Sunday 23 December 2012

The Home Straight- Mons v Anderlecht (8)


With everything we've gone through this week, we were hoping today would be a straightforward conclusion in Amsterdam. With the Ajax game being off,we're now in Belgium to round it all off. Nice easy finish? No chance

We never made it to bed again last night, as the only train journey we could afford within what little's left in our budget, that would get us to Mons in Belgium in time was a 4am departure. Such has been our luck with travelling this week (most of it self-inflicted) we decided to just get there ASAP & deal with it then. 


Anyway, it's now about 4.30 am & we're on the train, due into Mons for 2pm. The games a sell-out, so we need to find tickets,& therefore needed as long as possible to make it. We board our train, travelling 4 hrs before we have our first connection. No problems there & we all manage to steal a bit kip on it. On this second train, however, I close my eyes to get a bit more, when there's an almighty crash. I genuinely thought we'd been in a train crash & leapt out of my seat to spin round & see an almighty mess on the floor. It turns out that about 3 seats away, one of the locals has somehow managed to absolutely clatter into a glass partition, dividing us from 1st class. The noise was deafening,& luckily,apart from a few cuts on 'herr knobhead', no-one was seriously hurt, although a Japanese girl who was sitting in first class is absolutely hysterical with the shock of it all. I'm winding Dean up-" bet its not the first time you've had 2 women running out of doors,screaming like they're possessed,in one night."
He's still got the hump about not getting to bed though, so he's not biting. 



After it all settles down, we find the incident quite funny & are just chuckling at our luck, when we stop at a station & a proper repair team come on to clear up all the dangerous shards of glass (the driver had previously attempted it with a piece of scrap metal) & this takes us a good half an hour. The train trundles on & we get off at the German/Belgian border to get our next connection to Liege. It's a sleepy little village & we get there to see that our connecting train has already left. No big deal, we'll get the next one. Looking through the departures board, we're not spoiled for choice. When we bought our tickets, we were specifically told we could not travel on ICE trains, as these are a luxury, private company. Looking through the board, there are only 3 non-private (slow) trains to Liege a day,& we've missed the 1st. The 2nd would get us into mons about 20 mins before kick off & we don't know where the ground is,& don't have tickets for a sell-out, but we've got little option, so we find a cafe & wait out for the next one. The game we're going to is an early kick-off for the Jupiler league, & the reason we chose it was it's proximity to Charleroi airport, where we're flying home from the next morning, but my minds thinking- what if we travel onwards to one of the other, later games? I've got a map of Belgium open in one window, a fixture list in another,& the train booking in the other. However, our train is booked into Mons & we have just over €100 left in our budget,& have to get match tickets out of that. I'm texting people at home, trying to get more info & working out all sorts of permeatations. We'd have trouble getting back to the airport, but I'm not coming this far to blow it on the last day. We finish our coffees (the cafe has a place for your empty trays, where you put it, then it disappears down a conveyor belt. Jamie was that fascinated by it, it took us a while to get him out)to get back to the station,& as a result of the snow, all of the trains are now delayed. We get to our platform, & ours is 20 mins late. Bang on kick off we'd get in now. A train pulls into the platform & we're informed it's terminating here, due to ice on the under-carriage. (We're assuming anyway, all the announcements are in German) we stand there, anxiously asking about for a bit of info, when one English-speaking woman informs us that she missed her connection to Liege & is travelling the same route as us, so we're safe. Meanwhile, looking across to the other side, there's a rickety old train that catches us our eye pulling away. I make a comment, saying it'd be our luck to get a piece of junk like that,& then realise it's got Liege plastered across the back of it. Turns out that was our train,& we'd not heard (or understood) the platform change announcement. We're done. It's all over, shy of trying to get to Northern Belgium instead. 



It's then that the ICE train rolls in,& the English-speaking lady informs us that that's our train. We know we've got one last stab at it, so we climb onto it,knowing full well that our tickets aren't valid. As its a fast train, it will get us into Liege quicker & it just leaves us trying to dodge the ticket inspector for 45 mins. This task is made increasingly difficult when we realise the seating is reserved & we obviously don't have reservations, so are drawing attention to ourselves by standing in the aisles. We pile into the tiny toilet cubicle,stacking our bags in,as well as cramming ourselves in,but then realise just how ludicrous this situation is,& spill back out into the aisle,willing to face the music. I say face the music, but the truth is we continue ambling through the aisles, nervously & very slowly, trying to not draw attention to ourselves, which isn't really working due to the bulky bags bumping their way through the train, but we make it. We arrive in Liege station without being asked for our tickets. I venture that we push our luck & stay on until Brussels now, get us midway between a few other games but its a very resounding no,& we get off in Liege, with Jamie & Dean's bums still squeaking.

I get across to the platform information to see that onward trains run hourly & our trains left about 10 mins ago, so we're waiting about.Liege station is quite something. I've been here before, when Everton played, but it's still quite an impressive piece of modern architecture & we stand marvelling at it for a few minutes, whilst Jamie grabs the chance to have a smoke outside,before we casually stroll over to our platform, to be greeted by a familiar sight- the view of the back of a train pulling away from us. A train that we should've been on. It turns out that the snows delayed it by about half an hour,& if we'd have walked over when we got in, we would have been sitting on a warm train,inching towards Mons,buying us a bit more time to try & negotiate our way into a sell-out at the smallest stadium of the week, but instead we're sitting on a freezing cold platform, with a further hour,at least, to wait for the next one to come along. Best get the beers in, then. 



We head along to a bar in the station & sample some of the local Jupiler but Dean doesn't fancy it. He's sitting there silent, before he says "we ain't gonna make this. There's no chance of us getting there in time,& even if we do, how are we gonna get tickets?"
We have to make it. There's no option for not doing it. It's not like we can just try again next week, but Dean's tired,& he's had about enough. "Even if we can only get 2 tickets, I don't mind not going to the game."
The madness of Paris. The lunacy of Milan. All that travelling, all that effort, just for 6/7? Nah. We're doing it, even if it means skipping Mons & making the 2 hr journey from Mons to Genk. We would need a lot of luck in trains falling our way,but it's possible,& gives us a safety net if things don't work out in Mons.


