I am not quite sure why more tourists don’t visit Utrecht. Perhaps its because there is no airport for Netherland’s fourth largest city or that when you are on a train passing through Utrecht Central Station, you only seem to be confronted by an ugly shopping complex inside and busy dual carriageways outside. Yet if you get off the train, leave Central Station and follow the ‘Centrum’ signs for about 5 minutes, you will discover Utrecht’s beautiful old centre. A series of narrow canals, cobbled streets and fine old buildings all surrounding the imposing Cathedral or Domkerk. Its bell tower (Domtoren) is the tallest in Netherlands and on a good day from the top, you can see both Rotterdam and Amsterdam. About mile to the south east you will always be able to see the Stadion Galgenwaard, home to the city’s only football club, FC Utrecht and the reason for my visit. ‘Utreg’ which apparently is the pronunciation of Utrecht in the local dialect, were hosting NAC Breda in an end of 2011/12 season Eredivisie fixture.

There are direct trains from both Amsterdam Central Station and Schiphol Airport to Utrecht, departing every 15 minutes and the journey lasts 30 minutes (2nd class adult same-day return or dagretour is €14). The VVV tourist office (Domplein 9) is located right next to the cathedral tower and about 300 metres to the south you will also find Utrecht’s best area for food and drink, the Oude Gracht. This is the main canal in Utrecht and perhaps unique to Netherlands this canal is set some 20ft below street level. Cellars and extended basements that were originally built to join the grand houses along both sides to the canal below, have since been converted into shops, restaurants , bars and cafes. For bier lovers, try the Kafe Belge (Oude Gracht 196). Check out this excellent guide to Utrecht bars  for more bars. You can also make your choice of which cellar restaurants, bars, shops etc. during an hour long boat ride along Oude Gracht and the rest of Utrecht.

It’s about 30 minute walk from Central Station to the Galgenwaard. There are free shuttle buses outside Central Station. As I did not have my match ticket yet, I jumped on no. 12 bus (Regio Utrecht) and purchased €2 winklekaart ticket. You can also use nos. 13, 41 , 43 and 241 for the 15 minute journey to the stadium.

I was surprised to learn that FC Utrecht were a relatively new football club, founded in 1970 as a result of a merger between 3 local clubs. DOS, who won the championship in 1958, Elinkwijk and finally Velox, dutch amateur champions. Although FC Utrecht has never won the Eredivisie, they have won the Dutch cup (KNVB) in 1985, 2003 and 2004.FC Utrecht like Ajax , Feyenoord and PSV have also never been relegated from Eredivisie.

Utrecht have a number of former players you will have heard off back in Britain including Dick Advocaat (Rangers manager), Dirk Kuyt (Liverpool), Michael Mols (Rangers) and Jan Wouters. Ingerland supporters may recognise Wouters as the dutch player who fractured Paul Gascoigne’s cheekbone during the 1993 World Cup qualifier at Wembley.

The 25000 capacity Stadion Galenwaard is an impressive modern all seater. Although a fairly simply design of four separate stands with partially open corners that look like they house offices. All four stands are big, tall and very close to the pitch. Simon Inglis nicely summed Utrecht’s stadium design in his brilliant ‘The Football Grounds of Europe’ commenting, “ the closeness of stand to pitch and steepness of stands provided, as one publicity brochure put it, ‘une ambience toute britannique’”.

The North Side/ Noordzijde is the Main stand with its offices and rooms. Outside the main entrance you will find both ticket office (on its left side) and fan shop (on its right side). There is also a small fanshop in Hoog Catharijne, that ugly shopping complex back at Utrecht Central station. At the fan shop and from vendors around/inside the Glagenwaard you can pick up “FC Today Wedstrijd Magazine”. Just €2 for a 68 page glossy programme.

Next up is the 5,500 capacity stand, Bunnik-side and home to FC Utrecht’s most passionate supporters, also called the Bunnikside. Utrecht did experience some of the worst incidents of hooliganism ever seen in dutch football. Simon Inglis reported that at the last match at the old Galgenwaard , “v PSV on 20 April 1981, Utrecht fans pre-empted the work of demolition crews by mangling an entire metal framework of seating”. This and other incidents led to the unwanted accolade of a visit from professional West Ham fan, funny walking, wide boy Danny Dyer in ‘International Football Factories’. For the football neutral, problems at previous Den Haag and Ajax fixtures means there are currently no away supporters or even the chance for tourist to buy tickets for these matches. Which is a pity, as Ajax in particular are Utrecht’s biggest rivals and their fixtures are responsible for best atmospheres at Galgenwaard. You can check out the Bunnikside choreography photos on www.bunnikside.nl . Today, the bars where supporters can walk straight out onto the Bunnikside stand, vibrate to dutch techno music so I carry on round to South Tribune/Z uidijde.

After a lengthy queue, strict security search, I was up the high steps and amongst the masses of Utrecht supporters at refreshment bars inside this huge stand. You will need to swap euros for tokens here, so as I ever went straight to my seat. After a spectacular display from the Bunnikside the match kicked off. Frank Demouge put Utrecht ahead in the ninth minute, with a close range shot. The Utrecht supporters celebrations were one of the best I have heard in Netherlands, with the 19000 crowd making full use of Galegnwaard acoustics. I was puzzled as to why the stadium announcer greeted every subsequent Utrecht attack on NAC Breda goal, by playing an “Air-raid siren” over the speakers. I would have thought the Utrecht supporters were making enough noise of their own. Perhaps it was a tradition at Utrecht matches?.

Anyway the tannoy announcer’s ‘magic siren’ did not work that evening as just as the match appeared to be heading for a home win, NAC’s Robbert Schilder equalised with 18 minutes left. A cross into Schalk in the Utrecht penalty box found its way to Schilder, who beat Utrecht’s Van Dijk with a nice shot. The small pocket of NAC supporters who had travelled up from Noord-Brabant, jumped amongst the swathe of empty seats in the away section. NAC Breda then scored twice in the closing seconds to defeat FC Utrecht 1-3 and all but guarantee their Eredivisie safety. First, Alax Schalk netted in the 89th minute. Collecting a quick free kick, he beat two Utrecht players before scoring from 20 yards out. The South Side quickly began to empty around me when NAC’s Jeffrey Sarpong scored from the edge of the area seconds before the final whistle.

Club Basics
Name: Football Club Utrecht
Address: Herculesplein 241 , 3584 AA Utrecht. Netherlands
Email: info@fcutrecht.nl
Website: www.fcutrecht.nl
Supporters websites: www.bunnikside.nl and www.fcufans.nl

Getting a ticket: As at most other Eredivisie clubs, you will not need to apply for a club members card when attending ‘low risk’ FC Utrecht fixtures. You currently cannot buy tickets for ADO Den Haag or Ajax fixtures, but this may change once Den Haag and Ajax supporters are allowed back into Galgenwaard. Tickets go on sale about three weeks before match starts. Try and pick a seat in South Side/Zuidzijde (Blue section) preferably R , S or T.. As you can see from photos, you get great views of the match and both sets of supporters. A ticket here cost me €24. Simply email the club a few weeks prior to the fixture you are interested in attending. The club will then arrange for you to collect the ticket . The ticket office is next to main entrance of the Northside/Noordzijde. As always, bring a passport or other ID. Please arrive in plenty of time, as there were lengthy queues at the turnstiles due to security checks. You can find out more about ticket details on the club’s English language website .

Thanks to Michel Meerveld at FC Utrecht. Also to Frans van den Berg at www.footballfans.eu , Hubert Buter , Freek van der Kerkhof and Danny Last.

Paul Whitaker

FC Volendam or Het Andere Oranje (The Other Oranje) have just finished mid-table in 2011/12 season of the Jupiler League or Eerste Divisie. Football tourists should not expect voetbal in the Dutch second division to be of the quality of Ajax or Feyenoord . But, Eerste Divisie fixtures are always played on Friday evenings (8pm kickoffs), so as not to clash with Eredivisie fixtures. You also do not need to apply for a club members card or purchase an expensive ‘tourist ticket package’ for Eerste Divisie fixtures. So if you are planning a long weekender in Amsterdam, why not give the ‘Ajax Experience Tour’ (Price €17.50 for adult) a miss on the Friday and instead sample the ‘FC Volendam experience’ (Price starting €15 for adult). You can still be back in Dam Square, central Amsterdam for 11pm.

There are no trains service to Volendam, but Bus nos. 110 and 118 frequently depart from the bus station behind Amsterdam Central Station, for the 20 minute journey. Ask the bus driver for a €10 dayticket and get off at the stop, opposite Volendam’s VVV or tourist office ( 37 Zeetstraat). From here, simply follow the daytrippers to the waterfront or ‘De Dijk’.

There are a number of bars and restaurants on ‘De Dijk’ for a pre-match fish, chips and Heineken. Cafe Centraal (Haven 94a) , Cafe Sjaakies (Meerzijde 29), Cafe Motje (Dril 12) have all been recommended by locals. If there is some Dutch sounding pop music playing in the bar, this may well be the Palingsound or ‘Eelsound’ from Volendam’s most famous crooner, Jan Smit. The more adventurous of you may want also to chew on a smoked eel or be photographed in traditional Dutch dress . I just grabbed a waffle and jumped on the Marken Express (€8 adult return) for a short ferry across the Markermeer Lake to Marken. Here you will find a fishing village that is even quainter than Volendam, but not as busy.

FC Volendam play at Kras stadion (Sportlaan 10), which is tucked in a quiet residential area about ten minutes walk from ‘De Dijk’. Simply head back to the VVV office/bus stop on Zeestraat and you cannot miss the Kras stadion floodlights, as they are the tallest structures in Volendam. From the outside, the 6,200 capacity modern stadium is typically functional with everything from a bank to a fishing tackle shop, all operating from under its orange stands.

The only place to buy FC Volendam merchandise is the fan shop located at Kras stadion’s main entrance. The fanshop is only open on matchdays, 2 hours before kick off till 30 minutes after final whistle. Please note you will also need your match ticket to gain access to the Kras stadion main entrance and fan shop. The ‘Welkom bij Wedstrijd’, a handy pocket-sized 34 page match programme which is issued free as you enter the stadium , includes a list of FC Volendam merchandise, on offer at the fan shop. I understand a museum will in 2013 at Kras Stadion, under the theme of what makes Volendam special: “sports, tourism , humour, hard working and traditional clothing”.

Opposite the main entrance you will find the both the ticket office (Inlichtingen), where you can collect your match ticket and next door the small bar for the FC Volendam supporters club (Thuishaven). Inside you will find the members of the supporters group called the Pe side/Palingboeren/The Orange Army. Outside the Thuishaven was a basic floral tribute to FC Volendam’s most famous player, Dick Tol.

