we made it in was Rafa, big beaming smile, chatting to a group of Spaniards. A few minutes later Josemi came strolling through with his bird & some food. He was very friendly and stopped to sign my ticket & my mate’s programme (even suggesting he re-sign it on a different page as it didn’t come out well on a red background). Nunez & Alonso were soon to follow (both with truly stunning Spanish birds). Alonso was chatting with friends of his but was very happy to take time out to have a quick chat, sign a few things and pose for a few pics (just got them developed, will have pride of place in my photo album). Nunez was having good banter with the fans, he let a load of people have his medal for pictures & was messing about trying to play the piano. Carson (with his fairly average, plump bird), Welsh (with a stunning looking blonde slapper) and Sami (an absolute colossus in the flesh…beast of a man) all came down and signed programs etc.
We then mustered up the courage to go up and meet Rafa who still had his beaming smile and was an absolute gent, taking time out for everyone who approached him (Our conversation was limited to – “Ah, congrats rafa, great game” and “Sure”). When the man mountain Carra came down and posed for pics we thought it couldn’t get any better until Gerrard emerged from his room with the European cup in hand (both players looked absolutely drained of all energy, in a total daze). I managed to jump in for a quick photo with our captain & the cup. This seemed the most unlikely event imaginable just 10 months ago.
We strolled back to our hotel safe in the knowledge that this hadn’t been “the biggest waste of money I’ve ever come across” (my HT thoughts) but a truly amazing night that I, and any kids/grandkids I subsequently have, will never be allowed to forget.
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Roman Abramovich- Messi is getting world class put next to his name.The guy is a talented park.If he becomes world player of the year ill eat my jocks.
"At one time or another all our teams are ordinary. All are written off. All are humiliated - and it is that extra factor that marks the 2005 European Cup final out as surely unique among comebacks.
Just as it doesn't matter what team Nick Hornby was writing about, so it doesn't matter which team it was that achieved that miracle. Fever Pitch was recently voted - no surprise - the best sports book of all time. I give you the best football match of all time."
While the tag of "the best football match of all time" is really subjective it is amazing that so many of us have been to a game which at least merits being mentioned when such a tag is being bandied about. Having your favourite team in it and for them to emerge victorious just makes it all the more amazing.
My Recollections of Istanbul - a week on
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