When UEFA brought in the Conference League, it was meant to be a competition where the wee club could compete. Alas, those who reach the final and win it, still come from one of the “big 5” nations, but certainly in the group stage, the likes of Malta, Gibraltar and Armenia are in the mix this term, while the Faroe Islands, Luxembourg and Moldova have recently been involved too.
What UEFA didn’t expect is to see a Cypriot and Kazakh sides involved in their darling premier trophy, The Champions League. Co-efficients and seeded draws are “meant” to iron out the anomalies and let the big lands basically just rule the roost to avoid any more angst-ridden thinking of a breakaway European league. Can you imagine the amount of Laurel and Hardy tie twiddling in Nyon, Switzerland, at the thought of having to send a tier one side from the draw to near the Chinese border in mid-winter! Real Madrid ultimately got the honour, but it was scheduled so that the game was in early autumn.
That occasion was undoubtedly the biggest ever night in Almaty for Kairat, and indeed Kazakh football. As we’ll discover, when it comes to playing in Europe, whoever it is representing the country, they have the attention of all football fans, the length and breadth of Kazakhstan. I am sure many of the players and fans would have loved the Real fixture in reverse, getting a chance to play at one of the cathedrals of the European game.
However, if it couldn’t be the Bernabeu, perhaps the San Siro was the next best thing, and my goodness did the Kazakh nation turn out in force for this glamour tie, with around 7,000 in a near 70,000 attendance. The away section had been extended and sold out, while others living in Italy had procured tickets for anywhere in the stadium. It wasn’t going to be a problem, Inter would win handsomely, right?
Regular readers will know that my passion for Calcio is lower down the pecking order. Serie A can be entertaining, but B and the next three levels below are where I feel more at home, and enjoy bringing the lesser lights to the magazine in the hope of maybe sparking a light in a reader to head in that direction one day. Hope always springs eternal within me on that point.
My love of Italy is not a blind faith, on the contrary. I increasingly find myself angered and bewildered at the intransigence, ambivalence, and downright arrogance of many across there these days. Rail strikes of 2024 and early 2025 morphed into downing tools in support of Gaza. Commendable though these actions were, I am convinced it was just anti-government protests. A very Pro-Israeli stance by the Italian Prime Minister was countered and voiced with these days of action. Italy is still a very divided society, with politics at the extreme ends of the spectrum played out in public displays, not least at football stadia.
Incidentally, having tallied up the cost of being caught out by 4 rail strikes, with lost tickets, a need to use a taxi and additional hotel accommodation for being unable to move, twice, the out of pocket figure isn’t far off £750. Yet, I will never lose my passion for the land, the good people, and its wonderful football culture.
However, the opportunity to cheer for sides from outside Italy on European nights brought two such occasions back to back on consecutive autumnal nights in bella Italia was a temptation too far, and an article on the notion of cheering for the opposition was born.
Inter Milan v Kairat Almaty, Champions League
On the very day when a pen was finally put to paper to condemn the old San Siro to eventual dust, it was a privilege to witness my sixth game here, all Inter matches. I don’t do AC, nor Juve. It started with me cheering for Cesena in a 1-1 draw in 1990, and had morphed through Spartak Moscow when Recoba ran riot, to a more recent trio of 1-0 tedious home wins versus Hellas, RB Leipzig and Genoa. All of these ahead of the jewel in the crown for me, the greatest night in the history of Kairat Almaty. UEFA should insist that the Kairat away matches are the earlier kick-off, as they do obviously for their home games. A 1am ko back home is asking for a lot of caffeine consumption just to stay up and watch.
My Inter/Salernitana cheering buddy Lorenzo asked a very valid question outside the stadium on game night, “why do you like Kairat?”. For just about every side I have a soft spot for, I have an answer, but Kairat is illusive, yet they’ve been in my view since prior to the break up of the Soviet Union. Kairat were the Kazakh side who occasionally could compete in the Supreme Soviet League with the mighty Moscow, Kiev, and St Petersburg sides. Perhaps the idea that the first ever apple tree was found in the foothills just outside Almaty struck a cord. The yellow and black striped shirt certainly wouldn’t have been the draw, as those colours are Penarol, one of the most reviled teams in my world. All I know is that Aberdeen and Alkmaar had been visited previously to cheer them on. The San Siro was a real step up. Call me a gloryhunter if you like, but I had to be here.
