The conclusion of my skip around my favourite European moments from 1976 to date. As we have discovered, it was a pretty slow burner, with the first three games listed in part one, all forming the first three games I ever saw. They span more than a decade. By the mid nineties, things were picking up a little. Raith Rovers would have a three game run in Europe, culminating in a match with Bayern Munich at Easter Road (curiously, UEFA’s website record of the 1989 Hearts v Bayern game, suggests it was at Easter Road too!), and while they weren’t disgraced, they weren’t really going to cause the visitors any undue problems. The Kirkcaldy fans did get a scoreboard photo opportunity, though, when leading at half-time in the Olympic Stadium. That didn’t make the cut, neither did my only foray thus far across to Rugby Park, Kilmarnock, where Zeljeznicar were endeavouring to rise out of the ashes of war. Six years later, they would pop up again at Tynecastle, but that didn’t make the cut. Indeed, it’s a sad reflection of the lack of “great nights under the lights” at Hearts in recent decades that none of the games in this montage involve them. Twenty-nine of my 83 Euro games have been at Tynecastle, too. Rosenborg might have made the cut, but a match involving them had already been picked.
In Europe, part 2, I hope you enjoy the ride.
7- Partick Thistle v IBK Keflavik
Saturday 1st July 1995- Intertoto Group Stage
It’s not often you get the chance to go along to a first. In this case, the truly underwhelming excitement of the much maligned Intertoto Cup. This was always a competition with no trophy and initially with no winners, which was almost ran to keep the Pools (before the betting companies) man happy. UEFA then took it into their armoury and turned it into a route to the UEFA Cup for teams that had just missed out on qualification. No one who entered the competition did better than Girondin Bordeaux, who went all the way to face Bayern (them again) in the UEFA Cup Final, ultimately falling at the last hurdle.
This was the first of what would finally rest at 7 Intertoto matches ever played in Scotland. A bit like being the only ICT fan to see our first overseas friendly at Nykobing, and only competitive European match (more later), I was at all seven of these Intertoto ties, and might well be the only one. Partick got two games (they were in a group), Hibs entered three times, and actually won a round once versus Daugavapils, without doubt the worst team I have ever seen in Europe. Dundee had one go, getting knocked out by FK Sartid Smederevo from Serbia. I did the programme notes on the visitors, but they never acknowledged my submission (although used), and when I arrived, the magazine was sold out. Only years later did I track a copy down. It added to this notion that I have never really liked Dundee, a situation that was only to worsen as lockdowns stopped football many years later.
Before the Faroe Islands took Nordic control of my football passion, Iceland was the fascination, and that is probably the only reason I went through to Firhill. IBK Keflavik weren’t a new club on my viewing roster either, as they had visited Douglas Park, Hamilton a few years earlier to “open” the new floodlights there! The connecting rod between the two encounters, aside from me, was John Lambie, boss of the Scottish side in both games.
I had just split for a girl, and there was a kicking my heels feel to this particular trek. A Saturday afternoon game too, largely they were all played on Saturday in the Intertoto early rounds, almost a nice way to spend a summer’s day. This was of course before the lines between one seasons and another got completely blurred, but back in 1995, this would have been a short close season, albeit I wasn’t such an avid attendee back then.
Partick won 2-0, a relatively routine affair, even though the Icelandic part-timers were mid season. The Jags had drawn in Linz, but would lose at Metz to send the French side through. They also lost on my second visit two weeks later versus FC Zagreb (NK to you and me). The programme notes for that one are almost worthy of verbatim copying here;
“Our guests at Firhill this afternoon certainly come under the heading of “unknown”, and I mean unknown. Despite the best of attempts, numerous faxes and phone calls to Zagreb, and a couple of frantic phone calls to World Soccer magazine, it has proved to be impossible to find out any details of the club itself or its players, which makes the writing of these two pages somewhat difficult” !! Pathetic, even in that era, shameful stuff.
