tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42428938274344764772024-02-19T12:59:49.201+00:00McCarthy's Football TravelsThe guys at Scott McCarthy PLC's ramblings of traveling Europe and the world for good beer and even better footballUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-85798875578305118422019-06-09T14:00:00.000+01:002019-06-14T15:51:29.041+01:00Nations League Finals. 09/06/19<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b><i>"It's the Amex on steroids"</i></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMi7q0lsQUcib4h39HPxaL3buYcGu4QybT0ZbCENlIVjqiq50EV8_zJTh6mIyjDsv2kOt8iFsw0P2spH0-WpPIdt13AbFufrxQK42yFv0nhn6DhqwGF-2r78veRHsdJ4zLYLzx881B1FZR/s1600/DSC_3218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMi7q0lsQUcib4h39HPxaL3buYcGu4QybT0ZbCENlIVjqiq50EV8_zJTh6mIyjDsv2kOt8iFsw0P2spH0-WpPIdt13AbFufrxQK42yFv0nhn6DhqwGF-2r78veRHsdJ4zLYLzx881B1FZR/s320/DSC_3218.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Switzerland 0-0 England. Estádio D. Afonso Henriques<br />
Sunday 09/06/19. 2pm.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPxyZ8EnC6HCuhAwidY8icxvXUbsG87sWccZ25muTP3z2IKRSrgTogzNzDJ0GwE3ttd9-vpvMIbIy_xTo1Ck8WQG-hdI-IcfA7UlB1RX7SmmsU8LrvY09UV5xjRC_foLOw3mZqW0B20bcz/s1600/DSC_3239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPxyZ8EnC6HCuhAwidY8icxvXUbsG87sWccZ25muTP3z2IKRSrgTogzNzDJ0GwE3ttd9-vpvMIbIy_xTo1Ck8WQG-hdI-IcfA7UlB1RX7SmmsU8LrvY09UV5xjRC_foLOw3mZqW0B20bcz/s320/DSC_3239.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portugal 1-0 Netherlands. Estádio do Dragão.<br />
Sunday 09/06/19. 7.45pm</td></tr>
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When
UEFA first announced the creation of the Nations League, many football fans
were quick to pour scorn on the idea.</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">An
international competition with promotion and relegation? Playing the same two opponents
home and away in quick succession in the group stage? All for a trophy that
looked like a giant Mr Whippy ice cream carved out of silver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It all
seemed so pointless. A needless addition forced into the international calendar
in place of international friendlies. It wouldn’t be any better than the
repetitive cycle of meaningless games with France, Germany, Spain and the
Netherlands that England went through every few years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Well, how
wrong can you be? As the inaugural Nations League came to a close in the
stunning setting of <span style="background: white;">Estádio do Dragão</span>, even
the most ardent sceptic towards the format had to admit that it’s been a
roaring success.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The third-place playoff and the final were held on the same day, one in </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Guimarães and the other in Porto,
two fantastic cities just over an hour away from each other in northern
Portugal. With there being a near-four-hour gap between the first game
finishing and the second game kicking off, that presented the tantalising prospect
of doing both games. Challenge accepted.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">TAP Air
Portugal did their best to scupper those plans though. We had been due to fly
from Gatwick to Porto on the Friday but due to radar problems, the flight was
cancelled. No problem according to our friendly Portuguese carrier – they could
still get us to Porto. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We’d just
be flying a day later. Oh, and it would now be from Heathrow. And we would first
have to go to Lisbon. Where we’d have to wait seven hours for another flight to
Porto. Which would arrive at 11pm on Saturday night. Just the whole 24 hours
later than originally planned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That
seemed like a worse deal than a no deal Brexit – and speaking of Brexit, now
seems like a good time to thank Theresa May for delaying it happening for long enough
so that we can attempt to claim compensation from TAP Air thanks to EU rule
261/2004. Losing that right wasn’t written on the side of a bus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXxhpxak1lTZUbetZSSCzHIK7Imp9duofxs4ySXkHlu-hgcs2HDnd7l5SMAAcOZk82RjBTWptKfUbMS3BpamfZnxvgVjy7k51AzrtzvVel_aGWaRAg_5pMYZuqVJkjw0V2KNOmTc81ldXv/s1600/DSC_3185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXxhpxak1lTZUbetZSSCzHIK7Imp9duofxs4ySXkHlu-hgcs2HDnd7l5SMAAcOZk82RjBTWptKfUbMS3BpamfZnxvgVjy7k51AzrtzvVel_aGWaRAg_5pMYZuqVJkjw0V2KNOmTc81ldXv/s320/DSC_3185.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Super Bock and sandwiches in Lisbon Station - this wasn't part of the plan</td></tr>
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Unfortunately,
there was no other choice and so it was off to Heathrow for a night in a Premier
Inn before that flight to Lisbon. Rather than hang around in Lisbon Airport for
seven hours, we decided to make our own way to Porto via a three-hour train
journey. This was turning into a lot of effort for a third placed playoff with
Switzerland.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wine with a view in the Guindalense Football Club Bar </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwcw73yViNKcBqQwjwlY2Rrl_EfqzPNNDcMsSgIWApQyZV3Fhvi96DJ83PMH5cRmBopYJG5DqAUFCX8gojM9xnoooSdb76vueWoBSxfvJAyZjDgjM1WOih8ni1TLGVbudX4v3fQKTtgqjP/s320/DSC_3197.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turned out that Porto was worth all the effort that went into travelling there</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwcw73yViNKcBqQwjwlY2Rrl_EfqzPNNDcMsSgIWApQyZV3Fhvi96DJ83PMH5cRmBopYJG5DqAUFCX8gojM9xnoooSdb76vueWoBSxfvJAyZjDgjM1WOih8ni1TLGVbudX4v3fQKTtgqjP/s1600/DSC_3197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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Porto it
turned out was worth the wait. It’s a beautiful city full of stunning
architecture and the first bar we stumbled across while exploring had views as
good as any I’ve ever visited. It was called Guindalense and was perched precariously
above the Douro river, right next to the Luís I Bridge. With the sun setting,
the lights of the city starting to shine and a good bottle of red wine costing €4,
it was the perfect place to relax after such an eventful journey.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvRxGGDDvo0yK1UvkvGEWlziOyaEYBqHdvQoOJfHbwHgNn6UwEQM5Ujw-NKlX1GrVKKr9ZNEqqikvfU7xdbwIx2xriuvO4QsKkQDjQNQb_RvQOO3x0ty0m7ZYPJGkJulCsHl5eYsBdW6je/s1600/DSC_3189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvRxGGDDvo0yK1UvkvGEWlziOyaEYBqHdvQoOJfHbwHgNn6UwEQM5Ujw-NKlX1GrVKKr9ZNEqqikvfU7xdbwIx2xriuvO4QsKkQDjQNQb_RvQOO3x0ty0m7ZYPJGkJulCsHl5eYsBdW6je/s320/DSC_3189.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Porto. Plenty of hills</td></tr>
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The city
itself is famous for its wine and we certainly got through a lot of it - along with the mythical Super Bock which must be one of the best beers in the world. Porto is also famous for the <span style="background: white;">Francesinha</span>, which is
pretty much a heart attack waiting to happen in meal form. This local delicacy
is a sandwich which contains ham, sausage and steak or beef. It’s topped off
with a fried egg and melted cheese and then covered in a thick tomato and beer
sauce. Great for the appetite, not so great for the life expectancy. Porto
being a city of hills meant it was relatively easy to walk off however, or so I
keep telling myself.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxMIz0Bz6ecB9PVHiv7AgjHwO6-AmRa20xZvhQyzzK2TjZHeKmeiWK3MUUkuwgJeptfCarTsrZnUeYHar8tDB2-gCd5d5AQeWjzBsYlYOhto7DQfGqyrI42KupjNhiiQcBVuUyXSCJ6KP/s1600/DSC_3204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxMIz0Bz6ecB9PVHiv7AgjHwO6-AmRa20xZvhQyzzK2TjZHeKmeiWK3MUUkuwgJeptfCarTsrZnUeYHar8tDB2-gCd5d5AQeWjzBsYlYOhto7DQfGqyrI42KupjNhiiQcBVuUyXSCJ6KP/s320/DSC_3204.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The famous Francesinha - aka a heart attack in a meal</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ19Ibk9cA7qeR4VRcH41e7X7jqWmyuHYOIvKHb9Hq_5HLKQQxJkxzYVfEnPeLJgltIt7kml95ks0DrKUWWnLwCmeBgMnLP19LuBxiRQ-BTiwZCXRuidbci3LRR9P6xwosXebI4llZp9Dl/s1600/DSC_3208.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ19Ibk9cA7qeR4VRcH41e7X7jqWmyuHYOIvKHb9Hq_5HLKQQxJkxzYVfEnPeLJgltIt7kml95ks0DrKUWWnLwCmeBgMnLP19LuBxiRQ-BTiwZCXRuidbci3LRR9P6xwosXebI4llZp9Dl/s320/DSC_3208.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When in Rome - Katie shows her support for super Super Bock</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background: white;">That was Saturday night and on Sunday it was game day. Special trains had
been laid on from the historic </span><span lang="EN-GB">São Bento railway station to Guimarães, a city of 158,000
people an hour and 10 minutes to the north where the Portuguese nation was born
in 1128.</span></div>
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If you’ve
read some of the more excitable members of the British press, then no doubt you’ll
be expecting tales of a warzone. Thousands of English hooligans rampaging
through the cobbled streets. The smell of tear gas and pepper spray lingering
in the city’s UNESCO World Heritage Site town centre. Locals scared for their
lives, hiding indoors until the massed yobs had finished desecrating their homes.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSjilzBUrRej673A_cFJ_tXlsjuZpuwqKo92Kp3dVdhDh5-rTPpjsHLZmsfSnI7tFP8ki9LioNRQz58SI-DrIi46C3EuQYxiRcXoLbMuyujAOs1b0awRWjdATMaMpvqXg-32maJSImd5i/s1600/DSC_3215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSjilzBUrRej673A_cFJ_tXlsjuZpuwqKo92Kp3dVdhDh5-rTPpjsHLZmsfSnI7tFP8ki9LioNRQz58SI-DrIi46C3EuQYxiRcXoLbMuyujAOs1b0awRWjdATMaMpvqXg-32maJSImd5i/s320/DSC_3215.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">England's vile supporters enjoy themselves with the locals in Guimarães</td></tr>
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The
Daily Telegraph’s Paul Hayward was certainly peddling that myth on Twitter. He
described the experience of having England fans playing in their town as “scary”
and “vile” for the people who live there.</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">One of
his more dramatic tweets read: </span>“I wouldn't be sorry to see England
forfeit and go home, out of consideration for the people of Porto and <span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Guimarães</span>. Failing that, they
should stop playing away games until the safety of local people can be
guaranteed.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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That couldn’t have been further from our experiences of
Portugal. Perhaps Paul should have visited the town square in <span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Guimarães</span> before the Switzerland game.
He could have seen the locals who were merrily chatting to and taking photos
with the supporters they were apparently running scared of. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZk9Pl83Amgj1xIKjDe1HLF-Olot5MFNCVkrDJ5Kj3CXUqQcjB08t1_svnOZFR7eqrLRPaX6OGlHAIOXXG-6jr2OkxSHasZBHYX0L6QS1kZINSQxGPHGBLnm5DfWerUxkxRuPk3rnkGoBF/s1600/DSC_3213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZk9Pl83Amgj1xIKjDe1HLF-Olot5MFNCVkrDJ5Kj3CXUqQcjB08t1_svnOZFR7eqrLRPaX6OGlHAIOXXG-6jr2OkxSHasZBHYX0L6QS1kZINSQxGPHGBLnm5DfWerUxkxRuPk3rnkGoBF/s320/DSC_3213.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-match beers and wine. This would be very much needed given the<br />
standard of football that was to come</td></tr>
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He could have met the owner a of Pintado Fresco, a great
little bar just off the main square which we chose for pre-game refreshment. Rather
than worrying about his safety not being guaranteed, he was drinking with England
fans and telling everyone that he was delighted that Gareth Southgate’s side
had lost their Thursday night semi-final to the Netherlands. He actually wanted
these vile people back in his town and back in his bar drinking <span lang="EN-GB">€5 pints of Super Bock and €2
glasses of local sparkling white wine because they were such good fun.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That
alcohol was much needed as the football wasn’t up to much. Guimarães’ </span>Estádio
D. Afonso Henriques was around a 10-minute walk from the city and was neat and
tidy, a two tiered affair all the way around. It was a particular delight for us
fans of floodlight pylons, with two large columns at the opposite end to the main
England section having been built actually in front of the upper tier.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEher-4g1TSSYjz-Ro7oOGm7xZD4gKvufyMic_p3ZXoWDmeQum-7KXqsZW__dO-HR5_rwt2xsmX5Ggvq8GjwnSmfraFp_cP8D4zsVU-_L_u8nnOF7daYt_p3rtR0SP_e9jamSOJf-bjnqqtu/s1600/DSC_3217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEher-4g1TSSYjz-Ro7oOGm7xZD4gKvufyMic_p3ZXoWDmeQum-7KXqsZW__dO-HR5_rwt2xsmX5Ggvq8GjwnSmfraFp_cP8D4zsVU-_L_u8nnOF7daYt_p3rtR0SP_e9jamSOJf-bjnqqtu/s320/DSC_3217.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The home of Vitoria Guimarães</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXv8N3lzKzIdAsgzYGk6raLzanJ1zFWPAgG2cnh7mVDLG4Db7nG26pnWmzMvVdiMlmM6o1N0d6nSJV0ahwPuC2YDIZygL4ke7loJTkSvIr-iT0rsEIn-r2CGxYjbi3h3Bw9uZQeQER6R1/s320/DSC_3222.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Switzerland v England prepares to kick off at Estádio D. Afonso Henriques</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXv8N3lzKzIdAsgzYGk6raLzanJ1zFWPAgG2cnh7mVDLG4Db7nG26pnWmzMvVdiMlmM6o1N0d6nSJV0ahwPuC2YDIZygL4ke7loJTkSvIr-iT0rsEIn-r2CGxYjbi3h3Bw9uZQeQER6R1/s1600/DSC_3222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNASOgSbKnHYCJCu0c-y84JlzooB7u48l5qvsepS7f9YQkWelGAwwUtvriX_FmX-KH8ds7FRCoign5N5QGThUnn2XGf4-9HFHE0E2AfEq3e_n1Pg7MY_1pRj3fOsR2A42V_DllDobCzA2q/s320/DSC_3225.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The person in front prays for a goal between Switzerland and England.<br />
He wasn't to be answered</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNASOgSbKnHYCJCu0c-y84JlzooB7u48l5qvsepS7f9YQkWelGAwwUtvriX_FmX-KH8ds7FRCoign5N5QGThUnn2XGf4-9HFHE0E2AfEq3e_n1Pg7MY_1pRj3fOsR2A42V_DllDobCzA2q/s1600/DSC_3225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNASOgSbKnHYCJCu0c-y84JlzooB7u48l5qvsepS7f9YQkWelGAwwUtvriX_FmX-KH8ds7FRCoign5N5QGThUnn2XGf4-9HFHE0E2AfEq3e_n1Pg7MY_1pRj3fOsR2A42V_DllDobCzA2q/s1600/DSC_3225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The game was played <span lang="EN-GB">in front of a sparse crowd and you could tell that England’s players in particular
were coming off the back of a long season. Neither side really created an
opportunity in the first half aside from Harry Kane rattling the woodwork with
a fine piece of improvisation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It had
the feel of a pre-season friendly about it, which pretty much confirmed our
decision to bail and head back to Porto for the final – tickets for which were
still available and only a few clicks away thanks to UEFA issuing them electronically
via a special app.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk6-I3lPuUWAt_s_jrILMDB1ucR-Ut7AZLCbzypzwRr6zZ07RTKCcBA8iCgtnw2ZfdOcRdguNue9TUp400Hn4pQb59HYTzJshQRb3ivuhaYHYmbY5t8HhjK6MKGLyUEq4JrcERz6D6SNNi/s1600/DSC_3220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk6-I3lPuUWAt_s_jrILMDB1ucR-Ut7AZLCbzypzwRr6zZ07RTKCcBA8iCgtnw2ZfdOcRdguNue9TUp400Hn4pQb59HYTzJshQRb3ivuhaYHYmbY5t8HhjK6MKGLyUEq4JrcERz6D6SNNi/s320/DSC_3220.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A pretty sparse crowd - but check out those floodlight pylons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Having heard
about the public transport nightmare that unfolded after the England - Netherlands
game 72 hours previously - which had seen some fans stuck in Guimarães for up
to five hours after the final whistle due to a lack of available trains - we left
the England game after an hour in order to get back to Porto.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It
turned out this wasn’t actually a sacrifice that needed to be made. Some supporters
reported staying right the way up to final act of the penalty shootout - Jordan
Pickford scoring and then saving to give England victory - and still managed to
make the final as on this occasion the trains ran like clockwork. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Given the
travel disasters we’d already experienced, that wasn’t a risk we wanted to
take. Having also missed the spot kick success over Colombia at last summer’s World
Cup in Russia, seeing England win on penalties will have to wait for another
day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUF9kaM7DKIVJw1X6zHOsxgGOYXCfPvZnIhvmndZ3mQWXPzCw0NTJuD7F-LRiMtwy8agseB3KsIUFDBJh3g2y2cT5YnIMVyEt09wscn-Fhpgc9MigWJHBJX74p_zvDhBbP4R_0iFD-d9Ou/s1600/DSC_3228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUF9kaM7DKIVJw1X6zHOsxgGOYXCfPvZnIhvmndZ3mQWXPzCw0NTJuD7F-LRiMtwy8agseB3KsIUFDBJh3g2y2cT5YnIMVyEt09wscn-Fhpgc9MigWJHBJX74p_zvDhBbP4R_0iFD-d9Ou/s320/DSC_3228.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stunning Estádio do Dragão awaits Portugal v Switzerland</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmmDCEHkNjTbvDoQv4WvuxI0rZHfX1ChcFbmaN10VOtO0EjtS5SIFbvYJfvztTTg27sbZU05Noh0GPncBrUD1-ybUGXcDBNUZ2sRZ-wS5S8PYYlKw2PjhDob4fA-TICOXGIrr6BmoDPAp/s320/DSC_3231.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Amex Stadium on steroids...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmmDCEHkNjTbvDoQv4WvuxI0rZHfX1ChcFbmaN10VOtO0EjtS5SIFbvYJfvztTTg27sbZU05Noh0GPncBrUD1-ybUGXcDBNUZ2sRZ-wS5S8PYYlKw2PjhDob4fA-TICOXGIrr6BmoDPAp/s1600/DSC_3231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmmDCEHkNjTbvDoQv4WvuxI0rZHfX1ChcFbmaN10VOtO0EjtS5SIFbvYJfvztTTg27sbZU05Noh0GPncBrUD1-ybUGXcDBNUZ2sRZ-wS5S8PYYlKw2PjhDob4fA-TICOXGIrr6BmoDPAp/s1600/DSC_3231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="background: white;">Estádio do Dragão</span> couldn’t have been more different to Estádio
D. Afonso Henriques if it tried. While the ground in <span lang="EN-GB">Guimarães was a quaint little affair with a
homely feel, the home of Porto was a bold and brash stadium which must be one
of the most striking in the world.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As a
Brighton and Hove Albion supporter, the best way to describe it is as the Amex
on steroids. It has the same sweeping arches holding up the roof, but it’s twice
the size of its cousin some 1,300 miles away in Sussex. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That
roof floats over the vast stands behind each goal which have open backs,
providing glorious views over Porto itself. If you are in the right seat in the
stadium, you can watch the sun go down in the gap between terrace and roof. It’s
a real marvel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT8yvR9xsFIyZKONpOT-ixBJfHMnox-r4w4-duHYJDYspNzgs5VVy1ZrlioAVDIWGFSJxeiuYjA1N_3zdgXVR7h2pE4Knknkz6kFPzTuHqZEjhlVLU3zS2XHgWmi5v3MyT-DBPuiVEcrYT/s1600/DSC_3233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT8yvR9xsFIyZKONpOT-ixBJfHMnox-r4w4-duHYJDYspNzgs5VVy1ZrlioAVDIWGFSJxeiuYjA1N_3zdgXVR7h2pE4Knknkz6kFPzTuHqZEjhlVLU3zS2XHgWmi5v3MyT-DBPuiVEcrYT/s320/DSC_3233.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Can I get a hotdog with, er, crisps on the top please?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgely5leV9eB8gb2g2jz_KUAzpzS_sz2cRw3CxgmuguSTNMH5Ahmi3owa-Frf4S0-8lM2f_nt2b-EEg3MJAJYuiYLIC6U0FhIOKe_fQV4q7u8pbZpcMkCpT2tgfM_HM6hH_sTrBk1y7Sk5b/s1600/DSC_3237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgely5leV9eB8gb2g2jz_KUAzpzS_sz2cRw3CxgmuguSTNMH5Ahmi3owa-Frf4S0-8lM2f_nt2b-EEg3MJAJYuiYLIC6U0FhIOKe_fQV4q7u8pbZpcMkCpT2tgfM_HM6hH_sTrBk1y7Sk5b/s320/DSC_3237.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The concourse of Estádio do Dragão offers some pretty nice views over Porto</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
One of
the other criticisms thrown at the Nations League when it was launched was
would anybody care about it? Judging by the atmosphere inside <span style="background: white;">Estádio do Dragão</span>, the locals certainly did. Half
of the stadium was a sea of red and green. Portugal are going through a golden
period at the moment led by the irresistible Cristiano Ronaldo and their 1-0
win means they are now both European Champions and Nations League champions.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For once, it wasn’t Ronaldo who delivered their success
on this night but Goncalo Guedes. It was much more entertaining than the earlier
game – not that that is saying much – with both sides having chances throughout
and the 43,199 in attendance seemed to enjoy themselves. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMXKm3nQk__gegg8TLSlc5OrckT9WlmHGncDshci-o2Wtd_elbAJFxyK4i5i3QLAPIGM1dsQVk12L6ANhQQIpHTwqlfs8gV_O5Dc3SCriWMHNwQHgINOyYCqsAg0vK4zuNTiyhX8pZN8k5/s1600/DSC_3255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMXKm3nQk__gegg8TLSlc5OrckT9WlmHGncDshci-o2Wtd_elbAJFxyK4i5i3QLAPIGM1dsQVk12L6ANhQQIpHTwqlfs8gV_O5Dc3SCriWMHNwQHgINOyYCqsAg0vK4zuNTiyhX8pZN8k5/s320/DSC_3255.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ronaldo and company celebrate winning the Nations League</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A large proportion of that crowd was made up of England
fans who’d brought tickets hoping that it would be the Three Lions in the
final. Even though it wasn’t, many turned up anyway. That led to the strange
situation whereby an international final between Portugal and the Netherlands
was played out to impromptu songs about Harry Maguire drinking vodka and jaeger
and a backdrop of flags of St George.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Most of the English in attendance seemed to be siding with
the Dutch but I was firmly in the neutral camp, just wanting a good game of football.
