Glorious failure. Yet again. Fcuk, fcuk, fcuk, fcuk, fcuk...

It really is getting to the point of pure and utter frustration this “3-2 gallant losers” vehicle we seem to be travelling in under MON. What's most frustrating about it is not the scoreline but the manner of these defeats and the significane they take on which sticks in the craw most. If we the fans feel that frustrated at the results we can only begin to imagine how O'Neill must feel as defensive lapse after defensive lapse costs us dear. Add in dubious penalty awards and it really must be coronary inducing for the man.

Anyway I digress...

Lyon itself is a cracking place – the people superbly friendly towards Celtic fans, most likely as a result of the bonhomie created between both sets of fans in 1999-2000 season – and the old town around the Hotel De Ville district quite spectacular, as befitting a city with such a historical background. From arrival in St Etienne airport, a 100 Euro taxi journey from Part Dieu station in Lyon, practically every local person I enquired directions or information from in my stunted A Level French couldn't have been more helpful. Travelling over on my own – I'd to hook up with friends over there - the Ryanair flight from Stansted was packed with I'd say about 90% Celtic Fans from various parts of Britain and Ireland. I'd hooked up with a few guys from Dublin in the airport, one of whom (Padraig MacSahmhain) I'd 'graced' the turf at Celtic Park with the year previous in the Football Aid charity match - I just had to get that in, didn't I? - so the craic was go h-iontach on the journey over. The mood was one of cautious optimism with a sense that we really could progress. Most laughs on the way over were at Rangers expense, with the Orcs having been dumped out of the Champions League the night previous in comedic fashion.

We arrived in Lyon Part Dieu at around lunchtime, various text messages flying about as to where to meet and what times etc. I had to hook up with guys travelling in from Geneva, Paris, Bordeaux and Berlin and all getting there through various planes, trains and automobiles journeys. I often wonder if this pilgrimage of devotion is reflected when other teams play in Europe. I somehow doubt it. Biggest pissmeoff moment of the day was the mobile battery going dead at around 5:00PM which meant that I didn't get to meet up with half the folk I was supposed to, including one guy who was counting on me for a ticket which I ended up having to sell at about 7:00PM.  

But I digress again...

Our hotel was right at Part Dieu station which was incredibly handy for getting around as Lyon has a superb metro system and bus connections so it was a quick dump of the bags, quick shower and out and about. I had to go to the Lyon Shop to collect tickets with some dodgy ID and pretend to be a mate of mine from Dublin. The girl was adamant she needed to see an Identity Card before she would release the four tickets I had to collect. Another swathe of pidgeon A Level French, the production of an Irish Social Security Card and a really dodgy French explanation that I was indeed Monsiuer Mallett (I sounded like Eddie Fcuking Izzard talking about monkeys in the trees!) and I'd bullshitted my way to four tickets. Formidable! Back into Part Dieu, a quick baguette and it was off to Hotel De Ville for some festive bieres.

The one thing that became immediatly apparent was that there was no central meeting place obviously accessible from where you landed in Lyon that Celtic Fans would flock to, hence the main square in Hotel De Ville – a few metro stops away from Part Dieu - being reasonably populated by Hoops but not in a Dam Square Amsterdam type way. Still the craic was good, a few beers in the Shamrock (a carry out or three sneaked in the back negating the 4 Euro beers) , and a few in the Albion bar – both quite quaint typically French bars as opposed to Plastic Paddyland – and a well oiled sing song was belted out in full force. Another quick bite at teatime, a few more quick swallies in O'Cassidy's Plastic Paddyland pub in the main station and then off to the game.

The ground itself, Stade De Gerland, is tidy and a bit deceptive in terms of capacity (43,000 apparently) but the Metro stop is quite literally right there at the stadium. Couldn't be any easier got to. Fans mingled freely and the French carried the same air of cautious optimism, believing that the loss of Thompson and Agathe would hurt us. The stewarding and the cops attitude left a fair bit to be desired; shuffling 3,000 Celtic fans through two entrances while cordoning the rest off was a bit daft but once through the initial crush at the gates acces was pretty straightforward. The view wasn't the best from the lower tier were I stood but it was obvious that there were
Celtic Fans everywhere in the ground, with a wee pocket of about 200-300 right behind the dugouts and no sign of trouble anywhere as you'd expect from Celtic playing away from home in Europe.

As for the game itself, suffice to say as we made our way out of the stadium through those stupid fcuking stewards and some over zealous cops the mood was one of dejection and frustration. When will we stop shooting ourselves in the foot at the final hurdle? When will we get a truly decent keeper? When will we get a competent ref in a big game that counts? Will we ever have a better chance to come out of the group stages? 

The same questions were repeated through the night over a few consolatory beers and the whole way home the following day. The UEFA Cup parachute might prove a comfort blanket we all grow to love in the same way it was last season but really, we should have been playing Madrid. Pisses me off thinking about in that way...

Overall a great trip soured only by the result. I'd say a fair whack of new friends were made in Lyon and here's hoping we get them again next year in the Champions League. We owe them one in the Stade De Gerland.