The train eventually arrives & its a tense journey. We get to Mons with about 20 mins to go before kick off & we're lucky enough to find lockers at the train station to ditch our bags in (Jamie was already looking for a suitable hedge to safely store all of our belongings in!) & jump in a cab to the Stade Charles Tondreau. We've no idea where we're going but thankfully the grounds very nearby & we're there within minutes.

I leave the lads to look for touts whilst I try the official approach, walking round to the other side of the ground to the box office. I speak to a few touts en route & they want €100 per ticket. No chance. The budget wouldn't stretch that fair anyway, so I carry on in the queue. The whole time I'm waiting, my mind's still whirring & the phone's still frantically trying to find an alternative route to Genk in time for kick off there in just over 3 hours.
I get to the ticket window & explain what we're doing & what we're hoping to achieve, but they can't help, as it is a complete sell-out. At this point, a gentleman comes forward & offers to help. His friend can't make it now & he was looking to return his ticket,but instead is offering it to me, at face value. It's just the 1 ticket, but he says he may know of 2 others. A few minutes later, he's back, complete with the other pair. They're in a different stand to the first one, but we're all going.The fans at Mons are brilliant with us as we're filtering through the gates & as we insert our barcodes into the scanner for the last time on this journey, there's one last relieved shared glance at each other that says "we're in".
However, no matter how big a relief that one's been each time,it's still not job done as its all about getting the flag displayed. Jamie takes the solo ticket & it turns out the other 2 tickets are in the hospitality section,& someone's not turned up, so we blag him into our stand. One last attempt at trying to explain what we want to do to foreign stewards without speaking their language & they're again very helpful, directing us to the corner flag to get the flag hung. I get it tied onto the rail at the front,& upload a quick picture to Facebook to let friends & family know the jobs been done & we sit down. 




I've thought about this moment a bit over the last few days & how the elation of completing our gruelling task would feel,but as my phone starts going mental with congratulatory texts coming through, it's a completely different sensation I'm feeling. My body has completely shut down as I sit down to watch the game kick off. I mean, I don't even the strength to get my phone out. I realise the entire week has been spent on adrenaline & that's run it's natural course. I joked before we went that I'd be living on Red Bull the whole week. Truth is, I had 2 the entire time. It wasn't needed.My minds been constantly moving,thinking of where we need to be next,what train gets us where at what time,finding our digs. Then,it's getting to grounds on time,getting tickets,will the tickets work?can we get the flag in?can we hang the flag?where's best to display it?can it be seen on TV?& so on. Now that it's done, I physically can't move. Looking at Dean & Jamie,they're seemingly in the same boat. The game starts & I'm only half watching. The Mons Ultras, right next to the Anderlecht away supporter are up for it & are making a show with their banners & flares,whilst 2 skinheads stand at the front with megaphones orchestrating it all. I have to say its impressive & seeing each club's ultras has been an interesting aspect to this. 



The Mons team, managed by Belgian legend, Enzo Scifo, however is much less impressive. Within minutes of the start, Anderlecht are hammering them, & by the time they go 1-0 up, in the 5th minute, they should probably have been 2 or 3 ahead already. Dieumerci Mbokani,their Congolese striker is a real handful & he has an easy tap in right in front of us. The Mons ultras carry on singing even in the aftermath of the goal, which is massively impressive,but by the time Mbokani scores his second,they've had enough. No-one enjoys seeing their team get battered like Mons are & I've no idea how they went in at half time only 2-0 down. 

At half time,we head for a beer to try & revitalize ourselves but Dean's getting increasingly paranoid about the locals stood around us, who he seems to think are only here for the sole purpose of battering us foreigners. I must say, I'm not getting this vibe at all, even though all attempts to converse are thwarted by the language barrier. Sleep depravation can do some crazy things to the mind though,& we move on. 

Second half kicks off & the beers aren't having the desired effect. We've taking an extra couple each down to our seats,as its our last game on the continent & we'll be pining for this novelty soon enough, but we're practically falling asleep at this point. So much so that the game completely passes us by. Some of the local kids are taking an interest in the flag & are waving it,trying to replicate the Ultras. This results in the 3 of us not being able to see a thing but no one's moving, speaking or even moderately concerned in the game. There's a bit of commotion down the other end on a couple of occasions,but Im not exaggerating when I say, we are effectively asleep. 
Here's the proof. Mbokani got his hat trick, the Mons goalkeeper was sent off after they'd used all their subs, leading to the footballing equivalent of when a dog runs into your school classroom, the good old tiny left back donning the gloves to go in goal, Anderlecht scored a penalty & another goal besides,& it finished 5-0. I saw 2 of the 5 goals, then 3 kids & a big green flag, 10 minutes of the back of my eyelids & a bit of the Ultras going home. It's fair to say we're relieved to hear the final whistle & we pack up the flag for the last time & make our way out of the stadium. 

We stop for a quick beer outside the ground & there's a barbecue going on for the locals. Dean can't muster another beer,but Jamie grabs us a couple whilst I queue to get us some "baguettes saucissons" at what is literally a grill in the pub car park. The queues chaotic but I eventually get them & sit down to enjoy with our beers. It's beautiful, but about 3 bites into it, I get a gritty taste & hear a crunch. There's actual stones fallen into it & I've only gone & managed to break a tooth on it! Unbelievable. Thought all the madness was over with,but it seems there's one last bit of bad luck left for me,eh? 


We walk back towards the train station & walking through the town of Mons really is impressive. The history & the architecture, coupled with the winter night & all the Christmas decorations really do round things off for us.











 We head back to the lockers at the station to pick up our bags (bizarrely, there's a couple of teenagers carrying on INSIDE the next locker. Suppose we all needed whatever privacy we could get at that age, eh?)& we head off on one last train journey

We did it. Job done & despite some very major setbacks before we even left, some very near misses in Paris & Milan, Jamie's flights home for the funerals of loved ones, flying into Holland for a game that was never played, the havoc that the continental weather caused to our travels, a lot of alcohol & not so much sleep, we've achieved our goal.The flag has been to 7 games in 7 countries in 7 days, being photographed at all,& made it onto the Telly in 5 of those games.