I did not see any away supporters (FC Eindhoven) drinking here as they were down at ‘De Dijk’ , under the watchful eye of a heavy police presence. FC Volendam do not seem to have any rivals and perhaps unique in Holland ,do not show any antipathy to their big neighbours, Ajax. On the contrary the rare meetings with Ajax were fondly remembered and created the best atmospheres experienced at the Kras stadion. FC Volendam has apparently also befriended supporters of both RKC Waalwijk and FC Zolle. Photos of the latter’s meeting earlier in the season can be seen on the excellent dutch website, footballculture.nl

My €15 ticket was in the ‘Jap Jonk-tribune’ and in the bar below the stand I picked up a photocopied teamsheet or ‘Opstelling’ with a beer, that I paid with euros rather than tokens. The ‘Pe Muhren-tribune’ to my right housed the noisy home support, whilst the upper tier of the ‘Dr Duin-tribune’ opposite appeared to be all corporate supporters. The away section was housed in NA and NB of ‘Jaap Bond-tribune’ to my left and there were more flags than supporters of FC Eindhoven. Their choreography when the players came out onto the pitch was excellent though.

Whilst FC Eindhoven were pushing for promotion , FC Volendam had nothing to play for in this last fixture of the season. Consequently, the evening was rightly dominated by a pre match end-of-season awards party and the chance to say goodbye to those players pulling on the orange shirt for the final time. Before kick-off, FC Volendam’s Jack Tuyp received an award for top scorer of the Jupiler League. During the match itself, I witnessed two of the strangest substitutions ever seen at a football match when two FC Volendam players were carried shoulder high off the pitch by their colleagues, to the applause of 4200 supporters in the stands and players, alike.

The first player substituted on 67 minutes was defender Barry Opdam who had played almost 400 professional matches at AZ Alkmaar, Red Bull Salzburg and finally FC Volendam. Such was Opdam’s popularity in dutch football , that over eighty AZ supporters attended this fixture and stood behind a huge banner stating “OPDAM, FOR ALWAYS OUR HERO”. This probably explained Opdam’s tears as he left the football pitch for the final time as a player. Then ten minutes later the same thing happened to midfielder Olaf Lindenbergh. In between all this, a football was played out and FC Volendam won 3-1, with Jack Tuyp getting goal number 20 for the season.

Club Basics

Name: Football Club Volendam
Address: Sportlaan 10, 1131 BK Volendam, Netherlands
Email: info@fcvolendam.org
Website: www.fcvolendam.nl
Supporters website: www.fanatix.nl

Getting a ticket: Fortunately, you do not need to apply for a club members card to attend Eerste Divisie fixtures. Simply email the club a few weeks prior to the fixture you are interested in attending. The club will then arrange for you to collect the ticket at the ticket office (Inlichtingen), located near the Main entrance. As always, bring a passport or other ID. You can also buy a ticket online at dutch language website https://fc-volendam.voetbalticket-shop.nl

Thanks to: Remco van der Ende at FC Volendam, Kevin Morris and Freek van der Kerkhof.

Quite how and why we ended up on a train that would have put a British Rail football special after West Ham, Millwall and Chelsea had traveled on it in the luxury category is still unclear. As usual I blame Danny Last. He saw a Youtube video, and that is always how these things start.

“Stu – look at this video. It is the maddest local derby of all time. We HAVE to be at this one next season.” That is always how it starts. And then there are the emails with links to flight times, hotels that are “just perfect” and before I know we are at Gatwick airport at 4am with a pint of Guinness for breakfast waiting for a 6am flight to a place where most rational people had never heard of, let alone visited. Spakenburg, Lodz, Trnava, Coxyde, Amiens, Rome. You name the place and it is more than likely that we have turned up there at some point.

But this trip was different. Not one crazy derby but two. Two days. Two countries and four sets of fanatical fans  ”in theory”. And to make it even more “interesting”, we were entering a land that had been torn apart by Europe’s biggest civil war, acting as the 21st century Peacekeepers. As if football ever really healed any rifts like this.

Earlier in the season the seeds had been sown by Andy Hudson who had blagged his way into the Belgrade derby at the Red Star stadium. He enthused about the atmosphere, the fireworks and flares, the songs, the chanting oh and the football wasn’t bad either. This man knows his football and after he said we HAD to be at the return game, we begrudgingly agreed. After all, you do not mess with a man who is Hebburn Town’s biggest fan. Begrudging in Danny and my vocabulary actually means we ask our respective wives before we book any travel.

So after making another withdrawal from the PSF fund (Petrol Station Flowers), I had my CMF visa approved. She was a bit worried though. She too had seen Hostel and seen how easily led the three chaps were by scantily clad women. But I was able to reassure her about safety in numbers as well as learning the Serbian word for stranger (“странац”) that I would shout loudly and point if anyone like Ana Ivanovic started getting their kit off on the train.

As a further safety measure we recruited a fourth pair of hands. You have to do these trips in pairs you see. When you walk down the mean streets of Spakenburg you need the reassurance of a hand of a friend. So what if people think you are a couple. You know you aren’t – you just are a little bit scared of that big mob of Dresden fans with sticks marching towards you. So along with Danny and Andy, Kenny Legg had completed our foursome. Kenny Legg. A man who literally carries the hopes of tinpot adventures in Non League on his shoulders. Belgrade’s gain would be Weymouth’s loss for a weekend.

The plan for these trips always takes the same format. Let’s go to game X…oh hang on, if we go a day earlier we can get to game Y…woah, hold on. Just 100 miles away the following day is game Z. So our initial plan for a weekend of football in Belgrade took a turn for the better when it was discovered that “just” over the border was another local derby. Zagreb. Capital of Croatia. Home of the famous “Blue Boys” of Dinamo Zagreb. Sounds perfect you may say. Indeed but the “main” Zagreb derby was moved from Friday to Saturday, leaving us with the “other” derby – Lokomotiv v Lucko. Granted it was in the Maksimir, the national stadium, but even still, an average attendance of 259 means there would be more fans at Harrogate Railway Athletic v Wakefield than this derby. In fact, with the average attendance in the Prva HNL is currently less than 2,000 it is more like Blue Square Bet South than Premier League.

This was not my first visit to the capital of Croatia. Oh no. If you believe the stories of the Current Mrs Fuller you would have her believe that I nearly died the last time I was there. It was never an issue. I mean walking along the road, wearing full England kit (it is a long story) towards a few hundred strong group of the most fanatic Croatian fans whilst saying things down the end of a phone like “Oh shit, we are going to die” and “The will is in the box under the bed”. I mean who would really take that seriously? Granted, when I didn’t answer the phone for the next three hours or the TV pictures of the crowd trouble prior to the game it may have been a bit worrying but surely an over reaction?

Game 1 – HD Zagreb 1 NK Radnik 1 – Friday 4th May 2012 – Stadion NSC Stjepan Spajic

So, I had pitched up in Zagreb on Friday afternoon, starry-eyed and looking for adventures. And beer. You have to remember that the only thing more important than the football on these trips is a beer. And of course the Croatian Dinar meant we were almost beer millionaires.  Danny, Kenny and Andy were in position already at our first football game of the weekend – a cheeky little encounter on the way in from the airport between NK Hrvartski Dragovoljac and NK Radnik at the Stadion NŠC Stjepan Spajic. With the sun shining, we raised a glass to our colleagues back in England, still working, still getting wet.

It seemed the fashion in these parts was for bum bags.  All the trendy youngsters had them, whilst the older generation went for the washbag style of accessory, once made trendy by Fraser Digby.  There were a fair selection of Croatian WAGS in attendance, obviously lured to the game by the huge floodlights, club branded popcorn and Andy Hudson.  It is always about Andy Hudson.

Our first game of the Slavic extravaganza ended 1-1.  We lasted until half time before the lure of a beer in the sunshine came calling.  Oh how we laughed at the plight of the sodden  people back home.   One taxi later and we were at the Maksimir, the national stadium and for tonight, hosting THE biggest game in Croatia.

So what can I tell you about the current state of football in these parts before I lose you in boredom. If you thought that Scottish or Portuguese football was dominated by just two or three teams, then welcome to Croatia and Serbia. Their leagues have been completely dominated by just two teams since the break up of the Yugoslavian state in 1991. Hadjuk Split and Dinamo Zagreb in Croatia, Partizan and Red Star in Serbia. Those four have won every title bar two in the last twenty years. And guess what? This season the title has already gone to Dinamo and Partizan with rounds still left to play.

Game 2 – Lokomotiv Zagreb 2 Lucko 2 – Friday 4th May 2012 – The Maksimir, Zagreb

So surely there was still some interest in the other games being played?  Obviously not as we grabbed our beers and headed into the main stand in the Maksimir.  Everything was very blue – we could tell that as only around 100 of the 38,000 seats in the stadium were being used.  Coming into the game, Lucko were the form team yet Danny managed to gets odds of 6/1 on an away victory.  What could go wrong?

What indeed.  Despite an early trade of goals by M Pejic (surely not Mike Pejic, the Everton , Stoke and Villa full back) for Lucko and then Brozovic for Lokomotiv is wasn’t the best of games.  Stoke v Wolves comes to mind.  As the half progressed then the darkest cloud in the world slowly drifted over the completely open air stadium.  Threatening?  Nah.  It would blow over.

Fifteen minutes into the second half Lucko took the lead again.  Rak turned the ball in and Danny was sitting on a pot of cash.  In fact he could literally claim to be a Serbian Millionaire.  But once again Lokomotiv came back at them and ten minutes later Škvorc equalised.  It was now anyones game.  But then Mother Nature got involved. Just as Kenny and Andy had been dispatched on beer duty the rain started to fall.  In fact it was as if someone upstairs had found all of that missing water from our reservoirs and dumped it on the Maksimir.

We had no option but to seek refuse in the Executive Boxes.  In fact within seconds every member of the crowd had jumped into the VIP area.  That was all except Kenny and Andy who came back into the stand and were greeted with thousands of rows of empty seats, like a scene from a Stephen King film.  Oh how we all laughed until we realised that it was our pints that were become more watered down than a Fosters at the Oval.

With the rain turning the pitch into a boating lake neither team could actually do anymore that hoof the ball up front.  Danny thought he had sewn up his winnings when Lucko broke 3 v 1 and with the goal gaping in front of Rak but the ball across the box never reached him, sitting instead in a puddle on the penalty spot.  Full time meant honours even but not for us band of explorers.  We went down to the concourse and tried to find the “Magic Door”.  We didn’t have to look hard and just a few minutes after the game ended there we were cavorting around the Ricardo seats.

So after a few nightcaps near the stadium it was time to head onto our train and into the wilds of Serbia.  Or was it Bosnia?  Who knows, who cares.

Fast forward seven hours.  Our carriage is bathed in sunshine, streaming through the window and lighting up Andy’s arse like a beacon.  We have arrived in Belgrade.  At some point in the night we awoke to find two policemen with machine guns and dogs in our carriage but assumed that was something to do with the smell.  If only the aroma could be bottled and sold on the markets of Essex we would be millionaires.

We were met at Belgrade station by all round top man Nenard.  This man could body double for Hagrid if they ever fancied doing a Serbian remake of Harry Potter and the Derby Tickets (Хари Потер и Дерби Улазнице if you asked). He guided us through the essentials such as taking £80 out of the cashpoint and not the £8 we had just got (Belgrade is cheap but not that cheap), how to avoid ticket inspectors on the trams and buses, and of course how to find magic doors.  First stop, of course, was a ground.  Home of FK Rad in the Belgrade suburbs just to wet our appetite. Second stop, his house to sate that very appetite with a spread laid on by his Mum that was outstanding.