In the end, that’s what we got. The streets of Porto were bedlam afterwards. Flags
out of sunroofs, beeping horns, people singing and dancing. Further proof if it
were needed that this new fangled Nations League does matter.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sadly, we weren’t able to join the party. A 7am departure
the following morning to Madrid meant an early night and an attempt to get a
significant red wine stain off the wall. That’s one of the dangers that comes
when the vino is so good that you leave a glass on your bedside table to drink
during the night, only to end up spilling it everywhere in your sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
UEFA have already confirmed that the Nations League will
return for the 2020-21 season. With Bosnia and Ukraine promoted into England’s
League A, the prospect of trips to Sarajevo and Kiev is a very real possibility.
It can’t come soon enough. What a tournament.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Third Place Playoff: </b></span><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Estádio D. Afonso Henriques, </span></b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Guimarães </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Switzerland: </b>Yann Sommer, Nico Elvedi, Fabian Schar, Manuel Akanji, Kevin Mbabu, Edimilson Fernandes (Denis Zakaria), Granit Xhaka, Remo Freuler, Ricardo Rodriquez (Josip Drmic), Xherdan Shaqiri (Steven Zuber), Haris Seferovic (Noah Okafor).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Jordan Pickford, Trent Alexander-Arnold, Harry Maguie, Joe Gomez, Danny Rose (Kyle Walker), Jesse Lingard (Jadon Sanco), Eric Dier, Fabian Delph (Ross Barkley), Dele Alli, Harry Kane (Callum Wilson), Raheem Sterling.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>15,742</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Final: </b></span><span style="background: white;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Estádio do Dragão, Porto</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Portugal: </b>Rui Patricio, Nelson Cabral Semedo, Jose Fonte, Ruben Alves Dias, Raphael Guerreiro, Bruno Fernandes (Joao Moutinho), Danilo Pereira, William Carvalho (Ruben Neves), Bernardo Silva, Cristiano Ronaldo, Goncalo Guedes 1 (Rafa Silva).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Netherlands: </b>Jasper Cillessen, Denzel Dumfries, Matthijs de Ligt, Virgil van Dijk, Daley Blind, Marten de Roon (Luuk de Jong), Georginio Wijnaldum, Steven Bergwijn (Donny van de Beek), Memphis Depay, Ryan Babel (Quincy Promes).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>43,199</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Porto, Portugal41.1579438 -8.62910529999999241.0623098 -8.7904667999999919 41.253577799999995 -8.467743799999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-73516624927440326262018-10-15T20:45:00.000+01:002018-11-06T11:07:54.085+00:00Spain v England. 15/10/18<b><i>"If the tapas is this good across Portugal, it isn't hard to see why you'd risk leaving your kids in a hotel room to go out and eat it."</i></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spain 2-3 England. Estadio Bentio Villamarin.<br />
Monday 15/10/18</td></tr>
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Seville was named as Lonely Planet’s number one city to travel to for 2018 and it isn't hard to see why.<br />
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It has over 2,200 years of history. It's been a Roman city, a Muslim city and a Christian city with every race or religion that conquered it leaving a deep impression on the modern-day Seville.<br />
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The Alcazar is the oldest royal palace still in use in Europe having first been used in the first century. There's an old town to rival anything in Eastern Europe. It's the birthplace of Flamenco and the place from where Christopher Columbus set off to discover the Americas. There's great food, cheap wine and England producing a potential coming-of-age performance in Estadio Benito Villamarin to beat Spain 3-2.<br />
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OK, so that last one didn't actually make it into Lonely Planet, but it should've done. In their first away game since the World Cup, Gareth Southgate’s side produced a performance that topped the heights of the summer jaunt to Russia to go second in League A Group 4 of the UEFA Nations League. "We are staying up" as the 3,000 strong England contingent high up in Real Betis’ fantastic stadium sang.<br />
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I went into this trip with pretty low expectations given a complete indifference to Spain. I'd visited three times before and been accosted by angry animal rights activists in Barcelona and then pick-pocketed outside the Bernabeu, losing a ticket to the Champions League Quarter Final between Real Madrid and Wolfsburg in the process. For all of Lonely Planet's gushing praise of Seville, perhaps it should simply say, “Seville was a city that made Scott McCarthy actually like Spain.” You won't find much higher praise than that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHgNuZ_U6wLK93myqdIZOudea7VvzRxYz-IDlW3bsw_N3NsSxrouziBPFtQx4q2BzIl8iZoIzt0XgKcFaB7ExRYfNwqOLBkSm4PYvAfwU_Dqo2Z1I-E1AI2WnuL65aLbqjJdfuNkrLYij/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHgNuZ_U6wLK93myqdIZOudea7VvzRxYz-IDlW3bsw_N3NsSxrouziBPFtQx4q2BzIl8iZoIzt0XgKcFaB7ExRYfNwqOLBkSm4PYvAfwU_Dqo2Z1I-E1AI2WnuL65aLbqjJdfuNkrLYij/s320/06.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You know there isn't much to do in a town when street<br />
signs are directing you to pubs...</td></tr>
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With a stadium ban in place for England's trip to Croatia ruling out the prospect of a tantalising Rijeka-Seville double, the trip instead began in Portugal. Faro to be exact, a town of 64,560 people known for it's historic centre, fishing industry and laid-back approach to life.
The size of Faro meant there wasn't actually much to do there other than relax, eat fish and drink £10 bottles of locally produced wine which suited us fine.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice pint of Super Bock, Portugal's finest</td></tr>
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What could've livened things up was some lower league football. For reasons unknown, Portuguese football outside of the Primeira Liga seems to take place exclusively on a Sunday. The local team, SC Farense, play a bit of a hike out of the town centre while Stadium Algarve, which was used in Euro 2004 and has also provided temporary asylum for the Gibraltar National Football team was out of bounds at about 10 miles away.
That meant that Faro was a football free zone except for watching the closing stages of Portugal’s away game with Poland in a bar adorned with murals of Cristiano Ronaldo.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tapas <insert joke about Maddie McCann here></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clay jug full of a litre of wine for under £10? Yes please, barman</td></tr>
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The lack of football was made up for by Faro being home to the best tapas restaurant in the world, a tasco do joao. Owned by a local family, the home made tomato dip was out-of-the-world, the dishes kept flowing and the wine was £10 a bottle for a really good drop of white. With Praia da Luz just 70 miles down the road, it wasn't hard to see why Kate and Gerry decided to leave their daughter in a hotel room and go for it tapas if it is this good across the Algarve.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hope you like fish...</td></tr>
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It turned out the next morning that drinking more wine than the Tapas 7 put together wasn't a sensible move with a boat trip to some islands off Faro on the agenda. Regular readers will be acquainted with the fact that I suffer with sea sickness anytime I leave dry dock. Even crossing from Portsmouth to the Isle of Wight leads to a battle between will and stomach contents, so smashing into waves on a speed boat at 100mph driven by a madman called Phil was never likely to have good results. Remarkably, I was only sick in my mouth and the journey was worth it for the stunning views once we got to Ilha da Culatra and several cocktails which settled the nerves ahead of the journey back to the mainland.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcA0n6Mom7p8q3xd58u2ysVQfUhuHC-ydXDh7csywPGma0SLhqop1u-E4tZ1VnQ9lLRm6Rw9dbvlpzraUtBgnI5X-5vnZTBMZ_jk4FsldU5AkMHwNJ4jtfczbRb8FpeXmvRoLcB28Zr0MT/s1600/32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcA0n6Mom7p8q3xd58u2ysVQfUhuHC-ydXDh7csywPGma0SLhqop1u-E4tZ1VnQ9lLRm6Rw9dbvlpzraUtBgnI5X-5vnZTBMZ_jk4FsldU5AkMHwNJ4jtfczbRb8FpeXmvRoLcB28Zr0MT/s320/32.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only being sick once on the boat journey to Ilha da Culatra was a success</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scenic shot as Katie enjoys the Deserted Island</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzY5VXEs3rDYREiEp1pY45xbJbWSwMTAIZWU5R3Tmh2sXnIw5OOVvVUoFVEsy8mQ5oXWlM8dWcWqoU62RM1NgHRT7wTzpgj6UwuiEbHoHGfcuEWA_dSbUBYrN2U0srqveKBQTnDdqKH91L/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzY5VXEs3rDYREiEp1pY45xbJbWSwMTAIZWU5R3Tmh2sXnIw5OOVvVUoFVEsy8mQ5oXWlM8dWcWqoU62RM1NgHRT7wTzpgj6UwuiEbHoHGfcuEWA_dSbUBYrN2U0srqveKBQTnDdqKH91L/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Sex on the Island", a clever poly on Sex on the Beach</td></tr>
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There were no such travel dramas for the bus trip to Seville, a short two-and-a-half hour hop across the border. Almost instantly, Seville was in credit with the discovery of Festival de las Naciones, a market-like set up on Prado de San Sebastian which featured stalls selling food and beer from around the world.<br />
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While some England fans were experiencing Spanish culture in Irish bars and goading overenthusiastic riot police, here we were sipping Mythos from Greece, Pilser Callao from Peru, Rolihlahla from South Africa and Presidente from Venezeula. An excellent way to warm up for the game the following day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPoLfbqpPfMI1yCJFuif7ED8Pq5hfKjA07Ns25eUmLsG1rJ4W_ecatvyDdSwESK1nIwChU0Jv8eP7Rq6gxEVJ_64mHL6rODmSwQCNBPZDkgnEIpE6NHpcr26ew-iv7p-F-lSTkGrnLY_cu/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPoLfbqpPfMI1yCJFuif7ED8Pq5hfKjA07Ns25eUmLsG1rJ4W_ecatvyDdSwESK1nIwChU0Jv8eP7Rq6gxEVJ_64mHL6rODmSwQCNBPZDkgnEIpE6NHpcr26ew-iv7p-F-lSTkGrnLY_cu/s320/16.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Festival de las Naciones</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj79oEJglMMJx8AFZjkYtrs1HfeEzXypBAdh0XUDW4S-f8J07Gsy26yO8Wn7i0hZNk3ilCFYfKszermK826nsGXCZiPMSknueSYHKsUp51vx5C0YEyfwHxGwXNF4nDiQE6pS34Vr5GwDo_1/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj79oEJglMMJx8AFZjkYtrs1HfeEzXypBAdh0XUDW4S-f8J07Gsy26yO8Wn7i0hZNk3ilCFYfKszermK826nsGXCZiPMSknueSYHKsUp51vx5C0YEyfwHxGwXNF4nDiQE6pS34Vr5GwDo_1/s320/01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A quick trip through Greece, Peru, South Africa and, er, Spain</td></tr>
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Real Betis are considered the cities working class team with Sevilla the side for the middle classes. As a result, Estadio Benito Villamarin is situated in the Heliopolis area of the city. It seats 60,720 making it the fourth largest stadium in Spain and was opened in 1929 with expansions following in 1982, 2000 and 2017.<br />
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Due to Seville receiving an average of 313 days of sunshine a year, it doesn't have a roof.
Needless to say after three days of blazing sunshine and 30 degree heat since we arrived in firstly Faro and then Seville, on game day it didn't just rain - it poured.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqLldVp_rs2APBAN7kIfH9QO0kFFtrr46dU_XdSIzOr5m7nDd8m1Gw1o5ANwy-d0qPJT0cTDlITI8t_NjeWa3KD7KmQAHCGXfyrugcD6bicU4r73Jf6BDecG0hu42V8YdQgSVHt2I05PH/s1600/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqLldVp_rs2APBAN7kIfH9QO0kFFtrr46dU_XdSIzOr5m7nDd8m1Gw1o5ANwy-d0qPJT0cTDlITI8t_NjeWa3KD7KmQAHCGXfyrugcD6bicU4r73Jf6BDecG0hu42V8YdQgSVHt2I05PH/s320/22.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More stadiums should have water fountains outside</td></tr>
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Perhaps this shouldn't have come as a surprise with Katie present. She won't thank me for writing this, but she has a comically bad record when it comes to away games. Her previous trip with England was so wet that Noah could be seen building his ark next to Lithuania’s LFF stadionas and she's been to seven Brighton away games in the Premier League and in six of them, the Albion have failed to score.<br />
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In order to seek refuge from the rain, we met up with fellow Brighton fans Ciaran, Lewis and Mark in a bar called 100 Montaditos which was next to Sevilla’s Ramon Sanchez-Pizjuan Stadium. 100 Montaditos are a chain who sell small tapas-style sandwiches at €1 a pop and pints of Cruzcampo for €2. For all Seville’s historic churches and fantastic architecture, Montaditos might just be the single greatest thing about the city. Another thing for Lonely Planet to take note of.<br />
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From there, it was a metro back to the Festival de las Naciones for a whistle-stop tour of Argentina (Quilmes) and Mexico (Corona and tequila) before catching a bus towards the stadium. With the rain still falling, we headed off to meet more of the normal crew in Kev, Fiona and Sara. They were hiding in what can only be described as a school canteen which served beer.
It also served food, or in this case, cold croquettes and chips. Had Gordon Ramsay been present - unlikely, given Scotland’s presence in lowly group League C Group 1 of the Nations League - then he'd have wandered into the kitchen shouting “THEY'RE ******* FROZEN.” We happen to be much easier customers to please and so as long as the €2.50 Kruzcampo continued to flow we were all happy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNglLuX8BkSna8CIqsbhVoGy8WusHsk9RMvHPaUvh6H0D9EpwHRs5_lXd3sVNnVCb_XnPgAzifX17SlHoybyGqXv0liUJD5MQwxv4aXn8Oq14n3GARQM7a3ejtXMAMLqJCbAb1jChrURLK/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNglLuX8BkSna8CIqsbhVoGy8WusHsk9RMvHPaUvh6H0D9EpwHRs5_lXd3sVNnVCb_XnPgAzifX17SlHoybyGqXv0liUJD5MQwxv4aXn8Oq14n3GARQM7a3ejtXMAMLqJCbAb1jChrURLK/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The rain in Spain falls mainly on Real Betis</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVtm5u1a51BiLSf2nEAEE8yNYgoLAFWWUhNWy17G2FsQ_IQwNcAtEcoH6ZBOllN1G5GYZP-X3IN_iecg5Kta3J7vWsK-O5JBvCr71rj2Q2MXaXxpigoBzaPiBIcm07l6eaAU0FSLFLB04Y/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVtm5u1a51BiLSf2nEAEE8yNYgoLAFWWUhNWy17G2FsQ_IQwNcAtEcoH6ZBOllN1G5GYZP-X3IN_iecg5Kta3J7vWsK-O5JBvCr71rj2Q2MXaXxpigoBzaPiBIcm07l6eaAU0FSLFLB04Y/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good luck vertigo sufferers with the steepness of the stands in Estadio Bentio Villamarin</td></tr>
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Happiness turned to delight about 45 minutes before kick off when the rain ceased. That made for a pleasant evening at Estadio Benito Villamarin. The stadium itself is fantastic, two tiers of steep sloping seats rising into the Seville sky. The floodlights are those that Spain really does specialise in, four short pylons raised slightly above the back row behind each goal supporting a long row of lights. <br />
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Open air stadiums can be notoriously devoid of atmosphere without a roof to keep the noise in, so it says much about the design of Estadio Benito Villamarin that the England supporters could generate a real racket. The ridiculous gradient of the stands helps - when you looked down towards the goal Jordan Pickford was minding in the second half, it felt like a sheer drop.<br />
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With such noise generated in a game in which the home support were largely quiet, it makes you wonder how noisy the place could be with a full house behind Betis, especially when they take on Sevilla in the derby. Another game for the bucket list, that one.<br />
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The atmosphere in the England section was of course helped by what went on on the pitch. Eric Dier set the tone early on by nearly breaking Sergio Ramos in half right below the away section before the Three Lions raced into a 3-0 lead through a Raheem Sterling brace and Marcus Rashford, playing some of the most incisive football in years.