Our flight leaves Charleroi at 8am the next morning but the lads are taking no further chances on our luck holding out. It's 9pm on Saturday night & we're heading there right now. There's €20 left in the kitty, enough for a few beers & then one last night without a bed. Our train to the airport contains quite a few people on our flight with the same idea of sleeping at the airport. It seems we're not the only ones who don't trust Ryanair. In fairness to them, they haven't let us down this far. Time for home.& by home, I mean Goodison Park. Everton v Spurs tomorrow in what will be a kind of homecoming for us,with lots of people meeting up with us pre-match, including Paul who couldn't make it with us in the end,but contributed massively from home. 

My 9th game in as many days & I genuinely can't wait 





For anyone who hasn't read this blog before, we are trying to take a flag to 7 football games in 7 days in 7 different countries, to raise awareness,& money, for the Oscar Knox Appeal. Oscar is a young boy from Northern Ireland who has severe Neuroblastoma & desperately needs money to help him,& other children with this disease. 






Please read oscar's blog here 

http://oscarknox.blogspot.co.uk/?m=1

You can donate to our JustGiving page here

https://www.justgiving.com/7ma7ches7coun7ries7days/


We are funding this entire trip ourselves & 100% of what you donate will go to Oscar's Appeal
Although we were initially hesitant to be raising money whilst having a glorified holiday, so many good people have come forward to us, that it would be sinful to refuse

Thursday 13 December 2012

Bah Hamburg - Hamburg vs Hoffenheim (7)

You can donate to our Just Giving page where all the funds will go to Oscar here: http://www.justgiving.com/7ma7ches7coun7tries7days

Match day 6- Hamburg v Hoffenheim

"Football's not a matter of life & death- it's much more important than that" - Bill Shankly

Bill Shankly was a great football manager, who had a great number of fantastic quotes attributed to him. The one I've used above baffles me. Football's a great game, & rules many a people's lives. That's why we've chosen to try to use the game that so many of us love to strike a common chord & get Oscar's story out there more.

However, I'm sorry Shanks, but that quote is ludicrous. Perhaps I've misunderstood the context, but the amount of tears I've seen throughout this, from football fans of all kinds, surely disproves this nonsense.


"Football's not a matter of life and death, it's much more important than that - Bill Shankly"


At this point, I'd like to point out that we are working hard to keep the flag from becoming affiliated to any club. It will probably be at more Everton games with me, but I will try to limit this, as it's not an Everton flag.

Due to Oscar's Celtic connection, & the colours, it may be viewed as a Celtic flag, but this is about getting football fans to unite behind one special boy's story, about raising awareness and money for him & other children battling this horrible illness.

Likewise and in the light of the past week's events in Belfast, probably more importantly, the flag has no religion. It's inspiring to see that so many Rangers fans have been in contact & shown their support for Oscar, proving that even the biggest rivalries can be overcome when a young child needs help.

I'm choosing to pre-empt this blog to make this clear, because some of the clubs we've approached about displaying it responded by saying they wanted to check the flag over because "due to the green & white colouring, it may be deemed sectarian or offensive". No-one has said no, but I've found these responses baffling. With this in mind, please enjoy our venture into a foreign ground where they didn't get the gist of the text, & coincidentally, hate anything green & white.

We landed in Eindhoven at around 9am & the place is completely white. We had booked our cheap Ryanair flight into Eindhoven because the only confirmed European fixture tonight (Friday) was Heracles v Utrecht. However, as we lost out on our Bayern Munich game, due to other fixtures being re-arranged, & Hamburg v Hoffenheim had been moved to the Friday, we sacrificed our 1st choice Dutch game to shoehorn Ajax into the trip. It turned out that this was a very lucky break for us, as due to the brutal killing of a Dutch Asst. Referee, all Dutch fixtures were called off as a mark of respect. So, our flight to Eindhoven was pointless, but at least we'd get to see Holland, eh?


Lot's of snow about in Eindhoven including at the train station

We get a bus to the train station & collect our tickets that were booked on the Milan Metro last night, & as we have a few Dutch translation cards, explaining what we're doing made up for the Ajax game, we decide to distribute them while we're here. I can only assume that Google translate has had a mare on this, because the response is almost one of anger! "What's this got to do with me?", etc. We stop there, & rein it in, jumping on our train to Hamburg.

I think it's fair to say that at this point, relations are strained between me & Dean, & meeting up with Jamie in Hamburg will be a Godsend. We're both tired, hungover, stressed & he feels I've been too demanding, barking orders at him. I may have been but its taken a lot of organization to get this far, & we've nearly blown it on more than one occasion. If we fail, it's all on me, if we succeed, it's a shared glory. Absolutely fine, but it puts a lot of pressure on your shoulders & this is a learning curve thus far.

Even though I've been to each of the cities we're visiting before, I'm no expert & the tight timeframes don't allow for any mistakes. We sit apart on the train, stealing a bit of kip wherever possible, whilst keeping one eye on where we're changing each time.

Holland is blanketed in about six inches of snow, so each stop adds about a ten minute delay to our journey. By the time we reach Hamburg, we're three & a half hours from kick off, & Jamie meets us at the station, having flown into Hamburg that morning. He takes us across to a little home made pizza place in the station & tells us we have to try one, as he's already had two.

We get checked in, drop the bags off and with our tickets already in hand, have a little bit of time on our hands before kick off, so we go through the Hamburg Christmas markets.


Hamburg Christmas markets


I was in Hamburg during the 2006 World Cup & it was here that I discovered kurrywurst. I've been banging on about it to anyone who'll listen ever since, so we make a bee-line for that stand. Kurrywurst is essentially, sausage, sliced & served in what can only be desribed as a ketchup/gravy mixture, finished with paprika. The usual reaction when you explain this to people is "that sounds vile", but when I think back to that summer six years ago, we practically lived on it, & it was great. I can only assume that we were drunk the entire time in Hamburg, in 2006, because kurrywurst is vile.



Kurrywurst after purchase

Kurrywurst being prepared.