This was hospitality of the top order.  His Mum couldn’t speak any English yet made sure we were fed, water and fed again before going out on the beers.  Breakfast has more meat than you could shake a stick at, homemade grape brandy and something called Lazy Cake which filled a hole the size of Greece’s Euro debt.

We waved goodbye to our host and headed off into the big city lights for a pleasant day of sightseeing, sunshine and of course more than a few beers.

Everything you have heard about Belgrade is true.  Yes, the women are stunning.  Yes, the city still shows scars from the conflicts twenty years ago, and yes beer is indeed £1.20 a bottle.  We sat on the terrace of the Kalemegdan Citadel for a few hours discussing Eighties music, life in Serbia and of course football before Andy’s pasty northern chest couldn’t take it anymore and he went and sat in the shade.  But it was football time, and a short cab ride later (in a 20 year old Lada) saw us paying 400 Serbian Dinar (£2.80) to enter the OFK Stadion for our first slice of Serbian Super League action.

Game 3 – OFK Belgrade 2 Metalac GM – Saturday 5th May 2012 – Omladinski Stadion
Midtable v bottom in most top leagues in Europe may generate a few thousand fans.  But in Serbia there really is only Partizan and Red Star.  Despite only being a few points off a Europa League game there was less than 100 fans in the crumbling 19,000 capacity Omladinski stadium.  The club actually played in the Europa League in 2010 at the stadium which just shows the farce of ground grading in England that a stadium where there are no floodlights, no food facilities and unsafe terraces.  But safe it was deemed by UEFA who allowed Galatasaray to travel here in the 3rd qualifying round last year and won 5-1 in front of over 6,000 fans.

But today in the sunshine there was about 60 here, and apart from a dozen or so noisy home fans it seemed like the only atmosphere came from the toilet block in the corner that should have been condemned a long time ago.  I have no idea how clubs can make money at this level.  Gate receipts could not have topped £250 – who pays the players, the officials et al? There wasn’t even a club shop selling OFK slippers!

We only had time for a quick Souness, needing some food before the big one.  Another Lada later and we were in a bar on the other side of town, ticket for the derby in hand and feeling very good with life.  It was showtime!

Game 4 – Partizan Belgrade 0 Red Star Belgrade 1 – Saturday 5th May 2012 – Partizan Stadium
Let’s face it – who wouldn’t have wanted to be in the thick of thousands of fanatical fans holding up their flares at this one?  Well, having suffered with a chest infection for a week, it wasn’t the wisest idea for me to be taking in huge lung-fulls of acrid smoke, but that is why God created Amoxicillin right?  Once you have experienced the atmosphere at one of these games you cannot wait for your next fix.  It is like a drug and your dealer is Danny Last.

The police presence around the ground was organised and very visible.  The riot police had been deployed in units of ten at almost every junction, meaning a very quick reaction to any trouble if it kicked off.  Entry into the ground was also smooth without any of the hassle we have experienced elsewhere in the world.

So to the game itself.  Partizan had won the league the previous week and had agreed to keep any celebrations low-key in such a tinderbox atmosphere.  Fat chance of that with the fans organising their own celebration with banners mocking their opponents as well as more than a few digs at manager Avram Grant.  Ah, Avram (and by digs I mean coins, lighters and kitchen sinks being thrown at him as he exited the pitch at half time).  How we miss your wonderful cheery personality and clueless tactics from East London.  It is good to see you retain your popularity oversees.

The game itself wasn’t a classic.  In fact it was a shocker.  Neither team could improve their league position and so with Champions League qualification already sorted it became a bit of a bore draw, only livened up by the antics of the fans at either end.  In fact you could have quite easily suggested (as we did) that a 0-0 draw had been agreed beforehand just to keep all of the natives happy.

But then just as we were looking forward to a quiet night in the town centre, Red Star’s Cadu popped up and scored in the third minute of injury time. To say the place went mad is a bit of an understatement.  All of a sudden the Red Star fans flowed onto the running track, mobbing the players.  The brave referee tried to get them back to restart the game but after a few more seconds of play he called time on proceedings and ran for cover.

Queue even more celebrations from the Red Star players in front of their fans.  It was as if they had won the league, rather than just the bragging rights for the last meeting of the season.  Players, some almost stripped naked by the fans sprinted for the tunnel and the away fans decided to set fire to a few seats to celebrate.

Again, organisation outside the stadium was efficient and we saw no hint of trouble.  In fact within thirty minutes of the final whistle we were back in the bar with Red Star’s biggest fans (Nenard and of course Andy Hudson). For all the colour of the game click here.

A few more two pound beers (we were paying the premium for drinking in the Irish Bar by this point) and it was time to bid Belgrade a good night, ready for what tomorrow would throw at us.

Day three of the adventure began with a civilised breakfast.  It was voting day in the Serbian Elections and our choice of candidate Jadranka Šešelj (purely on looks I hasten to add) although after we discovered her husband is on trial at The Hague for war crimes we revoked our support and hoped that politics was the winner instead. For us it was more football (of course it was), starting off with a trip to watch FK Belgrade in the third division.

Game 5 – FK Belgrade 2 PBK 2 – Sunday 6th May 2012 – Somewhere in Belgrade
There are few grounds in the world where there is little point in charging people to get in, but this was one.  At either end of the ground were tall blocks of flats, offering perfect views of the game to any residents.  On one side was a grass bank where at the top, through a magic door, came the fans in their droves for this Sunday morning game.

Apart from a makeshift wooden structure that could seat three old chaps, everyone else stood up.  I couldn’t see the logic in this – the grass was dry, it was in the sunshine and soon enough those Енглисх будале (English fools) were lolling around on the floor. I mean it wasn’t as if we ended up falling down the bank or anything remotely embarrassing. This was level three in Serbian football, and if I was going to have to compare it to anywhere in England, Whitehawk from the Ryman League would come to mind, although the caravan park doesn’t really translate well in Serbian.

The officials led the teams out of a little house in the corner of the ground – hang on – here was a first.  A female referee and a linesman.  The latter certainly pulled off the whole “woman in football kit” look from our vantage point.  All three officials (and let’s big up Mr Linesman here too) allowed the game to flow and it was certainly an enjoyable Sunday morning run out.  However, one is never enough on these trips, so before you could say Време аддед он we were off, hailing down a taxi to take us across the city to the Zârkovo for their game.

So off we went, driving past the new bridges over the rivers that were destroyed by the NATO bombs in the early Ninties, waving a “hello” at the World Rowing Championships (“Go Team GB” or something) before the taxi driver turned with a confused look.  He simply couldn’t find the ground.  ”That’s no problem – we can ask Google Maps”.  Oh how this would bite me on the arse later.

But for now we located the ground, paid the cab and went in search of game number 6.  Except game number six wasn’t there.  Nothing was there. The ground was just empty.  Step up Uncle Google – there was the ground about “5 minutes on the right”. Twenty minutes later and still no game.  To shorten a long story we never did find the ground or the game despite Google’s help.  Time for lunch then and a plan B.

Plan B was a visit to Red Star’s Marakana stadium, the spiritual home of football in what used to be Yugoslavia.  Once the stadium literally shook to the sound of over 100,000 fans on regular occasions, making it one of the most intimidating places for visiting teams to come to.  The infamous Busby Babes team of 1958 played their final game before the Munich Air Crash here in 1958; The 1973 European Cup final played here saw the legendary Ajax team beat Juventus and in 1976 it hosted the finals of the European Championship, won by Czechoslovakia.   But it was closed.

Closed is not a word in our vocabulary. Just ask the question is our mantra and our response was that for a price (£8.33 to quote latest exchange rates), the door not only to the stadium, but also the press area and the Executive lounges swung wide open.  Hello boys.

So what does one do when you have got into one ground?  Try another of course, and so we set off down the hill to Partizan’s stadium.  The two grounds are separated by about 500 yards in one of the closest top level rivalries in European football.  The clear up operation was in full effect and so we decided it was beer o’ clock and headed into the courtyard adjoining the ground.  Hello, what’s this?  Of course – a magic door and even a guide to boot who didn’t need a top up on his pension.

As we left we saw a troop of players leaving the stadium, all kitted up.  Partizan Under 18′s no less off to play a game in the Military stadium just down the road.  Well, it would be rude not to drop in on that one, although we have no idea who they were playing and what the score was so I am loathed to count that as number six for the weekend.

The rest of the day was spent wandering the sites of the city, a beer, some Serbian food, a beer, a little rest, a beer and so on until that 4am wake up call drew us back to the hotel.  Serbia had been a fantastic experience, with hospitable people, prices to make you rub your eyes and a derby day experience that is up there with the best in the world.  Yes please. Oh – one word of warning.  Despite what you may believe, Serbia is no longer in Europe – well, that is according to T-Mobile.  After landing at London Luton (and having a spare hour waiting to get through UK Border) I checked my phone usage.  £670 in mobile roaming charging in TWO DAYS!  This is because Serbia is not included in T-Mobile’s European data pack which I subscribe to AND would have warned me when I get to a certain threshold. But no – according to T-Mobile the use of apps like Google Maps (as used on Sunday morning) this data was not included.  Be warned!

But all was not lost! Whilst the new Premier League teams shared the wealth, West Ham had the reformed Anglo-Italian Cup to look forward to. The cup had been played previously some twenty years before (although in the 1980′s it was a competition for non league teams) but for some reason the FA felt that having the FA Cup, League Cup and 46 League fixtures wasn’t enough. In previous seasons there had been the Full Members Cup (aka Simod and the Zenith Data Systems cup) but the Premier League clubs had stated they had no interest in that, so it was consigned to the scrap heap, and thus it was decided the second tier clubs needed a new distraction. So someone, somewhere came up with the crazy idea of a revamped Anglo-Italian Cup.

The first round saw the 24 First Division teams divided into eight groups of three. Everyone played one game at home and one away. The attendances in some of these games were poor to say the least. West Ham kicked off their campaign with a home tie to Bristol Rovers in September 1992. With Spurs almost filling White Hart Lane against Sheffield United, and a full house at Loftus Road for the visit of the Gunners, just 4,809 turned up at Upton Park – a Post War record low attendance. The 2-2 draw, with two goals from Julian Dicks helped neither side. Rovers then beat Southend United 3-0 meaning West Ham had to go to Roots Hall to win by four clear goals. They didn’t although the 3-0 meant a frantic call to the FA to determine what happened next. Despite leaps and bounds in technology it was down to a good old fashion coin toss in the referee’s changing room. Alvin Martin called “Tails” and West Ham were through. West Ham would be playing in Europe for the first time in ten years.

The draw was made in early October although the format was, to say the least confusing. Each English team would play four Italian sides, but they would be competing in a league of four English teams. So West Ham’s results against Cremonese, Reggiana, Cosenza and Pisa would be pitted against Derby County’s, Tranmere Rovers and Bristol City’s against the same four Italians. That meant in theory West Ham could possibly win all four games yet still finish bottom of the group if the other English teams had better goal difference.