People were pinching themselves at half time and I was so shocked I couldn't even navigate my way to the bar on the off chance they sold a beer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIUtfoq5LDZnf3Lr7AfXjcXMH4XUcZBsvd3zW7sYbNe816G6JHW2Yt4kk_OusV12yC0sZi2KmfL5QKt52ei7uFup9POz2OrDoGG-8DaS2yYJVNtPZ13yqFB7tpwf-ww9Us-zGDFKJ254S/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIUtfoq5LDZnf3Lr7AfXjcXMH4XUcZBsvd3zW7sYbNe816G6JHW2Yt4kk_OusV12yC0sZi2KmfL5QKt52ei7uFup9POz2OrDoGG-8DaS2yYJVNtPZ13yqFB7tpwf-ww9Us-zGDFKJ254S/s320/07.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We'd never seen Brighton cock up a 3-0 lead before - Coventry on the other hand...</td></tr>
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The talk on the terraces was of how England could cock things up. The Brighton contingent struggled to recall a game in which they'd seen the Seagulls throw away a three goal lead before so if/when the inevitable happened, it would be a first for us. Sara had seen Coventry do it so this wouldn't quite be uncharted territory for her.<br />
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Spain did come close to completing a comeback. Paco Alcacer beat Pickford and then Ramos headed home with the final touch of the game for 3-2. Previously England sides might have crumbled in a second half under such Spain pressure, but this version did what was necessary to get over the line.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNrw0Wm5yM7oYocA2Nuw1w36bSm3LshNxWYVq7PlBOTNsLauHdt1U308o_3KiewfSX7ERvc64UXi232rj7H8D9HoFs4p816xDcr3V93A2qpO4WvfBAgLA_QIkC_4u1SrLQhmV-yB2XIoy/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNrw0Wm5yM7oYocA2Nuw1w36bSm3LshNxWYVq7PlBOTNsLauHdt1U308o_3KiewfSX7ERvc64UXi232rj7H8D9HoFs4p816xDcr3V93A2qpO4WvfBAgLA_QIkC_4u1SrLQhmV-yB2XIoy/s320/08.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A scoreboard you don't see everyday</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwxAjUN47XvBPC66hUXg8UJNgVUW3BiwvGPzkZCgemPShgFB123HYTIVqYJu3GEVsKI-Ud6zTBLwW6diYYtrrkb7b4M9OmbHpx2iMQki6rLMUfRTQHF17ucD8Tm3on0k_mHn7NxEZ1haf_/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwxAjUN47XvBPC66hUXg8UJNgVUW3BiwvGPzkZCgemPShgFB123HYTIVqYJu3GEVsKI-Ud6zTBLwW6diYYtrrkb7b4M9OmbHpx2iMQki6rLMUfRTQHF17ucD8Tm3on0k_mHn7NxEZ1haf_/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not even a 45 minute lock in could dampen the England sections spirits after that</td></tr>
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Some pundits compared it to the victory over Germany in Berlin two years ago and while that was a fantastic night in the Olympic Stadium, this felt different.
Roy Hodgson’s side on that occasion weren't so young and lacking in international experience. There didn't seem much that they could learn from winning that game, especially as there was a sense that Germany had thrown it away rather than England winning it.<br />
<br />
To storm into a three goal lead away against a side who have been in relentless form since the World Cup and then manage and see off the game was a very different type of result. It gave players with few caps invaluable experience and after a run to the last four in Russia in which England were accused of never meeting a decent team, proved they do have what it takes to compete with the best in the world.
All of that made this one of the greatest England away games in recent times.<br />
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Not even an unnecessary 45 minute lock in and a three mile walk back to the city centre afterwards could dampen the mood. Nor could the attitude of a fat Spanish waiter, ironically the spitting image of Rafa Benitez, trying to refuse service of beer to any England fans who didn't order a main meal in his bar. His mood wasn't improved by everyone buying drinks at the bar, taking them to a table and then pretending to spend the next half hour looking at the menu.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxlN5MJljc7s7UUsqtlC7ZNt-n0aZ0Ex7TBgjuvO-wrubc8posjNFkYHrD1cNlbiXBXzs_pVM9taIOiBEEULYA2aMM_ASufknhU3S0dyvPeQuZu6FRtgRAk4dpk1a1jIgq8TDJYTu7fZzV/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxlN5MJljc7s7UUsqtlC7ZNt-n0aZ0Ex7TBgjuvO-wrubc8posjNFkYHrD1cNlbiXBXzs_pVM9taIOiBEEULYA2aMM_ASufknhU3S0dyvPeQuZu6FRtgRAk4dpk1a1jIgq8TDJYTu7fZzV/s320/17.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seville Cathedral in all her Monday night glory</td></tr>
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After abandoning Rafa and his fascist attitude without having been forced into forking out £40 for food, we discovered that Seville has something for everyone, even those who want to party all night long as we celebrated the win in a street full of bars drinking some strange sangria cocktails and Jagerbombs at €2 a pop to end the night.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjy8A_7-pFF29Z_Fr547ZIHMjuR_22cfdzLHhwjARx7ky8wBtC6xWmcZvRi82ZqSrMTsC25AiLvIOuoQxTbkdT_LmaiXXeu9e2Ey4dDTgxvoALYnkSTiwaSQlr07tgJlheS6IBEAgVT_N/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjy8A_7-pFF29Z_Fr547ZIHMjuR_22cfdzLHhwjARx7ky8wBtC6xWmcZvRi82ZqSrMTsC25AiLvIOuoQxTbkdT_LmaiXXeu9e2Ey4dDTgxvoALYnkSTiwaSQlr07tgJlheS6IBEAgVT_N/s320/04.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a building you want t be climbing on a hangover</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOrHnrU_yJQCVhvtG1PQ5cbwvvnxEKbR4h5LnlyR1NcKyfD_5vD109IzcHhxB62l03Xj29_l-4rmgrZp9P5p8nkc9E0-x8nUeIIKRfMYTs8oEVMHadBASQqFDcxqv6Ypclgcp6d1y2mBT/s1600/27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOrHnrU_yJQCVhvtG1PQ5cbwvvnxEKbR4h5LnlyR1NcKyfD_5vD109IzcHhxB62l03Xj29_l-4rmgrZp9P5p8nkc9E0-x8nUeIIKRfMYTs8oEVMHadBASQqFDcxqv6Ypclgcp6d1y2mBT/s320/27.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The views from the top over the rest of Seville were worth it though</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZeEPTVGyvjeYJKncZHrp_6J8KYpRfPrH0eY3OS_arML9W-p0yMVy5bphbXyR-qSmb2UQPIsEYTSakKoJSILgemiyAFeXHRb8cvUuq_LJEUrU4ILlkGRVUHQuTJRnfXNyAGU42nmQsLYYO/s1600/19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZeEPTVGyvjeYJKncZHrp_6J8KYpRfPrH0eY3OS_arML9W-p0yMVy5bphbXyR-qSmb2UQPIsEYTSakKoJSILgemiyAFeXHRb8cvUuq_LJEUrU4ILlkGRVUHQuTJRnfXNyAGU42nmQsLYYO/s320/19.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tomb of Christoper Columbus </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-19Phz1YMbvVYac48rH7QfIwZUGkQribfoNSfjNd5myYHbzmifrxW1aLwC5-p6eqc0icfkAP_l7DXoTImjMlyuJB1CBVp_7Cw9B5aOILGu5M12G90rN8Td27OWcXDQdL5OFxMGuiYtDwT/s1600/24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-19Phz1YMbvVYac48rH7QfIwZUGkQribfoNSfjNd5myYHbzmifrxW1aLwC5-p6eqc0icfkAP_l7DXoTImjMlyuJB1CBVp_7Cw9B5aOILGu5M12G90rN8Td27OWcXDQdL5OFxMGuiYtDwT/s320/24.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Alcazar, the oldest royal palace still in use in Spain</td></tr>
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With a further two days in Seville, we took the Lonely Planet approach and climbed the cathedral (not good on a hangover), wandered around the Alcazar and explored the area of Triana just across the river. Most intriguing was Torre del Oro which translates as the Golden Tower, so called because it was where every ship returning to Europe from the Americas had to dock and pay 50% of its cargo to the city. This was then reinvested in the beautiful architecture and stunning churches that make Seville so picturesque.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyv8h6p8WBGQCNsl26FXQ42Uw7HEiBXmyAxouCTDeJQwJiZwfxxOeaPTUAqpLRZyPAWRpxB9g_ZyJZP66bJ-iuaevBUN-vARosn2jc004vo4QXDa7M3JHmX2HC9fuRJiE1qv6uPw4aT0tT/s1600/31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyv8h6p8WBGQCNsl26FXQ42Uw7HEiBXmyAxouCTDeJQwJiZwfxxOeaPTUAqpLRZyPAWRpxB9g_ZyJZP66bJ-iuaevBUN-vARosn2jc004vo4QXDa7M3JHmX2HC9fuRJiE1qv6uPw4aT0tT/s320/31.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Torre del Oro, home of the 50% tax. Don't give Jeremy Corbyn ideas...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOLdHVrrxBNB0ILiMfL-eHPwjqT1KTILj5IHTnAyn5tHfjBZBN3Ykzh0Ul0PQCcQ2hWfi2C2fjXQ2srqwetNRih3z5CfHle3S6JuxHCixSc2u6ZGDqzrAS-ZEV8HOLmDSLvfMgKYfjg-Of/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOLdHVrrxBNB0ILiMfL-eHPwjqT1KTILj5IHTnAyn5tHfjBZBN3Ykzh0Ul0PQCcQ2hWfi2C2fjXQ2srqwetNRih3z5CfHle3S6JuxHCixSc2u6ZGDqzrAS-ZEV8HOLmDSLvfMgKYfjg-Of/s320/23.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The home of the cities other club, Sevilla</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm86-KzCpxTyX9_7g3_hoS-LNeBK_BLWu0mropRBIHMLTqp2lHTj6ORebvW6aj52tpn-TLKnPJZpdvuL3gqP6Hp8BhszwtF6FUqZWopqKH4J-i7kMyIvdWrQ1RWP7MOU3LjwTdINdXE4ZM/s1600/30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm86-KzCpxTyX9_7g3_hoS-LNeBK_BLWu0mropRBIHMLTqp2lHTj6ORebvW6aj52tpn-TLKnPJZpdvuL3gqP6Hp8BhszwtF6FUqZWopqKH4J-i7kMyIvdWrQ1RWP7MOU3LjwTdINdXE4ZM/s320/30.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Return visited needed to tick off Ramon Sanchez-Pizjuan Stadium</td></tr>
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Our final stop was Sevilla's Ramon Sanchez-Pizjuan Stadium, only for it to turn out that tours weren't available on that particular day. The home of the Los Rojiblancos looked impressive from the outside and the fact we couldn't get in adds another reason to return to Seville.<br />
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The list keeps getting longer and that is perhaps the biggest endorsement Seville as a city can have. A man who previously disliked Spain now wants to return. Forget about that Lonely Planet recommendation, Seville has the coveted Scott McCarthy recommendation.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Spain: </b>David De Gea, Jonny Castro Otto, Nacho, Sergio Ramos 1, Marcos Alonso, Thiago Alcantra, Sergio Busquets, Saul Niguez (Paco Alcacer), Iago Aspas (Dani Ceballos), Rodrigo Moreno (Alvaro Moratta), Marco Asensio.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Jordan Pickford, Kieran Trippier (Trent Alexander-Arnold), Harry Maguie, Joe Gomez, Ben Chilwell, Harry Winks (Nathaniel Chalobah), Eric Dier, Ross Barkley (Kyle Walker), Raheem Sterling 2, Harry Kane, Marcus Rashford.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>50,355</span><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2Av de Heliópolis, s/n, 41012 Sevilla, Spain37.356513484169476 -5.9817981719970737.350202984169478 -5.99188317199707 37.362823984169474 -5.97171317199707tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-86163431199857703152018-06-28T19:00:00.000+01:002018-07-06T20:47:55.914+01:00England v Belgium. 28/06/18<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b><i>"They don't seem to have 'Ra Ra Rasputin' available for karaoke, which I guess isn't a surprise given he was poisoned, shot and thrown in a river less than a mile away"</i></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">England 0-1 Belgium. Kaliningrad Stadium.<br />
Thursday 28/06/18</td></tr>
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The best thing about holding a World Cup in Russia, aside from the fantastic party the hosts have put on, is that for the duration of the tournament you can visit the Russian Federation without having to hand over a significant wad of cash for the privilege.<br />
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Any other time of the year, a standard tourist visa to enter the country weighs in at £108.40. It's even more expensive should you want to visit the exclave of Kaliningrad as it's position on the Baltic Sea, separated from the rest of Russia by the Baltic States, means that you technically have to leave and then re-enter the country to get there. To do that, you need a "double entry visa" at the cost of £151.40. What does President Putin think we are, made of money?<br />
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With a Fan ID however, available to anybody who wants to visit Russia for the World Cup, no visa fee is necessary and you can travel anywhere in Russia. Given that I'd always wanted to visit Saint Petersburg but could never justify paying over 100 notes to do so, this was fantastic news. When the draw was made and threw up England v Belgium in Kaliningrad, it became even better. A few days in Saint Petersburg followed by a few days in the home of the Baltic Fleet? Sign me up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXNtjYewHtIpa9vTCfWympd6w3RGTyM74lEHqK4IY7VfhrxAen733NXW3Ur6BdRLQc4AvwZbzjufiuoPlVXG7GV38Ool0x_dHTFwyr1vKeIa_zVx5EWSzpFzY5SFuONRH44-R2fqUYHuab/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXNtjYewHtIpa9vTCfWympd6w3RGTyM74lEHqK4IY7VfhrxAen733NXW3Ur6BdRLQc4AvwZbzjufiuoPlVXG7GV38Ool0x_dHTFwyr1vKeIa_zVx5EWSzpFzY5SFuONRH44-R2fqUYHuab/s320/02.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luckily, I had left my firearm behind ahead of the<br />
overnight train to Saint Petersburg</td></tr>
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Saint Petersburg is located 692 miles away from Nizhny Novgorod were we were travelling from following <a href="http://mccarthysfootballtravels.blogspot.com/2018/06/england-v-panama-240618.html" target="_blank">England's 6-1 win over Panama</a> 24 hours earlier, which meant it was the perfect opportunity to partake in one of the greatest experiences you can have when travelling around Eastern Europe - the overnight sleeper train.<br />
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This one was particularly brutal, setting off from Nizhny at 1.58pm local time on Monday and arriving in Saint Petersburg at 12.05pm on Tuesday, a mere 22 hours and seven minute journey that cost a ridiculously low £46.29 for a bed in an open carriage. Boris Johnson and the rest of the government may be busy slating the Russians, but Chris Grayling should get his incompetent posterior out to Russia as soon as possible to see how a railway should be run.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG_cK9rMNIK8MvtLYFEjN1acZ5cSze6wvgjY6L0ejyZWTPf555uoPRu2gf5HNdcOVnt7DPdr3_fldMWpFanLRMT06xeCj07dwzSnuciBATrq45CJCmZYU2OnRIcC98wWlpRwNcXDXlJvmf/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG_cK9rMNIK8MvtLYFEjN1acZ5cSze6wvgjY6L0ejyZWTPf555uoPRu2gf5HNdcOVnt7DPdr3_fldMWpFanLRMT06xeCj07dwzSnuciBATrq45CJCmZYU2OnRIcC98wWlpRwNcXDXlJvmf/s320/01.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The luxurious carriage for the 22 hour train trip<br />
to Saint Petersburg</td></tr>
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Not only does our erstwhile Transport Secretary think it is acceptable to pay £26.70 for an hours trip from Brighton to London, but he also reckons that it is okay for that service to involve not having a seat and being crammed in like a sardine. To further highlight the absolute shower that our railways are compared to Russia, we arrived into Saint Petersburg dead on arrival time despite the distance. No need for delay repay on Russian railways.<br />
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The journey itself was your typical overnight trip, people sharing food and drinks and stories with each other as if they were old friends as opposed to recently acquainted folk who had been thrown together in a train carriage with no air conditioning as the temperature topped 30 degrees.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9TTjkNhvFo80NSQo8jw30nI4j4zgLmqFrNT03U2lRg0cp5YpGGmvo3yEbuX1Ezgz7cXPeNoE-uW4pF7uek3h2ITjL7H6YACc8L9m8uwKku6-mTyWJjYJUn1C8cSWjsFBDjOD4fScDs8gg/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9TTjkNhvFo80NSQo8jw30nI4j4zgLmqFrNT03U2lRg0cp5YpGGmvo3yEbuX1Ezgz7cXPeNoE-uW4pF7uek3h2ITjL7H6YACc8L9m8uwKku6-mTyWJjYJUn1C8cSWjsFBDjOD4fScDs8gg/s320/03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beer and the rolling Russian countryside</td></tr>
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There were two particular characters I got chatting to in order to while away the time. The first was a very friendly Russian chap who bizarrely kept his sunglasses on for the entire time he was on the train, which was approximately the first four hours. Obviously, we talked about football and I found it strange that for such a passionate fan of Russia - and Chelsea - he wasn't watching their game on his mobile, given they were in action against Uruguay at the time. When I asked him why, he didn't seem to have an answer so I presumed something was lost in translation as his English was not great and my Russian non-existent bar "placebo", which means thank you if you're interested.<br />
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I put this lack of watching Russia down to the poor mobile signal, and then we talked about England's chances and how well they had played against Panama, after which I showed him some photos on my phone of the previous day in Nizhny Novgorod. It was only when he got up to alight from the train and pulled out a white stick that I realised he was in fact blind. Needless to say, asking a blind man why he wasn't watching something and then showing him photos wasn't my finest moment.<br />
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I'd just about managed to remove my foot from my mouth when his replacement rocked up, an older Russian man complete with his family of older teenagers in tow. He didn't speak a word of English but had pretty good German, so we were able to strike up some form of conversation in the mother tongue of the Fatherland. Soon, he was sharing some home made bread item packed with onions with me and the rest of his clan. The trolley women came along, sold us all a beer and then the ticket collector came along and told us no drinking on the train. You can have that one actually Mr Grayling, you don't get that on Southern.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhZyA7p0w1oRMWWkdRGZiwXLR5_5NtVeYiXEyFvzU8d2Pg8_0FkC5CRQBr0eK6W9FDy2FymEEmmHYaa1O84SVi_wuIse1nmsJNThEM60N_3WQL1GStgICqYJU7-0Wz34dpiwm3oPVtu6O/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhZyA7p0w1oRMWWkdRGZiwXLR5_5NtVeYiXEyFvzU8d2Pg8_0FkC5CRQBr0eK6W9FDy2FymEEmmHYaa1O84SVi_wuIse1nmsJNThEM60N_3WQL1GStgICqYJU7-0Wz34dpiwm3oPVtu6O/s320/04.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UNESCO World Heritage Site Saint Petersburg</td></tr>
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It was a surprisingly good nights sleep given that it was like sleeping in an oven and after arrival in Saint Petersburg, it was off to explore Russia's finest city. The architecture is absolutely stunning with the Winter Palace - former home of the monarchy and now the world famous Hermitage Museum - the crowning jewel. The whole centre of the city is a UNESCO World Heritage site and with the crystal blue Neva River and what seemed like hundreds of gold-topped churches everywhere, it compares to anywhere in the world for beauty.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOYx4jnp4y4x-Vkbx7byIG3oseHHMt3fKikczsQs2oMb4QEYMdfJF31FS5gWTfWnwx8ybOD_Ec1mzZoLJUX0Yvz0fP5-k2mfwlFn2QetcD7KLKsDuHK-irgMO9i4dgmgMSarb2qR11SMnt/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOYx4jnp4y4x-Vkbx7byIG3oseHHMt3fKikczsQs2oMb4QEYMdfJF31FS5gWTfWnwx8ybOD_Ec1mzZoLJUX0Yvz0fP5-k2mfwlFn2QetcD7KLKsDuHK-irgMO9i4dgmgMSarb2qR11SMnt/s320/05.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Winter Palace, home of the Russian monarchy and now the<br />
