Gottlieb-Daimler-Stadion, 27. Februar 2003, Zuschauer: 50348
Celtic FC and their band of merry funsters stride to Stuttgart on the back of a decent 3 – 1 win in Glasgow. The city?s finest sons now look to do enough and guarantee a mouth-watering quarterfinal tie with Liverpool. Our small band of volunteers (Jason, Floyd, Danny, Davey and myself) make the flight into Frankfurt and onto a train station already rocking to the celestial chants „Hail, Hail the Celts are here“. After meeting up with Chris ? an American ? we head to Stuttgart. Much is said of America at this time in world politics. I simply cannot trust America, not because Bush and his Administration are Christian Fundamentalist warmongers who believe unreservedly in the Bible including that whole wacky hellfire and Brimstone ending ? this guy has the ability and lack of understanding of other cultures to make that happen. No, I distrust America because we have given them so many chances to embrace football and they still don?t get it. Never trust a man who doesn?t like football ? a rule I live my life by. On the other hand Chris is a Florida Celt? ? so everything is forgiven.
After a totally surreal train ride ? clean train, helpful staff, and on time ? we arrive slightly the worse for a few light ales in Stuttgart, belt out a few tunes in the train station then it is off to our hotel which is so bloody big I keep getting lost. After a brief pit stop in our room we are on the highway to oblivion. First stop at the hotel?s Irish Pub where BBC?s Scottish Mafia has commandeered the bar including one Murdo McLeod once of Borussia Dortmund. After a few beers ? God the beers are high quality in Germany, strong but sublime ? it is off into the nightlife of Stuttgart, the Wednesday nightlife that is. Traveller?s Bar we find to be exactly what we were after, a cool joint with good vibes, big beers and plenty lovely ladies. I make the move and ask a local student, whose name escapes me, if she would like to pop round to our luxury abode and exchange bodily fluids. She replies by pouring a glass of your golden amber nectar down the front of my Celtic top, not only does she have a lack of respect for the Hoops but she tends to waste good beer ? psycho is the only word for one of such behaviour. Undeterred by her lack of understanding I persisted, until I saw a bottle behind the bar ? tequila shots jumps to the front of my mind. Not long after that everything is a large blank canvas with no recollection of much until scrambling for a bottle of pop from out mini-bar around 4 a.m. to quench the mother of all thirsts, soon to be followed by the father of all hangovers. Morning had broken, and so I thought had my head, but up we jump looking like asylum seekers. We soon find our feet, adorn our beloved Hoops and head for the city centre. After 20 minutes going the wrong way in a tram, we decide to turn round and head for the city centre, again. Our destination is Palace Square, a place much touted in the Hoops fans weekly „The Celtic View“ by the Stuttgart Tourist Board. The sight is overwhelming as we turn into the square as the massed ranks of Hoops fans engulf every inch of grass, scale every statue, and drape flags from every precipice; 8000 Tims basking in the afternoon heat and singing the praises of those gladiators in green (past and present) and, naturally, making suggestive comments to all female passers by. With so many fans and so much beer there is only one problem ? plumbing, or lack of it. Britains finest military elite are the SAS, 7 out of 10 members whom are Scottish ? Fact , why because were hard bastards and can adapt chameleon like to any terrain. Hence the bandstand in Palace Square is quickly converted into a temporary piss stop by draping huge banners round its perimeter. We now had all we need, beer, footballs, sunshine, a toilet and an audience with the Famous Glasgow Celtic the same evening.
Only one lingering doubt remains in my head ? tickets ? I have arranged to meet a good friend from Berlin who holds tickets for us and who will accompany us to the game with his good lady friend. Until we find that man I cannot relax and being a stranger in a strangeland any number of things can go tits up. But we are also one ticket short and this is playing heavily on my mind. No matter, the rest of the afternoon was played out with fun and smiles from our mob much to the amusement of the good people of Stuttgart. Eventually we rendezvous at the train station ? Reinaldo is there and I show my apprecataition by hugging him for a bit longer than is necessary or safe for two heterosexual guys, relief abounds my body and my smile begins to get so big that it may be hard to remove. The niceties are all done as we are introduced to Karolin, a girl who unnerved Reinaldo with her knowledge of football but charmed me with warmth and enthusiasm (to my surprise she seemed to like me ? well she didn?t pour a drink down my front, in my book that is progress).
