Inverness Caledonian Thistle’s Scottish Cup victory was undoubtedly the pinnacle of success for the club in 2015. It was even more glorious than finishing third in the league that same season, but for the more global citizen in me, getting to see my team play in Europe had always been my dream. So much so, when Inverness went abroad for the first time to Denmark in 2007 for pre-season training and a couple of games, I had to be there.
A number of Scotland’s smaller clubs have been afforded a competitive European trip, or in the case of Raith Rovers getting through two rounds and playing Bayern Munich, made it nearly an entire campaign worthy of celebration. Alas, the novice European efforts of Airdrie, Morton, Falkirk, Queen of the South and Gretna, like ourselves all floundered at the first hurdle, but I am sure fans of these clubs to this day still have fabulous tails to tell of Prague, London, Vaduz, Copenhagen and Londonderry. Livingston might have been on the list of “one time” European performers had it not been for an eccentric full time whistle from a Croatian referee blowing to end proceedings between a cross being met and the ball hitting the back of the net, thus denying Vaduz a first ever Euro success, that would come soon after versus Falkirk.
The 2015/16 UEFA early rounds draw paired us with Astra Giurgiu from the southern reaches of Romania, right on the banks of the Danube. Ahead of flying out, the first leg was in the Highlands and a car load of us sped up the A9 from Edinburgh for the game. Looking back, it still feels a slightly surreal thing that we hosted European football, but a good crowd had turned out for the occasion. Before the game, we were faced with the slightly odd scenario of a newly signed goalkeeper thrown straight into the team, Owain Fon Williams. Somehow this became the news which rather overshadowed the game itself. Those who’d taken us to glory were worthy of their moment on the European stage in my opinion.
Astra were skillful, cute, streetwise and downright depressing in the art of time wasting and game management, “skills” that developed from periodic tumbles to an almost constant occurrence every time someone got too close or dared to tackle, especially as we powered up in the second half pressure. They are not known as Darcii Negri (the black devils) for nothing! Their manager Marius Sumudicahad, (who was subsequently banned for two months that season for his involvement in match fixing) had been a bit mouthy in the run up to the game, and that side of his gamesmanship continued in the days after the first leg too. The whole occasion sits with me in the pantheon of dull memories, like the League Cup Final with Aberdeen, both games are occasions where the fans didn’t have a whole lot to hold onto and think, “If only”. Yet we were by no means second best, and matched the Romanians in every department without manufacturing any absolutely glaring opportunities. As it was, the game was decided by a dubious free kick awarded midway through the first half on the edge of our box, where Constantin Budescu, who jostled with our Ryan Christie as man of the match, whipped an exquisitely taken free kick up and over the wall into the net beyond the flailing new keeper. Owain had been too far to one side of the goal, offering Budescu an all too tempting large slice of the goal, but it was a great strike, even if the feeling at the time was this was a goalkeeping error.
A week later It was an early morning start for me with a 6am flight to Amsterdam to catch a connection onward to Bucharest on the morning of the game. With the time difference it was technically an 8am start Romanian time, just 11 hours before the kick off. I had never set off abroad wearing a football shirt before, but the pride in this instance, knowing my team were playing that day in some far off land was wonderful. Sods law of course that the only person who made any comment to me before I boarded the plane was a Falkirk fan, still looking to vent about how we had taken their cup away! Once I was in my seat I did see two more Caley Thistle lads board the plane, and I can only assume they were on the next leg too, but I never saw them again! The entire journey had gone without a hitch, and upon clearing customs at Bucharest airport, Razvan, my local guide who was arranged via a friend in Port Alegre in Brazil, was already awaiting my arrival. We sped down to the Danube, and even had time to pop across to Ruse in Bulgaria for a pre-match grub ahead of crossing back to head to the game in Giurgiu.