8- Hibernian v AEK Athens
Thursday 27th September 2001- UEFA Cup- First Round, 2nd Leg
This match certainly rivals Hearts v Lok Leipzig as the best European night of my viewing life. It was a game that had everything. Hibs were two down from the first leg, and against such strong opposition, it seemed an almost impossible task. Well, just as Hibs had roared back versus Anderlecht from two down with 20 minutes to play, having a whole ninety minutes was luxury in the extreme. The clock was ticking, though, and a breakthrough wasn’t coming. Seven minutes after half-time, a cross to the back post was headed goalwards by Ian Murray, which was intercepted by a Paco Luna header to send the keeper the wrong way, Hibs were in front. The Athenian rearguard was being severely tested, but for another 30 minutes, they held firm. Cross balls were causing panic, and another De La Cruz launched ball to the back post was nodded down, and Luna again reacted first. We were all level at 2-2.
Looking back at the Youtube footage of this game, it shows the goals, gives a flavour of the increasing volume in the atmosphere, but what it doesn’t show is what happened in the very last minute of normal time. Luna, goalscoring hero of the night, wouldn’t necessarily be sighted as the villain, but his miss, oh goodness, I can still see it now. It was easier than the goals he scored, but it came off the wrong part of his fifty pence head and flashed wide. It was the lucky escape AEK needed, and in extra time, they put the game to bed.
Two minutes into that extra thirty, a low daisy cutter from outside the box by Vassilis Tsartas crept in at the near post, beating Nick Colgan. As Hibs reeled, needing two more goals, Tsartas swung in a corner that was missed by everyone, 2-2 on the night, it was done. These days, I can imagine this would spark a fire drill in the crowd, but back then, fans were more patient, and Hibs had played a major part in an extraordinary encounter. They weren’t done, though, with a proud home European record on the line, the goal of the night would be the winner, a fabulous strike from David Zitelli.
Hibs had a talented team in that era, especially strong in defence and midfield, with Franck Sauzee leading the line in a side managed by Alex McLeish. Craig Brewster was one of the forwards, a chap who six years later would be the ICT manager who demanded we take the side overseas pre-season, and in his two seasons in charge, Denmark then Italy were visited.
The day after this match, I flew to Rio de Janeiro (not Mexico as previously intimated) to stay with Andy. I took him a copy of the programme and when he met me, much shaking of the head was still ongoing with Luna’s miss still haunting him. A few years later, I was crossing the Rio de la Plata (River Plate), and bought the English language newspaper The Buenos Aires Herald, principally to see how ICT had got on in our first ever match with Hibs (Internet on your phone wasn’t still an everyday thing). We had won 3-0! You couldn’t have wiped that smile off my face if you tried. I was about to board a plane in Montevideo, bound for Rio, where, having been a few times, I pitched up at Andy’s front door a good few hours later, where another round of much heading shaking ensued! For just that wee morsel of time, and in the mid 2010’s my team was briefly doing better than his!
AEK would be back in Edinburgh five year later, playing Hearts at Murrayfield in the Champions League third round qualifying. The fabulous rugby stadium was too big and lacked the intimidation of Tynecastle and Easter Road, and AEK would win 2-1 in Edinburgh before smashing Hearts only ever Champions League dream 3-0 in Athens.
9- Livingston v FC Vaduz
Thursday 29th August 2002- UEFA Cup Qualifying Round, 2nd Leg
If the host here had never been amongst my European CV I would be equally as delighted. The team who stole my club had drawn 1-1 in Lichtenstein against a side who had never won a match in European competition. But it was due to the visiting team I dragged myself along to this uncomfortable watch. The catalyst was a fine book “Stamping Grounds” by Charlie Connelly that I had not long finished. He had ventured to every qualifying match in a Lichtenstein campaign, gradually earning the trust of the players. I had thoroughly enjoyed it, up there with the Castel di Sangro story, in the vanguard, nee pioneers of bringing lesser light football to a readership.