Hermitage Museum </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzil0qW0VC1JyAYoQD9NxYb4Q6gEyEthZC5Udt20ETHfdkXc5R6uf48ROOmQZfaQA2sGgjZ9vjATE5aGmFjA5yvWmo4OjH_DyFXIv_j_s4OwDqLvQduokKEMXWhEzecKI-30aWB5yMNE4g/s320/07.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Neva River</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWX0IgqRO4wZ-io3HBbZtfxch6mLFnrhfKqTG0Slzon7ohM8X3TN589I5YPZX51Y4gV2-tLaiins5VZSjWYlpa8b9al4y7w9qxOLi2_DkDFS7cE8MFTY8Oy_zQMynDLT9FPmVtMzvNl2ne/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWX0IgqRO4wZ-io3HBbZtfxch6mLFnrhfKqTG0Slzon7ohM8X3TN589I5YPZX51Y4gV2-tLaiins5VZSjWYlpa8b9al4y7w9qxOLi2_DkDFS7cE8MFTY8Oy_zQMynDLT9FPmVtMzvNl2ne/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stunning Saint Petersburg</td></tr>
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It's also bloody big. When you travel to most foreign places, you'll ask someone for directions and they'll tell you it isn't walk-able, you'll need a bus or metro. Then it turns out it is only 10 minutes away by foot. In Saint Petersburg, it was the complete opposite. You'd look at a map and see for example the palace were Rasputin was murdered wasn't that far away, an hour and a half later and you'd still be walking towards it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigbuVkItgwZIOxXFrMhyphenhyphengmnYsa7UMHPiwvlePECjZrDOTRfuZPhZorAeLbDvUJLScfY3CVQd9B9T-RqntYvcEIXpvRsalSouMN_zlDAPsqzeR00TKSMxtgeD7XH8wqzhF5PJJtI9cwFrgN/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigbuVkItgwZIOxXFrMhyphenhyphengmnYsa7UMHPiwvlePECjZrDOTRfuZPhZorAeLbDvUJLScfY3CVQd9B9T-RqntYvcEIXpvRsalSouMN_zlDAPsqzeR00TKSMxtgeD7XH8wqzhF5PJJtI9cwFrgN/s320/11.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Argentinian fans were out in force ahead of their<br />
game with Nigeria</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pervert for me, please</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Over 10km was covered in an afternoon but all that walking was made fun by the electric atmosphere in the city. Argentina were taking on Nigeria that night at the Saint Petersburg Stadium and there were tens of thousands of blue and white striped shirts everywhere you looked. I met up with our fellow Brighton contingent for dinner and then to watch the game in an outside pop up bar as Argentina squeaked through thanks to a Marcos Rojo goal in the last minute.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A pop up outside bar for Argentina v Nigeria</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FYegKqJnRz8C78IgMN35xqi4FyT8v_MydPpE6pC_cvvfMhr5a4S157NkrPAw6lk_kPXDPKHVI5hxPISaxDGcEzWRTYEuar_oRBuLjAsxINQuBr2xmftePTqvS1wkd5i3cBqLQaQv9uVV/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FYegKqJnRz8C78IgMN35xqi4FyT8v_MydPpE6pC_cvvfMhr5a4S157NkrPAw6lk_kPXDPKHVI5hxPISaxDGcEzWRTYEuar_oRBuLjAsxINQuBr2xmftePTqvS1wkd5i3cBqLQaQv9uVV/s320/16.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And "a few quiet drinks" turns into some significant <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">partying with the <br />Argies and the Nigerians</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After that, we hit a few more local watering holes for a "few quiet drinks". Needless to say, once the Argies returned from the stadium and into town the "quiet drinks" were out the window as the party really got started. The vodka was flowing and soon we hit a karaoke bar, where disappointingly 'Ra Ra Rasputin' was not an available song selection. This should hardly have come as a surprise given he was poisoned, shot and then thrown in the river less than a mile from the bar.<br />
<br />
We read lots about how Russian elections are rigged and while there is no doubt that Vladimir Putin has had his opposition bumped off or barred from standing against him on spurious terms, if this karaoke bar taught us anything other than not to sing about homeless drunks who bought down the royal family, it is that he would win a fair election regardless of who stood against him.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34wJk9qHVXQRdXq2TMXR34DcN3ncCZGFiJC0WUPDT0fHE4PMoYtTSGMjVVU5W_qO-_kpzrjc749Oiq7-xNaxhfo_7te1VubLgJ07BfudOFfq5CWL-Tujd_WLkurrL8X90Sq_8KExc7ioX/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34wJk9qHVXQRdXq2TMXR34DcN3ncCZGFiJC0WUPDT0fHE4PMoYtTSGMjVVU5W_qO-_kpzrjc749Oiq7-xNaxhfo_7te1VubLgJ07BfudOFfq5CWL-Tujd_WLkurrL8X90Sq_8KExc7ioX/s320/12.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greatest t-shirt ever? And only £8</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Russians were all very non-plussed about six English blokes taking over with renditions of Delilah and Taylor Swift songs until one Russian got up to sing. It turned out his choice was a song about Putin, complete with a cartoon video of him doing various masculine things. All of a sudden, the place went mad as people began joining in, singing, clapping and dancing along. And all this in Saint Petersburg, one of the supposedly more liberal, anti-Putin cities. All of a sudden, my decision to part with £8 for a t-shirt of Putin seductively removing sunglasses with the caption "From Russia, with Love" and a calendar with him in various poses including firing a gun and fishing was very much justified.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH0syyoyoApgn8q47yoFIN4kWWdCC6rFhH1er52P9-eUIPivC9_gJyRngz5Z-OvtIUwJITgJmNIN8VLflsioVpN9eaCFmndyEbCbfcz59DWtRGQ5xbG0fokuIdoni2rCri9YbQRCjKY8Nw/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="726" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH0syyoyoApgn8q47yoFIN4kWWdCC6rFhH1er52P9-eUIPivC9_gJyRngz5Z-OvtIUwJITgJmNIN8VLflsioVpN9eaCFmndyEbCbfcz59DWtRGQ5xbG0fokuIdoni2rCri9YbQRCjKY8Nw/s320/15.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The party continues</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTBcCYw_k-qP7d0GU2tf4iTDfsfiRgGf4CccL9gIXuvfY_wCeOw_jBfiDWjZWOVbonCvxb70niOx0AIrwjzhDbAilmh7NhfW6Fyo6rjDsVLIxYrxr33YGEx0E5FcXPtRJ0h_ipksglDD6a/s320/17.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saint Petersburg, where the sun never goes down - literally. This was<br />
taken at 4am in the morning on the way back to the hotel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The other noticeable thing about Saint Petersburg other than her size and beauty is that the sun never sets - quite literally. This can make it an absolute nightmare when it comes to time keeping, as rolling out of a bar into bright sunshine at 4am in the morning can attest to. The people of the city never seem to sleep either, my hour-and-a-half walk home taking in restaurants still open with people sat outside eating dinner despite it being the same time that the average milkman starts his rounds.<br />
<br />
This sunlight and every-restaurant-being-open situation allowed for a 7am kebab breakfast on the way back to the hotel and a few hours sleep before the flight to Kaliningrad. Saint Petersburg had instantly charted into the top five cities I've ever been, but the Kaliningrad was a completely different kettle of fish. As soon as you entered the city, which foreigners were banned from until the fall of the Soviet Union, it is a very different feel. This is hardly surprising given that until the end of World War II it had belonged to Germany. The area was given to the victorious Russian's, the ethnic population were largely shipped out and lots of Soviet's moved in.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3YPKCtq79Mm7ivRvrR0FqgWzaWk-uMNt9PkvHolH0MpEYvxNtfVwUyipyno3FSHOlX_jJ4MXYy18iEC9nVMjPAJoygEIp6Pvjhdj1pyxPUSGf6aPszciQGuMKXjRXZV_qhVO0JS-KrEWP/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3YPKCtq79Mm7ivRvrR0FqgWzaWk-uMNt9PkvHolH0MpEYvxNtfVwUyipyno3FSHOlX_jJ4MXYy18iEC9nVMjPAJoygEIp6Pvjhdj1pyxPUSGf6aPszciQGuMKXjRXZV_qhVO0JS-KrEWP/s320/18.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuffed bear at Saint Petersburg airport,<br />
as you do...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1-IsrSPr-yRET2CIDhyphenhyphen32MJv3FEQ-jK5LQ04abaBoE8XSt1s5FFOCWqEVjIutXCjaHjldV5TBAJokIHG5wmABQXOZ6-yB7BrK9uhenY9tmoXQMOO99KHRTQ5EIsQi7EJIEIZRkamKPk3e/s320/19.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="178" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glad to be here, amber region</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's pre-Russian past gives it a very Germanic feel. Plenty of the street and building names are still in German - we were staying in the Fredrich Hotel for example. The architecture is very German and even the culture, with our dinner on arrival and breakfast the following morning consisting of German cheese and sausages and German beer. You don't feel as if you are in Russia in Kaliningrad - rather than photos of Putin everywhere, it's all about Peter the Great. There is even a gay bar, "the best pub in Kaliningrad" according to one local. As an added bonus, the sun also sets, leaving no excuse for being in a pub until 4am in the morning. Shame.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKaQFoolYdMZyyBMSuW_uwhKGHcSYVB1C8k9VRPiA1OhJCx04MBE3ARFIR_Bm2v6oNWzRrVwpOIY_nVGnKriXNuH6PaSHsHoeyssAMfD6mTydZ07SJoKgF1FNvmdl-9ZzGx14-fKVaj8w4/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKaQFoolYdMZyyBMSuW_uwhKGHcSYVB1C8k9VRPiA1OhJCx04MBE3ARFIR_Bm2v6oNWzRrVwpOIY_nVGnKriXNuH6PaSHsHoeyssAMfD6mTydZ07SJoKgF1FNvmdl-9ZzGx14-fKVaj8w4/s320/23.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a bowl of cheese for dinner for me</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUN-JXmu-sI-MF5f7wpEMhcmPDXn4XBHR_6WNyAGko5ARMta8a-Hi9pv68TfUuT9OGFj-ZTXQXbRcEbzzH_yOy7VqnqEn7UeMpGF0sfCTLkt5Wy3M8ZSTLu_Jmy4wF3XsWaAlGbfIaOLiL/s1600/26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUN-JXmu-sI-MF5f7wpEMhcmPDXn4XBHR_6WNyAGko5ARMta8a-Hi9pv68TfUuT9OGFj-ZTXQXbRcEbzzH_yOy7VqnqEn7UeMpGF0sfCTLkt5Wy3M8ZSTLu_Jmy4wF3XsWaAlGbfIaOLiL/s320/26.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">German breakfast...</td></tr>
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Given it's close proximity to Poland and with that the ease of travel from England, there were far more Three Lions supporters in Kaliningrad than had been in Nizhny Novogrod, while the Belgian's had bought their fair share too. The crosses of St George and Belgian flags were flying everywhere around the pretty city square, around the corner from which we found the best pub of the trip. Located in an underground bunker, it had pictures of Vladimir Lenin and Josef Stalin on the walls, artillery shells decorating the shelves and replica army coats and hats for patrons to wear while they drank. Even better than the decor was that it was 90p a beer - served from a 2 litre plastic bottle - and 60p a vodka shot.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGWaObrxphyphenhyphenmqZfyHuqwo-AKQg1Y8LJt0Vn4oHtALzXEynvkFC6N1hyphenhyphenimMqCB3ITSGUJea8zKROMTxBhCR5_jWChvEqzttZVYQ6_GiWMLPqMNj6Qfglpxo1ng2D8zRtIHTEl-InHLtk25/s1600/28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGWaObrxphyphenhyphenmqZfyHuqwo-AKQg1Y8LJt0Vn4oHtALzXEynvkFC6N1hyphenhyphenimMqCB3ITSGUJea8zKROMTxBhCR5_jWChvEqzttZVYQ6_GiWMLPqMNj6Qfglpxo1ng2D8zRtIHTEl-InHLtk25/s320/28.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kaliningrad</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZy5b917_9TfqDE6jjdzVct7mDzlAAcqeSpIZie3kx3wEOJA7kvMwaOAHhApqIVlWWmCG9JbLyt9b-uv4xVxcMXT12aH1qo_d2X0_0V4n5k5nEO9D5IctS05X3LwiGLovPMQGCYYVRGoxd/s1600/36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZy5b917_9TfqDE6jjdzVct7mDzlAAcqeSpIZie3kx3wEOJA7kvMwaOAHhApqIVlWWmCG9JbLyt9b-uv4xVxcMXT12aH1qo_d2X0_0V4n5k5nEO9D5IctS05X3LwiGLovPMQGCYYVRGoxd/s320/36.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The greatest pub in the world - a big portrait of<br />
Lenin on the wall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8a__tXo7r_zvqhztvl2T4KrSmjZ5crYVdMn1Od_3ZPuSbfvyprRit3BXyQMSHLkKo_k3mSuWAn4H448AcGfpC0uLo3TcctCar3tH1KZ7Vt97tpqkjbgmF6oxEcptrLf5aA1jl4Y7XwsJ0/s320/38.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="178" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Wear an authentic army hat and hold an authentic army<br />
shell while you enjoy your 90p pint"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8a__tXo7r_zvqhztvl2T4KrSmjZ5crYVdMn1Od_3ZPuSbfvyprRit3BXyQMSHLkKo_k3mSuWAn4H448AcGfpC0uLo3TcctCar3tH1KZ7Vt97tpqkjbgmF6oxEcptrLf5aA1jl4Y7XwsJ0/s1600/38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
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We left the bunker once to visit a couple of bars down by the beautiful riverside but returned within an hour such was the bunkers brilliance and it was from here that we undertook the 20 minute walk to Kaliningrad Stadium, high-fiving and posing for pictures with locals along the way.<br />
<br />
The ground is located on an island outside the city centre on wasteland, with quite literally nothing around it. One of the big problems with building new stadiums specifically for World Cup's is what becomes of them afterwards, and that certainly looks to be the case here.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoi481-apq11intJcPs_8kIM4zs7hiOTe5hy3g6DIXlh5Hn8Q0xkOt64p7dmHgh4dzva726nRlPm3SiarKiAUZO6VKuQD3JpT2o2p9MNrKUOQAl7Aal9-3SGLPf_B0lbssn7IV0wuOrrqF/s1600/39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoi481-apq11intJcPs_8kIM4zs7hiOTe5hy3g6DIXlh5Hn8Q0xkOt64p7dmHgh4dzva726nRlPm3SiarKiAUZO6VKuQD3JpT2o2p9MNrKUOQAl7Aal9-3SGLPf_B0lbssn7IV0wuOrrqF/s320/39.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kaliningrad Stadium, build in the middle of nowhere</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The stadium currently holds just shy of 34,000 across two tiers - a smaller Allianz Arena, including its location surrounded by nothing - which is set to be reduced to 25,000 after the World Cup. The local side are FC Baltika Kaliningrad who play in the second tier and their average attendance last season was 4,594. It doesn't take a Diane Abbott to work out that it could end up becoming a very big, white elephant.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0yg1SVZrnc-12ievjNYrdIjNSmUlBk2zjWVxcd4gAMZeW0S245KOOXJno0ffVvG6uQCjD2qVAvS5Nn7lSsus6qNyBB7wpSBrZMRC6MW1_KAgBX9q34huoCBPc23t5rDuNRkuWCLwZVPs/s1600/41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0yg1SVZrnc-12ievjNYrdIjNSmUlBk2zjWVxcd4gAMZeW0S245KOOXJno0ffVvG6uQCjD2qVAvS5Nn7lSsus6qNyBB7wpSBrZMRC6MW1_KAgBX9q34huoCBPc23t5rDuNRkuWCLwZVPs/s320/41.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This place will unfortunately have just 4,000 rattling around in<br />
it next season</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Which is a shame as it is a nice ground and they went through quite the ordeal to build it. It's situated on marshland which had to be stablised and compacted before construction and then it was discovered they were actually building on top of infrastructure of pre-war buildings that nobody knew existed. Such was the damage that Kaliningrad suffered under a combination of British bombing, the Nazi's fleeing and the advancement of the Red Army, the structures had been quite literally wiped from the map.<br />
<br />
Two tiered all the way around, we were located in the lower tier behind the goal with a brilliant view of the action. Not that you needed one as with Belgium and England already qualified for the knockout stages, both sides sent out weakened teams and the result was a turgid game won 1-0 by Adnan Januzaj's strike.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi66h1dqS3GzktlVi__-8SkpgflnqSdr97MKNXlLka4wd5-FAGo_BX0hU8CiR3LgjJrziREsxTvQVdRIuwoC6mSKZnHaRYYm2looPa8eIYCYP_Pgd-TUS4yX4Zkt8dkCTJlXJ2xpvUCh66Y/s1600/47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi66h1dqS3GzktlVi__-8SkpgflnqSdr97MKNXlLka4wd5-FAGo_BX0hU8CiR3LgjJrziREsxTvQVdRIuwoC6mSKZnHaRYYm2looPa8eIYCYP_Pgd-TUS4yX4Zkt8dkCTJlXJ2xpvUCh66Y/s320/47.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lots more England in Kaliningrad for this one</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXoyY7JbQRNa1rqJLBNBR0SQtu0vIryRaZM9oqJjtvSfibb4Zg8YalV9rTfAR66PAoS619tCkBtyMWNZGEkvvrMv-H0F7YfuWsH5FyJY56j0jYt6N0IPyJ1TzwgMiSwEE7Mt7mIGaGKWqa/s1600/48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXoyY7JbQRNa1rqJLBNBR0SQtu0vIryRaZM9oqJjtvSfibb4Zg8YalV9rTfAR66PAoS619tCkBtyMWNZGEkvvrMv-H0F7YfuWsH5FyJY56j0jYt6N0IPyJ1TzwgMiSwEE7Mt7mIGaGKWqa/s320/48.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">England Reserves v Belgium Reserves - not what we had in mind<br />
when forking out £80 a ticket</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A fierce debate seems to have raged at home about whether Gareth Southgate was right to pick a reserve side, but if you asked supporters of both teams in Kaliningrad whether they felt selecting second choice players was the right thing to do, 95% of those there would say no. Not only did it feel slightly disrespectful to all of us who'd spent time and money getting to Kaliningrad - the cheapest match ticket was £86 - but the World Cup is only seven games long and why derail the momentum both sides had built up so far?<br />
<br />
Perhaps us England fans are still scarred by Roy Hodgson changing his team to rest players against Slovakia in Euro 2016, only to see us knocked out in the next round by Iceland, but it just didn't feel like the right thing to do. Still, if Harry Kane ends up lifting the World Cup in the Luzhniki Stadium in two weeks, nobody will care nor remember that we had to watch the stiffs play out a dull encounter in a dead rubber.<br />
<br />
After the game, just like in Nizhny it felt like the whole city had come out to party with the football fans in town. Bars were packed, people were singing and smiling and you'd never have guessed that we were in the very same place from where Russia could probably kick off World War III with their Baltic Fleet. Presumably, those commanding that fleet don't drink the local vodka. It's strong, I'll say that much.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiliIGhhq07Mwhdy9daJoZdlZRVBUWrZ8oqVrfYNvvkC7gSAM-etvvUAH6t_n1r2XcNvqog1HvAG30GBMyLWkU6HyS3jyQ0wBLlPfRJzWCsEFuvvs7FyQPcdAI5UbhrGggfTzSLs5-TMHP4/s1600/43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiliIGhhq07Mwhdy9daJoZdlZRVBUWrZ8oqVrfYNvvkC7gSAM-etvvUAH6t_n1r2XcNvqog1HvAG30GBMyLWkU6HyS3jyQ0wBLlPfRJzWCsEFuvvs7FyQPcdAI5UbhrGggfTzSLs5-TMHP4/s320/43.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The border with the EU - hide your Novichok</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKB6gf51pxRIKfjSGm8UcMtkOJ1UNEpESNvXZDbxzAsZn3CMN0t5YmYeBQbVoENORZ_7uMDIR9FchSQDOVyigxJgsFFvZLQB8EmYU77dXUxDtbv6LXA4Pba-mV4-IsY5BGJW6XUsoyo0Tt/s1600/44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="539" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKB6gf51pxRIKfjSGm8UcMtkOJ1UNEpESNvXZDbxzAsZn3CMN0t5YmYeBQbVoENORZ_7uMDIR9FchSQDOVyigxJgsFFvZLQB8EmYU77dXUxDtbv6LXA4Pba-mV4-IsY5BGJW6XUsoyo0Tt/s320/44.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A painful experience, crossing back into Poland -<br />