Game one for the Hammers was away to Cremonese in November. Situated on the left bank of the Po river in Lombardy, Cremona is a town of beauty. Unfortunately it was an x-rate performance that saw the Italians come out as 2-0 winners in front of a paltry 1,600 fans. Nearly 200 West Ham fans arrived 10 minutes after kick off, having made the 26 hour journey by coach and joined a further 500 already in the Stadio Giovanni Zini. The Italian’s seemed hell-bent on assaulting Julian Dicks at all costs although he remained calm under pressure. The two nil victory for the Italians was too surprising as they had come into the game undefeated in the league prior to the game.

Game two was a home tie with AC Regiana from Emilia-Romagna. With the rain pouring down in East London and with the club retaining ticket prices on the high side for such a “prestigious” European tie, only 6,700 came to Upton Park to see West Ham win two-nil thanks to a brace from Clive Allen. However, the game was best remembered for the sending off of Trevor Morley for an off the ball incident. It was interesting to note that the games played in England featured Italian officials who seemed to be more lenient to their fellow countrymen to say the least. On the flip side, English referees went to Italy to referee games there.

If West Ham felt that the Italians in Cremonese hadn’t been interested in the competition, then the trip two weeks later to Cosenza in the south of Italy proved it beyond doubt. Only 800 fans turned up for the game in the Stadio San Vito, of which 250 had made the ridiculous long journey to the game from London. Most arrived during the afternoon of the game to be met with a huge storm and the pitch flooded. English referee Michael Gilkes initially postponed the game but faced with the “larger than life” West Ham fans outside the ground, agreed to re-assess later in the evening, by which time the water had been cleared.

Nothing had changed on the pitch though in terms of discipline. A memo had apparently been sent to all clubs involved in the competition to warm them to behave but it obviously wasn’t translated into Italian as they tried, but failed to intimidate the likes of Martin “Mad dog” Allen, Julian “Terminator” Dicks and “Chicken” George Parris. Hardly men you would want to pick a fight with.

The game was decided by another Clive Allen effort, this time a spectacular effort from some distance. The win gave West Ham a chance at progressing to the semi-finals but they needed a win in the final game, at home to Pisa.

Again the Hammers fans were hardly inspired to come and watch with only 7,100 paying to watch the game (although this was double the average attendance for this round) which will again be remembered for the trouble on the pitch rather than the skill. The game was essentially a dead rubber, with Cremonese already assured a semi-final place from the Italian side, and Derby County’s superior goal difference meaning the Hammers needed to win by five or six. However, try telling that to the Italian’s who again tried to kick West Ham off the park. Matthew Rush, the young West Ham midfielder became the ninth English player to be sent off at this stage of the tournament, joining Pisa’s Giovani Fasce (also the ninth Italian) for an incident in the second half.

Brentford and Derby County competed for the English place in the final, battling out a 5-5 draw with the Rams going through on away goals. In Italy it also went to form, with Cremonese easily overcoming Bari to set up the final, played at Wembley Stadium. The stadium was barely a third full for the final in March, with only a dozen or so Italians bothering to attend to see their side win 3-1. The following season West Ham found themselves in the Premier League and their opportunity to conquer England lost for another few years.

The tournament ran for a few more years, giving clubs such as Luton Town, Southend United, Port Vale and Charlton Athletic a very rare chance to play in Europe. English clubs didn’t fare very well with only Notts County emerging as winners of the tournament in its four year re-birth. The last winners were Genoa, beating Port Value 5-2 in 1996 before the tournament was once again consigned to the great trophy room in the sky along with the likes of the Leyland DAF Trophy, The Screen Sports Super Cup and the Watney Trophy.

Postscript: After a plea on Twitter, Danny Last has vowed to never stop until he gets the tournament re-instated.  As a Brighton & Hove Albion fan he quite fancies a trip to the likes of Vicenza and Verona.  Stay tuned to see how he gets on.

Let me ask you a question. How long do you reckon it takes to organise one of these trips? Our February jaunt to four different countries was about ten months from the original idea to actually going, while the regular trips to Spain are normally around three to four months from start to finish.

I only bring this up, as on Maundy Thursday, I was sitting in work, minding my own business when Dagenham Dan phoned up, saying that Neil had been on the phone, asking what was occurring the following weekend. Now, with the Daggers playing away at Aldershot, we had already made alternative arrangements to visit Southend Manor in the Essex Senior League. However, Neil’s idea was to go slightly further than the Essex coast. At this point, my thoughts instantly turned to how much this was going to cost, without even considering where we were going. The plan, as it transpired, was to go to Leverkusen.

Remember, this was late on the Thursday afternoon. By Friday lunchtime, as we were sitting in the club house prior to the Daggers game against Burton, all the bookings were done and sorted, and we were on our way. Apparently, Neil would have done it sooner, had he not been going out on the Thursday night.

So, having thought that the passports were now locked away for the remainder of the season, three of us (which would be Dagenham Dan, Liam and I) set out from Thurrock at 4am on the Saturday morning, on our way to meet Neil at Folkestone services, and our scheduled train crossing at 6.20am. Given the choice of Aldershot, Southend Manor or Leverkusen, I think we all know what we would have chosen.

Except that the journey down didn’t go that smoothly. As we made our way on to the M20, the signs were announcing that it was closed between junctions 4 and 6. With no sat-nav to guide us, our sense of direction (which isn’t great at the best of times) took us in the wrong direction having left the motorway. So with phones in hand, trying to find our location, we managed to pinpoint where we were, and after much driving along misty country lanes, we found our way on to the A20, and finally back on to an empty M20. Before we knew it, we were at the services and waiting for Neil to arrive. Now it was the short five minute drive to the Eurotunnel and the journey into Europe.

Thankfully, the trip isn’t costing too much. With train crossing and match ticket, it is costing us around £55 each. Putting that into comparison, it wasn’t that much cheaper going to watch the Daggers at Port Vale a couple of weeks ago.

That is of course, if the train makes it across. As we get about half way across, the train comes to a controlled stop, due to a train in front. The announcements are vague, with the disembodied voice advising us that they hope that we will be on the move shortly. How useful is that?

So, while we sit there, waiting for the train to move, Neil plays with the sat-nav, Dan pulls his hooded top over his head in Obi-Wan Kenobi style, and we all just sit there, waiting for something to happen. Conversation turns to the possibility of doing further trips and also any stamps that happen to be in our passports. You have to remember that it was still early in the morning.

The train takes just over an hour, instead of the normal thirty five minutes, but as we emerge into the daylight in northern France, the roads are clear and as we get on to the roads outside the train terminal, we start to make good progress. The journey to Leverkusen is reckoned to take just over four hours, which means that we should still have plenty of time to get there and collect our tickets.

Saturday 14th April 2012, Bayer 04 Leverkusen v Hertha BSC Berlin, BayArena

Arrival in Leverkusen is in bright sunshine, but as soon as we find the stadium, we then have the problem as to where to park. All of the car parks marked on the maps attached to the club website are for pass holders only, so we end up trying to find the shuttle bus park, so that we can get the bus back to the stadium. Once we have found the park though, we are told by a local family parked next to us that the buses do not start running for another hour, so we go to the train station next door. We also explained to them that we had travelled over from London for the game, and were met with looks of amazement and horror in equal measure. However as we are trying to buy tickets, the train arrives and departs before we are able to extract our tickets in time. So, with half an hour to wait before the next service, we decide to walk. After all, it doesn’t look that far on the map.

Forty minutes casual stroll later, we arrive at the Bay Arena. After a couple of pictures outside the stadium, we then go to the ticket office to collect our tickets. After the ticket printer manages to break down, (thereby increasing the expectation of a 0-0 after the M20 fiasco and Euro-Tunnel), Neil emerges with the four precious bits of paper. We then try to get round to the club store, but are thwarted by the fact that it is through the turnstiles, and ours are back round the other side of the ground.

So, we walk back round, and enter the stadium. The first stop though is the first food outlet that we find. At German stadiums, you don’t just walk up to the counter and pay for your order with cash; instead, you have to top up a plastic card with money, and then approach the counter, thereby paying with the pre-deposited cash. Having spent ten minutes trying to get hold of a card, we finally manage to get one and so head straight for bratwurst. Unfortunately, Liam knocks several of my chips off the paper plate, which prompts a tirade of abuse; no-one but no-one knocks my chips off the plate. I eat the rest of them in silence, before we start for the store. Having now apologised, the mood returns to how it had been pre-chip incident.

After spending cash in the store (and having two of our party creating a human roundabout in the store by standing stock still, staring intently and drooling at least one member of the shop staff), we head back, and while Dan and Liam stop off for a second helping of bratwurst and chips, Neil and I head to our seats. Situated in the corner, our view of the away fans is partially blocked by the presence of corporate boxes which I am assured by Neil looks like it should be at Edgbaston, rather than here. Perhaps they share it?

Berlin are second from bottom at the start of the game, having lost at home to Freiburg by 1-2 in midweek. However, with Koln imploding, they at least have a chance of getting out of trouble, and are at least capable of getting to the play off game against the third placed team in the division below. Leverkusen on the other hand, are sixth, and while qualification for the Champions League is probably out of reach, they are well placed for the Europa League. Both teams will need a win from today’s game though, and a look at the previous encounter this season shows that it ended 3-3 in Berlin. So, there you have it; another sign that it will be 0-0.

To be honest, the first half is almost instantly forgettable. About half an hour in, Dan turns round to us all, and wonders aloud why we all got up so early this morning for this rubbish. The atmosphere is being provided by the two sets of fans that are in opposing corners of the ground. The largest cheer of the half is almost provided when the scores from other games are shown on the large video boards; Dortmund losing gets a cheer, and the half a dozen Borussia fans that have attended (in their yellow shirts as well), sink a bit lower in their seats. The equalizer is cheered a bit louder, but it’s more than a touch worrying that the loudest cheer is when a goal is scored at another ground.

Just after the half hour, we get a shot at goal. It’s wide, but when the game has been as uninteresting as it has been so far, you’ll grasp at anything. Leverkusen even have a spell when they are just passing the ball amongst their own defenders, and when it finally goes forward, the four of us cheer, which prompts a couple of locals to laugh.

The half looks to be dragging itself to a dull, scoreless conclusion, when out of nowhere, we get a goal. Barnetta picks up the ball in the midfield, runs with it for a while, and passes out to the left, where Andre Schurrle is waiting. He runs at the full back, cuts back in onto his right foot, and his shot is slightly deflected, but flies past the keeper, and hits the back of the net via the underside of the crossbar. Berlin barely have time to restart, and so with no stoppage time added, Leverkusen are 1-0 at the break.

If the first half was fairly dull, then the second is anything but. Six minutes into the half, and Leverkusen are two up. Stefan Keissling looks to have over-run the ball following a mazy run into the area. But somehow, he gets a toe to the disappearing ball, and the poke is enough to get it past the onrushing goalkeeper. Given the relative positions of the teams in the league, then it already looks like game over.

