“You get down here,” the taxi
driver growled, in his best English.
My co-occupant and I looked at
each other mysteriously. Was this a weird Turkish joke specially designed to
wind up all football fans on this special day or was the serious look on the driver’s
face, a valid clue to our predicament?
As we grudgingly exited the taxi,
my cultural instincts kicked in. The co-occupant I refer to is slightly older
than myself and also had the special status of having been my senior at both
secondary school and university levels. As in we went to the same educational
institutions. It was only courteous I suppressed my rising irritation, do the Nigerian
thing and give way to his ‘superior’ knowledge.
“Baba Barry, can you believe this
toe rag,” I asked, my emotions betraying my intent.
“It’s okay Kanmi, just let’s get
to the game without any hassle,” he replied justifying my belief that he had to
be in charge of all decision-making on this trip.
My nerves had clearly been frayed
by the preparation for this football match. As we stood listening to a group of
Liverpool fans, who had been equally dumped at the hurriedly assembled
roadblock, the economic ramifications of the trip had finally caught up with
me. I reached for the comfort of my Marlboro Lights and commenced to puff my
nervousness away.
Barry, noticing my Tyson-like
head movements, winked at me. I nodded back reassuringly, wincing as the
cigarette alerted me to the fact I had held on to it for too long. A sudden burst
of noise diverted me from the pain.
“We are Liverpool,” bellowed the
now self-chosen leader. His ruby face, full of Scouse pride broke into a big
grin as he ushered us forward - flags in hand and scarves on shoulders - into
what can only be described as a march. We stomped the freshly laid tar proudly and
seemed to be literally walking through a valley of hope, bordered by newly
created mounds of sand, enforced, to pave way for the road to the brand
spanking stadium.
Twenty minutes into the walk and
with several blacked-out Mercedes whizzing past, it slowly began to dawn on
us. We had not only drawn the short straws, but there was now the distinct
possibility we may need them to aid our liquid consumption, on what was turning
out to be more of an endurance event.
To make things worse, we had
begun to attract spectators, as the local people had walked up the mounds and
used them as a vantage point, to view what must have looked like the Great Red
Walk. Of course, in typical friendly Liverpool style, we waved at our audience
and soaked in their reciprocal applause.
Another fifteen minutes down the
never-ending trail, and we had started to ignore the gathering lines of the
crowd. There was only a finite amount of time, that one’s niceness could last in such
searing heat and besides, we had started to notice small groups of the Rossoneri. That special nervous energy, driven by sports
rivalry, had taken over the air, as the evening began to give way to the dark.
Everyone in our group had a different reaction. Most let out odd noises, whilst others increased their pace for what we now knew was the last leg of a torturous walk. Barry cracked his knuckles noisily, as I reached into my pocket and bizarrely stroked my match ticket for comfort.
Everyone in our group had a different reaction. Most let out odd noises, whilst others increased their pace for what we now knew was the last leg of a torturous walk. Barry cracked his knuckles noisily, as I reached into my pocket and bizarrely stroked my match ticket for comfort.
Now hot, clearly bothered and wet as rain, a few bottles of water began to surface. Incredibly, as we began to quench our thirst, it turned out the weather was not the only thing we had to douse. Bizarrely, maybe due to just sheer tiredness, we had somehow ended up at the entrance for the Milan fans! Never mind being wet as rain, right now, it was pouring Ultras.
All bedecked in Brigate black t-shirts
and menacing stares, ensuring the wisdom of this Turkish journey began to drain from our faces. A few expletives and a coordinated gingerly taken U-turn
through the tiny path they had now created for us, we found our way past the
drama.
An awkward silence enveloped us
for the next few minutes, as we wearily found the Liverpool entrance. A warm
and frenzied embrace of the Scouse Army was waiting for us, with Chorus after
chorus of ‘You Will Never Walk Alone’ ringing into the sweaty night.
Finally, we sighted the bowl of
the stadium.
Emerging out of the dark, and
emitting a radiant blue light towards the sky, it felt as if we had finally
arrived at a long-lost spaceship. A spaceship designed just to take us home. Simultaneously, the much-loved UEFA Champions League anthem launched triumphantly and welcomed us to the arena.
Our group, now bonded by an hour of sweat, aches and fears, huddled and bounced in anticipation. It was on……
This piece is to commemorate the 10th
year anniversary of Liverpool’s UEFA Champions League victory in Istanbul. WATCH OUT FOR
PART 2.
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