The Stocklasa brothers, Thomas Beck and Martin Telser were almost more familiar to me as ex ICT boys Barry Wilson and Davide Xausa (who would get a piece of my mind when he walked into the Mortgage Shop soon after signing for Livi, looking for money to buy a house. He learnt the history of the club that afternoon!). They had a few useful players, Livi, to be fair, David Bingham, Marvin Andrews, and Stuart Lovell, but with all these riches they couldn’t get by a resolute Vaduz defence.
The clock was ticking, Vaduz were growing in confidence and could smell a European scalp for the first time. What happened next was the biggest disgrace I have ever seen in 83 continental jousts. A corner from the right by Vaduz is met beautifully on the half volley in the box, Vaduz led, in the last seconds too, they’d won. Amongst the few of us on our feet in joy included a sighting of Charlie Connelly. He’d never seen the International side win. This was huge. But wait….. Is the game is over? Why are Livingston players celebrating? The minority of us cheering seconds earlier are now slumped in our chairs, taking dogs’ abuse for showing our colours in my case. What has happened? It was all very confusing.
In the cold light of the next few moments, I discover that the Croatian ref, Ivan Novak, yes let’s name and shame him, had apparently blown full-time in the space between the shot being taken and it hitting the back of the net! Vaduz players were distraught, I was too. An upbeat, jaunty, ridiculously gallus, Jim Leishman on the radio driving home had me seething even more. The players knew it was full-time and didn’t try to stop it going in?! Absolute nonsense. Who, in their right mind, blows for full-time in a situation like this? One ref famously did I seem to recall in a WC match, was he English or Welsh? Well, Mr Novak would enter the pantheon of rotten calls with this hideous blow of his whistle.
Livi went out in the next round to some Austrian mob, but needless to say, I wasn’t there. Scotland, having escaped that particular embarrassing exit on the burgeoning roster of horror results, would eventually see Vaduz added. They would eventually claim a first ever European progression at the hands of Falkirk, where despite losing at the Bairnabeu, legitimately, I might add, they overpowered the Bairns in the principality.
So that embarrassing roster, aside from Vaduz, reads Artmedia Petrzalka (that was hilarious), and while Lincoln Red Imps didn’t win the tie overall, they won in Gibraltar. FK Vetra and Trakai, both Lithuanian, Birkirkara from Malta, and Alashkert from Armenia, all can dine out on the demise of Scottish football. Another, some would be considered worthy of inclusion on this list, an Aberdeen exit, and that’s coming soon, but the opposition were never an also rans in my opinion, as I will explain shortly.
10- Inter Milan v Spartak Moscow
Wednesday 18th October 2006- Champions League Group Stage
If you never forget your first game, or first European escapade, a first game on the continent without Scottish involvement was always going to be a thrilling experience. This match would not let me down. I had been in the San Siro 16 years previous, but it was certainly amazing to be back. I had barely taken my seat when the old Uruguayan-Argentine one two, saw Alvaro Recoba feed Julio Cruz and Inter lead in the first minute. Less than ten on the clock, the same scenario, 2-0, Inter were cruising it. Indeed, especially in the first half “The Chinaman” as Recoba was known was unplayable. He totally outshone a galaxy of stars in the Inter side, couple with Luis Figo, Patrick Viera, Dejan Stankovic, as Spartak were like a whirling dervish, constantly on the back foot.
However, the Russians dug deep and kept it at 2-0, and when Pavlyuchenko reduced the deficit, they became more emboldened. Taking Recoba off minutes later was almost a white flag, and Spartak could have nicked something from the game, but Inter held on. I will forever associate this game with the brilliance of Recoba. It was the only time I saw him play and he left an indelible mark with his 60 minute cameo here.
Looking back on the ridiculously large format matchday production for this game, it is fitting that Alvaro is the lead featured player, as this was his game, even though he didn’t score. Back in the day, maybe even still, I have no idea (I hope not), certain British papers liked a raunchy page 3. In this publication, Alvaro gets the page three slot all to himself, and in a football publication, you wouldn’t expect anything quite so racy, but dear god (as Frasier Crane used to say), page 5!! A feature on Nazarena Velez, whoever she was, has four photos that would have Mary Whitehouse writing to complain! That said, while 2006 seems quite recent, I do recall back the ‘80’s Guerin Sportivo would love an erotic snap of a top model in a Serie A shirt and very little else on!