Except that no-one tells Berlin. Now coached by Otto Rehhagel, they start to pour forward. They have one effort cleared off the line, and while Leverkusen may not have heeded the warning then, they certainly pay for it just after the hour, when the lead is halved. The home team concede a silly free kick near the corner flag, which is crossed into Pierre-Michel Lasogga, whose header eludes Bernd Leno in the Bayer goal.

Two minutes later, and the game is changed again. Derdiyok is fouled in the penalty area by Kobiashvilli, and is awarded a penalty. Not only that, but the Berlin recover looks to have been stifiled at birth, as the defender is also shown a red card. Simon Rolfes, the Bayer captain takes the penalty, but his efforts crashes against the crossbar, and the rebound is put wide by Derdiyok. It is a let off for Berlin that they exploit within five minutes.

Despite the player disadvantage, it is hard in the minutes after red card and penalty miss to tell who is a player light, as both create chances. However, it is the visitors who score next, which sends the travelling awayn support mad, as well as quite a few Berlin fans who are seated in amongst the home support. There is no animosity though towards them, and most Leverkusen fans just seem to accept that it is their fate to not win the game as Hertha celebrate. The goal arrives thanks to good play down the left wing by Nikita Rukavytsya, and his low cross is turned in by Torun, only a few yards out. From nowhere, Berlin have come right into this game, and with a player less as well.

If it’s good for the visitors at 2-2, then four minutes after the equalizer, they go in front. The goal actually comes from a Leverkusen corner which is cleared, and then following a mistake ten yards inside the Berlin half, Raffael is allowed to run sixty-odd yards before squaring the ball to Torun who has caught up to him, on the edge of the area. His shot is true, and finds the corner of the net. Three of us look at each other in amazement at what we have just seen, which includes Dagenham Dan jumping up in celebration.

Eighty-two minutes pass when Berlin create the chance to make it 4-2. Raffael is allowed to escape his marker again on the half way line, and heads straight for the Leverkusen goal, but instead of trying to find a team mate, he elects to shoot, and puts his effort wide. In a half that has been totally enthralling, we wonder how long it will take for him to regret that missed opportunity.

It was all of two minutes if you’re wondering. Keissling heads his second goal of the game, following a floated free kick by Gonzalo Castro, and now the score is 3-3. Even at this late stage, both teams still create chances to win it, but even with two added minutes, neither team can fashion a winner, and while both may be disappointed to have dropped points, the four of us can not complain about a game that has contained six goals, a missed penalty and a red card. And all this after complaining about a poor first half.  Anyone with a spare few pounds in the summer will do no wrong in laying some money on Germany for the Euro’s based on this second half display of internationals such as Keissling.

As we rush from the stadium, we manage to get on the shuttle bus back to the car park, but even before we are off the bus, Dan and Neil are already looking at the German fixture list for two weeks time. It’s a decision between Shrewsbury with the Daggers or Borussia Moenchengladbach. The four hour trip back to Calais begins with all still buzzing from an excellent game and the possibility of another in just two weeks time. It looks like the passports might be needed again, and sooner rather than later…

Booked several months ago, I am torn as to whether this is a good time to be going or not. At least we will know how we get on before our first game of the weekend starts. It is a tough choice; jet off for a couple of games in the sunshine, or watch your team (possibly) struggle in a game they simply have to win. There is a part of me wishing I was staying in the UK.

Before we get any further, one quick thing; did you know that, on an Android phone, when you try to type in Madrid, it offers the word “masturbated” as well? Honest, its true.

As with most of the airlines that don’t allocate seats prior to boarding, the crowd starts to build up early for the scramble to the departure gate. I had to stop myself doing a pit walk, a la Martin Brundle, because once the gate number appeared, it was like the start of a grand prix. As we approached the first corner, I was certain that we would have at least one coming together. After all, that’s why most watch formula one, isn’t it?

The flight out is also made more eventful by the presence of about forty Spanish school-kids, which means that, as one fellow traveller remarks just as we are about to board the plane, this could be a painful flight. Luckily, it isn’t too bad, and despite leaving Gatwick late (because the fuel truck hadn’t shown up in Madrid on an earlier flight), we land in Madrid just after the scheduled time, and about forty five minutes after landing, we are safely ensconced in our hotel. Let the football begin!

Saturday 17th March, Getafe v Real Sociedad, Coliseum Alfonso Perez

The plan for the Saturday was to get to each stadium for two reasons; firstly, so that we knew where we were going later on in the day, and also to pick up tickets for each game. Our first trip was down to the south of the city, to the suburb of Getafe, before travelling back to Vallecano. With a 6pm then 10pm kick offs, we wouldn’t have much time to get from the first to the second games, so we had to see how long it would take. Following the metro route, it was clear as we were sitting on the train that this would take some time. However, another glance at the metro map bought a possibly quicker solution. So, having found the stadium and collected our tickets (€40 each to sit behind the goal), we tried out the alternative route.

Luckily for us, the dry run worked really well, and so, instead of spending most of the time between games on the Madrid metro, our new route would get us to game two in half the time.

Around two hours or so before kick off, we are on our way back out to Getafe. As we leave the El Casar station, the ten minute walk back up to the Coliseum gives no clue at all that there is a top flight game happening up the road, and in the late afternoon sunshine we are two of only half a dozen people that we see heading in the direction of the stadium. As we approach one of the side roads leading up to the stadium however, we see a dozen people dart out in front of traffic, as though heading away from trouble. Although our local knowledge is limited to what discovered in the morning, we decided to change our walking route and take the first available road to the stadium.

Inside, it’s just a large, open bowl, with just the main stand under any kind of cover. The game will start with the ground around half full, and while it’s all seated, a lot of people chose to stand in the walkways that separate the lower and upper tiers of seats.

There is polite applause, rather than a full on roar of noise as the teams enter the field of play, although there is quite a bit of noise from the sizeable contingent that have made the trip from Sociedad. The game starts, and there is a yellow card before the first chance of the game is created, but while Getafe are the home team, it is Sociedad who seem to be the more threatening when attacking. There are a couple of near misses for the visitors, and when they are not creating their own chances, Getafe seem intent on helping them out. One such incident happens just after the half hour, but Sociedad are unable to turn this gift into a goal. The visitors are the better side throughout the half, but have nothing to show for their efforts.

From our seats at the other end of the ground though, the best chance falls to Miku from Getafe; he manages to shoot over from (what looked like) six yards, when it appeared to be easier to score. There is a murmur of disbelief from the crowd, who seemingly can’t quite take in what they have just seen.

There is an image of Spanish football at the moment, that it is all neat passing and the kind of tippy-tappy play that has served Barcelona and Spain so well over the last few years. It’s not quite being replicated here, as quite a few of the passes have been misplaced, and it has been a quick, but error strewn half.

The home crowd start to get restless at the start of the second half, but it is this time that Getafe have a couple of chances. However, when you do get the opportunity to score, you don’t really want them falling to your centre back, and this is what happens here. The first time Alexis has a chance, the ball actually knocks him backwards, the second is a volley which is just over the top. The second half is definitely better in that there is more attacking play, but neither keeper has still had a difficult save to make.

With the feeling that this is definitely going to be a 0-0, we get a goal. Getafe attack down the left hand side, and a cross is swung over by Barrada; the Sociedad goalkeeper flaps at the ball, and makes some contact with it, but only diverts it onto the back of his own defender, who doesn’t appear to know too much about it as the ball hits his back and goes in. Martinez is the unlucky scorer, and the home fans celebrate a goal that their overall performance may not have quite deserved.

Sociedad now try to get something from a game that they should have won, but it is Getafe who come closest to another score, although Guiza’s shot is cleared off the line. Getafe hang on, and when the final whistle is blown, Getafe have won 1-0.

At the final whistle, we move swiftly to the exits, for the walk back to El Casar station, and the journey to our second fixture of the evening.

Saturday 17th March, Rayo Vallecano v Real Betis Balompie, Campo de Futbol de Vallecas

On arrival at El Casar, we discover that our train back into town is delayed. We are not too worried by this, as we reckon that we have enough time to still make the journey without missing the kick off. As the minutes tick by, the nerves start to jangle a bit, but before we can get too nervous, our train comes into view, and one change later, we are back on the metro, and on the way to Portazgo. Luckily for us, the exit from the station brings out right next to the stadium.

As we arrive, the gates aren’t even open, but there are quite a few people milling around, and across the road, the local bars have got standing room only, and that is on the pavements outside. There is plenty of singing going on, which as we would soon discover, is what would happen all night.

Like Getafe, we have gone to the ground earlier in the day to pick up a couple of tickets, and as we finally enter the ground, we discover that our seats seem to be in amongst the visiting Betis fans. Just as we think we will need to support the away team for the evening, there are a few red and white scarves that enter the block, and take their seats. At this moment, I am unsure what to think.

As it turns out, we need not have worried. The vocal Betis fans (led by an early twenties bloke with grey and yellow toy megaphone) are no match for the much more vociferous home fans, situated behind the goal to our right. To our left are blocks of flats; between them and the pitch is a giant advertising board that is sort of reminiscent of the Arsenal north bank mural of twenty years ago. The land behind the goal was sold of a few years ago, and now it means that Vallecano have only three sides to their stadium, although there were more than a few of the residents who stick their heads out of the windows to watch the game.

While the first half doesn’t have too many chances for goals, the atmosphere has been excellent, and is probably the best we have experienced in Spain so far. Given that the attendance is announced as just over nine thousand, the noise levels have been good, particularly from those behind the goal. This is even more of an accomplishment given that their stand is the only uncovered section of the ground, and although the noise would normally disappear upwards into nothingness, tonight it just seems to hang around. The mock fights amongst themselves (as well as their random bouncing and other routines) give cause to more than a few puzzled looks amongst Dagenham Dan and myself, as well as a few others, clearly unused to what is happening.

Vallecano prove to be the better of the teams in the second half, with three unanswered goals. The first is scored just after the break, by Armenteros, who is played in behind the Betis defence. We get a glimpse of Roque Santa Cruz just before the second goal, which is this time scored by Diego Costa, who just gets to the ball before the keeper, to flick into an unguarded net.

Costa is replaced with seven minutes to go by Tamudo, who is allowed to score the third in stoppage time. We have already left our seats, but not lost sight of the pitch, and so see the substitute confidently slot the final goal past the visiting goalkeeper. It has been a good evening as we rush back down the stairs towards the metro. It’s almost midnight as we leave the stadium, and it has been a long day. The Burger King near our hotel beckons, and we will have another early start tomorrow for game three of the trip.

Sunday 18th March, CD Colonia Moscardo v CF Fuenlabrada, Estadio Ramon Valeron

For the second full day of the trip, we don’t make the same mistake as Saturday, and instead leave the shorts at the hotel. When the sun is out, it’s quite nice, but once the clouds come over, the temperature takes a tumble. Besides, after a full day in tow yesterday, I maintained that we were the only two in shorts in the city. Not wishing to stand out again, we’ve done the sensible thing, and tried to look less like an Englishman abroad.