especially when you're wearing a Soviet hat in 30 degrees because it won't<br />
fit in your bag</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The following morning it was up bright and early for the five hour bus from Kaliningrad to Gdansk, Poland. This involved a long wait at border control to pass back into the EU, two hours but which felt more like a lifetime given the heat on the bus and the hangovers kicking in. Thankfully, the border police could find no traces of Novichok on us or discover the obscene amount of Putin merchandise being bought across the border, which no doubt would have marked me out as a newly-anointed Russian agent.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GBF8_azO2aH1dzaC7soYC-U2HWIC7N80DdLlRwnKAEisLVMx7O9HqbdClQXecTrUi3xf2LOIKDPxsaGyQi1W8HjXY_YKczaZG1GxaPzswrgZp4ccbzbV3HE_ujYQ1oYxj-tmQ1e6hoFZ/s1600/45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GBF8_azO2aH1dzaC7soYC-U2HWIC7N80DdLlRwnKAEisLVMx7O9HqbdClQXecTrUi3xf2LOIKDPxsaGyQi1W8HjXY_YKczaZG1GxaPzswrgZp4ccbzbV3HE_ujYQ1oYxj-tmQ1e6hoFZ/s320/45.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sole Polish flag after their elimination from the World Cup</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6hPzhcFdph9ZnXnXWP9kSHyumWmsDrulAxOUfyDvYHecwClXxqrNJv0JOr61mVIUru9LFVnsdLhMyWSRCe149DiRhfjhu2ErBnGWhU78EieRHJGUFdG2P1iCj1jwM6gyKtXtXQX4WmvjV/s320/46.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gdansk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We had a few hours in Gdansk to have a brief look at the old town and take some photos of the sole Polish flag the locals hadn't torn down in disgust at their own disappointing showing in the tournament before another flight to Warsaw and then homeward bound to Heathrow.<br />
<br />
Southern Rail, clearly wanting to impress having heard so many good things about my Russian train experience, put on quite the welcoming party by cancelling a load of trains out of Victoria and that meant an eventual return home at 2.30am - just the 22 hours after setting off from the hotel in Kaliningrad. What was it about this trip and ridiculous journeys?<br />
<br />
And that bought the curtain down on my World Cup adventure - for now, at least. Will there be a part three of McCarthy's Football Travels in Russia? I've got a ticket to the final, conditional on the Three Lions making it. Over to you, England...<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Jordan Pickford, Phil Jones, John Stones (Maguire), Gary Cahill, Trent Alexander-Arnold (Danny Welbeck), Ruben Loftus-Cheek, Eric Dier, Fabian Delph, Danny Rose, Marcus Rashford, Jamie Vardy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Belgium: </b>Thibaut Courtois, Leander Dendoncker, Dedryck Boyata, Thomas Vermalen (Vincent Kompany), Nacer Chadli, Youri Tielemans, Mousa Dembele, Thorgan Hazard, Adnan Januzaj 1 (Dries Mertens), Marouane Fellani, Michy Batshuayi.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>33,973</span><br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Solnechnyy Bul'var, Kaliningrad, Kaliningradskaya oblast', Russia, 23600654.6982206 20.53350019999993534.558655099999996 -20.775093800000064 74.8377861 61.842094199999934tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-80586772790843942552018-06-24T13:00:00.000+01:002018-07-04T07:28:51.845+01:00England v Panama. 24/06/18<b><i>"Why am I drinking so quickly? To remove the taste of that dead fish's head I've just eaten. It isn't working."</i></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">England 6-1 Panama. Nizhny Novgorod Stadium.<br />
Sunday 24/06/18</td></tr>
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In March this year, Britain's Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson was telling anyone who would listen that English fans travelling to the World Cup in Russia wouldn't be safe, comparing the tournament to the Berlin Olympics of 1936 and Vladimir Putin to Adolf Hitler.<br />
<br />
"This is what happens to you if you decide to support a country with a different set of values (to Russia). You can expect to be assassinated," said the man who is meant to represent Britain on the world stage.<br />
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Then, a mere week before the competition began, a Foreign Affairs Committee report warned of the very real dangers of "intimidation, hooligan violence and anti-British hostility." You may therefore be wondering how am I alive to write this blog on part one of our trip to Russia.<br />
<br />
Mr Johnson of course has a long and storied history of speaking complete and utter bollocks on all manner of issues, usually plastered across the side of a big red bus. Meanwhile, our MPs in general aren't exactly known to be the sharpest tools in the box, especially when the Shadow Home Secretary wants to pay new police officers £30 a year or the Trade Secretary reckons that a new deal with the EU will be the easiest in history.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7eAp7ZiEec7dwdcg7nqPPqS64CEZdMKFj7gGoQ6E5FwfaRBTLLx3BHtZwCxKEeS2H1Wh-Qc8OVG87PNZEMj0za6-nu2_jNzv_cx1ci3mwNnLnMSUDXkPkfbuOnB7KBRRMf4aYeVy0bmud/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="726" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7eAp7ZiEec7dwdcg7nqPPqS64CEZdMKFj7gGoQ6E5FwfaRBTLLx3BHtZwCxKEeS2H1Wh-Qc8OVG87PNZEMj0za6-nu2_jNzv_cx1ci3mwNnLnMSUDXkPkfbuOnB7KBRRMf4aYeVy0bmud/s320/05.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Welcome to Nizhny, try some of our fish"</td></tr>
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I couldn't help but wonder then what Mr Johnson or any of our other elected representatives would have thought when I was riding around Nizhny Novgorod in a taxi, eating a burger bought by the driver as we were picking up fares at 1am in the morning en route to my hotel. Or when, within five minutes of arriving into the city, I was ushered into a bar and given some raw fish to eat. Or when, after England had comprehensively defeated Panama 6-1 in their second game of the tournament, we were invited into a travel agents to drink cans of beer.<br />
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Nizhny you see was wonderful. Our group of five England fans and a token Bristol City supporter - welcome to McCarthy's Football Travels, Stuart - arrived in Moscow from Gatwick via Munich on the Saturday evening, allowing a cursory glance at Saint Basil's Cathedral as we passed through the Russian capital. Unfortunately, Red Square was closed off at this point for security reasons so there was no chance to enter it as we had a train to catch - onwards to Nizhny, driver.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uiyQi4PuyoYgM17-89M6ocJx124HlMnMYGpRshU-y-KxdqVRbmarmsOyaJbsYVi0Pzv8AHz848JShN0F9CiB7f98Iy_ckCgNfiWflwp8hG2sdiAplDiEzKupvyAWKwFYzZlJWfUtayMu/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="818" data-original-width="818" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uiyQi4PuyoYgM17-89M6ocJx124HlMnMYGpRshU-y-KxdqVRbmarmsOyaJbsYVi0Pzv8AHz848JShN0F9CiB7f98Iy_ckCgNfiWflwp8hG2sdiAplDiEzKupvyAWKwFYzZlJWfUtayMu/s320/01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A quick glance of Saint Basil's Cathedral through Red Square</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-fHftC0r1irrpehPLzOdW3J59Ia3FDf3AQw_Rz76ybAjEERgLRZabyxZGylhz2wsxgBKxXUEmWHKR-aGmT2tRTOn_ucV8ADoSkW3T2ChuWk9Jisv2Ih3JJdN6A7SETeq9leENSl67dwEb/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-fHftC0r1irrpehPLzOdW3J59Ia3FDf3AQw_Rz76ybAjEERgLRZabyxZGylhz2wsxgBKxXUEmWHKR-aGmT2tRTOn_ucV8ADoSkW3T2ChuWk9Jisv2Ih3JJdN6A7SETeq9leENSl67dwEb/s320/02.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moscow Metro system -<br />
you don't see this sort of artwork on the Piccadilly Line</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Located 250 miles west of Moscow, Nizhny Novgorod was the main supplier of military equipment to the Russian front during World War II. As a result, it became a "closed city" after the war right through until the fall of the Soviet Union in 1990, meaning that no foreigners were not allowed to visit in order to protect Soviet military research and production facilities.<br />
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Certainly, it would have been unthinkable 25 years ago that there would be a train speeding its way from Moscow with a buffet car full of people singing about Vindaloos, Jamie Vardy being on fire and holding and giving but doing it at the right time. Yet that is what we had as English, Russian, Panamanian, Swedes and one Australian bloke who must have been lost came together to drink beer and sing songs for virtually the entire four-and-a-half hour journey.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkEKS6UmX5JrG0MEvC62z3pblRnKU5kJvnE3gdEGaqNLzspylJf4TP-cz2SUK9h0uRnV0X9S6pnwZyK9c4NqtlDeUqaDq7C3Ys9UGlNteZcVrgdnRiZMPJN4ec7z2BEMkk1_F-SW_PFV_v/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkEKS6UmX5JrG0MEvC62z3pblRnKU5kJvnE3gdEGaqNLzspylJf4TP-cz2SUK9h0uRnV0X9S6pnwZyK9c4NqtlDeUqaDq7C3Ys9UGlNteZcVrgdnRiZMPJN4ec7z2BEMkk1_F-SW_PFV_v/s320/04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The party carriage from Moscow to Nizhny Novgorod</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUzsHnI16uUFT1Qo4fT2QX2OXSMP1pPLOmu_AxhHXhr950_q6AjeyqPlJT95Ui4bm6Y_1Y-WoA84t7c7EJLtwQ3wFE1NmAhRR6gF4OJfeFf6vcE3H1b5jSl79YXgzrys_BWDky0hwFFDNK/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUzsHnI16uUFT1Qo4fT2QX2OXSMP1pPLOmu_AxhHXhr950_q6AjeyqPlJT95Ui4bm6Y_1Y-WoA84t7c7EJLtwQ3wFE1NmAhRR6gF4OJfeFf6vcE3H1b5jSl79YXgzrys_BWDky0hwFFDNK/s320/03.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was good to see Alan Shearer on the train wearing his own<br />
shirt from Euro 96</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Once we arrived in Nizhny, we found ourselves ushered into the aforementioned bar to try the aforementioned raw fish by the locals. Apparently, this is a Russian delicacy but I can't say it was particularly enjoyable, especially when I later discovered you aren't actually meant to eat the fish's head - eyes and all - which needless to say I'd done. If you ever need an excuse to speed drink beer, then trying to get rid of the taste of a dead fish's head is one way to do it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5HY1tY4BcKR1qLexW4LfgqzoW7p85-qIPWJDRHNZkz2WNPyHd91cXAP79DTkto-T5xiwwr-pV9H4ZpqQ44yxOxWn3MX1gRUDCMTsp2kEfJF5-7ZW7q9JnouSghy1hdYtCjFvRpqsEHY6/s1600/32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5HY1tY4BcKR1qLexW4LfgqzoW7p85-qIPWJDRHNZkz2WNPyHd91cXAP79DTkto-T5xiwwr-pV9H4ZpqQ44yxOxWn3MX1gRUDCMTsp2kEfJF5-7ZW7q9JnouSghy1hdYtCjFvRpqsEHY6/s320/32.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The man in shades was no Gordon Ramsay if his raw fish<br />
offering was anything to go by</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrNpODcLKKWedeA6Kqh8FKODNkftkePNoKYr5Po1hThZvcgqshguQMTnokNWujhhvs5HuhKtlY3N9xQs81m3Mhx2M7rvdw9DvVdlohUPM4yDpoNwtUxpndnBjfN0yAODKBJnLMxeEQAuZv/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrNpODcLKKWedeA6Kqh8FKODNkftkePNoKYr5Po1hThZvcgqshguQMTnokNWujhhvs5HuhKtlY3N9xQs81m3Mhx2M7rvdw9DvVdlohUPM4yDpoNwtUxpndnBjfN0yAODKBJnLMxeEQAuZv/s320/06.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Don't worry about her, she just drink too much" -<br />
either that or she didn't like the dead fish dinner either</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The following day it was up early for a look around. Nizhny's main attraction is the 16th Century Kremlin, which features 13 towers and an extremely impressive cathedral. In honour of the cities military history, there are plenty of Russian tanks, planes and other army equipment around and a striking memorial to all those who died in the city during World War II, which was quite a few as it suffered heavy bombing from the Luftwaffe due to it's importance to the Red Army's supplies.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHfhInejks9x9Exeg6Qco7FpdCry4G-9lsCC8yX_eNS1bwIQwmCK7dxKSQTEr3yKaABNn__rcYlPd38Sc9enbssAaBc7vhAv1m3SyZVDQql-3ZLQ5FGPwpVKIx1ktMQLWqF9AP7Ukkoey/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHfhInejks9x9Exeg6Qco7FpdCry4G-9lsCC8yX_eNS1bwIQwmCK7dxKSQTEr3yKaABNn__rcYlPd38Sc9enbssAaBc7vhAv1m3SyZVDQql-3ZLQ5FGPwpVKIx1ktMQLWqF9AP7Ukkoey/s320/08.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nizhny Novgorod's 16th century Kremlin</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1z6U4Ftcgmoa98zacayFjXJFK5bBuyGOYfNVDKbAGt6pQpOEbw9_kvia6Q9eIYZ0xQArsoFuHCqcYSE9-8sEzZ8xIjE90X4qC3eRT6l-JEuJJbaEmm2Oqr_FyaVPmKocVQBrgq41om9p/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1z6U4Ftcgmoa98zacayFjXJFK5bBuyGOYfNVDKbAGt6pQpOEbw9_kvia6Q9eIYZ0xQArsoFuHCqcYSE9-8sEzZ8xIjE90X4qC3eRT6l-JEuJJbaEmm2Oqr_FyaVPmKocVQBrgq41om9p/s320/09.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cathedral within Nizhny Novgorod Kremlin</td></tr>
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The Kremlin also provided a stunning view over the Spit, the confluence of the Volga and Oka Rivers. After appreciating the vastness and beauty of the city, it was off to Bolshaya Pokrovskaya Street for some pre-game beers and breakfast. The Big Breakfast itself was an interesting contraption featuring a sausage, some eggs, a load of salad and some kidney beans, all washed down with some Russian beer and a bloke dressed as Josef Stalin walking up and down the road, as you do, in between posing for a selfie with a Peter Crouch look-a-like.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkErgh2Pj2LCWhehq9i4MjrNVFvSDEe6swHyugQhmID6sXxpdhXNOiLsrO7t5qELq2qeOTWbp4ZBZ4figIerWBpP51YjAxOIsiJntYgdon1VFu8Qwj0nCyEE7y7E95hRD7g0ZtkDxKBjc1/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkErgh2Pj2LCWhehq9i4MjrNVFvSDEe6swHyugQhmID6sXxpdhXNOiLsrO7t5qELq2qeOTWbp4ZBZ4figIerWBpP51YjAxOIsiJntYgdon1VFu8Qwj0nCyEE7y7E95hRD7g0ZtkDxKBjc1/s320/13.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Big breakfast" - not what I'd expected when it was ordered</td></tr>
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Suitably fed and watered and with the mercury hitting 31 degrees, it was time for the free bus to the Nizhny Novgorod Stadium. Built at the Spit, the stadiums design is apparently meant to represent the Volga and Oka which both surround it, with plenty of blue and white waves incorporated into the design. The striking thing about it is not the colours though but the size of the roof. It was absolutely massive, one of the biggest I've ever seen and that grand size made a stadium of just shy of 44,000 look like it had room for at least another 15,000 inside.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmQWT0toHHo8sO0yrKRDASKM3q5Y9xSCwefl1ZEn90RoV0fNoIeVRnV25LhAP2VxJgBbL0puzYSrUK-L0eisjM9cy3jV13BAOAiiUax_QtzOg9snyye6dQn7Df7-9ZuZQNyJmf6s87Dga/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmQWT0toHHo8sO0yrKRDASKM3q5Y9xSCwefl1ZEn90RoV0fNoIeVRnV25LhAP2VxJgBbL0puzYSrUK-L0eisjM9cy3jV13BAOAiiUax_QtzOg9snyye6dQn7Df7-9ZuZQNyJmf6s87Dga/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nizhny Novgorod Stadium - a stunning arena<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg4lrYSw5xGB3rNlWrMRxmevnplmEw-Kpn_rS7fuafmpf6nEw-6V86IoInJGh4PyEENJmlRY2CA4W3PS-qzfLGyZBbi03sa4e7Y_SKtPCqO6pjq3OP3kwGk57Oq_u9yUGU_BeIakCheaJ8/s1600/33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="597" data-original-width="960" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg4lrYSw5xGB3rNlWrMRxmevnplmEw-Kpn_rS7fuafmpf6nEw-6V86IoInJGh4PyEENJmlRY2CA4W3PS-qzfLGyZBbi03sa4e7Y_SKtPCqO6pjq3OP3kwGk57Oq_u9yUGU_BeIakCheaJ8/s320/33.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Brighton fans in Russia...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
An entire side of the ground is given away to hospitality while the stands themselves also follow the rivers theme, swirling up in the middle and being lower in the corners, rather like the Emirates Stadium just with an atmosphere. That atmosphere was no doubt fuelled by the fact that you could drink alcohol in your seats, a worrying development for those of us who like our 90 minutes of football to provide much needed respite from beer, although plenty of liquid refreshment was needed by the time we'd climbed the hundreds of steps to the upper tier where Stuart and myself were located.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj708cXT7vOhCw57FItjSzY7KfmYBZ2ZaMtus9VLK-Ka1vJ05rXBloyfLCKwabJj6bSKYEwSVuco0acnW6Q_AIZnqsOuKR6e_uv70Yd_0Njrf4wqn-ZxTC2hjgd4JPhZRoj-ggRSeEicfZM/s1600/19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj708cXT7vOhCw57FItjSzY7KfmYBZ2ZaMtus9VLK-Ka1vJ05rXBloyfLCKwabJj6bSKYEwSVuco0acnW6Q_AIZnqsOuKR6e_uv70Yd_0Njrf4wqn-ZxTC2hjgd4JPhZRoj-ggRSeEicfZM/s320/19.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The teams prepare to do battle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiN6Q3YdeWbVa8SdZq7WpJnN4qav09cA9Imh8NCNtPzlVjQ-PoZIAZ6hdRJzM_ONhcoG_q7Ic5gDNICJ3dBuHTi3_DsTVdA4vXwlVZ5TCT3PJ6xAm0Tqzsna0HjtWlBTQX4dEd2q4wMeJH/s1600/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiN6Q3YdeWbVa8SdZq7WpJnN4qav09cA9Imh8NCNtPzlVjQ-PoZIAZ6hdRJzM_ONhcoG_q7Ic5gDNICJ3dBuHTi3_DsTVdA4vXwlVZ5TCT3PJ6xAm0Tqzsna0HjtWlBTQX4dEd2q4wMeJH/s320/22.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out the size of that roof</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The game itself was one of the more surreal I've seen. Yes, it was only Panama but to see England 5-0 up at half time led to utter disbelief on the concourse. A couple of friendly Russian blokes in our section - note Boris, they didn't want to assassinate us - even began boldly predicting England will go all the way. You could tell they aren't used to the normal disappointment that goes with supporting the Three Lions - either that or they'd been inhaling too much Novichok. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgycLGa9FjaqEQVU6_44bt0f_FBWFQyAC_KwYr-jkvWKQwy0Lc8f3v9_tXVvHJ7eOq3bsmyGFgTC-K8HO2CtSLB5q-_jB_BGpYzX0SUBYFegp3Y4TE-RpPKkNWe0cCQ7n1ref8nrAlQMlO1/s1600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgycLGa9FjaqEQVU6_44bt0f_FBWFQyAC_KwYr-jkvWKQwy0Lc8f3v9_tXVvHJ7eOq3bsmyGFgTC-K8HO2CtSLB5q-_jB_BGpYzX0SUBYFegp3Y4TE-RpPKkNWe0cCQ7n1ref8nrAlQMlO1/s320/21.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our new Russian friends had clearly been sniffing the Novichok after<br />