The Baltic coast is living up to it's name, and as we make our way to the Imtech Arena, we see St.Pauli stores, St.Pauli graffiti, & St.Pauli merchandise everywhere. It may well just be the central area of Hamburg we're in, but for such a smaller club, they certainly make their presence felt in this city. Unfortunately for us, a lot of this merchandise contains copious amounts of green & white, "You'll Never Walk Alone" motifs, and some graffiti mentions,which comfirm their allegiance to Celtic.

We were familiar with the tales of Hamburg fans unfurling a full size mosaic of a Union Jack when they played Celtic in Europe, to make sure that everyone was aware of their thoughts towards Celtic, but we were hoping that was just a one-off, rather than a deep rooted hatred for them, due to their affiliation to their city rivals. None of us are actually Celtic fans, but the flag is green & white, so we're worried as to how the locals will respond to it.

We arrive at the station, & have to take a shuttle bus to the ground, set deep in some dark woods. This journey does nothing to settle our nerves, as the bus is packed & the German fans are very aggressive in their nature. It's boisterous, but a few cross the line on occasion & this is without a green & white rag to the bull. It's intimidating, to say the least. A very stereotypical port city, full of your stereotypical sea-faring men.
We reach the ground & there's barely a word said. We all know the job we've come to do. We decide to go straight to the stewards, armed with yet another Google translation. The steward looks puzzled at the sentence construction, then seems to have gleamed the necessary information from it. "What the f#*k has this got to do with me?" he asks.

Not the response I was going for, but I carry on anyway, explaining what we're trying to achieve, & communicate a little bit more about Oscar, but he's not budging. "No" is the constant reply. I leave it, & go grab Jamie to come with me to try again at another entrance & the whole scene plays out in an almost identical fashion. Literally, near word for word. It seems we're on our own as we enter this blue & white bearpit.

We head straight to the front to find a spot, but there's nowhere to hang it. There's a huge wall behind the goal, but it's completely flag-free, so that's a no-no. Our seats are at the top of the lower tier,behind the goal, so we've nowhere to hang it there,either. We hold it up on the concourse,to get a few pics against the pitch, & the reaction isn't so bad. We get a few shouts (in German), but nothing overly threatening, & we're back scouring for a place to hang it.


The flags and banners at Hamburg

By the time we reach kick-off, however, it's a different vibe. The entire back row consists of plain clothes police, all massive & all looking for a kick-off of a different kind, it seems. The three rows in front of us seem to consist solely of big, burly skinheads, who could probably be best described as modern-day pirates, due to their arrays of tattoos & beards.

The game starts and a few fans start to sing, only to be shouted down by the skinheads. They were Hamburg fans, singing Hamburg songs, but every time they start up, they're told to stop. One gets a tap on the shoulder and the back of a hand raised towards him is enough to say, "try it once more & I'm coming over there".

I was curious as to what they were singing about, as they were all clearly supporting the same club. I wonder if it was the German equivalent of "Kenwright out" heard at a few Everton games & always guaranteed to ruffle a few feathers, one way or the other.

We found out later that Bundesliga clubs were participating in the "12:12" protests, a protest against new German security measures being enforced in football grounds. This protest took the form of no singing for the first 12 minutes of the game, which made the whole atmosphere all the more surreal for us, and all the less likely to rock the boat.

We were excited by the fact that you can get a beer in your seat at Bundesliga games, but that novelty wears off, when the minus temperatures make it nigh on impossible to drink. Even the beer backpack man gives up, disappearing to re-appear with a backpack full of 'Gluehwein', or mulled wine to me & you.

Anyway, we're re-thinking our strategy in displaying the flag somehow, & as its well into the minuses inside the ground, the flag doubles up as a blanket, draped across our legs, as we sip on our mulled wine, at the football. Old age has well & truly caught up.

The game itself isn't very good. Hoffenheim are pretty awful to be fair & Hamburg are only marginally better because of the excellent Son, who showed a great bit of skill to chest a ball, swivel & volley it against the crossbar. It would've undoubtedly been the best goal we'd seen all week, but a few minutes later, their big Latvian forward, Rudnevs looped a lovely header over the keeper & puts them 1-0 up.

Half time came and went and I thought about going across to our left to try & communicate with the away fans, who were in a massive cage alongside us & had managed to get their flags on display no problems. We still had nowhere to hang it, but as quite a few of the rougher fans disappeared, we decided to just go for it & hold it up at the top of the stand for about 5 mins, in the hope that cameras picked up on it, but regardless, we got a few pictures of it amongst the Hamburg crowd, who seemed oblivious to it behind them as they watched the game going on. As close to a mission accomplished as we're getting. The game finishes with Son the best player, & Rudnevs having added a second goal to kill it off.


The Team Oscar flag displayed at half time at Hamburg's stadium

The only train journey we could afford within what little's left in our budget, that would get us to Mons in Belgium in time for our final fixture was a 4am departure.

After the game, we headed for the notorious Reeperbahn, to have a few beers & fill the gap between the game finishing & the train leaving, despite having not seen a bed since waking up in Barcelona on Thursday morning. You can't visit Hamburg & not see the Reeperbahn. It's as seedy a place as you'll ever see, but very unique. We have a few beers in an Irish bar along there (I know, I know, but I'd honestly had enough of the Germans at the football & just wanted somewhere we could talk to people about what our aim was), watched a band (excellent first set but a really dreary 2nd set let them down) & at around 2am we leave to get back to our hostel (unused bed again).

Opening the door to our dorm, a woman screams, jumps out of her bed & comes running at us, flailing her arms & getting more & more worked up as she starts hitting Dean. We get her settled down & she's a French woman, who doesn't speak much English. She's obviously had a few night terrors that got worse when us three stumbled in the door, but it didn't do anything for our hearts, & she slopes out the door, embarassed.

Jamie & Dean decide to get into bed (despite the fact that we're leaving in 15 mins) & I have the nightly ritual of recharging my phone,whilst trying to sort out the next day using the only wi-fi I can get access to.

I'm stood in the corner of a pitch dark room, facing the wall, when the French girl walks back in, & noticing me, she's off again. I suppose it must've looked like something out of the Blair Witch project, as I was stood by the plug, just the glow of my phone illuminating me, so I would've gone tearing back out screaming too.