Our final game is in the fourth tier of the Spanish football pyramid. It’s another ground that can be easily reached on the metro, and it’s also not that far to walk, which has made this one the obvious choice for us.

The great thing about these grounds is the chance to spot something completely random. At Masnou in January, we spotted a giant barbeque that looked like it hadn’t been used since Guy Fawkes was trying to blow up Westminster. Today though the barbeque is working, and busy as well (Dan spent most of the interval queuing / jostling for a pork baguette, which he reckoned was one of the best he has had for some time); the random thing this time though was a Mercedes car, parked in the ground, covered in bird droppings. Just sitting there it was. Why it was there, I have no idea.

The first half is poor. So bad in fact that we spotted that three of the home players were wearing different styles of shirt. One had the club badge on the left of the shirt, one had theirs in the middle of the jersey, and one had no badge at all. It really was that poor, that we were reduced to this.

The second is better. There is a goal for Fuenlabrada six minutes into the half from Huete, although it owes more to good fortune than good play, as a shot by Pachon hits the post before hitting his team mate and going in. Ten minutes before the end, Pachon gets his reward for a good display with a cracking strike from 25 yards to all but seal the points for the visitors. Although San Segundo gets one back for the home team, Fuenlabrada hang on, and will be top of the table by the end of the day.

Now all we have to do is decide what to do for the rest of the day. Neither of us are prepared to pay over the odds for a Real Madrid ticket to their game against Malaga, so we head out to the Atletico ground instead, just to have a wonder around. Instead, we end up doing the stadium tour, and get to go pitchside, as well as exasperating our young tour guide as our group gets split quite often. Atletico are planning a new stadium and it should be ready for 2015, and so they will be leaving the Vincente Calderon in a few years time. Armed with this knowledge, we are now starting to plan the next trip, but this time, to see Atletico, in their present home, before the move to their new 72,000 capacity stadium. So that will be two trips to Madrid in the next few years then…

Monte-Carlo, Heidelberg, Salzburg, Florence

Need a clue? OK these are four of the top 5 destinations of choice in Europe according to Tripadvisor. Think Switzerland? Think 14th century bridge across a lake? You lot are rubbish…of course the missing link is Lucerne. Or Luzern …or Lucerna depending if you are feeling French, German or Romansh. Visitors flock to the picturesque small city high in the Alps and on the crystal clear waters of Vierwaldstättersee, or Lake Lucerne for the uneducated.

Since the city straddles the Reuss River where it drains the lake, it has a number of bridges. The most famous is the Chapel Bridge (Kapellbrücke), a 200metre long wooden bridge originally built in 1333, although much of it has been replaced during the years Part way across, the bridge runs by the octagonal Water Tower (Wasserturm), a fortification from the 13th century. The Bridge with its Tower is the city’s most famous landmark.

Ask CMF about my romantic side and she will wax lyrical about some of my more inventive ideas in the past. It’s not always been PSFs (petrol station flowers) and trips to football you know. And Lucerne was a perfect romantic venue, strolling hand in hand along the Kapellbrücke under the moonlight. But you don’t believe me for a minute that is why I was in that city. And you’d be right. CMF was 567 miles away in TBIR Towers and I was sharing the moonlight moment with a hundred or so Grasshoppers fans who were here for the Swiss Cup game against FC Luzern.

The hosts, known as Die Leutchen in Switzerland (and the stars elsewhere) were Swiss champions back in 1989 and were comfortably mid table last season. they can be summed up in one word – Swiss. Their most exciting moment in recent years came when they were asked by the Brazilians to play them in a warm up game prior to the 2006 World Cup. An 8-0 final score line probably wasn’t a shock to many on the day.

Earlier in the season the club moved into the Swissporarena, the newest stadium in the country. The 16,800 capacity state of the art stadium has been built on the site of their old Stadion Allmend and is a combination of some of the best architectural elements of the new Letzigrund Stadion in Zürich on the outside and the blandest of the new stadiums on the inside. Functional is one word you can use to sum it up, although the setting is stunning with the snowy peaks of the Alps looking down on the action.

Of course I would be accompanied on my Swiss Ramble with the Swiss Ramble – Kieron never misses a chance of a game when I am over so he worked out the logistics of the trip, buying the tickets and generally making sure I wouldn’t stray from the straight and narrow.

We headed south from Zürich with the sun slowly falling across the lake.  You pay for beauty in Switzerland and so having only paid £40 for the 45 minute return journey to Luzern I wanted a view in a half.  As Basil Fawlty said to Mrs Richards, “Well, may I ask what you expected to see out of a Torquay hotel bedroom window? Sydney Opera House, perhaps? The Hanging Gardens of Babylon? Herds of wildebeest sweeping majestically…?” . For my £40 I was expecting to see snowy alpine mountains, cows with bells on, St Bernard dogs with brandy bottles around their necks and Sepp Blatter.  I didn’t really see any of that but the lakeside scenery was quite impressive.

Our talk on the way down was the financial state of Swiss football.  After my visit to Neuchâtel in November they went bankrupt and the Super Liga was reduced to 11 teams.  Servette are teetering on the brink of bankruptcy AGAIN despite having an almost spanking new stadium in Geneve, built by the city for Euro2008.  FC Sion have had a number of problems and today’s visitors to Luzern, Grasshoppers, with their six year old struggle of trying to have their own home in Zürich.

We arrived at the ground with just over an hour to kick off.  The stadium is flanked by the snowy mountain tops and you could feel that alpine nip in the air.  The plan was for a few beers so we decided to head inside the Swisspor Arena.  But first we needed a “club card” as it was a cashless stadium.  Such technology has been in place in the Amsterdam ArenA and the Veltins Arena in Gelsenkirchen for some time (in fact I still have cards with cash on for both of them which will more than likely never being used again).  The cards at Luzern at least have a good twist – not only can they be used in the stadium but also in a particular supermarket chain.

Fed, watered and our brains full of some interesting Eighties music playing on the concourses we headed into our seats for the start of the “Biggest game in Switzerland” (on Tuesday 20th March 2012) anyway.

FC Luzern 3 Grasshoppers 0 – Tuesday 20th March 2012 – Swisspor Arena
Prior to the game the talk in the local papers was that if Grasshoppers lost, manager Ciriaco Sforza would be sacked and the favourite to take his job would be the Luzern boss Murat Yakin.  The manner of their defeat in this game will have done nothing to stop those rumours building momentum.  Quite simply for the vast majority of the game they were very poor.  It wasn’t until the 30th minute that they actually ventured into the Luzern penalty area, Yet Sforza simply stood on in the technical area, almost motionless, watching the last chance of glory for the season sailing away over the Alps.

If only the Grasshoppers players showed just 1% of the passion of their fans who were outstanding during the game, never giving up singing and supporting their club, if not the XI on the pitch.  They welcomed the teams onto the pitch with a display of colour and fire, drenching the whole stadium in smoke which took around five minutes to clear, by which time Luzern should have taken the lead after the sprung the offside trap for the first of many occasions.  FC Luzern’s fans weren’t silent though, and their impressive banner, hoisted up from the rafters before the game can be seen here.

In the opening period, Luzern found their way through the Grasshoppers back line but could do little with it.  Time and time again they threatened but didn’t quite pressure the visitors goal.  It was amazing that it took until the 42nd minute for the first goal to come, although it wasn’t surprising which side scored.  Luzern broke down the left and the winger sprinted into the area, reaching the by-line and appearing to have taken it too far.  But Winter managed to pull it back, right into the path of the onrushing Dario Lezcano and he slammed it home.

Half time came and went with no material changes on either side.  In fact Luzern just got stronger and stronger and it was no surprise that they doubled the lead when Nelson Ferreira, he with the silly hair, found himself in space (and a fortunate lack of an offside flag) and slotted the ball home with ease.  Even though there was thirty minutes left on the clock, Grasshoppers looked dead and buried, yet despite the scoreline the fans continued their support.

The game was effectively over but with ten minutes left Claudio Lustenburger headed home to make the score 3-0.  Instead of heading for the exits the away fans just lit a few flares.  One was thrown onto the pitch and despite the presence of stewards and police it was left to the referee to walk over to it and put it out.

Without any delays on ninety minutes, the referee put Grasshoppers out of their misery and their season was effectively over.  For Luzern, second in the table and now in the semi-finals of the cup things were looking up.

We headed for the exits and within fifteen minutes we were on the train.  Unfortunately, the train wasn’t going anywhere.  The Grasshoppers hardcore fans didn’t fancy leaving the stadium or getting on the buses back to the station.  Talk on the forums today was of water cannons, CS gas and rubber bullets being used to try to encourage them.  With a huge armed police presence at the station watching our train it first appeared to be over zealous for just 700 or so fans, but in hindsight perhaps it was needed.

Finally we reached Zürich, thirty minutes late (I did try to claim a refund but they laughed at me – so much for Swiss efficiency!).  Another top evening in great company, and of course a new ground for me.  Whilst I hadn’t exactly seen the beautiful side of one of the most popular tourist destinations in Europe, it was good to see how a previously unfashionable club were making great strides on and off the pitch.

The setting wasn’t Thailand, but Munich. The bars weren’t temples but Brauhäus’s and the pearls had taken on a strange sausage shape. The god in question was of course football. I am sure that was what Tim Rice meant when he wrote this song for the musical Chess back in 1984. How was he to know that nearly 30 years later that would be the song spinning around my head as I sat on the S3 train heading towards Fasenenpark in the southern suburbs of München, capital of Bavaria.

Work had seen me having to spend a few days in the home of BMW, Siemens and Allianz in the world’s most livable city according to Monocle. It was certainly up there with my favourites – the architecture, the beer, the food, the people, the nude sunbathing in the Englischer Garten as well as the football. Some of my best EFW’s had been in Germany and it was in the outskirts of Munich where I had been based during the 2006 World Cup with Football Jo (bit of gossip here but she’s only gone ad bagged a new boyfriend 17 years her junior!!!). I had seen games in the new Allianz Arena, without a doubt one of the finest stadiums ever built as well as some great games at the old Olympiastadion, including Lothar Mattäus’s last game for Bayern against Real Madrid in the Champions League back in 2000. But there was one club I had never had a chance to see in the city and that was the plucky upstarts in the south of the city SpVgg Unterhaching.

Spielvereinigung Unterhaching to give them their full name are currently plying their trade in the third tier of German football, but for a couple of seasons at the turn of the last millennium they were the talk of the Bundesliga for basically punching above their weight and giving a couple of teams the footballing equivalent of a bloody nose.