announcing at half time England would win the World Cup</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It finished up 6-1, Harry Kane becoming only the third Englishman to score a hat-trick at a World Cup, John Stones moving two ahead of Lionel Messi in the top scorers chart and there was even a brilliant strike from ex-Brighton player Jesse Lingard to round things off nicely. This was my first ever game at a World Cup and it is hard not to think that, from here, it's going to be all downhill as how do you top a 6-1 win, quarter final spot booked and 30 degrees throughout? If Carlsberg did World Cup games... well, you wouldn't be allowed to mention them as Budweiser are the official sponsors.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAnn8mfUzt4RDc56LDu5bCdVfMHfSmmA6XteK0iI2zCq3XD5edGzkZmE8hdkpD41x5OtXKth8ewy6LFU3eH5eOsyE41_WGe0yCG7-O59myx8pKGvkWwNoGeUthVXrOYq9VR6GzgJ2AD6Ah/s1600/20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAnn8mfUzt4RDc56LDu5bCdVfMHfSmmA6XteK0iI2zCq3XD5edGzkZmE8hdkpD41x5OtXKth8ewy6LFU3eH5eOsyE41_WGe0yCG7-O59myx8pKGvkWwNoGeUthVXrOYq9VR6GzgJ2AD6Ah/s320/20.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another goal for England</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnhMmoCOqJO7i9J_x_AHQgmNxPcDhlDvESHxg4SSbANkbavO-M_5KDAl1b_i1UQ3H6B_40zXpl5-DWo_mxmRFoy4Ib13H7884LPhCUmWcHifFhQV1GyQIm0p-b2P5gjd6obCD8AnY2_se/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnhMmoCOqJO7i9J_x_AHQgmNxPcDhlDvESHxg4SSbANkbavO-M_5KDAl1b_i1UQ3H6B_40zXpl5-DWo_mxmRFoy4Ib13H7884LPhCUmWcHifFhQV1GyQIm0p-b2P5gjd6obCD8AnY2_se/s320/23.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">England 6-1 Panama. Is this the real life?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We left the stadium giddy from what we'd just seen and soon bumped into Adrian Durham outside the ground who wanted to know our thoughts for talkSPORTDrive. The only answer we had was to tell him "England's going all the waayyyyyyyy" which probably doesn't make for good radio, before being invited into a travel agents by some more locals. The Foreign Affairs Committee would expect us to be carted off to the Gulag at this point or fed to a bear being ridden by Putin, but our Russian hosts actually gave us some funny hats to wear, some beers to drink and started taking selfies.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2qxH28zqJbtx6R4SX1K1tf4gg6771L3Dx5tS4QVCuxJK07FpB9u7xwd5hyphenhyphenV6FeQSrbLG3X9XfzSPrM4d8yPYxbgZJRjKjRxH-TsavdpHvQP7V70MGGF8ZSKa357jLIwO8HzAmkbOMnrBy/s1600/25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="726" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2qxH28zqJbtx6R4SX1K1tf4gg6771L3Dx5tS4QVCuxJK07FpB9u7xwd5hyphenhyphenV6FeQSrbLG3X9XfzSPrM4d8yPYxbgZJRjKjRxH-TsavdpHvQP7V70MGGF8ZSKa357jLIwO8HzAmkbOMnrBy/s320/25.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lured into a Travel Agents for beers and selfies -<br />
what would Boris Johnson say?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Once we'd managed to drag ourselves away from the travel agents, it was back into town to continue the party. Given that Colombia were playing 250 miles away in Kazan, there were a huge number of their supporters watching the game in Nizhny and that made for a brilliant atmosphere on the main street after their James Rodriguez-inspired 3-0 win over Poland.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMqcsXYi_FnL0FIRzPIXo23GZ8ntyZo5-BuTOowlYeFKnvezebPU7bg4zAPMlvb37rXPh2inNKh8vCcIG7x7xTG0KdQbOpbd9a3iYMwODw1yVjwtS4hpF0F1gnEJ6gj00Fdj8fb6w0MGo/s1600/27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMqcsXYi_FnL0FIRzPIXo23GZ8ntyZo5-BuTOowlYeFKnvezebPU7bg4zAPMlvb37rXPh2inNKh8vCcIG7x7xTG0KdQbOpbd9a3iYMwODw1yVjwtS4hpF0F1gnEJ6gj00Fdj8fb6w0MGo/s320/27.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pandemonium with the Panamanians</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The party went on until around 1am with English, Panamanians, Colombians and Russians buying each other beers and vodka - and Russian vodka comes in bloody big measures, I can tell you that much - at which point it was off to find a taxi back home. Another head-shaking moment for you here, Mr Johnson, as the taxi driver began collecting other fares on the way back to the hotel, and then went and bought me a burger before he eventually returned me to base.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUCdopAb8OAJ42wMwZnIpREnLj0VT94NppHFwZEMjrTW5ICbfMjTJbnIvimhdV8K6M7lOOJWZUhB8PxqYkWRdVJ2aVpxm54Sk05yW2o1nwow_fp_VZoXRpORenMZhliT4b9hSjBTL-6oJ/s1600/30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="726" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUCdopAb8OAJ42wMwZnIpREnLj0VT94NppHFwZEMjrTW5ICbfMjTJbnIvimhdV8K6M7lOOJWZUhB8PxqYkWRdVJ2aVpxm54Sk05yW2o1nwow_fp_VZoXRpORenMZhliT4b9hSjBTL-6oJ/s320/30.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark was not so happy to have been drinking oversized<br />
vodka <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">the following day...</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2U6QImp9ZY9IdOFMl3gVWxxeousIi_bCtilLVNWsgSn5hphfSTnIu3cRypQD9Rap55XlQ_a1I2SojKh9-ePgwjjeiUdyqp3nGT3jCyHzyMJKoW-WHgoAhrRXwYTVqwWQo48KDBhp7lt6P/s1600/29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="726" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2U6QImp9ZY9IdOFMl3gVWxxeousIi_bCtilLVNWsgSn5hphfSTnIu3cRypQD9Rap55XlQ_a1I2SojKh9-ePgwjjeiUdyqp3nGT3jCyHzyMJKoW-WHgoAhrRXwYTVqwWQo48KDBhp7lt6P/s320/29.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standard photo with a Panama fan wearing a Panama hat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So despite all the warnings of our politicians and the press, we had survived Nizhny Novgorod with nothing more than a 6-1 win and some dead fish to show for our troubles. Next stop, a couple of days in Saint Petersburg via a 22-hour train before moving onto Kaliningrad for the Belgium game.<br />
<br />
To be continued - presuming I don't die on the way, of course.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Jordan Pickford, Kyle Walker, John Stones 2, Harry Maguire, Kieran Trippier (Danny Rose), Dele Alli, Jordan Henderson, Jesse Lingard 1 (Fabian Delph), Ashley Young, Raheem Sterling, Harry Kane 3 (Jamie Vardy).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Panama: </b>Jaime Penedo, Michael Murillo, Roman Torres, Fidel Escobar, Eric Davis, Gabriel Gomez (Felipe Baloy 1), Edgar Barcenas (Abdiel Arroyo), Armando Cooper, Anibal Godoy (Ricardo Avila), Jose Luis Rodriguez, Blas Perez.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: 43,319</b></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Nizhny Novgorod Stadium56.337523464537405 43.96333694458007856.3331229645374 43.953251944580082 56.341923964537408 43.973421944580075tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-18434143216135373832017-10-08T17:00:00.000+01:002017-11-11T09:29:31.565+00:00Lithuania v England. 08/10/17<b><i>"Scott, this isn't what I imagined watching England would be like."</i></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lithuania 0-1 England. LFF stadionas.<br />Sunday 08/10/17.</td></tr>
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When my girlfriend asked me what I wanted to do for my 30th birthday, she probably had a number of ideas in mind. Now I'm not one to dive into the female psyche, but I'm willing to bet that none of them involved "Lithuania away for four days for a pointless World Cup Qualifier, via Estonia and Latvia and spending a night sleeping on a bus."
Yet here we were, setting off from London Stansted at 6.50am on a Friday morning bound for Tallinn, capital of Estonia for a whistle-stop tour of the Baltics.<br />
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Katie had never been to any of our three destination countries before, nor been to an England game - an away match in Vilnius is as glamorous a start as you can get - while I was looking forward to actually seeing some of Tallinn this time, having famously been so hungover on our 2014 visit that I slept through the entire Estonia v England game in my hostel.<br />
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Firstly, we had to get there though which Ryanair were seemingly determined to make as difficult as possible. A spectacular cock up from the budget airline meant that they were having to cancel 2,000 flights over October and November due to a lack of pilots. Somehow, ours was one that escaped the cull and so there was deep joy when we touched down in Tallinn against all the odds.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alexander Nevsky Cathedral</td></tr>
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My desire to see some of Tallinn this time rather than laying comatose in bed with the sort of hangover that would drive a lesser man to cutting his own head off was fulfilled as we wandered around the old town, up Toompea Hill for some stunning views of the city and we even visited several churches. No alcohol passed our lips until late in the afternoon, a McCarthy Football Travels record of five hours between touch down and first beer.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tallinn Old Town from the top of Toompea Hill was a fantastic view</td></tr>
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That first beer took place in a little side street pub called Bear Bar. I'd been here alone in 2014 while waiting for some friends to arrive and found it very friendly and a good place to drink by myself. This amused Katie for reasons I was unable to fathom until she pointed out that we were in fact in a gay bar. I refused to believe this until the evidence became overwhelming; the glittery table clothes, the blaring out of boy band tunes and the fact that every other patron bar Katie was a bloke.<br />
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While outing yourself as a possible homosexual while abroad with your girlfriend isn't an ideal turn of events, it could have been much worse given I'd been raving about the local beer beforehand. Luckily, I never referred to it by name, otherwise telling her "I love Le Coq" along with the fact I had a great time alone in a gay bar might well have bought a premature end to the trip.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pint of Coq in the Bear Bar</td></tr>
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Pint of Coq in the Bear Bar done, it was off for birthday food and drinks which consisted of a medieval banquet of bear, wild boar and elk and some strong honey mead and then a pub crawl through Tallinn's finest bars for Coq and the local speciality, vodka. This crawl of course included Labor, the bar famous for selling shots of some horrific concoction called cocaine in test tube shots. Five of these each to toast 30 years on the planet left me feeling nearly 60 years old the next morning. Katie meanwhile had contrived to do the impossible and drunkenly lose one shoe at some point between entering the hostel and getting back to the room.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bear, elk, wild boar - the medeival banquet</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Labor - when will the lesson be learnt that any shot coming in<br />a test tube isn't going to be good?</td></tr>
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There was another McCarthy Football Travels first on Saturday as we went to an art gallery, Kumu. The Estonian's know how to do culture well as Kumu also sold beer although, unfortunately yours truly was too hungover to enjoy the paintings with a bottle. This cultural activity was offset by some more traditional behaviour, namely getting into Kadriog Stadium, home of FC Levadia Tallinn for a nose around.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kadriog Stadium, home of the nine times Estonian champions</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Classic Eastern European Stadium</td></tr>
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Before A Le. Coq Arena was built, Kadriog Stadium had been the home of the national team. It had everything you want from a small nation home ground - two small stands, a running track, no roof and a huge scoreboard. We probably could've got on the pitch if we wanted for a kick around - Katie informed me she used to be a handy defender back in the day - but out of respect for the nine times Estonia champions, we decided not to. That and the burly security guard who was wandering slowly around the ground having second guessed what was about to happen. <br />
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If there was one part of the trip that was being approached with something akin to dread, it was the overnight bus. Katie likes to get a good night's sleep and how much sleep you can get in eight hours between Tallinn and Vilnius is debatable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn2WWe4pAMHlGCpxo58foyxujNtPEbzhP_NQ6FtNAA4ldSAZ4HIb-h0qraKxmqWbnrLicCLbTFHceZRVO6TfT4ii2-yPWC5NfID2nm-zHN7-MWRRBXxwKPb1_x2yTC14eE8YIQsWdXaPQm/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn2WWe4pAMHlGCpxo58foyxujNtPEbzhP_NQ6FtNAA4ldSAZ4HIb-h0qraKxmqWbnrLicCLbTFHceZRVO6TfT4ii2-yPWC5NfID2nm-zHN7-MWRRBXxwKPb1_x2yTC14eE8YIQsWdXaPQm/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Strictly no alcohol is allowed on the bus"</td></tr>
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The answer, it turned out, was quite a lot if you load up on Jim Beam whiskey in a bar beforehand outside the bus station, and then blatantly ignore the no alcohol rule and take a large bottle of the stuff onto the bus with you. It helps that the Lux Express has to be one of the most comfortable coaches around and that it was so empty that we were able to spread out and have two seats each to lie across. We left Tallinn at 10.30pm Saturday and by 6.30am we were in Vilnius.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to wet and windy Vilnius</td></tr>
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After a two hour stay hiding from the wind and rain in a McDonalds outside the bus station in which we were only accosted on four different occasions by the homeless, we were able to check into our hotel a few hours early. Despite being Lithuania's capital, there was actually very little to do in Vilnius other than attempt to haggle with market sellers over the price of a flat cap or go to the pub where we soon met up with the usual England away crowd of Mark, Kevin, Fiona and Sara.<br />
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Mark in particular was having a good time of it, a root canal tooth probem meaning he was on antibiotics and had been unable to drink on the trip so far. Within 10 minutes of our arrival, we'd driven him to take up a strong local beer and within a pint of that he was absolutely hammered, which provided probably the best entertainment of the day given how dire the football would turn out to be.<br />
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The normal rules of engagement on a match day are visit several pubs and see the city. Given the fact that it was more miserable than the Tory Party Conference outside, that went out the window as we stayed within the shelter of Artistai until 30 minutes before kick off. Some of us were even hoping the game would be called off due to a waterlogged pitch. That was pretty unlikely given that the pitch is artificial, but nothing would surprise me any more after that debacle in Poland five years ago of a waterlogged pitch in a stadium with a retractable roof.
Unfortunately, there was no failure of Eastern European technology this time and so we had to make the 20 minute walk to LFF stadionas.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LFF stadionas in all her glory</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ku Klux Klan (a)</td></tr>
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Now came the challenge of getting Katie a ticket for the game. Thankfullly, this challenge proved fairly straightforward and we had in our possession one home end ticket at face value. One kind hearted England fan then swapped his away end ticket for that home end one and boom, Katie was in for her first England game. As an added bonus, our knight in shining armour definitely ended up with the better deal of a stand with a roof and alcohol inside the ground.<br />
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"Scott, this isn't what I imagined watching England would be like", Katie turned to me midway through the first half and said. And she had a point. When you are used to watching the Three Lions on television from Wembley or in huge stadiums at big tournaments, then LFF stadionas will come as a bit of a shock.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5vi0oWTa7KZbUX740FNEPLgbvI4HUk1QR0nCo8x564b64rALoJOoU8yso7-8PjtuqBf1iFhyNre9g3cQd_LfBOSEe1PMrO_RirByuFZah4fZ3uyOVBZRAbLnG2CNiXHxep95SQVR6HLDX/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5vi0oWTa7KZbUX740FNEPLgbvI4HUk1QR0nCo8x564b64rALoJOoU8yso7-8PjtuqBf1iFhyNre9g3cQd_LfBOSEe1PMrO_RirByuFZah4fZ3uyOVBZRAbLnG2CNiXHxep95SQVR6HLDX/s320/16.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cover included trees</td></tr>
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Holding a total of 5,067 people, it was essentially Withdean Stadium or a pre season friendly in Scandinavia. The away fans were in a tiny stand behind the goal so close to the pitch you could hear exactly what was going on on it, including some delightful industiallanguage from Aaron Cresswell on his first start, Along one side was another small stand, meant for home fans but with at least 50% England. This had some cover towards the back in the form of some lovely trees while the opposite side held the main stand. Behind the other goal was just a set of tents making it look like a village fete rather than an international football ground.<br />
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While the home end had cover and alcohol, the away end had ponchos and tea. Stewards on the turnstiles were handing out green and yellow ponchos and with every single person in the ground wearing them, it looked like the Ku Klux Klan were holding a rally in their away kit. There might have been no beer in the away stand but at one end of the tents selling refreshments, you could pick up a 'sweet tea'.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1-0 England and time for the flare</td></tr>
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Given that there was sugar freely available and so you could add as much as you liked to a normal tea to make it sweeter, a cynic, or someone who had spent the previous night drinking whiskey straight to knock themselves out for a bus journey, would say that the 'sweet' element in this special sweet tea was in fact whiskey.