This wakes Jamie & Dean up, despite having got their heads down about 5 mins earlier & they're not happy. Exactly the reason why any attempt at getting into bed was a recipe for disaster. We go back to the train station, where Jamie decides to have his 4th of those little pizzas, & we are in fact 30 mins early for our train, which only makes those two more annoyed about not getting any sleep. As if all the rushing about wasn't enough for them, they obviously fancied a bit more excitement. Instead, we board the train for one last game. Home straight as we keep being reminded. Surely nothing could go wrong now.....

For anyone who hasn't read this blog before, we are trying to take a flag to 7 football games in 7 days in 7 different countries, to raise awareness, & money, for the Oscar Knox Appeal. Oscar is a young boy from Northern Ireland who has severe Neuroblastoma & desperately needs money to help him, & other children with this disease. 

Please read Oscar's blog here http://oscarknox.blogspot.co.uk/?m=1


This is wee Oscar himself.



We are funding this entire trip ourselves & 100% of what you donate will go to Oscar's Appeal. Although we were initially hesitant to be raising money whilst having a glorified holiday, so many good people have come forward to us, that it would be sinful to refuse. Help spread the word, help save a little boy's life.

Tuesday 11 December 2012

Inter The Home Straight- Inter Milan vs Neftchi Baku (6)

You can donate to our Just Giving page where all the funds will go to Oscar here: http://www.justgiving.com/7ma7ches7coun7tries7days

Our flight to Milan isn't until 3, so we have our 1 & only lie in this morning, & it's great. Waking up naturally, the batteries feel recharged & we're halfway there. This entire thing has been so hectic, that to use a football cliche, we could only ever take it one game at a time, but now we're over halfway, the thought of actually making it is starting to be a possibility. We feel fresh & take in a little bit of Barcelona, as our bus to the airport is right by the digs.

However, I am in a very sombre mood as my mind turns to Jamie's flight & hoping he makes it to his sister-in-law's funeral in time this morning, & more personally, thinking of good friends who are all attending Jevs' funeral today. I'm really upset at not being there for him, but he had a real spirit for adventure & doing this is a fitting tribute for that, I hope. Jamie had the privilege of playing football for a season with Jevs as well, so he's hoping to pay his respects at his service, too. I'm not sure if I could do that. As I said to him at the time, 7 games in 7 days is difficult, but 2 funerals in 1 day is unthinkable.

Back in Barcelona, me & Dean stroll to our gate & wait for updates on our flight. We duck into a little coffee shop to make a few repairs to the flag, which has had a bit of a battering this week, when we hear the announcement that our flight has been delayed. We were already a little tight from arrival in Milan to getting to the game, but this has put us under a little bit of pressure now,even if its only a half an hour delay.


Milan Malpensa Airport.


We land at Milan Malpensa airport & after I pick up the Juventus hold all I've been carrying all week, to a bit of stick, we get a train to Central Milan. We arrive there just 2 & 1/2 hours before kick off, & need to get a further train to where our hostel is. We are walking around Milan station, trying to find the platform no we need & all we can see is herds of people staring at the departure board. All of a sudden, a few platform number's flash up & people scatter off in all directions to run for their train. It's the most chaotic system I've ever seen & having run to our platform, there is a sudden platform change & everyone's running off again to catch the train. Only a handful actually make the train & we're now right up against it. We leave the station to get a taxi but its deserted outside & nothing on the roads. Stranded again, we go back to get the next train & suffer our fate.

Upon arrival, it's not been too bad a journey & we've got directions to our hostel. We walk up & down the road several times, & seeing nothing of it, we ask a local in a very shady looking neighbourhood. She points us in the direction of a gated building that could only be described as a prison complex, or at best, an institution of some sort. We have to buzz at a gate for cars to enter, & we enter to see a park, trees all around & some little cube shaped buildings. I approach the first one, thinking its the reception but its a little restaurant/bar & the owner points me in the right direction. I thank him & say we might pop over later, but our flights at 6 in the morning & the game finishes at 11, so it's clearly not realistic

At reception, it's a case of bags in, call a taxi for the San Siro & get there, as we don't have our tickets yet & it's less than 90 mins to kick off. Our receptionist Giusseppe has other ideas,though & in hindsight it was hilarious. He pronounced every word he said & made a point of making sure he got every detail across,without interruption. 

"You e-mailed us on Monday, (long pause) the 22nd of October to book a room for 3 people. (long pause) We replied saying that this was possible & you would pay to us the sum of €60. (long pause) I am afraid that you will have to pay the full amount (long pause) as we may have been able to rent this bed (long pause)

Now, I must tell you that there is a tax of €1 on the room. (long pause) this is not our fault, but our governments. (you get the idea of the long pauses between every other word now. I just wanted to shake him at this point) Around 4 years ago, City hall enforced this upon us..." & just carried on in the most irritating manner imaginable, despite knowing how big a rush we were in. Saying over & over again, in his very unique style, that "I can't stress enough how important it is that you use the Big. Wooden. Door.To. Come. In....."

He did, however, proceed to tell us (very slowly) that no-one could come in or out of the grounds between 1.30 & 5.30 a.m. This was a big problem for us, as our flight was leaving for Eindhoven at 6.50 & we had to leave for Milan Bergamo airport at 4. He agreed he would arrange to have the gates opened for us & called a taxi to take us to the station to complete the 60km trip to the airport. He also told us that a taxi to the San Siro right now would be madness, as it would cost a fortune & traffic would make it difficult to get there in time,so we ran off to have another crack at the Italian Metro.

1 hour from kick-off, we thankfully find our way easily enough onto the metro. As if this panic wasn't enough, we're flying into Eindhoven in the morning, initially booked to get us in for the Heracles v Utrecht game which we've changed in favour of Hamburg. It's a good job we changed it because all Dutch games have been called off following the tragic killing of an assistant referee in a youth game there. 

However we still have no onward travel booked & we land in Eindhoven in 12 hours time, so I'm frantically searching for trains to book whilst Dean makes sure we don't miss our stop to try & deal with the more pressing matter of getting a ticket for tonight's game.