I had nearly made a game at the Generali Sportpark twice before. Back in 2000 when I was in Munich with my mate Pete. It was our first trip to Munich and we had taken in all of the sights and sites – Hofbräuhus, Augustiner Keller, Hackerhaus, etc – before we decided to take in a game. As luck would have it Underhaching were at home on our final evening so we set out from our hotel close to the central station. We walked down a road and mesmerised by the flashing neon signs for “Sexyland”. Apparently, according to an English chap standing outside, this was the Alton Towers of sin with rides for all shapes and sizes. Football or Sexyland. That was the choice facing us to Brits. Actually there was a third choice, and that was the Augustiner Bräustuben just 100 yards away. We would go there to flip a beer mat and decide what to do and if necessary down some Dutch courage. Our one turned into five or six, mainly thanks to the outfits of the waitresses and the band who had us up on the benches in no time, rolling up our trousers to make pretend leiderhosen and tying our hair in pigtails. I do not know to this day which one I regret missing most.

Eighteen months later and we were back in the city. This time for Grumpy Joel’s thirtieth birthday. It was Ocktoberfest and due to the 9/11 terrorist attacks, the Americans had cancelled their trips en-masse meaning accommodation in the city was plentiful and prices of everything were slashed. Again plans were made to travel out to Unterhaching but like before we were weighlaid by that darn Umpah band, the buxom wenches serving the beer and the vast numbers of very drunk New Zealand tourists who somehow believed we were all underwater firemen and wanted to “see our uniform and diving bells”.

So this was to be third time lucky. Unlike the other two occasions which had been planned with military precision, this one came about completely by chance. In fact just five days before the game was due to take place I had no idea that there was any football on in Munich. I was looking forward to an early night after a hard days work with a copy of David Hartrick’s 50 Teams that Mattered and a DVD box set of Rising Damp. CMF even asked me if I was to take in a game when I was there and I said alas no, as Bayern’s Champions League game was on the night before I arrived.

Thank the Lord for the Soccerway app on my iPhone. A quick press of a few keys and there in front of me, calling out to me like a siren off the coast of Gibraltar was one fixture. Wednesday 14th March 2012 – 7pm kick off – SpVgg Unterhaching v Rot-Weiss Oberhausen. This was fate. I had to be there. And so that was why I was on the S3 train, heading for the Generali Sportpark.

It wasn’t going to be a full house that was for sure. It was a Wednesday night and this was Bundesliga 3 football. But twelve years ago when the team made their debut in the top tier of German football, every game was a sell out. In that season they surprised everyone (apart from themselves) by finishing in tenth place. Their defining moment though came on the final day when they hosted Champions-elect Bayer Leverkusen. The visitors came into the game with a three-point lead over Bayern Munich and thus only needed a draw to claim their first ever title. However, an own goal my skipper Michael Ballack and a second from Oberleitner saw them fall 2-0 and Bayern won 3-1 to snatch the title on goal difference. Such was the shock to German football that some betting companies had already paid out on a Leverkusen title.

A season later they could have again won the title for local “rivals” Bayern Munich by beating 2nd place Schalke 04 in the final game. Despite twice taking the lead they eventually lost 5-3 but Bayern’s injury time equaliser was enough to give them their title again, although not before some Schalke fans (and players) had been dancing on the Sportpark pitch in belief that the title was theirs already.

This season has seen the club for the most part in the upper reaches of the table, hoping for a return to the second tier of German football. Just six points off top spot, this was their game in hand against an Oberhausen team who were flirting a bit too close with the bottom of the table. They had never been the same since the death of their most famous resident, Paul the Octopus in 2010. However, with ex-German international Mario Basler now in charge there is a more positive outlook for the future I am sure.

SpVgg Unterhaching 1 Rot-Weiss Oberhausen 2 – Generali Sportpark – Wednesday 14th March 2012
Unterhaching is certainly remote.  Getting off the S-Bahn train the floodlights were visible in the distance – quite a way in the distance and with a rail line in between.  Oh, and a police van with men with guns and dogs standing around, looking hungry (the dogs not the men).  I simply followed the few other people who got off the train, assuming they were heading to the game.  The walk took in a housing estate, a foot tunnel and a park that during the day would have been pleasant, but at night was ill-lit and contained a number of water hazards that would have been too tempting for the likes of Dave Richards. But it appeared I was nearing my target.

Press pass in hand I headed inside, collected my obligatory beer and sausage (or two) and took my seat at the top of the stand.  With just five minutes to kick off it wasn’t exactly rocking.  A group of twenty or so Oberhausen fans were caged in the corner and watched over by a dozen policemen.  It would be a quiet evening for them.

A familiar, yet long forgotten rift started to drift over the speakers.  Fans turned their attention to the tunnel at the far end.  A large chap with a huge flag seemed to be losing a battle with it, eventually giving up and laying it on the ground.  The teams walked out through a guard of honour to Status Quo “Whatever you want”, sending a group of home fans into some kind of mental mullet meltdown.

Within five minutes of kick off we had our first goal.  It was a comedy of errors on the Oberhausen side as they missed at least three opportunities to close down the home team, failed then gave the ball away instead of clearing it.  The ball was crossed and Amachaibo easily slotted it home.  The away coach and assistant jumped up from their plastic picnic chairs in rage, kicking them over in the process before shamefully going back and putting them right.

The PA announcer read out the score, finishing his sentence with a “Dankeshane” before the crowd replied with a collective “Bitte” – how very polite and something you almost expect from an English cricket green crowd.

Unterhaching were completely on top in the game and it was hard to see how Oberhausen could get back into it.  The Oberhausen board were sitting behind me and a swift call down to the bench saw a substitution on the half hour mark which changed the game.  In 40th minute a fantastic cross from the right was met perfectly by Terranova at the near post to draw the scores level.  You couldn’t get a better headed goal than that one.

After a top up of German hospitality at half time (beer and sausages) it was time to put the gloves on as the temperature fell.  The crowd also appeared as if they wanted to be somewhere else judging by the muted applause that welcomed the two teams back.  Oberhausen continued their strong finish to the half and were unlucky not to take the lead in the opening minutes. But they didn’t have to wait long – fifteen minutes to be precise when Grant Forbes scored from close range.  I knew it was Forbes who scored because the chap from the Oberhausen board then started calling everyone in his phone to tell them.  He even called two wrong numbers and told them (my O-Level German coming back into play).

There were no further goals in the game and with five minutes to go most of the fans had disappeared, on their way home to watch the Champions League games on TV.  For me it was a trek across the park and then a beer or two in the hotel, avoiding the temptation for a return to Sexyland.  After all, as CMF reminded me, just because it was “Steak & BJ Day” I didn’t have to indulge in both.  I assumed she already knew I had had sausage for tea.  I love Germany.

In the past the game has had drama, controversy, clowns and championships. It was first contested back in 1929 and since then AS Roma have led the way with 63 wins to Lazio’s 46. In 1979 a Lazio fan was killed by a flare fired from the Roma section at the far end of the stadium and in 2004 the game had to be abandoned after the leaders of the Roma Ultras groups walked unopposed onto the pitch and approached Francesco Totti to tell him to walk off after a rumour spread that the riot police had killed a fan. Violence then escalated onto the streets outside the stadium.

Few players make the move across the city which them either being a blue or a claret. The rivalry comes from the moral right to be the one true team to represent the city, as well as how the clubs were originally formed. To us mere English fans Roma means Top Totti, Cafu, Gabriel Batistuta and Christian Panucci. Lazio is Pepe Signori, Ravanelli, Alessandro Nesta, Gazza and Paolo Di Canio.

Both teams have been through the mill in terms of off the field antics. Back in 1980 SS Lazio were relegated, along with AC Milan after being implicated in a betting scandal. Match-fixing also cost the club dear in 2006 when they were implicated in the Calciopoli scandal that saw Juventus relegated and Lazio excluded from European competition. Long time club owner Sergio Cragnotti arrived at the club in 1992 and initially funded some massive transfers (£18m for Veron, £19 for Vieri & £35m for Crespo). But when his Cirio food empire collapsed, so did the club’s fortune.

AS Roma were also implicated in the 2006 scandal but have had a bit more of a stable time financially since, although like their cross-town rivals have had to play second fiddle to first the Old Lady of Turin and then the Milan clubs.  Every season they were one player away from a Scudetto-winning side, one decision away from beating their rivals, and one manager away from getting the balance right.  Today it’s the turn of the Spanish duo Luis Enrique and Ivan De La Pena to try and bring some Barca magic to the side. On the other side of the stadium all of the tittle-tattle talk was of Gianfranco Zola arriving on a little white pony to save the club from the management of Edoardo Reja.

Danny wasn’t excited at all about the game. He confessed to me on the way over that he had dreamed about the game all week. In his last vivid encounter we were in a corporate hospitality box at the Stadio Olimpico. He had been reading the small print on our box, which apparently said “‘Food is provided, but it’s a lottery, please understand that the odd box will only contain a mere goose”.  He had gone Roma Magic Box crazy.

Ah yes, the magic box.  Cast your mind back to yesterday’s opening piece on the avventura Italiano.  In summary, we left our intrepid heroes Danny, Adam and Stuart leaving the tinderbox atmosphere of the Stadio Septembre VIII in Frascati armed with their magic boxes – the football equivalent of a Fortnum and Masons picnic hamper.  We left our Roma umbrellas at home (as well as our headbands, rucksacks and scarves).  In fact we were armed just with our invite as he boarded the football special from Frascati to Roma Termini.

One 30 minute train ride and we walked out into the Roman sunshine.  Nothing screamed Derby Day to us.  No riot police, no sirens, no fans.  Strange.  If this was Manchester Piccadily, Liverpool Lime Street or even Mile End in London on derby day two hours before kick off there would be chaos.  But here in a country dominated by chaos there was calm.  We hopped in a taxi and went on a nice (but somehow unnecessary) drive through the Villa Borghese (think Hyde Park but with sunglasses and Vespas) before eventually being deposited at the Ponte Duca d’Aosta.  This was the bridge that everyone we spoke to warned us about.

“Watch your arse on that bridge”…”If they clock you are English they will stab you in the bum”…”They will throw you in the river if you look foreign”...Thanks Mum for the words of comfort. But all we saw were souvenir sellers and families wandering down towards the stadium.  Granted some of the scarves said things like “Die, Lazio, die” but even so it was a serene scene.  The reason?  Because of the hardcore fans were already in position in the ground.

We had to go and pick up our tickets so we entered the stadium, walked around a bit, went out of the stadium and finally found “box one” which was a stall manned by a stunning Italian women (there is a theme here – bear with me).  She checked our ID, slapped a plastic wristband on us and ushered us through a magic gate, where we got to re-enter the stadium on a red carpet which led to the same spot we were five minutes previous.

Surprise number one was that they were serving beer in the stadium.  It wasn’t cheap (€8 a pint) but it was the real deal so we indulged.  There was still thirty minutes to kick off and the noise was on a par with anywhere I’ve been in the world, perhaps bar Legia Warsaw.  Both Curves were full and prepped for action.  The teams warmed up to incessant whistling and our Magic Box area around us filled up with people wearing their Roma headbands, carrying their Roma rucksacks (and undoubtably with their Roma umbrellas in).

Disappointingly, the “sell out” actually meant that for safety reasons some 15,000 seats would have to remain empty, most of them in the stand opposite us.  Quite what the atmosphere would have been like with those extra seats taken is nobody’s business. The club hymn, “Roma, Roma, Roma” started and most of the stadium rose as one.  The song was the cue for the pyrotechnics and banners from either side.  At some point the teams came out, but for once the focus was on the fans and not the players.  The time for singing was over.

