Seville. The 'S' word, as the missus put it, a banned topic of conversation in the weeks before the game but in reality there was little else on the mind of any Celts fan the world over. At work here the beach balls were strategically placed on desks, sombreros on computer monitors and all the cream buns seemed to have developed a tendency to 'work from home'.

At BSCSC the organisation had been slick (well, in comparison to some of the lhads we were later to meet in Madrid!!). The flights, trains and hotels were booked within minutes of the final whistle in Oporto following the King of Kings' latest European assassination. Thanks to Tom and Joe S the tickets were in the bag, 12 of them no less, snapped up via UEFA prior to the Liverpool game, and the club was to receive a further 3 via the away match scheme. Not bad going! The merchandising operation was in full swing, with the Seville 03 T-shirts rolling off the printing machine like Victor Baia on the turf of the Stadio Olympico. But more of that later......Seville was also to herald the debut of the new BSCSC club flag, which was to feature prominently (well, I spotted it at least 5 times ;-)) in the televised coverage of the game.

So to the trip. Now getting up at 4am (or any other time before 8.30am) doesn't usually agree with me, but on Tuesday 20th May it was no problem whatsoever. The taxi turned up at O'Hare HQ at 4.45, destination Glasgow Airport. The driver was of the bluenosed persuasion but informed me that as his wifes brother or something was a Tim, he'd be cheering on the bhoys. No doubt the rest of the brethren would be following in his example..........

Glasgow airport at 5am on a dull Tuesday morning would not usually conjure up much excitement. Not on this occasion - it was bedlam! A separate drop off point had been set up for the huge army of Tims arriving. As we all marched along the walkway to the terminal, it was the first taste of things to come. Walking into the terminal it might have well been Janefield Street at 2.45 on match day. Programme sellers and paradise windfall ticket sellers were out in force - and the whole spot was a sea of green and white. Magic! Into the departure lounge and the bhoys are getting tanked right into the bar - considering it was 5am on a Tuesday morning, the bar staff seemed to be coping well with a scene that is more common with the Bot at 11pm on a Friday evening!! I'm still on my tod at this point and decided that, as a long day lay ahead, I'd better pace myself, better just stick to the pints...

Judging by some of the stories of other flights, ours was relatively quiet. Glasgow to Madrid via Manchester, landing at Madrid Barajas at about 12.30 local time, I now had a 2 and a half hour wait til Tom arrived. Nothing else for it, straight to the bar for a feed and a coupla cervezas. Got chatting to another bhoy who had travelled over via train (to london) and then flight (via Amsterdam). His luggage consists of a celtic away top (to complement the new home on he's wearing) and a sleeping bag. He's not in good form as he's just heard that the train to Seville's gonna sting him for 120 Euro and what's more there aint a seat until 9pm!! Thank f*ck we've got tickets!!

Fast forward a few hours and we're at the train station. In the bar, smoking cuban cigars, drinking with a lad from Glasgow who's made the journey on his tod but has no hotel booked for Seville. Being hospitable lads, we offer him a floor for the night. Unfortunately, when we arrived at Seville, the poor guy got lost somewhere in the bedlam. So - Kenny Seville (as ye appear in my phone book), apologies, hope ye got sorted!! The full party song repertoire was run through on the train, the rendition of 'We're gonna Seville' evolving into 'We're IN Seville' when the conductor announces over the PA system that we are, in fact, in Seville!

This is where the fun starts. Despite Mickey McD's repeated assurances that, 'aye, it's just round from the Cathedral, no bother lads', can we find this hotel?? Can we fcuk!! We must've toured Seville for about an hour - even the locals had never heard of the place!!! At this point, we're getting increasingly thirsty, the effect of the drink is starting to wear off, it's nearly a code red emergency for Tom, who's losing the rag like the huns are losing money. Eventually some waiter saves the day (and Tom from spontaneously combusting) escorts us to the front door of the place, which is up an alley, down a backstreet, just off a wee square, and 2nd left past the 3rd grey donkey on the right...so i suppose as the crow flies it's near the Cathedral Mickey!!!!

We dumped the bags and made a beeline for the Charlie and The Bhoys gig, where, after somehow blagging it in for free, we met up with the rest of the usual suspects and got back on the drink. After this we headed back to a bar near the hotel and just made last orders and no more. Upon being informed that he can serve us one round before he closes the bar, the ubiquitous Mr McCloskey orders '20 lagers there senor'. So armed with a tray full of swally, we head round to the wee square by the hotel and proceed to make inroads into the carry out....Personally speaking, events were hazy at this point, but Tom dancing in a fountain with his kaks round his angles shouting at some unsuspecting passers-by had the lot of us in tears of laughter......