I am sure many readers will have been to the iconic Milano venue, but if not, you’ll have until the end of 2027/28 to get along and see a game. It is a bizarre decision in one regard. It hasn’t faded really, the stadium is still magnificent, but in the modern game I can see why it’s deemed not fit for purpose. The moulded plastic seating is so compact and squeezed in. Any thoughts of fighting your way along a row mid half is almost impossible, as those you need to skip by have nowhere to go and make space. The sizable car parks to one side of the stadium will become the new facility, in a Spurs-esque gig of building the new ground right beside the old one. It will be sad to see the San Siro go, but if they build something even more magnificent, we’ll all soon move on.
The San Siro is relatively easy to reach via the Metro from the centre of the city, or as I prefer these days, get accommodation within walking distance, especially for these 11pm finishes. Ahead of meeting Lorenzo, I headed to the stadium to get a sample of the Kazakh excitement and found myself being a good Samaritan to a young couple who were about to be fleeced by a tout. Now the tout is almost a thing that’s long gone in Italy. The individualised tickets render access with someone else’s brief impossible. However, if you are from Kazakhstan (or, in this case, Kazakh’s living in Paris), you don’t know that. I intervened on the conversation being carried out in stilted English, much to the touts disgust. I pointed out the names and date of birth on the tickets and also laughed at the €150 tag being put on two €25 tickets. Moments before, I noticed that the ticket booth was still selling tickets, so the Kazakhs came with me and were delighted to have saved €100.
From this very charming couple, I learned of this notion that everyone from Kazakhstan was behind Kairat. While they had journeyed from Paris and were originally from Shymkent. Of course, it is home to Ordabasy, and I flummoxed them with my word associate/knowledge of that fact! I got the feeling they weren’t really big football fans. but the excitement was palpable. This was a huge night for Kazakhstan.
As the game progressed, initially, with Inter looking comfortable, Kairat grew into the match. The uptick in screams became apparent from everywhere every time they crossed the halfway line. To my right, sat an Inter fan with many seasons under his belt who chatted away. Like many I meet, a man with a genuine love of Edinburgh, and in this case, a chap whose best friend lives in Newcastle, where he goes regularly! Having commented about the number of Kazakhs dotted around, I learned from him that Northern Italy has many thousands of Kazakhs living in the region. The oil and gas industry was sighted, as well as those in the country studying. I had encountered a lot of Kazakh students at my previous outings watching Kairat or other Kazakh sides at Shrewsbury (TNS), Old Trafford and Esch, Luxembourg, and again never a sausage from Almaty itself. I do know that one plane was chartered for fans from the city to come to Milan, but the rest were already based in Western Europe.
Having tried to buy a penalty on a couple of occasions (cheap shots in my opinion), Inter were becoming increasingly frustrated. Temirlan Anarbekov, forced into action at Celtic Park in the last of 4 qualifying rounds, was standing tall and keeping them out. It has to be said, at no point did Kairat park the bus. They were solid and expansive when the chance presented itself, and as half-time approached, confidence was rising. However, just as they were about to trot off at 0-0, that man Laurato Martinez squeezed it home, and Inter led. Remarkably, he’d scored the three goals in the 1-0 wins I had witnessed prior, eclipsing the brace by Alvaro Recoba and the solitary Andreas Brehme strike in 1990. A 6th Inter home match and no Italian scorer!
After the turn, Kairat’s level of bravery went up, and they started to really get under the home side’s skin and begin to irritate the Inter faithful, who I am sure had turned up for a goal fest and pat on the head of the visiting fans “thanks for turning up”. It wouldn’t turn out that way, young Dastan Satpayev, who is going to be a star for Chelsea next season, was the buzz bomb catalyst to the waves of white shirts (away kit gig) flowing forward.
There are moments in time on a football field that, as a fan of whatever club, we will never forget. On 55 minutes, a powerful but unopposed header from Ofri Arad nearly burst the back of the Inter net. Right there, right then, a tingle down the spine and every Kazakh in the stadium was not giving a stuff about who waa sat next to them, lept to their feet. The sheer joy was a thing to behold. As Arad said after the game himself, it was a dream come true, at a special stadium on a special Champions League night. 1-1, and you could sense the nervousness all around. Chivu had taken off some star players believing the game was done, but at 1-0, how could he?