I manage to get a train booked & we come out of the Metro station & walk along the route to the ground. It's about a mile walk & it's clear that this isn't going to be a very popular game tonight. Inter are through & Neftchi Baku, an Azerbaijani club, are out. The roads are eerily quiet & we're beginning to wonder whether its kicked off earlier. There's no-one around. 


Outside the San Siro in Milan.

We get to the box office & are accosted by a ticket tout, urging us not to buy from the box office & instead get them from him at LESS than face value. Now, I'm not a fan of touts, but sometimes they're necessary. On this occasion though, we get our tickets for a combined €30 & it's nice to get another break. He walks us round to our gate to prove that they work before we pay, & I have a slight panic when they ask to check my passport, but they wave me on & we're in! 

Having climbed the stairs to the very top of the San Siro, it looks more like there's a stadium tour taking place, as opposed to a match, with pockets of fans scattered about the vast stadium. We're on the same side as the cameras, as well as up in the Gods, so we need a change of tact. I ask for a Steward's help, with the use of 1 of our translation cards, & he marches us right back down the stairs, straight out of the door & round to pitch level on the opposite side of the ground. In other words, right in the camera line. They were great & couldn't help enough. The fans also. I can't find any pics online of the teams coming out but they raised all their flags for it & it would've made a great pic, Oscar's wee green flag in amongst the big boys of the San Siro.


The stadium looked more like there were tours taking place than an actual game


The game itself, is actually quite decent, & Inter, who have a stronger team out than I expected including Cambiasso, Samuel & Coutinho, take the lead through Marko Livaja, only for a Baku to snatch a great equaliser just before half time. The entire Curva Nord is empty apart from their ultras in the middle tier & the noise they make in such an empty stadium is very impressive. They even keep singing the whole way through half time.

Cassano comes on at half-time & Inter are a lot more threatening for it. They re-take the lead early on (Livaja again) & dominate throughout,missing some unbelievable sitters in the process, (Livaja again) & Baku equalise late on. There are about 30 fans from Baku there,all of whom have been moved into the middle of our end,to try & make the place appear more full for the cameras,& they're going mental, letting off flares & all sorts.

The whole games had a friendly, family atmosphere to it & most Inter fans are pleased to see the Neftci fans enjoying themselves.


The banner proudly on display inside the San Siro

We didn't manage to talk to as many people at the game today, & we head off back to get a few hrs sleep before the taxi comes. This one being our latest kick off of the week (9.05 local time) we get home for 12, leaving us four hours of sleep. Just as Dean's putting his key into The. Big. Wooden. Door. I can clearly hear music coming from the bar/restaurant we got directions in earlier. "Why don't we go for a couple of sociable ones, then we can kip on the plane & the train?" I venture. 

Dean doesn't take much persuading & we head over. The place is packed,they have a DJ playing & it's mental. Bearing in mind,this is set in a compound,in some woods in Milan, it's not exactly what we expected to find. We stand at the bar,ordering our beers,& watching the locals. Communicating without the language is difficult,especially in this noise, but it soon becomes clear that its the boss's birthday & we've effectively crashed the party. When we order our next beer,he insists on paying. We're very appreciative, then, naturally, buy him a drink back. He refuses, unless we'll drink a shot with him, so we do that. 

Big mistake. From that point on, every drink ordered at the bar results in one of the locals sending us down shots. We're now well in with them & have told everyone what we're doing & why we're doing it. I received a message on Facebook from one later, saying he'd donated to our justgiving page & would continue to follow Oscar's story, which was remarkable. The DJ's finished & we're now in great company with about 15 of the locals, when Dean asks the barman for a cocktail. His choice. He then proceeds to walk along the bar, pouring a bit from every single bottle along it into a shaker, before shaking, pouring & adding about a thimbleful of coke into each one. Lunacy & that probably tipped it over the edge for us. 

We carry on with the locals, who despite their poor English, know the words to seemingly every single U2 song, when 3.30 rolls around. Knowing our taxis at 4, we say our goodbyes before heading back to collect our bags. I sit down in a stairwell, whilst Dean goes to sort himself out. The next thing I know, a phone is ringing behind reception & I, for some reason, decided to answer it. A voice mumbles something in Italian, but I pick out the word taxi, & suddenly I'm very, very sober. I realise I've fallen asleep & the taxis been waiting a good half hour. We're 60km from the airport, our gate closes at 6.20, we've missed our bus to the airport & now we're going to miss our taxi. It's now 4.40 am. 1 hour 40 mins or the dream is dead again.

I run round the building like a madman, looking for Dean & can't find him anywhere, when I find a locked toilet cubicle. I'm hammering on the door where he's not responding. I manage to get in, literally drag him out, grab his bags & go. Outside, the taxis long gone. We're locked in this compound with no taxi & less than 90 mins to get our flight. A night watchman lets us out, but we're still miles from anything ,& at this hour, there's no sign of any civilisation. It's also started snowing, just to add to the chaos. We're walking about 10 mins when we end up walking along some sort of motorway. There's still nothing on it, & the whole situation is hopeless. I'm screaming, a lot, knowing we've not only failed the challenge & let people down by drinking stupidly, but we're probably also going to be stranded in Milan for a bit, such was the house of cards that this trip was built into. As well as that, Jamie's flying back into Hamburg in the morning & we're in danger of leaving him there alone.

At that point, I see some headlights in the distance. 

(On my Facebook at the time of travelling onwards, I wrote we were saved by the Coca-Cola Christmas lorry. I can't confirm (remember) whether that's the case or not, but I'm telling you, when you're stranded in a hopeless scenario, & a big red lorry comes driving over the hill, through the snow, lit up like a beacon sent by God himself, the only sound you hear is "holidays are coming....")

I flagged him down & tried to explain our situation & showed him the Italian translation card that I had at the game. He obviously refused to take us to Bergamo himself,but he called us a taxi, which took us straight to the airport. €150 but this legend not only took it upon himself to drive like a lunatic to make sure we made our flight, but he also only charged us half fare (we called it €100 in the end,for his trouble) & we made it. Not for the first time, we bundle onto a Ryanair flight just in time,& as we go through security, the adrenaline begins to subside & we suddenly realise again just how drunk we really are. We're travelling into Eindhoven now, with no game being played in Holland, so a long day's travelling awaits on the other side. I sit down in my seat, strap in my seatbelt & open my eyes in Eindhoven. Teleportation does exist,it seems

Only problem I see upon landing, is the snow seems to have got very serious overnight....