Writing this tale has opened up, not necessarily a wound, but a feeling of regret. I miss the Russians being involved in European games. I totally get why they are banned, but it’s the double standards that are unacceptable. Double standards with UEFA or FIFA, indeed any footballing body, should we be surprised? Spartak, Zenit, even Krasnodar were kicked out the minute the war started in Ukraine. Now, I briefly got the need for retribution by Israel, but what is now happening is beyond human acceptability, or it should be, and I believe strongly that Israeli clubs should be banned from participating now. Then, when the dust settles, if they can’t get along with their neighbours in the Asian federation, why should Europe take them? These are valid questions. Learn to love your neighbours, not lord it over all and sundry. I expect many a heavy policed European night as demonstrators endeavour to make themselves known when an Israeli side plays in the coming weeks.
11- St Johnstone v Rosenborg Trondheim
Thursday 25th July 2013- UEFA Europa League- Second Round, 2nd Leg
This one is for my dad! When he died in a quiet residential street in the Ravelston area of Edinburgh, en route to Tynecastle to buy us tickets for Hearts v Atletico Madrid, once the shock left me, it was somehow fitting. He loved walking, and while he might have lost his confidence in going to football, I had finally convinced him it was time to go back, and he agreed. Coupled with that, a few weeks earlier on a ferry from Hoy to the mainland in Orkney, a proud grandfather to recently born Scott, he made me promise to look after mum and make sure she was happy. Having had two heart attacks dating back to 1977, somehow he knew his days were numbered. It’s a pity we never got the chance to share that match, it might have helped put feelings I still have to this day, that my football journey, rebelling against not being able to go to Tynecastle with my friends as a stroppy teenager (a lot of crowd trouble was endemic at the time), saw me let him down. If I did do that, I hope I made up for it by making sure mum was never without the necessary love. She left us 31 years and about a fortnight later.
Anyone reading this who met my dad would be struck by how shy he was. He rarely looked anyone directly in the face. That island life, quiet way, was exactly the style of both my parents, albeit in a suburban setting. He had been in the Royal Navy in the war, drafted in at such a young age. He never really talked about his experiences. What pearls were forthcoming were quietly understated. I did know that he was a radio operator, along with his older brother, and he was assigned to vessels guarding the North Atlantic convoys up around Norway to Murmansk. Whether he would have been entertained that his son later in life fell in love with a Russian lass is anyone’s guess, but while it wasn’t exactly a jolly he was on, indeed these journeys were fraught with danger, he was the first Rendall to step out onto what was Soviet soil.
All of this is a very personal back story to a St Johnstone v Rosenborg match! The connection is that when the war ended, en route back from one of these treks to Murmansk, they didn’t get to sail straight home. The powers that be asked them to dock in Trondheim and help the Norwegians to get their lives back up and running following the occupation. Whilst in Norway, naturally, a connecting rod between the men came in organising a football game. It was this story, one of the few he ever told that I always remembered. He had been picked to play for the Royal Navy XI against a Trondheim select, and the match was played in the Rosenborg stadium in front of potentially the only crowd he ever played in front of, I reckon. If he told me the score, I have forgotten, but I do know he played right back. It was his proudest sporting moment, and when he died, the name Rosenborg Trondheim took on a greater significance.
The undue pomposity of Scotland probably stems from all the nonsense that surrounded the 1978 World Cup. As an impressionable teenager I got caught up in the drivel Ally MacLeod would spout. Its legacy traumatised a generation, and yet I could still see this curious dismissal of European opposition from all quarters largely on the pretext that they were from an inferior league. It gave fans a false sense of entitlement, something that I suspect is now dead thankfully.
