Larsson and Bloody Mary

 

Larsson and Bloody Mary

Joe closed the laptop and looked his brother Eddie, ‘that’s it done. Two tickets for the match at fifty euros a pop aff the UEFA site and two return flights to Spain at sixty bar.’ Eddie Doyle looked him, ‘beating Stuttgart at home disnae mean we’re making the final. We’re not even in the quarters and you’re gambling on Celtic going all the way? We’ve no’ been in a European final for 33 years.’ Joe smiled at his brother, ‘Oh ye of little faith! I feel it in my blood, Eddie, we’re going all the way this year.’ Eddie shrugged, ‘I’ll go halfs wi ye. I guess we can flog the tickets if we get papped oot.’ Joe nodded, ‘we’ll call it a ton, bro. Best hundred quid you’ve ever spent.’

Joe and Eddie joined 10,000 other Celtic fans in the Gottlieb Daimler Stadium on a chilly February night and watched Celtic race into a 2-0 lead in 15 minutes. Alan Thompson and Chris Sutton were on target as Didier Agathe terrorised the German defence with his pace. With the tie at 5-1 on aggregate, Celtic were not going to blow it now. The away fans were ecstatic and bounced and sang till they were hoarse. The Hoops gave their fans some anxious moments but saw it over the line. Celtic were in the last 8!

The Hoffbrau Bierkeller was full of Celtic fans celebrating their victory in the tie and the Erdinger was flowing like water. Eddie and Joe were in the company of some German Celts from Hamburg. ‘Did you know that stadium we played in tonight,’ one of them began in excellent English, ‘was once called the Adolf Hitler Kampfbahn?’ Joe looked at him incredulously, ‘really? And what does ‘kampfbahn’ mean?’ The big German replied with a serious face, ‘it means battlefield.’ He then smiled as the band started playing an Irish song, ‘anyway, fuck Hitler and fuck the nazis!’ Eddie raised his beer, ‘I’ll drink to that pal.’ They sang and drank till 1am, when their taxi arrived to take them to the airport for the dawn flight back to Scotland.

Joe Doyle watched the UEFA delegate draw the teams for the quarter finals of the UEFA Cup. ‘Give us the Turks or Panathinaikos!’ he muttered as the draw began. The first ball came out of the large fishbowl they used on such occasions… ‘Celtic!’ ‘Come on said Joe, Turkey or Greece!’ The next kinder egg was drawn from the bowl…. ‘will play… Liverpool.’  His face didn’t know where to laugh or cry. This was a tough assignment but then Martin O’Neill’s side had already dumped some tough teams out of Europe. His phone lit up as Eddie called, ‘did ye see the draw, Fannybaws? We’ll get two good nights out anyway but the odds ain’t good.’  Joe remained an optimist though, ‘they’re not the team they used to be. We can roll them if we get a lead in the first leg.’  Eddie looked at him, ‘heart ruling the head, Joe, but we’ll see.’

Celtic Park hummed with anticipation on a dark March night as 60,000 fans crammed in to watch the ‘battle of Britain.’ Gerry Marsden led the crowd in a booming rendition of you’ll never walk alone and then it was show-time. John Hartson and Henrik Larsson terrorised the Liverpool defence in the opening period. First Larsson kneed home a goal in under two minutes, then Hartson hit the bar with a dipping shot, before fizzing a thunderbolt just over. Liverpool were rocking as the huge Celtic support were worked into a frenzy. Then, just as the game settled, the Celtic defence slept as Heskey raced through to arrow a low shot past Douglas. The game ebbed and flowed from then on in but there were no more goals. Celtic trooped off to applause from their fans who knew the team had given their all.

As Joe and Eddie trooped along the Gallowgate they were realistic about their chances at Anfield. ‘We played well tonight, showed we can get behind them, but we’ll need to be good to win down there,’ Joe said. Eddie for once was the more optimistic of the two, ‘we could have been two or three up in the first ten minutes. We can beat them if the defence disnae dae anything daft.’ They both knew Celtic were the underdogs now but this Celtic team had cojones, they’d give it 100% at Anfield.

