Champions League 2006 -7 - Euro Red Diary 22

by Joel Rookwood

Liverpool v Galatasaray

'There is a corner of a foreign field that is forever Liverpool'

It's 2:00am on a frosty morning in south Liverpool, and we're packed into a car like sardines, and heading for an airport. It must be another European away.

That unique blend of excitement and fatigue, complete with the obligatory call for spare match tickets for the game in question, serve once again as the almost ritualistic introduction to yet another continental excursion to watch the mighty Liverpool FC.

The game was of course entirely meaningless. Benitez' team had already confirmed their place in the next round before the final group game – and as group winners. History does however tell us that the latter stages of this competition are not always so comfortable with Liverpool, with the concluding game against Greek side Olympiakos the season before last proving a notable example.

When the draw was made, the prospect of possibly having to win in Turkey to go through to the 'Super Sixteen' round of the Champions League, possibly at the expense of our hosts, sent a shiver down the spine.

I would say that the threat of this potential significance served as the incentive to book the trip, but I think we all know that travelling to Turkey was something never to be deliberated over. If UEFA decide we play, we decide we go. That is the extent of the thought process on the matter.

With barely an hour having passed by since departing the unnamed meeting point, we had made good progress in the speedy pursuit of Luton airport. Such progression was not illustrated by every Liverpool fan we knew however. The skinny nugget we call Gary Foot, mostly because that's his name, revealed himself to be a classic case, with the time approaching 03:00 hours GMT. Gary was already in Turkey, and had rung to ask where his hotel was.

He was one of a dozen-or-so of our lads who had flown out the day before the game, and thanks to a copious amount of Efes, could remember precious little about the details of his accommodation. Of course we were powerless to assist, for we were in a different hotel. It was 5am in Istanbul and sixteen hours of ale consumption had temporarily removed from the lad what little common sense he had.

I was according to this bladdered Scouser 'bang out of order', for not revealing the name and location of his hotel, obviously. The fact we had never spoken about the details of our respective itineraries meant very little to the Foot. His accomplice, the world-renowned Minibus Mick, was nowhere to be seen.

We later discovered that although Mick tends to drink to the point of temporary loss of sight on European aways (not to mention domestic aways), he once again retained the sense to keep a card with the hotel's name and address on his person.

He also tends to refuse to surrender the capacity to take it out of his pocket and hand it to whichever unfortunate taxi driver is charged with transporting him to his accommodation, regardless of his state of inebriation.

Mick should be congratulated for this remarkable achievement, especially considering projectile vomit and getting carried into the hotel of choice represented other highlights of Mick's introductory hours in Istanbul. Gary – get a grip lad.

Meanwhile, back in Britain, our party soon arrived at Luton, and then what felt like about a week later, we clambered off a plane and set foot on Turkish soil. The Istanbul airport's principle characteristics were of course immediately and entirely familiar to us all. For twenty months earlier, we had all (with the exception of one unidentified mumps victim) seen Liverpool win the Champions League in this 'wonderful' city, and were already reliving that incredible night before even leaving the terminal building. The grassy area outside the airport was the epitome of calm, with only a handful of taxis dominating the immediate landscape.

This was in stark contrast to our previous visit, where tens of thousands of Liverpool fans had been assembled, awaiting transportation back to Merseyside, following the most momentous night in the history of European football. This recollection saw the development of the central theme of the trip: reminiscing in Istanbul.

Once we had dumped our luggage (well, when I say 'luggage' I mean a pair of socks, bills and a t-shirt) in the hotel that we had both booked and found with consummate ease (the Foot, take note) – we instinctively headed to Taksim Square, which had been the hub of 'Operation Five Times' in May 2005.

It may have been dark, cold and eerily quiet on this occasion, as opposed to bright, warm, and awash with loud-mouthed Liverpudlians, but in the words of _______, which were echoed throughout our stay, it was simply 'good to be back' in our second home.

The Turkish club had opted to play the game, not in the infamous Ali Sami Yen stadium, but instead in the famous Atwater 'Olympic' arena, which has seen about as much IOC-run competition as Manchester.

Delusions of greatness it seems are echoed throughout the continent, and indeed into the corner of Asia in which this game was taking place.

Our disappointment at not seeing Liverpool play in the ground the locals refer to as 'Hell' soon evaporated when we completed the traditional two-hour bus ride from central Istanbul to the stadium of choice.

Walking out and seeing the ground – where so many hopes and dreams were shattered and formed – it made the hairs on your neck stand to brisk attention.

The red and white of Liverpool had dominated more than 80% of the stadium on that famous night, so there was no 'end' than was really claimed as representative of the centre piece of our remarkable support on that evening.

However, one area of the ground that was definitely Milanese, was that behind the goal in which all six goals, as well as the penalties, were witnessed on that fateful evening.

The home side chose to house the Liverpool contingent in this very stand. Ambulances swarmed around that end in the second period and beyond during that European final, as the Milan fans saw their team's seemingly decisive advantage cut to shreds in six beautiful minutes.

There were no such dramatic responses in that stand this time around however. Gala were out of Europe, Liverpool were group winners, and every man there was almost too liquored to care.

Those of us who were still conscious however were in truth still keen to see Liverpool win the game. This desire was one that we thought may be realised, especially after Robbie Fowler's strike put us into a first half lead.

The home side responded almost immediately however, with two goals of their own to claim the advantage for themselves to take into the interval.

The half time Istanbul deficit this time round did not produce floods of tears from grown men, neither did it invoke a unified response to leave the ground early (although there were a few notable examples… you know who you are), nor too were the travelling Kop so struck by the pain that a tearful 'You' Never Walk Alone' subsequently boomed out of the ground.

To be honest, no-one really cared. The conversations instead related to where the next pint of Efes would come from, and who we wanted in the next round.

The second half saw the home side add to their lead, only for Fowler to head home near the end, to grant the score line a greater respectability from the perspective of the Liverpool camp. And although we all wanted a Fowler hat trick to signal another 3-3 final score at the Ataturk, we accepted that this would have been undeserved. I think most Scousers realised we had used up all of our fortune during our last visit to Istanbul.

Instead we refocused our attentions to Taksim Square, and the lengthy journey that stood between us and the famous central Istanbul location.

The following morning, we grabbed a few souvenirs for the old folks back home, including an official club balaclava, which is sure to ease concerns over fan behaviour.

I also picked up a replica Super Cup for some unknown reason, and a mug with the four Group club badges on it, and the words 'The Road to Athens'. It remains to be seen whether the journey that table toppers Liverpool will take will see us go that far this time around.

Thoughts of subsequent rounds predictably triggered conversation relating to who Liverpool's most desired opponents in the next round would be, with some very strong teams standing as potential opponents.

I want Lille, not because I've got a particular desire to head to northern France, but because it represents the best chance of us making strides towards booking a place in the final in the Greek capital next May. All together now, 'It's only on loan, it's only loan, in Ancient Greece, we'll bring it back home.' … As long as we don't draw Barca.

This piece is dedicated to David Stead, who sadly couldn't be with us in Istanbul. Day, you're a disgrace lad.

Joel Rookwood

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