A decade or more back, Rosenborg were the top Norwegian outfit, but that grip on the championship was maybe just starting to slip when St Johnstone pitched up at the Lerkendal stadium. Whether that was where he played, I will never know, but the Perth outfit headed home with a 1-0 lead. That guaranteed a bumper crowd for the return, and within minutes, their lead had been wiped out as the Norwegians struck first. However a deft finish by Stevie May equalised, and although they had to withstand a lot of pressure, the Saints went marching on. It is interesting that UEFA’s website recollection has the goal attributed to C.Martin, a name not even on the player roster for the game. It obviously is a wholly inaccurate source of information.
While St Johnstone were repelling waves of Rosenborg attacks, something mildly embarrassing was unfolding at Easter Road, with the chuckles around me growing by the goal. Hibs were clubbed at home 0-7 by Malmo. This is a famous old score from the New Years Day derby of 1973, when Hibs won at Tynecastle by the very same scoreline. My dad and his brother in law were at that match together, a Hearts and Hibs fan side by side. The family New Year celebration couldn’t start until they came back. No one seemed traumatised, and the evening was ruined. They would often go, Easter Road, one week, Tynecastle the next. Yes, they obviously had their own team, but antagonism wasn’t part of the gig. I tell this story just a lesson in hubris to all fans, and in a world of life and death games, where social media drives that nonsense narrative, it’s worth reflecting on.
Rosenborg would pitch up at Tynecastle a decade later, another chance to remember dad, and purchase a rarely entertained half and half scarf, Hearts-Rosenborg. In this fast media world where any score can be uncovered almost immediately, I am sure he would always ask me what the Rosenborg score was. Seeing his “two” sides play was quite emotional. I will forever associate going to Tynecastle with him, and I freely admit I had a tear in my eye as the teams trotted out. He would have been proud of how Hearts fought back in this one, too.
12- FC Astra Giurgiu v Inverness Caledonian Thistle
Thursday 23rd July 2015- UEFA Europa League- Second Round, 2nd Leg
These were days to remember, but if only we’d done everything achieved in 2014/15 in two terms, we would have had a second trip to Europe. As it was, unlike Aberdeen jumping above Hibs to claim the top Europa League qualifying slot by winning the Scottish Cup last term, when we won the old trophy, we’d finished third too! Ten years on, that seems almost like the most ridiculous sentence you will ever read! But it was true and we lived the whole beautiful mad experience.
Winning the cup was amazing, but my real focus was on getting to see Inverness in Europe. It really was the high altar of my days as a fan. It was hardly a JFK moment, but I was sipping an americano in a square in Salzburg when the news from the draw came through, Astra who?! The name rang a bell. They’d been in Europe previously and had a joust with West Ham. I knew they were Romanian, but that was the extent of my knowledge. I always remember that I was with an Armenian girl at the time, and St Johnstone were drawn against Alashkert, my boss back home was a big St Johnstone fan (his family own 2% of the club), so I ended up messaging him with guidance and top tips. Making sure his passport didn’t have any Azeri stamps in it was key, thereby making the custom clearance at Yerevan airport less arduous than my arrival there the year before.
Anyway, everyone knew this was a big deal for me, and the messages were pouring in. Unfortunately, it became apparent that none of my fellow ICT buddies nor the gang of 5 from Denmark were going to be able to make it. I was dismayed. This trip was a chance to experience something very special, and it would have added a bond between a band of brothers. Alas, it was obvious I needed to go alone, but just as I was booking, a Brazilian chum from Porto Alegre got in touch, as you do. In his world of translating, he had a Romanian friend who was more than willing to meet me at the airport and take me down to Giurgiu, which by then I had pinpointed on a map as the last of Romania as you head south, looking right across the Danube on Ruse in Bulgaria. All assistance was greatly appreciated, and I booked up ahead of the first leg up north.