A week later the brothers squeezed into the Tollbooth Bar to watch the match from Merseyside. The mood was confident among the fans, especially after the first few minutes when it was clear Celtic were up for the fight. They gave as good as they got as Liverpool seemed content to sit on 0-0 having the away goal from Glasgow. Just before half time, Celtic won a free kick 25 yards from goal. ‘Leave it Thompson, let Larsson hit it,’ Eddie shouted at the TV screen. Three seconds later he was locked in a wild embrace with a total stranger as Alan Thompson smashed the ball home. The pub exploded with joy! Celtic were in the lead.

‘Just hang in there, Celtic!’ Joe shouted as the second half began, but Celtic continued to press and harry Liverpool. As the game entered the final ten minutes, the tension was unbearable. One slip would mean extra-time. Then in happened. Joe watched it unfold as if in slow motion, John Hartson picked up a pass outside the penalty box and sidestepped a feeble looking tackle. As the brothers watched, he unleashed a thunderbolt of a shot which flashed past Dudek in the Liverpool goal and almost burst the net. ‘Yaaassssssssss!’ Joe roared, ‘ya big, beautiful, sexy, Welsh bastard ye!’ The brothers hugged and fell to the floor of the pub as fans jumped and danced all around them. It was mayhem, it was epic, it was chaotic, it was victory!

Joe glanced at the TV, ‘I’d rather avoid Lazio and Porto. I think Boavista are the best bet?’ His brother nodded, ‘we’re so close to this final, Joe. I’m starting to believe you were right, this year is a special one.’ As the draw came through, Joe smiled. Lazio v Porto and Celtic v Boavista. ‘Bring it on,’ he smiled.

Boavista Oporto were without a doubt the most cynical, time-wasting, play acting bunch of charlatans either brother had seen at Celtic Park in their time watching Celtic. They fell over at every opportunity, took an eternity with kick outs and throw ins and to cap it all took the lead from a freaky own goal. The tension seemed to be getting to Celtic as their support got increasingly tetchy. Larsson gave Celtic a massive boost by equalising but 15 minutes from time he missed a penalty. It was a hugely frustrating night for Celtic who had squandered chances and now faced a trip to Portugal with their hopes hanging by a thread.

The two brothers were mentally and physically drained by the match but that was nothing compared to what was to come in Porto a fortnight later. Celtic were stifled by the Portuguese side who seemed happy to sit on their away goal and slow the game down at every opportunity. It was a turgid and frustrating game to watch. As Joe and Eddie sat on the living room floor, their family crowded on the couches behind them, it looked as if the team had finally run out of steam. ‘Come on Celtic! Wan goal, wan fecking goal!’ Eddie roared in frustration. His granny Maggie approached the tv from behind him with something in her hand. ‘Ott the road, I cannae see the game. What ye doin’ granny?’ Joe asked, ‘I got this in Portugal ten years back, Noo’s the time tae use it.’ As they watched, she unscrewed the lid of a plastic statue of the Virgin Mary she had got on a trip to Fatima and splashed holy water on the tv. Eddie looked at Joe , who shrugged. ‘It cannae hurt?’ Joe shook his head, ‘it can if she fuses the feckin telly!’

As the grey-haired matriarch sat down again, all eyes focussed on the TV in time to see a Boavista defender tackle John Hartson. The ball spun towards Henrik Larsson who scuffed his shot somewhat but the ball spun over the despairing gloves of goalkeeper Ricardo and into the net. The modest house in Glasgow, like so many around the country and indeed the world, exploded with joy!  Eddie embraced his wee granny, ‘ye did Maggie, you and bloody Mary!’ His granny had tears in her eyes, ‘I telt ye tae trust me. Noo, no more of yer blaspheming or ye’ll get a bat on the jaw!’

The game dragged agonisingly on for a further fifteen minutes before the referee whistled for the end. Celtic had done it! They had made it to their first European final in 33 years. The Doyle’s drank and sang long into the night and Joe passed the tickets around the family as if they were precious works of art. ‘We’re going to Seville!’ he smiled at his brother. Eddie nodded, ‘I never believed it would happen but fair play to you, bro. Those tickets will be worth a fortune now.’ Joe sipped his beer, ‘aye, but they’re not for sale. Not at any price.

No one could guess what the final would bring, they were happy just to enjoy the night. Their magical football club and its amazing support were off for another adventure.