The tea certainly helped take the edge of the cold and more importantly, the mind numbingly boredom that the game inflicted on everyone.<br />
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Harry Kane got the only goal in front of the away fans in the first half from the penalty spot, a goal that was greeted with a flare going off. The owner of said flare rather boldly let it off before Kane had even struck the ball which led to some regret that Kane actually scored it given that a miss followed by a bloke wondering what the hell to do with his lit flare would have been fantastic.<br />
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Actually, it would have been the highlight of the game as nothing else happened. Jack Butland made one save of note and even that was from his own defender Michael Keane. Large swathes of the England support left at half time seeking the solace of beer, warmth and Baltics special garlic bread and you couldn't really blame them. It was a typical performance under Gareth Southgate for England - dull, pedestrian and lifeless but it got the job done, even if Lithuania were arguably the better side. Had they have had a striker, it could have been an embarassing result for the Three Lions.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank God that game is over...</td></tr>
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We stayed until the bitter end before walking back into the centre to meet up again with Mark, Kevin, Fiona, Sara and the rest for some post game beer and vodka straight to get into the Lithuanian spirit. They were all playing the long game, hanging out in the pub until closing and then going straight to the airport, given that they had a 6am flight from Vilnius back to Gatwick. Mark in particular looked to be in a world of trouble by this point, somehow believing that he was in Glasgow rather than Vilnius. The only possible similarities were the dreary weather but even so, this was a fine advert for why drinking on antibiotics is an excellent idea.<br />
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We on the other hand had a bed for the night and an 8am coach onwards to country number three of the trip, Latvia.
That was a mere four hour journey, giving us enough time to have a look around Riga's old town, eat some traditional Latvian meatballs and experience some Latvian beer.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Country number theee - Latvia</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, that is a monkey in a space suit;<br />no, no idea either</td></tr>
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Last time I was in Riga I was too hungover to drink but I did at least make a game of football, Latvia taking on Turkey in a game that was nearly as boring as Lithuania v England. Nearly, but not quite. This time we stumbled across one of the stranger statues in existence of a 30 foot tall monkey in a space suit. Answers on a postcard as to what that is all about, please. <br />
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That night it was homeward bound from Riga to Stansted on another surprisingly successful Ryanair flight, which brought to an end our Baltics tour and Katie's first ever England game. So, did she enjoy it? She did, which is great news given her birthday in March coincides with the Netherlands away.<br />
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Amsterdam, here we come.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Lithuania: </b>Erenstas Setkus, Valdemaras Borovskis, Linas Klimavicius, Edvinas Girdvainas, Vytautas Andriuskevicius, Arturas Zulpa, Arvydas Novikovas, Ovidijus Verbickas, Fedor Cernych, Vykintas Slivka (Karolis Chvedukas), Darvydas Sernas (Deivydas Matulevicius).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Jack Butland, Michael Kane, John Stones, Harry Maguire, Kieran Trippier, Jordan Henderson, Harry Winks, Aaron Cresswell, Michael Rashford (Daniel Sturridge), Dele Alli (Jesse Lingard), Harry Kane 1.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>5,067</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Liepkalnio g. 13, Vilnius 02106, Lithuania54.668917307903442 25.29443264007568454.666621807903439 25.289390140075685 54.671212807903444 25.299475140075682tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-61726760921291609912017-06-13T20:00:00.000+01:002017-07-18T17:26:20.914+01:00France v England. 13/06/17<b><i>"Why would a suicide bomber blow himself up here? You won't find anywhere cheaper for a baguette and a Kronenbourg in Paris."</i></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">France 3-2 England. Stade de France.<br />
Tuesday 13/06/17.</td></tr>
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Think of your mothers birthday and what images come to mind? A nice bunch of flowers? A box of chocolates? Maybe even a good bottle of wine?
My mother received none of those things this year. Her combined Mothers Day and birthday present was in fact a trip to the Stade de France to watch France v England in an international friendly.<br />
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This may seem odd. Plenty of people have been put off traveling to Paris due to the spate of terrorism attacks, one of which occured when a suicide bomber blew himself up metres from the turnstiles of Stade de France less than two years ago. And while plenty of mothers would've preferred those flowers or chocolates, Alison McCarthy wanted to witness Kieran Trippier's England debut. France away it was.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brighton on Tour</td></tr>
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Alison's one previous experience of traveling away with England had come a year ago in the Euros. She sure knows how to pick her games, as on that occasion it was down in Marseille against Russia, an occasion played out to running battles throughout the city with locals and MMA trained Russians. Avoiding ISIS would be a walk in the park in comparison.<br />
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That Marseille trip had begun and ended in Paris, which meant that most of what there is to see had been seen. I'd returned a further two times to the city over the course of England's disastrous Euro 2016 campaign. I'd watched a game on the big screen in front of the Eifell Tower. Avoided being pick pocketed at the Louvre. Got a bad back at Notre Dame. Walked (illegally) thought the tunnel where Princess Diana died. Spent an evening drinking with two lovely ladies next to Moulin Rouge. Nearly been mown down on the Champs Elysee. Paris was, as they say, completed.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arc de Triomphe constituted the days sightseeing</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;">That meant it was just a quick trip for the final England game of the season. Arrive at Charles De Gaule at 10am on game day, leave at 8pm the following day. A straight forward plan in which nothing could go wrong, surely? </span><br />
<br />
We had only been in the country for 10 minutes when the heightened security bought about after several years of terrorist attacks introduced itself as, for reasons that nobody still understands, the entire station at the airport was evacuated. This led to utter confusion as people just milled around outside with plenty of station officials doing that most French of things, the Gallic shoulder shrug.
This was an ominous start to proceedings but after 10 minutes whatever the emergency situation was was over and it was off to the city centre via the Arc De Triomphe where we would collect our tickets.<br />
<br />
This was the one sight Alison hadn't seen on our last visit and so she was probably the only England fan happy with the location of the collection point, given that the poor man's Marble Arch is miles out of the centre and most supporters passed through Gare Du Nord on arrival. Stick the ticket collection point at the cities main station? Don't be silly! If the FA had any common sense, they could be dangerous.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpaZUmQjsjp9m3M3ngEACsGBWpjVKh1F4D5DU3JJn0DshEjPVJxBs-ZbP77xbKQIIN8z3binNHlUNDBVaHz37ACVNcu9NGmgb2gIST-M2S4FOhJjeOJqwrpUtQ64iVjB1uZLq3XLgSly_/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpaZUmQjsjp9m3M3ngEACsGBWpjVKh1F4D5DU3JJn0DshEjPVJxBs-ZbP77xbKQIIN8z3binNHlUNDBVaHz37ACVNcu9NGmgb2gIST-M2S4FOhJjeOJqwrpUtQ64iVjB1uZLq3XLgSly_/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rare luxury - a hotel near Notre Dame</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Alison's mood at seeing Arc De Triomphe improved even further with our accommodation near Notre Dame. Regular readers will know that being the tightest man on the planet, I always try and skimp on accommodation costs by staying in multiman hostel rooms, traveling on overnight transport or in some cases just sleeping rough.<br />
<br />
On Alison's previous trip I had relented slightly and booked a hotel, albeit the cheapest one I could find. This turned out to be in one of Paris' red light districts which is the last place you want to be staying with your mother. There was relief all round then when an actual, proper hotel not surrounded by sex shops was our base for the trip.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, I am blessed with a mother who likes her beer and so we were soon off to meet up with the rest of the Brighton contingent of Dean, Lewis, Ciaran and Mark. They had had an unsavoury incident with a large gang of pickpockets at Gare De Nord earlier in the day. Fortunately they had got out of it unscathed but after such events the only way to get over then is with several drinks and Alison and myself were only to happy to help in that regard.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdBnZAfRUKcziQsbsZKhyBGIkga5MaeUMv_HcLZmknorsU4S9240C7oX0hTX0N8lGY3W7zWCsTQW_b544GfiQAnSacoRCAX539DTLf5U6kcta0iwarS0RfCIArOnEzZ39jthy75MlRn1v9/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdBnZAfRUKcziQsbsZKhyBGIkga5MaeUMv_HcLZmknorsU4S9240C7oX0hTX0N8lGY3W7zWCsTQW_b544GfiQAnSacoRCAX539DTLf5U6kcta0iwarS0RfCIArOnEzZ39jthy75MlRn1v9/s320/02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The queues build at the Stade de France security checks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With security said to be tight, we headed off to Saint Denis two hours before kick off. There were plenty of outside units selling alcohol around the stadium which vindicated the early arrival although one portaloo for 60,000 odd fans alighting at the station seemed wildly ambitious.<br />
<br />
There were three security checks to get in and, in typical French style, it was absolute bloody chaos at all of them. The first was prior to the away turnstiles with fans being funnelled into a small gap tighter than nun. A cursory glance at any sort of paper that could resemble a ticket was all it took to pass that.
After the stress of being crushed there, we had more beer from one bar directly outside the away turnstiles, Les Rendezvous.<br />
<br />
This I discovered afterwards was basically the exact spot where one of the suicide bombers detonated his belt on that fateful evening in November 2015. If anything rams home how mad these people are, it's that he chose to blew himself when he could've paid £5 for a pint of Kronenbourg and a ham and cheese baguette. Practically giving it away by Paris' standards.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs1wxBWHw4jf-hct9hsrels-tLNs76Hgnm-zlOOFRY2_uZ1Ry0awrW2McpYBdB3TN8-ra5JA6aCPhpiRJ-pVlJWBED0wP8MyuYlgY2c4rnOfBkwaRYkQgJi2glsTH1h59f6mdhvWpeBshU/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs1wxBWHw4jf-hct9hsrels-tLNs76Hgnm-zlOOFRY2_uZ1Ry0awrW2McpYBdB3TN8-ra5JA6aCPhpiRJ-pVlJWBED0wP8MyuYlgY2c4rnOfBkwaRYkQgJi2glsTH1h59f6mdhvWpeBshU/s320/04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A giant England flag in the home end to show 'solidarity' after<br />
the Manchester and London Bridge attacks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jId_kp_M2cxYW1xX80F1ipAUxyv1Gu0esEuF5tWI09APkVb5vbZuhZ6twviC09D_rZUULrDj_TOUgbU7M4HcaDTPkNFBdhC4RIHcTSX6w01V3yibrdZdJLBgOR8DEfifjlF0nABi630Q/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jId_kp_M2cxYW1xX80F1ipAUxyv1Gu0esEuF5tWI09APkVb5vbZuhZ6twviC09D_rZUULrDj_TOUgbU7M4HcaDTPkNFBdhC4RIHcTSX6w01V3yibrdZdJLBgOR8DEfifjlF0nABi630Q/s320/05.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">National Anthem time in the Stade de France</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Of course there have been plenty more terrorist attacks since then, two of them recently in Manchester and London. Before this game, I was becoming extremely weary of what feels like the sense that every single international game these days has to mourn something or other just for the sake of mourning. Its become almost as if football associations and clubs are putting on these shows purely to say "Look at us and how caring we are".
We had had a minutes silence three days previously at Hampden Park when playing Scotland away. Why did we need another one here, let alone French fans making a giant England flag or joining in with God Save The Queen or an Oasis sing-along befire kick off? Well, I take it back as it actually ended up being pretty moving stuff and it definitely helped the atmosphere inside the stadium for what was essentially a nothing friendly.<br />
<br />
The Stade de France itself was excellent, three tiers and a sea of red, white and blue thanks to virtually every home supporter in the ground waving a tricolour around. The French were in fine voice and so were the English, penned in one lower tier corner. The huge gaps between the roof and the back of the stands in some grounds would mean a lot of the noise escaping but not here. Those gaps also allowed for a brilliant view of a quite beautiful sunset.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN4D68mYgK1xCPAa_hxiQ2b2hqvXIC0UREvJscwSMG2mmRtCSPAj7HpaAJWU8bbwe0CYa1l3d0dOg6R-yoFNtDVvLKwW9Hg9qohVEOgJEtoh7-0TQcDuTZe8wOXpgs7zcGt-KJatKATINm/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN4D68mYgK1xCPAa_hxiQ2b2hqvXIC0UREvJscwSMG2mmRtCSPAj7HpaAJWU8bbwe0CYa1l3d0dOg6R-yoFNtDVvLKwW9Hg9qohVEOgJEtoh7-0TQcDuTZe8wOXpgs7zcGt-KJatKATINm/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Le Tricolore - the worlds best flag?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-Nf837rXFN1hxnhngCKV4ve2ZhxHZD1HwHAqibocmeehIj8uVztttamV15zcXUpDEK5woHjHnkY2cFXL6sncB1YzWgEWppla0mtHuVvmNwhh-5l82FBSK59UzX3JItLgLfmpKVxB5OTS/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-Nf837rXFN1hxnhngCKV4ve2ZhxHZD1HwHAqibocmeehIj8uVztttamV15zcXUpDEK5woHjHnkY2cFXL6sncB1YzWgEWppla0mtHuVvmNwhh-5l82FBSK59UzX3JItLgLfmpKVxB5OTS/s320/17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A full away end at Stade de France</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
History was made for several reasons during the game itself. One being that this wasn't the normal sluggish and turgid encounter that friendlies tend to be. Second was Theresa May becoming the first Prime Minister in history to join in with a Mexican Wave. It was much reported that she was also the only English supporter in the ground to join in given the Three Lions support much heralded hatred of them but I am ashamed to admit this is actually fake news - Alison McCarthy herself joined in. She does have much to learn about England away yet.<br />
<br />
Third was that we got to witness the first ever red card by video assistant referee. Raphael Varane was the man, sent from the field of play for bringing down Dele Alli in the box a few minutes into the second half after the referee consulted another official who had the benefit of television replays. There was a lot of confussion inside the stadium as nobody actually realised what was going on. It seemed to take forever from the awarding of the penalty to Varane being flashed the red card and it wasn't until reading reports afterwards that we knew we'd witnessed a piece of history. Clearly, communication to the crowd needs to be improved as does how quickly a decision can be made. Early days, but those who said video referees wouldn't affect the flow of the game may have to reconsider.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6xsG7mqJmKBWDim1UJrRuA1GJ32W2BbzIIb4-IC4vH84EmkHuuYRLRYX8UMyWNScQMbwuMDTfQ0YmJWYo0Wf6pDdmovIXt2WSzTrg3n7MPVHhl3QlaMuXXAvNR0vl46DhEl6d2SIii40/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6xsG7mqJmKBWDim1UJrRuA1GJ32W2BbzIIb4-IC4vH84EmkHuuYRLRYX8UMyWNScQMbwuMDTfQ0YmJWYo0Wf6pDdmovIXt2WSzTrg3n7MPVHhl3QlaMuXXAvNR0vl46DhEl6d2SIii40/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">France 3-2 England</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
That penalty allowed captain Harry Kane to equalise for England. He had put them 1-0 up in the first half, only for Samuel Umtiti and Djibril Sidibe to put Les Bleus ahead at the break. France were not all full strength but they still looked far better than England with the Three Lions relying on Tom Heaton and then Jack Butland to prevent the game running away from them. Ousmane Dembele scored France's winner and despite playing against 10 men, England couldn't find a way through. 3-2 it finished, a far cry from the snoozefest against Scotland three days earlier.<br />
<br />
After the game we returned to the Jihadi Bar for more Kronenbourg and to let the crowds die down. It was all very relaxed as French and English supporters swapped flags and stories.