We lost, by a single goal, from a well struck free-kick, but a highly savable effort that was missed by our brand new keeper. He was so brand new, this was his debut! Owain Fon Williams, a lad I occasionally still see if I am watching a Welsh International on their Gaelic TV station. I know he is a fine poet and artist, but that night, he positioned himself in totally the wrong place. It begs the question, why did Yogi Hughes (definitely not Welsh, more Leith through and through) throw him in and leave Ryan Easson, cup hero keeper on the bench? It was just one of a few curious decisions that ultimately saw the dynasty of that glorious 2014/15 season unravel faster than it should have happened. Anyway, we matched the Romanians, created a few things, and watched them writh around at any opportunity, but they held firm to win 1-0.
A week later, flying out to Bucharest was a proud, proud day. I left on the red eye 6am flight to Amsterdam on the day of the game! I was fretting about the transit aspect, but of course the Bucharest bound flight left Schiphol airport from the gate next to where we docked, bliss. On the only occasion I have ever worn a football shirt at an airport, it was with great pride, and those around me waiting to head to The Netherlands were full of good wishes, that was until sat in my seat waiting for take off I fielded some unsavoury grumblings of a Falkirk fan! A couple of months on, we had it would appear, been ‘bloody lucky’! Maybe in your eyes, fine, sir, but we finished third and would still have had this European experience. As we flew East, with this festering Bairn somewhere onboard, it struck me that this encounter was so very Scottish. We are not united in our ability to cheer for each other, which is sad really as outwith those pesky gruesomes, we should have a stronger bond, especially when Falirk versus Inverness CT was the Scottish Cup Final, and on merit too, having beaten Celtic and Hibs respectively in the semi-finals.
I have written extensively about my Romanian experience before, where hilariously, even losing two hours in transit, we still had time for a late lunch in Ruse, Bulgaria before heading to the Marin Anastasovici ground and our “cage” for the night. We literally were in a cage! Razvan, my host, chauffeur and general all round super guide met me at the airport, we dump my bag at the hotel, headed to Bulgaria, then Giurgiu, which I saw nothing of, but had already learned it was nothing special. Judging from other ICT fans that would be twisting the narrative somewhat romantically, as it was a dusty shithole apparently!
It was a balmy warm evening, but the pride in seeing Gary Warren leading out my team on foreign soil for our first, and only competitive fixture was off the scale. We matched them yet again, but lacked the forward thinking, let’s go for it attitude. How very Yogi in my opinion. He had adopted a top class squad from Terry Butcher and without much in the way of tinkering, continued in a reasonable manner, but aside from the incredible “go for it” attitude in the semi-final versus Celtic, he set us up all too often in big games to be super cautious. Aberdeen’s last trophy before last term’s Scottish Cup was a League Cup Final penalty shoot-out victory over us. It’s a game that I have nothing to look back on and think, if only. We nearly nicked a trophy by doing nothing but contain.
It was almost the same in Giurgiu, but in the second half, we did have a couple of efforts that came close. At the close of play, the applause was all for the ICT. The Romanians had all scampered pretty promptly out of the ground. Now, of course, that loss would see us still with another crack, this time in the Conference League, but it didn’t exist back then. We’d earned a draw, and while it wasn’t enough, we had acquitted ourselves very well. After all, we had been knocked out by the Romanian Champions Elect, who would win it for the only time come the end of 2015/16.
In a giddy passage for Highland football, Ross County won the League Cup a few months later, meaning that both trophies resided in the North. Plans were afoot for both teams to take to the pitch in Dingwall with their respective silverware, but days earlier in a tumultuous replay with Hibs, where something truly odd was going on, we lost and despite still “technically” being the holders, the club decided it wasn’t appropriate to parade the Scottish Cup. It was a mistake in my view as that would have been quite the photo. The wheels were coming off the bus, and Hughes, believing his star was high, left us, only to discover he only ever got the occasional part-time gaff anywhere else again.
One final point or two on Bucharest, at that time, the two main clubs of the city, Steau and Dinamo, had ex-ICT centre forwards on their books. Marius Niculae was at the latter, our only ever internationalist representative at a major tournament in 2012, and Gregory Tade. I saw a game in both stadiums while on that long weekend in Bucharest. Dinamo’s stadium was being rented by a club from outside the city, so no chance to see Marius, and Gregory was being rested by Steau for the visit of Cluj, preferring to have him lead the line in midweek versus Partizan Belgrade! A remarkable reach of ex-players and adding to the notion of what a small world it is.