The snow in Eindhoven looked like it could cause some problems

For anyone who hasn't read this blog before, we are trying to take a flag to 7 football games in 7 days in 7 different countries, to raise awareness, & money, for the Oscar Knox Appeal. Oscar is a young boy from Northern Ireland who has severe Neuroblastoma & desperately needs money to help him, & other children with this disease. 

Please read Oscar's blog here http://oscarknox.blogspot.co.uk/?m=1


This is wee Oscar himself.



We are funding this entire trip ourselves & 100% of what you donate will go to Oscar's Appeal. Although we were initially hesitant to be raising money whilst having a glorified holiday, so many good people have come forward to us, that it would be sinful to refuse. Help spread the word, help save a little boy's life.

Friday 7 December 2012

Another Messi Adventure- Barcelona vs Benfica (5)

You can donate to our Just Giving page where all funds will go to Oscar here: http://www.justgiving.com/7ma7ches7coun7ries7days

We'd had a fairly miserable time in Paris, & following 4 hours sleep, for the 3rd night in a row, we showered & got ourselves ready to leave for the airport. The snooze button had taken a bit of a beating this morning, & we were already behind schedule. 

Those who've been following this blog from the beginning will be aware that Jamie's sister-in-law had sadly lost her battle with cancer a week before we were due to set off & Jamie was flying back into England from Charles de Gaulle for her funeral, so we said our goodbyes in a bit of a rush before braving the Paris Metro. We flagged a taxi just to ask the question of getting us there on time,but the €150 was a real budget buster, especially following on from the beating our wallets had taken the night previous, so we had to brave the Paris Metro at morning rush hour and were already behind schedule

For new readers, we have a set, joint, budget within which to do this, & so far, it's only been breached to arrange Jamie's last minute flights back home & back out to rejoin us in Hamburg after the funeral, so all costs have to come back off the other end of the trip.

The Metro was worse than we could've imagined & we're 45 minutes from our bus to the airport, when we make our first Metro change, with less than 2 hours till boarding & then a 60km bus journey to get there. Knowing Ryanair's penchant for making an extra quid, there's no way they'll be doing us any favours, & I'm beginning to regret turning down our €150 taxi. 

There are no more flights into Barcelona today after this one, so I'm already weighing up the consequences of missing this flight. An absolute fortune to get back out of Paris, & probably just straight home, as, if we missed the Barcelona game, we would be completely finished. No 7 games in 7 days & we would've let down those who've been following our efforts, those who've been exceptionally generous in their donations & worst of all, wee Oscar himself. 


There was a race to catch the plane before it left.

 I have to admit, my nerves were wrecked at this stage & I was clearly doing Dean's head in. I was trying to scramble together some sort of contingency plan, but as Dean put it "There's no point in worrying until we've definitely missed it. There's no problem yet.".

I was recalculating as every stop passed but it was clear that we needed unbelievable luck to make it, & it seems that someone was watching over us. From then on, every train ran smoothly, every connection was sitting on the platform waiting for us & there was even a bus ready to leave the other side, once we got there. They run every 45 mins, so any more waiting & we would've been sunk. However, the bus was still scheduled to arrive 5 mins after our gate closes & even though we've checked in online, we have extra luggage to put in the hold & that has to be in 40 mins before departure, so were still up against it

The bus mercifully gets in ahead of schedule & I sprint ahead to the check in desk, whilst Dean grabs the bags. Again, we needn't have worried as the desk is still open due to the number of people arguing over having to pay Ryanair's standard charges for excess or oversized baggage, & we're smoothly into line. 

You can always rely on Ryanair to have chaos at their airports. Mad dash through security done, safe in the knowledge that their are other passengers for our flight amongst us, delaying take off, we head to board. They've been disembarking passengers from our plane, so holding back those getting on at a rope. We walk up & they open a rope on the other side which we saunter up to & amazingly are the first to board the flight! After all that panic!

The relief is overwhelming & the adrenalines been going mad so I'm buzzing to be going to Barcelona, my favourite city in Europe. The flight itself is packed with Benfica fans, & our all male cabin crew consist of a Scottish Celtic fan, Portugese Benfica fan & a Spanish Barca fan. As Celtic need Barca to get a result against Benfica tonight, the banter (hate that word) amongst them is relentless, & using every PA announcement to sing their songs & wind each other up. They also take a keen interest in what we're doing & spread the word on Oscar's story to the Benfica fans, which was great.

Arriving in Barcelona, it's T-Shirt weather & the coats come off, as we make our way onto Placa Catalunya. The complete antithesis of Paris for us, we are completely chilled & the city is buzzing. All anyone's talking about is tonight's game & Messi possibly breaking Gerd Muller's record of scoring 85 goals in a single calendar year. He needs 1 to equal it & 2 to have it outright.

We go straight to our digs, a hostel bang in the middle of Placa Catalunya, a fantastic location & the place is brilliant. They still charged us for Jamie's bed but I should've cancelled ahead, so my fault. The plan is to get to the stadium as early as possible to sort tickets, but it turns out there's a Barcelona club shop on the next road which sells them, so bags are in & I have to make a few personal calls to sort out a few things back at home, whilst Dean goes out to sort tickets. Within 1 hour of landing, all the problems that we had are sorted, bags are dropped off, tickets are in hand (well,we have to collect them at the ground, but still) & we have hours to spare. Unbelievable feeling, considering 6 hours ago,we were looking at flights home from Paris.