The whole Invernessian gang were here and in absolutely fine voice they were too. Many were a wee bit worse for wear, as I am sure the combination of beer and the heat had taken its toll on some. I am unsure if anyone actually knows the exact number of visiting fans, somewhere between 500-600 I reckon, maybe circa 500 travelling under official parties, but the Bucharest newspaper the day after put it down as 600. After all, if the club were only counting official party fans we had the odd rogue DIY traveller like me, coupled with my very own Romanian ICT fan for the night in Razvan. No matter the exact number, it was still a fabulous away support, so far from Inverness, at relatively short notice. The cage, which was above us and in front, was a frustrating nonsense and trying to take some keepsakes was a bit of a nightmare through the wire, but going outside the cage near the pitch only brought admonishment from the stewards if you lingered too long. Thinking about it, were any Astra fans, save the official party in Inverness? They certainly didn’t make themselves heard. Here in Giurgiu, the club quickly realised that bringing souvenirs round from the club shop in the main stand to the juice bar for the away fans was going to render significant sales. We for sure drank the fridge dry and pretty much cleared them out of shirts and scarves!
I have to confess as Gary Warren led the team out from the far corner beside the Astra lads, I had a lump in my throat, this occasion was more magical for me than the cup final. Never in my football supporting days, spanning 47 years then, did I ever think I would see my team playing competitively in Europe, and the pride was swelling an emotion within me.
The game started at an extraordinarily sedate pace, perhaps given the heat and how early it was in the season, but we settled immediately, passing the ball around without fear or intimidation. Indeed, while Astra fans were here in reasonable numbers, it was the away fans who were making all the noise. In the first half, had VAR been around, Warren would have won us a penalty, wrestled to the ground in the box, but as usual the ref just played on in those days. Minutes later, just ahead of half-time, Ryan Christie had a brilliant shot that was just tipped over the crossbar superbly by the keeper. Christie, still a youthful lad, grew into this game and commanded the midfield ahead of more illustrious players on the Astra team. We continued to press for that all important goal to level the aggregate, and a lot of the danger was stemming from Ryan. He found himself sandwiched between two Astra defenders in the second half having taken the ball down exquisitely in the box, but again it was no penalty.
In the end Astra held firm, it ended 0-0.There was absolutely no disgrace in narrowly going out to this Romanian side who were on the way to the greatest season in the clubs history, winning the league title for the first time. West Ham were sent packing in the next round, not just in 2015/16, but the very next year too, and in all 4 games the Hammers couldn’t beat Astra once. The applause at the end of the game for our Euro heroes was loud and passionate, the players came over to thank us and stayed longer than normal applauding back all with a mixture of pride and frustration written all over their faces, we had come that close. The support had been immense throughout, not just in Giurgiu, but in Bucharest too.
I had decided to stay a few days extra, after all this was my first trip to Romania, and I wanted to at least get to know the capital, and it is a beautiful city, with a whiff of Paris in the centre. As luck would have it, that weekend the Romanian league season was starting, and the fixtures afforded the opportunity to watch games in the stadiums of the two big Bucharest clubs, who once dominated the scene here, Steau and Dinamo. The ICT connection didn’t fly out after the Astra game, because rather oddly, these two great Romanian clubs were led in the forward line by two ex-Caley Thistle strikers, Gregory Tade at Steau, and Marius Nicolae for Dinamo. Unfortunately I wouldn’t see either play, Dinamo were away from home, and the stadium was being used by a newly promoted club Voluntari, while Gregory was rested for the visit of his previous club Cluj, as they had a Champions League qualifier in midweek.
At breakfast in the hotel ahead of going to the airport on the Monday, the news was playing quietly in the corner on the TV, where it started showing scenes of Inverness fans in Bucharest, as well as clips of us in the stadium in Giurgiu, all part of the morning sports bulletin days after the event. I asked the waitress what they were saying, so she stopped and listened to the last seconds of the piece and turned to me and said “they are in awe that so many people had come from such a small city to cheer their team”. I flew out of Bucharest with a very wide smile, proud of my team, the fans and heartened in an era when money is ruining football, these memories can never be taken away.
Football Adventures with James Rendall 