My dad’s brother was in the foreign office, and his many posting and tales were truly fascinating; Baghdad, Beirut and Bucharest were the exotic ones, St Louis and Lille thunderously tedious in comparison, but sadly due to my age etc, I only go the chance to meet him in Lille in 1981 before he retired having talked down some runaway criminal down from a church spire in Rheims.
They were posted in Bucharest in the Ceaucescu era, where quality goods were in short supply, but I often smiled at the stories of abusing the diplomatic bag to import British food stuff that then were sold from the Embassy basement to families!
13- Aberdeen v Kairat Almaty
Thursday 6th August 2015-UEFA Europa League- Third Round, 2nd Leg
My intrigue in football elsewhere had developed a new land by this juncture, and I was versed enough in Kazakh football to offer the Dons an article on football about that enormous country. Aberdeen, to this day, still one of the best programme producers in Scotland (along with Hearts), were delighted and offered me a free ticket for the game. Searching out my old school Dynamo Dresden tracksuit top largely went unnoticed in the main stand until the end of the match, when it stood out like a beacon, along with my smile. You are possibly detecting a trend in these tales that I didn’t always pitch up cheering the home side.
I have no idea why I pinned my Kazakh tail to Kairat. The colour scheme of yellow and black in my Uruguayan world is enough to send a shiver down my spine. I suspect it was the sheer location of Almaty, tucked into the mountains with China just across the border that saw them win out over Aktobe. I used to be able to watch the Kazakh league on YouTube, my goodness, how the world was changing.
Aberdeen had done a curious thing in going to Almaty. They kept their timings to UK summer time, and despite the many hour time difference, eating and sleeping, training and playing etc would all continue on the normal schedule. As to whether it was a success is up for debate as they returned to the North East having lost 2-1. My article was headed ‘An Improving Picture’, a very proud piece of work that sits amongst some truly fascinating contributions about the trip to Kazakhstan in the programme. Amongst the tales, an interview with the man who connected both clubs and ICT, namely Stuart Duff. He is still used by Kazakh Tv as a summariser. Indeed, the Dons team who took the field in front of an expectant Pittodrie crowd included Graeme Shinnie, newly departed from us having picked up the Scottish Cup, and Irish journeyman Adam Rooney who had done fine things for ICT as well.
Aberdeen more than any club outside Glasgow had done great things in Europe over the years, and indeed remain the last Scottish team to win a European trophy, seeing off none other than Real Madrid 3-1 in Gothenburg. What is even more remarkable about that game is, to this day, it remains the only European Cup Final that Real have ever lost! While that might be the case, those Alex Ferguson glory days have become a bit of an albatross around the reds neck, just as it has at another reds, Manchester United. The Dons have, along with all other Scottish sides outside the gruesomes become lame at competing domestically and on the European stage. Here in a nutshell on a warm August evening, was proof the malaise had set in across the country, Kairat progressed and the natives did not like it one little bit.
The undue pomposity of within Scotland probably stems from all the nonsense that surrounded the 1978 World Cup. As an impressionable teenager I got caught up in the drivel Ally MacLeod would spout. Its legacy traumatised a generation, and yet I could still see this curious dismissal of European opposition from all quarters, largely on the pretext that they were from an inferior league. It gave fans a false sense of entitlement, something that I suspect is now dead, thankfully.
Those present that night probably didn’t have a clue about Kazakh football, but as they would demonstrate here, and in Alkmaar when I caught up with them again, they could adapt and handle themselves under pressure and express themselves amply to be more than a nuisance. Here at Pittodrie, with nearly an hour gone, Kairat took the lead from a fine strike by Gohou, a lad who knew where the goal was for sure. The atmosphere got more febrile, and the blouter it long tactic came into force. Kenny McLean nodded in an equaliser very late on, as the siege of Kairat continued. Plotnikov tipped one over, a header that everyone around me was sure was going in. The cacophony of booo’s at full-time told its own story, but I, for one, along with a small collection of Kazakh students from all over the UK, were pleasantly chuffed about Kairat progressing. They would do it again against AZ a couple of years later, two notable scalps. Especially against an AZ side who the following year would add to the roster of embarrassing Scottish scores with another 7-0 thrashing of Dundee United, but at least this time in the away leg.