On to the game and after the hyperactive Danny tried a little car surfing and belted out a few verses of „We hate England More than You“ which in footballing sense is true, Scotland probably does hate England more than Germany, but Danny happens to be English!!! If you are confused, think what must be going on in his head! As we approach the Gottlieb-Daimler-Stadion another ticket appears and we are all on the road to good time city. Stuttgart?s ground is a strangely shallow coliseum for the beautiful game. Then, after a quick survey of the arena, I see it, there in the distance, the pitch. Not the most intimidating stadium for visiting players/fans, but what do we care. I chant, cheer and sing until my voice is lost (for 5 days as it turns out) and so is my will to live when Bonnie Tyler is announced as the entertainment ? this made little sense at all but what was becoming increasingly clear was the massed ranks of the Cetic?s travelling army had infiltrated every area of this sweeping arena. Bonnie „bloody“ Tyler, what have we done to deserve this „Holding out for a Hero“! And as she announces her new single I slump into a coma. To my complete astonishment Danny knows the song word for word and proceeds to belt it out Shirley Bassey style ? we all refrain from joining in especially Floyd who has incurred an injury with his robotic dancing the night before, or as he likes to call the Lego-man dance.
And so to the match, if our talisman Henrik Larsson was fully fit, I would have had no qualms in predicting that we would go through at the beginning of the night, without him we are a little light, but under our guru Martin O?Neill the Celt?s have become difficult side to beat with a team spirit and unity that bonds the players which in turn is appreciated by a well educated (at least in matters of football) support. The din from the travelling support must have been music to the ears of O?Neill & Co. who, they knew the support would travel, but they surely could not have hoped for the 12000 or so who made the trip from Scotland and Ireland. After a couple of speculative shots on our goal in first ten minutes Didier Agathe opens his legs and shows Germany what he has to offer, three minutes later he does the same and we are 0 – 2 up ? ecstasy tinged with disbelief. If I were ever to try freestyle levitation this surely would have been the moment as there has been no happier moment upon this planet. Now Celtic were at a stroll and could have played the rest of the match in their slippers whilst smoking a pipe, Celtic, however, are not used to defending and this shows as they try to play the game out. Although our progress is never in doubt, to lose 3 – 2 on the night is a little disappointing. The tie is won but the game is lost and we are still without a win in Germany on competitive duty ? the massed ranks swathed in green and white care not, as we are through to the quarter finals of a European competition for the first time in 23 years. We exit the battleground to the heavenly sounds of „You?ll Never Walk Alone“ an anthem that will continually resonate throughout an emotionally charged Celtic Park and Anfield in few weeks time. We now have the belief to go into our most exciting month in our history for 20 years with our heads held high.
Our post match debriefing is held back at the Traveller?s Bar were we brag and boast, lie and lambaste. Another few beers are consumed (a common occurrence as you?ve probably guessed by now) as we swap stories, theories, and tips on the game we love with German friends, old and new, then we are all so emotionally drained from expending so much in the 90 minutes of combat that bed is inevitable. Still time for one last beverage at the hotel before bed however. We depart Stuttgart around 7 a.m. on the Friday morning hangover, unwashed, smelly, tired, hungry but abolsutely elated. When we hit Frankfurt we are stunned with the news that our flight has gone without us due to a computer failure and the next flight is 8 hours later ? how happy were we at that precise moment ? slightly peeved you might say. So we have a day to kill in an airport ? oh joy of joys. The only saving grace is that Frankfurt airport has a Sex Shop. Germany, we like your style.