AS Roma 1 SS Lazio 2 – Stadio Olimpico – Sunday 4th March 2012
In our earlier game in Frascati, one refeering decision early in the game essentially decided the result.  Across the city a few hours later you could argue the same point.

Just seven minutes were on the clock when the referee made himself the most unpopular man in the stadium by sending off Roma keeper Maarten Stekelenburg for a supposed professional foul.  The Roma players reacted as if they had been told that hairbands had been banned, clutching their faces and running through an impressive display of hand gestures but it wasn’t going to bring their keeper back.  Off came Erik Lamela, on came sub keeper Lobont and his first job was to pick Hernanes penalty out of the net.

Back in 2006 West Ham lost the best ever FA Cup final against Liverpool basically down to one man – on loan full back Lionel Scaloni.  His decision to try to hoof a ball upfield in the last-minute of injury time when West Ham were winning instead of whacking it into touch.  His clearance went to Gerrard and the rest is history.  Scaloni never played for the club again.  Scaloni then ended up at Lazio and here he was – my pantomime villain for the day.  His first act was to get booked for a silly foul on Totti, and then a minute later he was a spectator as Roma’s Fabio Borini equalised.  The ex-Chelsea youngster, who like so many before him was never given a chance at the club which was slowly self-destructing thanks to the way the owner treated his managers.

The game was no conforming to any calcio stereotype.  It was fast paced, open and chances were flying it at both ends.  The fans at both ends were distracted by the game for once, and whilst the noise didn’t really abate, the show did.  Both sides should have scored again before the break, and it was left to the referee to become the common enemy as he dished out four yellows in the opening period.

Half time meant we had access to a private lounge for “complimentary drinks and food”.  After the ridiculous long route we had to take to get to the lounge we had just 6 minutes to get a return on our investment.  The lounge was surrounded by very glamorous “hostesses”, all dressed in black and all six-foot plus tall.  They looked on as we tucked into the free wine and what seemed to be Angel Delight.  One wasn’t impressed when I asked if they had any Butterscotch flavour – either that or she didn’t understand my literal translation of Burro di Ecoste.

Four glasses of red and three “mousses” later and we went back to our seats.  The second half seemed much better through a haze vino rosso perhaps because it was a genuinely good game.  The yellow card count started to creep up with Mauri and ex-Manchester United defender Heinze going into the book.

Any controversial moment in the game and the crowd reacted as if they had been personally affronted.  One chap kept popping up and pointing his finger and thumb at the Lazio fans in a gun gesture, whilst someone behind him kept filming the whole thing on an iPad.  Yep, someone had brought their iPad, encased in a lovely Roma leather case of course.

On the hour came the winning goal.  A Lazio free-kick was floated into the area and Mauri sort of turned and stuck out a leg at the same time and diverted the ball home.  It had come against the run of play for sure but that’s life.  Bang went my tenner with bwin on 2.5 goals or less.

If the first eight five minutes had been dominated by a very un-Italian style of game, then the last five conformed to what we had seen a thousand times with time-wasting, play acting and cards galore.  First was a second yellow for Scaloni (shame that), although Lazio did try to send on a sub at the same time but referees never fall for that trick do they?

Four other players went into the note-book in the final few minutes including the legendary Totti for a desperate dive.  Even his God-like powers didn’t sway the officials who saw through his histrionics. The final whistle was greeted with fireworks in the Lazio end and boos all around the rest of the stadium.  Two derby defeats to their bitter rivals in the season seem to have ended Roma’s Champions League challenge as well.

We headed away from the stadium, again crossing the bridge of doom without any issue at all and were on a tram within ten minutes of the end of the game.  For all of the bluster, the city centre was a quiet place as we sipped our €9 beers in Piazza Popolo as the sun set.  It had been a great weekend, all thanks to Mr Lloyd.  Tomorrow would be a painful day in the office for many a Roma fan, but they would live to fight another day.

More photos from the afternoon can be found here.

By we I mean Danny Last (of course Danny Last – Europeanfootballweekends.co.uk may be no more but that doesn’t mean to say the fun of the away day in Europe has stopped too) and the legend that is Adam Lloyd. His rise from the control room at the Madejski Stadium to his villa overlooking the hills of Rome is pure Boys-Own stuff, but here he was welcoming the English adventurers into his new home with a plate of tortellini and a Peroni if you please. Champione.

Our plan of action for Big Match Eve (BME) was a wander around GrossaFerrate (the city of books and Swinging capital of Rome allegedly), a glass of Frascati in Frascati and an afternoon of sightseeing around the capital with a splash of some retail therapy in the AS Roma store thrown in for soon measure (Tottie soap for Mrs Last, Roma hand cream for CMF). Amazingly just two weeks previous Rome had shivered as temperatures plummeted and snow had fallen. This is a real rarity in the city and caused many a style-conscious Italian to stay at home for fear of people thinking it was dandruff settling on his shoulders. Yet here we were in shirt sleeves enjoying the sunshine whilst wandering the sights of one of the best cities on Earth.

After taking in the Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, Panethon and various other ancients wonders we headed back to the countryside for the biggest meal in the history of TBIR, involving just a mere five courses, two bottles of red and a Grappa to end it all off.  Our host, the love child of Gareth Chilcott and Willie Thorne, weished us well at the end of the evening with a genial “Fuck Off” and we went on our merry way back to Chez Lloyd, peering in the windows of all the villas on the way to see if it was the home of the Roman Swingers Association.

Matchday arrived and Adam brought in our presents.  BME had given way to BMD (Big Match Day) and that was only marginally behind Christmas in terms of gift giving in the region of Lazio.  Our presents were Roma Magic Boxes.  Not only did we have some of the best seats in the house for the game, but we also now had our own Roma umbrella, Roma rucksack, strange Roma headband and a Roma scarf.    Before the big game we had a Plan. Our Plan (herewith called “The Plan”) was to head out to the countryside and take in a regional game as L’antipasto before the AS Roma v Lazio Il primo. And could there be a better place in the world to have the starter than a place where some of the big Italian nobs hang out sipping white wine- Frascati, just a 15 minute walk down the road.

A football team named after a wine has never won a major honour in football. FACT. Well, apart from Bordeaux..and Porto (but that’s just punch gone wrong)…and Lambrini United. Lupa Frascati were one day hoping to break that duck. They had twice won the Eccellenza Group B, the most recent being in 2007 and gained promotion to Serie D. But their stay in the fourth level of Italian football had been brief. Last season they finished runners-up again in the league and coming into the game against rivals from just 3 miles down the road, San Cesareo, they were again in secondo posizione. Easy home win then? Not quite as the visitors were al pimo posto meaning this was the game of the season in the league.

Frascati were a club on a mission. Taking their club colours from AS Roma, they had also added the Lupa name (meaning Wolf) to reflect their bond with i Lupi after they bought the licence to play in the league from the defunct Cisco Calcio in 2004, who then reformed as AS Cisco Lodigiani, then Cisco Roma (where they signed Paolo Di Canio) and finally Atletic Roma before falling into that black hole of Italian Calcio licences in 2011. As with most things Italian, simple it isn’t.

So there we have a potted history of the club in just two minutes. Whilst we were in town, The Plan was for Danny wanted to see the Ethiopian Museum of Cardinal Guglielmo Massaia, whilst Adam wanted to visit the sights from Lord Byron’s Childe Harold. Me, well you know me. I was happy as Larry just seeing the building where the Frascati Tokamk Upgrade was house. After all, if you are going to see a device which uses a magnetic field to confine a plasma in the shape of a torus, then this was a Tokamak you don’t want to miss.

Stadio Comunale VIII Settembre was our destination for the festivities and part one of The Plan. We hoped that as the town was twinned with Maidenhead there was be, *cough*, gentlemen’s entertainment provided. Maidenhead United’s York Road is not just famous for being the world’s oldest continuously used football ground but it is also the only one I can think of (or visited) that has a strip club on its doorstep (The Honey Pot). First look at the pictures of the ground showed a couple of impressive villas overlooking the arena that Silvio would have been very at home in.

We arrived at the gates of the ground with 30 minutes to kick off.  The away fans from just down the road in San Cesareo were just arriving.  Sunglasses – tick, scarves – tick, banners – tick.  They piled into the ground which was pumping out some of the loudest techno music known to man which was quite out of character for the stunning location.

Despite some rallying banners around the town encouraging all of the locals to come to the arena and “do battle”, it was a surreal atmosphere.  Middle age men, some stunning ladies and a few youngsters made up the home ground, sitting high up on the terrace.  A few policemen, obviously winding down towards retirement patrolled the sparse crowd.

The teams emerged into the sunshine and there was a small display of flag waving from the away team, whilst some polite applause from the home fans.  Sleepy was a word I would use to describe the scene.  Looks can be so deceptive.

Lupi Frascati 4 San Cesareo 0 – Stadion VIII Septembre – Sunday 4th March 2012
After a few minutes of feeling each other out, the game exploded into life.  A ball over the top of the San Cesareo defence reached a Frascati player who looked clearly offside.  Play continued and he was hauled to the ground.  Clear penalty and the red card was unavoidable.  There was just two minutes on the clock and all of a sudden the away team looked in tatters.  It took a good five minutes for him to leave the pitch via kicking a cone, an advertising board and then throwing his shirt to the ground.  Penalty dispatched, one nil. Crowd go mental.

All of a sudden some of these middle age placid fans went ballistic.  They charged at each other, with the fence and a fat old policeman keeping them apart.  You got the feeling that these were people who knew each other, perhaps working together and this was an outpouring of emotion and frustration, similar to the scene in Football Factory when Danny Dyer and Tamir Hussain have a scrap at a kids Sunday League game.  Police re-enforcements were called and a second officer arrived, wearing trousers far too big and no Batman-style utility belt. Calm was restored and a mobile phone was passed through the fence and whoever was on the other end (bets were on someone’s Mum telling them to behave) put them in order.

Whilst all of this was going on, play still hadn’t restarted.  It had all kicked off on the touchline and both benches were at each others throats.  Or being in Italy they were actually making lots of noise and gesticulating.  The result was a sending off for the San Cesareo coach.  Not a good start.

It was hard to focus on the game with the sun shining and the picturesque setting for the game.  The fans had calmed down and the extra policeman wandered back to his seat to continue his snooze.  Then came the second goal as Frascati took advantage of some poor defending and the ball was smashed in, almost getting stuck in the stantion in a Brooking-esque moment.  The man running the refreshment shed suddenly burst into life, galloping down the terraces to join in the celebrations at the front.  Out of puff he slowly climbed back up, and met our bewildered eyes.  ”Questo è il mio figlio!” which Siri translated as “That’s my son” to explain his actions.

The second goal didn’t bring any comfort to the away team and a second member of the bench was ordered off, but not before having a further row with the substitutes.  Quite an extraordinary half of football. It would have been perfect to have stayed longer, but we had a date with 60,000 Romans to keep.