We carried out a bit of repair work on the flag & bought some Barca stickers, which we stuck in the 'T' & the 'M' in Team Oscar, as a bit of a charm offensive to avoid a repeat of last night. I also wore a Barca jacket to make it clear we weren't rival fans

'Charm Offensive' additions to the banner

We elect to have a beer & our first actual meal that wasn't on the go. As I have Wi-Fi for the first time in ages, I'm planning, & having a Facebook & Twitter offensive to get caught up, & ask Dean to just order my food. When it comes out, it's easily the biggest burger I've ever seen. Had to eat it with a knife & fork! We get chatting to some great Benfica fans & tell them all about Oscar & they're brilliant. Dead knowledgeable about football, except for one girl who said that when Everton played them in the Europa League, the Brazilian lad up front for us was brilliant. Not only was she talking about Jo, who was never brilliant for us, but we lost that game 5-0,so how anyone may have shone in that, I don't know!!

We tell them we were at the Porto game the night before, & they ask what the score was. We tell them they lost 2-1 & they all cheer, & 1 girl felt obliged to explain that "Porto is our Liverpool".

We set off for the Nou Camp around 90 mins before kick off, as it was less than 30 mins on the metro, & other than spending 10 mins trying to figure out how to get of the maze that was the station, it was just as straightforward a journey as Barcelona had delivered thus far.

We picked up the tickets & after marvelling at the wonder that was the Nou Camp, we headed in. Our tickets were lower tier in the Curva Sud, behind the goal & we hung the flag in a great spot behind the goal, in the centre of the goals. It turned out this was in the section where Barcelona's 'Ultra's' are based & we were asked to move it, as they put their own flags up just on kick off. The steward, a young girl who didn't speak much English was a great help to us, & went to find us a spot. The flag was then hung to the left of the goal, between the goal itself & the corner flag & although a few people were sitting in front of it, part obscuring it, it should've been visible, despite the cameras being located on our side.

Dean and I with the banner before kick off
By this stage, the team news is out & although everyone expected a depleted, already-qualified, Barca side, no-one expected it to be so depleted. Puyol was the only regular in the team & there was genuine shock that Villanova would rest Messi, decreasing his chances of breaking the record. Added to this, the game was fast approaching kick off & there was no sign of the late influx of home fans that we witnessed last night. 

The game kicked off with the stadium half empty & it was an absolute turkey of a game. Barca went through the motions & despite creating a few decent chances, Benfica were happy with a draw at the Nou Camp. I found this baffling, as they knew that if Celtic won, they would be out with a draw & Barca had given them a gift in the side they'd put out.

Worse than this, neither side had any attacking threat down their right hand side, which we needed to make sure the flag was seen, & despite a corner count into the double figures, there wasn't one taken in front of the flag. Regardless of this, I got a few texts from people saying they'd seen it (& us) on tv, although they knew to be looking out for it.

At half time, a group of Barca fans came over to look at the flag. They explained that they were also Celtic fans & the green & white drew their attention to come down. We explained the Celtic connection with Oscar, & the picture of Oscar.

One of the group in his Celtic shirt helped with the language barrier. Despite broken English & absolutely obliterated Catalan, he managed to tell me the fantastic story of how, having held a season ticket next to his father since 1982, they travelled together to the 1986 European Cup final. Barcelona were playing Steauea Bucharest & were massive favourites to win their first ever European Cup. Bucharest frustrated them & held on for a landmark rearguard inspired victory. On the coach home, his father broke down in tears. "Don't be upset, papa" he said "Our chance will come", "That was my chance. All I've ever wanted was to see my team lift that cup & it will never happen now". It was then that his father revealed to him that he had been battling against an illness, that would debilitate over time. He was right. He passed away in November 1991, less than six months before Barcelona won their first European Cup. This guy said that he'd been to every one they've played in, excluding the 'square post final'-a story I wasn't familiar with, & since his fathers passing, he toasts each win with a cigar & a brandy, his fathers drugs of choice. That's the sort of story that will stay with me until the day I die & I feel privileged at this stage to have met people like him. Football can be great sometimes

The 2nd half started with the 50,000 in the stadium chanting for Messi (probably less, as I doubt the Benfica fans wanted it) & when he ran down the touch line to warm up in front of us, we knew it was imminent. 35 mins left for Messi to make history, albeit at the other end from the flag. Little did he know that his own personal kryptonite was sitting in the Nou Camp that night. I've seen him play in the flesh on five occasions & each time, he's been poor. One penalty scored in the Bernabeu is the grand sum of what he's done in those games, yet every time I watch him on TV, he's incredible. 

Messi was attempting to carve his name ever more into football folklore that evening

I definitely think he's the best of all time & I'm sure he'll retire with the records to back that up. Last night, he came on cold, into what now felt like a testimonial game & 20 minutes later, departed on a stretcher & my Messi record remained intact

So Barcelona were the first home team to beat our accumulator of 7 home wins (although Ajax is off, so we're down to 6)

After the game, we have the straightforward trip back to Placa Catalunya & we decide to have a couple of beers before bed. The bars full of Benfica fans who are obviously gutted but very keen to tell us about the positive reaction that the flag got from their fans once they explained what it was, so again the word was spreading. I almost felt guilty about the Celtic T-shirt I'd gone & changed into but they knew I was only having the craic (much better word than banter) An Aussie lad we'd been chatting to earlier told us he'd seen the flag from the other end too.

The night gets a little bit livelier & I leave the Dutch barmaids to entertain Dean,whilst I ring my ma. I've not told her anything about what I'm doing, so she's not best pleased at hearing through the grapevine, but she's now got the bit between her teeth & I'm sure Belfast is getting hounded as I write this. Rounding off a great night, we head to bed around 3, safe in the knowledge that we have our half way lie-in in the morning. Barcelona really has been good to us.


Oscar himself! This is the lad with Neuroblastoma we are trying to raise awareness of



For anyone who hasn't read this blog before, we are trying to take a flag to 7 football games in 7 days in 7 different countries, to raise awareness,& money, for the Oscar Knox Appeal. Oscar is a young boy from Northern Ireland who has severe Neuroblastoma & desperately needs money to help him,& other children with this disease. 


Please read Oscar's blog here http://oscarknox.blogspot.co.uk/?m=1


We are funding this entire trip ourselves & 100% of what you donate will go to Oscar's Appeal. Although we were initially hesitant to be raising money whilst having a glorified holiday, so many good people have come forward to us, that it would be sinful to refuse. Help spread the word, help save a little boy's life.