The lead only lasted 12 minutes, it felt longer, but in that period of time, Inter were second best as Kairat smelt blood. As it was, the winner came on 67 minutes, and with Lautaro off the field, it was left to Brazilian Carlos Augusto to find the net. Kairat, with no domestic games in 10 days since clinching the league title in dramatic last day fashion versus Astana, meant fitness wasn’t an issue, and they kept competing but couldn’t fashion another opening. Inter had just about done enough. They topped the massive league with maximum points after this narrow win, but of the four, this had been the most unsettling. Kairat could hold their heads high. It rendered no points, but if the rest of Europe scoffs at their inclusion further, shame on them. The post-match joy from such a narrow and stirring performance should be a lesson in humility to those who crave and demand merely winning at all costs.
Bologna v Brann Bergen (Europa League)
Bergen was the first ever place outside the UK that I ever visited as a teenager with my parents. It seemed almost appropriate given the Nordic aspect of our family roots. Back in 1980, in June, I am sure games were on given the Norwegian league is a summer affair, but it wasn’t on the agenda, or even thought about in truth, although I did manage to persuade them to buy me (at consider expense-nothing was/is cheap in Norway), the natty Norwegian national shirt with the flag in a white circle on a Hummel red shirt. England fans look away now, but it was the kit worn along with the immortal line “Clement Atlee, Maggie Thatcher…. etc” in a pure legendary piece of commentating.
Here I was back in Bologna around a year after cheering Lille to a fine Champions League win at the fabulous Renato Dall’Ara stadium. Such was the excess of ticket pricing and the whole uncomfortable Champions League experience, I declared that game as my last ever CL game, but leaving a caveat open whereby any teams in my “inner circle” getting involved would allow me to go. I genuinely believed that would be it, let’s face it Inverness, Ancona, Cesena, TB Tvoroyri and Bisceglie are a long way from ever reaching that stage, if ever, but as we have discovered, Kairat unbelievably made it through. A first team to go all the way from Round One of qualifying to the groups.
If ticket prices for Bologna were mad in the CL, at three times the price of a San Siro ticket for the visit of Brann, they were still lofty in the extreme. Having committed to the occasion, like when I was absolutely fleeced beyond comprehension for Lecce v AC Milan, I paid the money to go.
I started encountering Brann fans on the platform of Milano Centrale, and on the fast train down to Bologna (an hour of non stop whizz), but the travelling fans propensity to pack away a few beers in an hour reminded me of the overnight Nice to Bordeaux train in 1998, when Scots stupidly got involved in drinking competitions with Norwegians. Having stayed sober all night, if lacking sleep from the noise of those consuming, it was hilarious to see those of the Tartan Army who had peeked too early and were hungover already. Meanwhile, the Norwegians merely dusted themselves down, looked immaculate, and were ready for another day on the lash. That June day in Bordeaux was my last experience of Scotland at a World Cup, and remains to this day, singly the best day of my footballing CV, even above and beyond Inverness winning the Scottish Cup and our subsequent European trek to Romania.
That brothers in arms gig between Norway and Scotland is why I found myself in Bologna cheering Brann, although the Cesena corner of my heart would never allow support for the Emilia Romagna capital side anyway. Cesena v Bologna is a must see league fixture that remains on my bucket list, and whether it ever happens only time will tell, but right now in an exciting Scudetto chase, Bologna have flown under the radar to be a contender, he says through gritted teeth!
Bologna is a fabulous city. As left wing as they come, bordering on Communist in its outlook. Via Stalingrado tells you all you need to know about the collective psyche here. Sadly for now, the main drag from railway station to the city centre is in upheaval as new tram lines are going down, but once finished it will add ease of access, as it’s a fair old walk. Right bang in the centre, they were gearing up for an Eco friendly festival, with large swathes fenced off in anticipation. The net result, with 2,000 thirsty Norwegians in town was a concentration of red and white favours in an area that was easily accessible. I wish I was more confident just walking up to a table of Brann fans and asking if I could take a snap, because on more than one occasion, the table in front of the fans was an obliteration of beer bottles. Rarely, if ever, have I seen so many packed on a table. They were largely empty, with more in hand being quaffed. I did catch one exasperated Norwegian, whose words I can only assume meant the bar had no more beer, as to a man, and possibly a woman too, as they were well mixed groups, chairs were pushed back and the manoeuvres of a small section of the fans were off in search of a new pavilion.