The day of the game, and the hangovers are out in force..Seville is bouncing, the square in particular was the place to be. As John put it, Flaherty's was like Vietnam, bodies everywhere. After a not-so-quick feed, during which Tom was hit with a precision laser guided bird shit from a passing crow (much hilarity, but good luck surely?), we headed down to where the big daily ranger bus was parked and soaked up the atmosphere. And the water. Trying to get the bhoys worked up for some photo opportunities, the dude on the top of the bus starts waving his arms ferociously. Cue a chorus of 'If ye hate the daily ranger clap yer hands'. Not exactly what the boy was looking for, but it got the desired effect!! Remember the bhoycott!! Looking round, the flags and banners were incredible, it seemed like every part of the WORLD was represented in Seville, the global Celtic family! Then for me it was back to the hotel for an hour or so's kip to prepare for the night ahead (well, mainly it was to try and get rid of the honkin hangover i still had from the night before....)

A few hours later, we're sitting in the serene surroundings of the hotel resturaunt, when a distant cry becomes audible in the distance. It gets louder and louder until, at the door, the source appears. Mickey McDaid, tricolour in hand, giving it the full bhoona about some bloke called McGrory!! The Malaga battalion arrives, acquaintances (and glasses) are renewed and then it's time for the off.

Led by our illustrious leader McDaid, we make our way through the narrow back streets of Seville in the general direction (probably, hopefully) of the olympic stadium. And just to eradicate all chances of us getting lost, every man, woman (in particular), cat, dog, donkey that we passed was asked the same question by General McDaid: 'DONDE ESTA ESTADIO?' Ice cream men, old women, motorcyclists, drivers - no one was spared as Mickey took it upon himself to lead BSCSC to the promised land!!!

2 hours later, and we're still walking!! So much for plenty of taxis, a free courtesy bus and all that - and to think this was led by the man who wouldn't hear of walking from Lynns to Argyle St only 2 weeks previously!! ;-))

The stadium itself was superb IMO and far more impressive than it looked on the box. Once we'd solved the cryptic puzzle of finding out where the hell our seats were, we walked onto the stand to an incredible sight! The stadium was 3 parts Celtic to 1 part Porto and even at an hour before kick off, was almost full!! The Fields came on over the PA and the sight was unforgettable. Not to mention the heat - it was gonna be a real test for the players...The flag was attracting plenty of attention and really looked the part, with numerous folk stopping to have their picture taken.

And so to the game - we all know what happened but - it was clear from the outset that Martin had the bhoys fired right up for this one, the belief and effort was superb. Early on, some of the Porto players tested the water with the referee, hitting the deck like they'd been shot, doing multiple barrell rolls when they fell over. Unfortunately, the ref was weak, inexperienced, overawed and easily manipulated. Realising they could get away with this, the Porto players took full advantage. I'd say the first half was evenly balanced but yet they went in 1-0 ahead. That wee Derlei bassa was at it big time, diving, mouthing off and the rest, and John Robertson was quite right to have a go at him as he left the park. The Celts came out in the second half and were magnificent from the whistle. Henrik Larsson was like a man possessed out there, awesome, and big Bobo wasnt letting anyone get the better of him. We were sat in the supposedly 'neutral' section, with a couple of poncy looking Porto burds sat in the row behind us. When Khing Henrik bulletted home his 201st goal for the hoops the BSCSC water bottles went into orbit and the Porto ones behind us got drooked. Happy days. As the game went into extra time, the legs were looking weary and the nerves were taking an almighty beating. Still the bhoys showed superb effort - then Porto scored. Nightmare. Having watched it since on the box, I think big Rab could maybe have done better, but it's unfair to blame him for the outcome. Cheating and play acting had won over determination and effort and this hurt like hell.
 

Leaving the stadium was possibly the worst feeling I have ever experienced. Utter dejection. We'd come so far, those famous nights against Blackburn, Celta and Liverpool - but yet we'd fallen at the final glorious hurdle. Is that our chance gone for another 30 years? What now for Martin and the players? I'd said before we set out that as long as we don't get a humping and give a good account of ourselves then i'll be happy. That is exactly what happened but in reflection this makes it worse - we could and should have one that trophy!!!

Needless to say, the craic wasnt exactly 90 after that. Saying that, the feeling of pride in the bhoys for the effort they'd put in was immense - all the players, management and backroom staff deserve tremendous credit for the way they approached the game.

After the long trudge back into town, it was straight to bed - the 6.30am taxi to the station meaning another short night on the cards. Then the long, subdued journey home....all the while praying that i don't get another hun taxi driver back in Glasgow!! ;-)

Overall - fantastic, unforgettable experience - the huns can only dream of days like those. Seville's a great city, I for one will be back. I hear the CL final is due to be played there in 2 years time.....unfortunately, Easyjet don't let you book that far in advance ;-))

Walk On.