14- SSC Napoli v Ajax Amsterdam + Bologna v Lille
Tuesday 12th October 2022 and Wednesday 27th November 2024- Champions League Group Stage
I have bundled these two occasions together to conclude because on 27th November 2024, I retired from ever going to watch Champions League Group football and beyond forever. The caveat, like to my gruesome watching, “only if we meet them in a Cup Final”, something I never thought possible, but in 2013, it happened. With the Champions League Groups, it would need to be ICT, Ancona, Kairat, or TB, which generally speaking is a no then!
It has all got too much for me, the money and the nauseating “show” as I would discover at Inter v Leipzig and Bologna v Lille on consecutive November nights. However, my second ever Champions League group match was in the Diego Maradona stadium in Napoli. That occasion had almost come around by accident, well Putin’s invasion, which stopped Tania from getting out. We had booked to meet in Tallinn and fly south. Russia invaded, that border closed, so did the Finnish one, and all flights from Western Europe to St Petersburg stopped. Flights were lost, although hilariously as I was headed home from a fortnight solo in Italy, Ryanair cancelled the Milan to Tallinn flight and I got that money back.
This was to be Tania and I’s big Tuscan bash. I had reserved a penthouse suite in a fancy Florentine hotel, and I planned to propose to her. That all got thrown out the window, until ICT did Falkirk again in a Cup Semi-Final this time, so on a giddy high in Barcelona, with a ring that she had long chosen in Bulgari shop in Istanbul was finally presented. Not necessarily a total waste, I don’t regret it for a second. It was never going to be easy, and it was more a commitment than an engagement ring, but politics dragged that off the stage kicking and screaming, although we are still in touch again, so never say never.
Anyway, I wasn’t for staying in such lavish digs on my own and thankfully, even though I had booked as non cancellable, they agreed as long as I used their sister hotel’s, I was given credit to book a raft of hotels. Hilariously, amidst all the upheaval, it transpired that Hearts were going to be in Florence when I was there, a wee brucey bouncy! But Napoli versus Ajax drew me south. Spalletti had a sumptuous side, who in spells would swarm all over opponents and totally knock them for six. The principle guiding light in this journey was to see Kvicha Kvaratskhelia, the talented Georgian, but Raspadori and Anguissa, in particular, had developed cult status. They duly did their twenty minutes of breathtaking play twice and won 4-2. It was an amazing experience, but one captured at length in a FW tale, so I won’t dwell.
It ends appropriately with a fixture chosen to be the end. If I had been in Lille in 1981, when the club was a blackwater second tier side largely, it was the closed season and no games were available. However, I have long followed the progression of the Dogues of Lille, whose fortunes seem to have taken off and mirrored those of the city once the Channel tunnel appeared. Fittingly, in my first ever sighting of the French side, they won here in Bologna, and I walked back to my hotel with a quiet satisfaction.
I keep inventing and sticking to rules regarding what is acceptable and what is not. Football at the top end has lost its soul, and in my opinion, the greed of them all stems from the Champions League. The ticket prices for Inter and then Bologna, granted via agencies to guarantee a seat, were too much.
Football is in my blood, and as a new chapter of experiencing week by week calcio nears with my near 5 weeks in Brindisi, the Champions League might be dead, but I already have games 84 to 86 of my European CV lined up before July is done, starting on the 10th in the Luxembourg capital.
If you have made it this far, thanks for sticking with it all. The aim is to entertain as well spark memories within the reader. I hope I might have achieved that.
2025/26 est arrive tomorrow, a first ever Stranraer v Larne “International” friendly for me. Cheers.
Football Adventures with James Rendall 