I guess, when you come from Norway, everything in the rest of Europe is cheap, and while back home the government controls the alcohol locals can buy etc, on away days like, its blissful. I didn’t see one Brann fan who wasn’t enjoying the occasion. While the Bergen clubs CV has European football on it throughout the decades, it’s only in recent years that they have revived to be amongst the biggest in the country. Participating in the Europa League group and taking scalps like The Rangers along the way are feathers in caps that might one day start bringing Bodo/Glimt back into sight.
Bologna may not be the clubs biggest ever away day, it was certainly amongst them, hence the significant travelling support, with the majority for sure headed down from Norway, not living “locally” like the Kazakhs. The away fans had congregated and walked the 3 kilometres or so out to the ground, and were all housed in the away section, where Ancona fans once turned up 10,000 strong to see us into Serie A. That away Curva at the Dall’Ara is always fondly looked upon by virtue.
The home fans, despite the excessive ticket prices, were here in almost sell-out numbers. The home Curva put on a pre-match display that might be the finest Tifo I have ever witnessed. It coincided with orchestrated fireworks from behind that end, which the club had obviously sanctioned. It was almost enough to melt my resistance to Bologna, but not quite, good try though!
On paper, like Inter v Kairat, this would appear to have been a relatively easy home win. Norwegian football is developing and becoming a much tougher nut to crack, just as its imperious National team will arrive at the World Cup having flown under the radar of the fashionable, despite taking maximum points from their tough group. Yes, the majority earn their keep overseas, but as I said, the Norwegian domestic game is on the rise, with Viking Stavanger winning the loftily named Eliteserien for the first time in decades. Norway is no longer the domain of Rosenborg Trondheim, and even the new royalty Bodo/Glimit, who took it to a new level, are being caught these days. It all bodes well, no pun intended, and a lesson I wish could be carried across the North Sea to make the Scottish “elite” wider than a mere one and half/two clubs.
Bologna set out to blow Brann out of the water, heaping pressure upon them right right from the off. However, the visitors held their nerve and weathered the storm and began finding some attacking moments themselves. The German referee, who would become the least favourite person in the stadium, waved away a penalty claim (VAR must have too), but it was right down in front of me, and let’s just say, I have seen them given. Minutes later, all hell broke loose. A Brann foul was waved as play on with Bologna in possession. The very next tackle a few seconds later by the considerable mouthful, Greek International Charalampos Lykogiannis receiving a straight red card. It seemed harsh in the extreme, particularly as seconds earlier he waved play on, but the decision stood, and some around me just never calmed down for the rest of the night.
Rarely have I been in an environment where some much hash was being smoked. I found myself researching at half time whether you could get high on the fumes, such was the factory nature of the smoking!
Going down to ten undoubtedly made this clash a more level playing field, but Bologna would earn my respect from this encounter by dominating for long spells. It was particularly pleasing to see captain Lewis Ferguson with a man of the match display of courage and skill as he drove those around him on. Brann mustered half chances, but as the clock ticked down, it was the keeper Dyngeland, who had at least two world class saves to keep the home team out. The whistle went on a breathtaking nil-nil draw, maybe words that aren’t usually associated. The draw was celebrated at both ends, for the bravery of the ten at the home end, and the additional point going back to Bergen to keep them well in the hunt for progression come the end of January.
Both Kairat and Brann, summer league sides will have a limited to short close seasons. If Brann makes the next round, they will have no real break to speak of. Whether that drains the tank for the 2026 campaign, only time will tell.
Bran might well have been needed the morning after on their flakes to offset the power of drinking the day before, but it was all good-natured and exceptionally well-behaved fans at both matches. These sides might come from completely different cultures, but every visiting fan that witnessed either, or like me, both left Italy with a smile. With my belief in big time football marginally restored and enjoyed, roll on the next opportunity, and if I can get a ticket, a late January first ever visit to a London league venue that is still standing is on with the Kazakhs. I can’t wait.
Football Adventures with James Rendall 