Remarkably, we found something to do on the Wednesday before the fight home with a visit to Parc Des Princes to have a snoop around the home of Paris Saint Germain.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqnW_XKGfPfd3qNxtRAvW1xavk_fDR3S16rB3RBbr1sPkhoP-6bZoDed0S8oa_KGobdPzeEg8laWP1DmL3XdMgzOXVW4qPfqeVYjvzSQmI0ef5CVVPYIOUI76YkHI24_D3iSwcqTSjfXjR/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqnW_XKGfPfd3qNxtRAvW1xavk_fDR3S16rB3RBbr1sPkhoP-6bZoDed0S8oa_KGobdPzeEg8laWP1DmL3XdMgzOXVW4qPfqeVYjvzSQmI0ef5CVVPYIOUI76YkHI24_D3iSwcqTSjfXjR/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parc des Princes - home of Paris Saint Germain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTxp0YuB6RxxErpCf7G-xhyphenhyphenIW2pBjKpp-br4QtVuDN7zSG7vZWlF9tkO3zI1I5XTz3krr9-vFm09fyukTBZFK2VIxIbXgDIiPAR8IIdCdcGj85efaZ_0gARzT-qQ7VbmJ7GT2rsIEGfl-f/s1600/20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTxp0YuB6RxxErpCf7G-xhyphenhyphenIW2pBjKpp-br4QtVuDN7zSG7vZWlF9tkO3zI1I5XTz3krr9-vFm09fyukTBZFK2VIxIbXgDIiPAR8IIdCdcGj85efaZ_0gARzT-qQ7VbmJ7GT2rsIEGfl-f/s320/20.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The quite brilliant Stade Jean-Bouin, home to Stade Francais</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
PSG are excellently located in what must be one of the finest sporting quarters of any city in Europe given that Rugby union side Stade Francais have their stadium next door and Roland Garos is just across the road. Three sporting venues ticked off in 30 minutes - and there was me saying there was nothing left to do in Paris.<br />
<br />
Steak and beer in the Chatelet area of the city wrapped up Alison's birthday treat. "What might you want next year then?" I asked her as we headed back to Charles De Gaule afterwards for the short hop back to Gatwick. A ticket to England's first group game of the World Cup in Russia was her reply. Yeah, we might need to take a rain check on that one.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>France: </b>Hugo Lloris, Djibril Sidibe 1 (Christophe Jallet), Raphael Varane, Samuel Umtiti 1, Benjamin Mendy (Lucas Digne), Ousmane Dembele 1, Paul Pogba, N'Golo Kante, Thomas Lemar, Olivier Giroud (Laurent Koscielny), Kylian Mbappe.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Tom Heaton (Jack Butland), Phil Jones (Aaron Cresswell), John Stones, Gary Cahill, Kieran Trippier (Adam Lallana), Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain, Eric Dier, Ryan Bertrand (Kyle Walker), Raheem Sterling, Dele Alli, Harry Kane 2.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>75,000.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com093216 Saint-Denis, France48.9244592 2.360164499999996223.4024247 -38.9484295 74.4464937 43.668758499999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-81124663573479678932017-06-10T17:00:00.000+01:002017-06-18T00:29:03.176+01:00Scotland v England. 10/06/17<b><i>"I assumed you were joking when you said you were bringing us a pack of beer up because the pubs here aren't allowed to open until 11am."</i></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scotland 2-2 England. Hampden Park.<br />Saturday 10/06/17</td></tr>
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England v Scotland games are like the proverbial London Bus. You wait 14 years for one to come along, and then you end up with four in three years. Not that any supporters of the two nations would've complaining.<br />
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No, the only murmurs of discontent predictably came from the police and the British press. The police had firstly wanted this game to be a midday kick off and then when that request was quite rightly denied, they decided to put in place a ban on any street drinking across the weekend. Spoilsports.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Us v them"</td></tr>
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As for the press, well the way they carried on in the run up to the game you could've been forgiven for expecting World War III to break out on the streets of Glasgow. One respected national journalist even went so far as to suggest a return to "The dark days of 1980s hooliganism" was on the cards, based on two idiots pulling Hitler salutes at the Germany away game back in March.<br />
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In completely surprising news, this full blown campaign of bed wetting hysteria turned out to be absolute nonsense. Both sets of supporters were passionate but it was never anything more than that. There was even the surreal sight of Scotland and England fans clapping each other as the Scots exited Hampden Park while the visitors were locked in for 30 minutes after the final whistle. Needless to say, that show of mutual respect didn't make any of the papers the next day.<br />
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This was effectively a day trip for me thanks to that old favourite, the National Express overnight coach. A 10.15pm departure from London Victoria on Friday night saw a 7.15am arrival in Glasgow Saturday morning while going back the other way it was a 10.15 departure Saturday evening, arriving back in London at 6.40am. Travel and accommodation rolled into one and for less than £30. Which was just as well as the match ticket was a stonking £55.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No pubs opening until 11am forced us into<br />the "Kronenbourg in hotel room while watching<br />Coronation Street omnibus" approach</td></tr>
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Now if Scotland were a modern, civilised country then a 7.15am arrival would've been no problem at all. A quick visit to Wetherspoons for a fry up and a pint would've got the day off to an excellent start. Scotland is however still living in the 1990s, with draconian drinking laws that mean pubs can only serve alcohol between the hours of 11am and midnight. This makes somewhat of a mockery out of the claim that it is a nation of drinkers, when you can in fact only drink in the prescribed hours laid down by Nicola Sturgeon.<br />
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Miss Sturgeon had burned me in this way on England's last game in Scotland at Celtic Park in November 2014 and, much like the Scottish electorate in the general election 48 hours previously, I wasn't going to be fooled by her a second time around. Before leaving London four cans of Kronenbourg were purchased and so I trotted off to meet my fellow Brighton supporter Lewis in his hotel room, where we enjoyed a morning beer and Coronation Street omnibus. If watching Bethany Platt attempting to run away with a bloke old enough to be her father doesn't get you up for one of the most historic rivalries in international football, nothing will.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">11am - finally, a beer!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy campers as we finally get a pub drink in the Bon Accord</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The very aptly named "The State"</td></tr>
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By 11am and opening time, a gabble of Brighton supporters had gathered at Bon Accord for a pub crawl leading from the Charring Cross area of Glasgow right back to Central Station. As well as the Bon Accord, the crawl took in The Henglers Circus, a pub very aptly named The State, The Hippo Tap Room and The Pot Still. It proved to be well worth the four hours wait between my arrival and opening time as the pubs were excellent, as was the whiskey which ended up being a pretty unnecessary accompaniment to each Tennants. The Scottish theme didn't stop there either as haggis was taken on board for lunch. Thankfully, I managed to escape having a haggis bomb, which is seemingly a Jaegerbomb with the Red Bull substituted for Irn Bru. Lewis had the misfortune to have one after the game at approximately 2am in Popworld and reported back that they are every bit as horrible as you would imagine.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Haggish, mash, swede - food of champions</td></tr>
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Hampden Park is around a 15 minute train ride from Glasgow Central, in the suburb of Mount Florida. Naturally, England and Scotland fans couldn't be trusted to travel together to the stadium and so we had completely separate trains that went to completely separate stations. The English station for the day was Kings Park which led to a merry dance around a housing estate to reach the stadium.<br />
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The Scottish FA are considering leaving Hampden Park when their tenancy agreement is up in the next few years and it isn't hard to see why. It just doesn't work as a football ground. The bowl shape means that the areas behind the goals are miles back from the pitch for seemingly no reason as there isn't even a running track. England were housed behind one of those goals and I was lucky enough to grab a spot in the back row. Even halfway down the stand the view becomes impaired and if you are at the front then the technical term for what you can see is better known as bugger all.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hampden Park</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre game display from the Scotland support</td></tr>
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Scotland's poor performances over the last decade mean they also struggle to fill it apart from for the really big games. Taking the national team on the road and using Celtic Park and Ibrox when the crowd size demands it seems a much better option than another long agreement to rent Hampden from where I am standing.<br />
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Rousing renditions of both national anthems gave away to a pretty disappointing atmosphere in terms of what you would expect from the occasions. That probably wasn't helped by both sides looking very much like 22 players who hadn't played a competitive game for three weeks; the game being desperately poor for 70 minutes with man along the row from me being rumoured to have slipped into a coma through sheer boredom.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The England masses seperated from the Scotland hoardes</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Full time. 2-2</td></tr>
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And then the last 20 minutes happened. Thank Christ there were two clowns in either goal as both goalkeepers belatedly decided to make things entertaining. Craig Gordon firstly made a total mess out of Alex Oxlaide-Chamberlain's shot to hand England the lead. The visiting support were crowing, the sound of "You're just a shit San Marino" bellowing around the ground. Scotland supporters could only offer a pretty feeble Icelandic Clap in response. Hey, at least we made a major tournament in 2016. And 2014. And 2012. And 2010. And 2006. And 2004. And 2002. And 2000.<br />
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That looked like game over but Leigh Griffiths and Joe Hart clearly had other ideas. Hart had already offered the only entertainment of the first half by wearing a baseball cap rarely seen outside of the school playground or in any game involving Chris Kirkland. Did the hat have magic powers? Possibly as without it, he was beaten by two virtually indentical Griffiths free kicks in the space of two minutes to turn the game on its head.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAfOGpbilZWQr37syCZuc9I0LhfzgDVP8cmjtg8_oi0AAiYWO8f8vWDigrBgTIDRwuABv9RvOl7DRFarvLrX7AzF7rW8w8tnX22hcLlDjvHH6KUZI5FcmX6zOukqsBCNOJfmy5k_OI7lzE/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAfOGpbilZWQr37syCZuc9I0LhfzgDVP8cmjtg8_oi0AAiYWO8f8vWDigrBgTIDRwuABv9RvOl7DRFarvLrX7AzF7rW8w8tnX22hcLlDjvHH6KUZI5FcmX6zOukqsBCNOJfmy5k_OI7lzE/s320/03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">England scrape a draw with "a shit San Marino"</td></tr>
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The roar that greeted the second could probably be heard on one of the moons of Jupiter as bodies went flying in the home sections and general bedlam broke out. I've never seen a goal celebrated so wildly and a special mention must go to the three disabled supporters at the front of the Scotland sector to England's right. They took the time in amongst the jubilation to wheel over to the away fans and celebrate in front of them with some standard middle fingers thrown in for good measure.<br />
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Glasgow looked set for a big Saturday night party until Harry Kane saved England's blushes in the 93rd minute with an equaliser that prompted hysteria of a different kind. If Griffith's ssecond gave Scotland unbridled joy, then Captain Kane's goal was an outpouring of sheer relieve. Thank Christ we didn't lose to them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hampden empties but the English fans are kept in</td></tr>
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The final whistle blew at 2-2 with the unreported appreciation from both sets of supporters towards to each other. By the time we were finally allowed out of Hampden, there was only time for a couple of beers before I had to board the coach home while the others headed out for a night on the town and haggis bombs in the aforementioned Pop World.<br />
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Although when you think about it, there was only 105 minutes of pub time left between my departure for London and the calling of last orders anyway given midnight was approaching.
Those beer laws really do need looking at ASAP. Sort them out, don't play at Hampden Park and then Scotland away might finally live up to the hype.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Scotland: </b>Craig Gordon, Christophe Berra, Charlie Mulgrew, Kieran Tierny, Ikechi Anya (Chris Martin), James Morrison (James McArthur), Scott Brown, Andrew Robertson, Robert Snodgrass (Ryan Fraser), Stuart Armstrong, Leigh Griffiths 2.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Joe Hart, Kyle Walker, Chris Smalling, Gary Cahill, Ryan Bertrand, Jake Livermore (Jermaine Defoe), Eric Dier, Marcus Rashford (Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain 1), Deli Alli (Raheem Sterling), Adam Lallana, Harry Kane 1.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>48,520</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Glasgow G42 9BA, UK55.8258422 -4.25204759999996930.303807699999997 -45.560641599999968 81.3478767 37.05654640000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-62026376415947236262017-04-23T18:00:00.000+01:002017-05-20T10:26:53.455+01:00CSKA Sofia v Ludogorets. 23/04/17<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1495221661301_3159" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><i>"This chap has just said he wants to kill terrorists and journalists. I'd keep your occupation to yourself."</i></b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">CSKA Sofia 1-1 Ludogorets. Balgarska Armia Stadium.<br />
Sunday 23/04/17</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Never before had I left a game of football early due to the temperature. Not at Torquay United on New Years Day 1997 when half the Brighton support took to running laps of a car park behind the goal in an attempt to warm up. Not even at Boothferry Park, Hull on a Tuesday January evening in 1996 for a 0-0 draw. Although my mother would not have been too impressed had we have missed any of that game given she got in trouble for my truancy from school. I mean, what eight year old doesn't want to go to Hull away?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Take a bow then CSKA Sofia. Only an hour of their First Professional Football League - or Bulgarian top flight to you and me - game versus Ludogorets had passed when we decided enough was enough. The game was 0-0, neither side had done anything noteworthy in an attacking sense and Balgarska Armia Stadium was easily the coldest place on Earth at that point in time with the possible exception of the North Pole. Please note the term possible. Back to the pub it was.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sofia sightseeing - one head...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and one church</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This was our last night of three in Sofia on a stag do. It had been full of the normal sort of Eastern European stag do occurrences - lost wallets, blocked toilets and plenty of sick from the stag. They'd even been some sightseeing carried out which lasted all of about an hour. Even this was remarkable from my point of view given that I'd done virtually everything there was to do in Sofia when England visited in 2011. Which amounts to not very much.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My memories of the city from that 3-0 win under Fabio Capello largely consisted of cheap yet horrible beer, spending four days in 30 degree heat wearing jeans as I had neglected to consult a weather forecast and a distinct lack of places to drink, to the point where we had to resort to getting a beer in a fetish club run by a Janet Street Porter look-a-like.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oli liked his Kamenitza</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scott struggled with his</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Either we had not really done a very good job in exploring last time or Sofia has markedly improved in the intervening five and a half years. Central to this weekend of drinking was bul Vitosha, a long street stretching from the Sveta Nedelya cathedral towards the mountains in the distance. On this street were a plethora of bars which we were only happy to give around £1.30 for a pint to.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One of the best pubs we found broke one of the golden of holidaying - never go to an Irish bar unless you are in Ireland. The Irish Harp was however excellent with good food, local beer and an extremely amenable barman named Boris. Boris gained instant hero status on the Friday night when he put Brighton's game at Norwich on the big screens and he came to be an extremely useful guy to talk to about Sofia. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">His strongest piece of advice came when we asked him what a game at CSKA would be like. The original plan had been for all the stag party to head to the football as a way of saying we had actually done some sort of activity rather than significantly boosting Bulgaria's GDP through sales of Zagorka. Boris was extremely unphlegmatic in his response. "CSKA are mad. If you go and watch them you will get f**king killed."</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Floodlight porn at the Vasil Levski Stadium</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This, along with an 8pm kick off on a rather chilly Sunday, was enough to put off eight of the party, meaning just two made it to the Buglarian Army Stadium- Oli and myself. So saying our farewells to the group - possibly for the last time if Boris was correct - we headed off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The stadium is situated just behind the much larger Vasil Levski National Stadium in Borisova gradina, a large park about a 15 minute walk from the centre. It was simply a case of rock up, buy a ticket from a little both for £2 and drink some cans of beer with the locals outside.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oli parts with £2 for his ticket from this excellent ticket facility</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The entrance to the Bulgarian Army Stadium</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Security was tight to get in. Riot police were everywhere and there were two thorough searches, one outside the turnstile and one once in the ground. If we were going to die, we wanted to do it in style and so we joined the hardcore CSKA support on the terrace behind the goal. There was no food or beer inside this section of the ground which was a shame as after climbing the steep and crumbling steps to the top of the stand it became very apparent very quickly that a beer coat would be needed given the falling temperature.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Bulgarian Army Stadium was the definition of typical Eastern European Stadium. Fantastic floodlights reaching high into the sky, a single tiered bowl and a running track separating pitch and supporters. It holds 22,995 supporters yet the dwindling appeal of Bulgarian football was evidence as the place was largely empty, a crowd of 4,200 being recorded officially and even this looked to be an Arsenal style fabricated attendance. Both ends were terraced with less than 100 Ludogorets fans stationed in a penned off corner at the opposite side. The main stand had the luxury of a small central roof and perhaps best of all, the teams had separate tunnels from which they entered from. That put the Army Stadium in credit even before you filtered in the quite beautiful mountain back drop.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOzHBjXr4p1tqlM5okDO9bmITaqBVVdIudo2hZNLpgHtVdbrrb-w6SYMZc-AJLANtjfu5kq4LaYGGFXX9Ln7_StjgFfBMuK_DDTmKLJdbY53c3odW-syoXnaeL8h_ZLcJrjoeG2DQFxi-Z/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOzHBjXr4p1tqlM5okDO9bmITaqBVVdIudo2hZNLpgHtVdbrrb-w6SYMZc-AJLANtjfu5kq4LaYGGFXX9Ln7_StjgFfBMuK_DDTmKLJdbY53c3odW-syoXnaeL8h_ZLcJrjoeG2DQFxi-Z/s320/05.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lovely mountain backdrop of the Army Stadium</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHCSFSqWDaidOR-Xtu_3Svglx5bXArfsqL-yAiom4jmY8MWaeTfx4o4Sxu-WLVtP3aWBZqyNrPeyWcu-MPQNvju1Kcqqs_lIZcvd-PYCleqWSGDNmb4fPqSNUVDdfkMv6OCPMBdJtiDILf/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHCSFSqWDaidOR-Xtu_3Svglx5bXArfsqL-yAiom4jmY8MWaeTfx4o4Sxu-WLVtP3aWBZqyNrPeyWcu-MPQNvju1Kcqqs_lIZcvd-PYCleqWSGDNmb4fPqSNUVDdfkMv6OCPMBdJtiDILf/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In with the CSKA support</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOICraUbZxNVgpOlLu7upH6wN_1Ef0lsP6VRqc4rHOa6M2x_r2yyPQL-UKXXEdXstxFhzkfMOgR_oO3-1wDJzxcBfh2ELwJFcvzWQq44tdlICWry461MeQYgXSzrKYYsu7vtvb_ic6NtnS/s1600/27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOICraUbZxNVgpOlLu7upH6wN_1Ef0lsP6VRqc4rHOa6M2x_r2yyPQL-UKXXEdXstxFhzkfMOgR_oO3-1wDJzxcBfh2ELwJFcvzWQq44tdlICWry461MeQYgXSzrKYYsu7vtvb_ic6NtnS/s320/27.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bulgarian Army Stadium</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We soon made friends with one CSKA fan who, on first impressions, would definitely have been considered a man who could easily have organised our Bosman free transfer to the grave. Some of his opening lines included "I am a Nazi", "Not being able to get a beer is worse than the Holocaust" and "I hate terrorists and journalists". Don't tell him your job, Scott.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Krazovir as we Christined him was actually extremely friendly if you ignored the fact that he was clearly a raging racist and quite possibly mentally unstable. He had even heard of "Brighton Albion" and took a keen interest in the fact we had been promoted to the Premier League. He introduced us to several of his friends, taught us a number of Bulgarian phrases to hurl at the opposition and officials and even invited us for a beer "and some drugs" after. By this point 40 minutes of mind numbingly boring football had elapsed and the early signs of frostbite were already starting to show, so we politely declined and said we were thinking of leaving at half time. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ard0zrMm4hm0-IkkQlH1IY5LXWbp_1GJKl-Qy75SxsUUGc8HKTO52Sd3QMMi3lK0QCanjj94oR0e-eeAWVp6Iv2cLFeu6U0HMzhAKQpLRxzYa5pH-hyaOkcOQ95VM8YhJE8XvL0k4xY5/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ard0zrMm4hm0-IkkQlH1IY5LXWbp_1GJKl-Qy75SxsUUGc8HKTO52Sd3QMMi3lK0QCanjj94oR0e-eeAWVp6Iv2cLFeu6U0HMzhAKQpLRxzYa5pH-hyaOkcOQ95VM8YhJE8XvL0k4xY5/s320/08.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two players tunnels = big plus marks</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkdF3iG4g845gr3x5ii0Emil6GSMc9A2r60Tdqc2hIGqDnVie22oaZc-a-M-k5-0692nCVKSf6p4v17ys557NlyJWyFScY5DHKub0Ax4s_5dFFNYk8qKV2sYpuaQfUxChb0Q7PkcD8HuHl/s1600/20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkdF3iG4g845gr3x5ii0Emil6GSMc9A2r60Tdqc2hIGqDnVie22oaZc-a-M-k5-0692nCVKSf6p4v17ys557NlyJWyFScY5DHKub0Ax4s_5dFFNYk8qKV2sYpuaQfUxChb0Q7PkcD8HuHl/s320/20.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bulgarian Army Stadium under lights</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Krazovir understood this approach by agreeing that "Bulgarian football is s**t". His advice however was to stay until just before the hour mark, when the CSKA support would unleash their flares, fireworks and "home made bombs". You had us at flares Krazovir, let alone home made bombs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That did however mean staying another 15 minutes in which nothing of any note occured. We hadn't gone expecting to be wildly entertained but given that Ludogorets have won the previous six titles in a row and CSKA are the most successful side in Bulgarian history, we kind of expected at least something to happen. The Bulgarian League splits in two for the final quarter of the season, with the top six playing off for the title and the bottom six battling to avoid relegation. If this was the standard of the Championship Round - and the two sides who finished third and top in the the regular camapign, no less - then Christ knows how bad the Relegation Round must be. *Adds to list for next season* </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Things did seemingly get better once we'd left if Soccerbase is anything to go by. Predictably, CSKA took the lead a matter of minutes after we'd departed through a Petrus Boumal penalty. That was cancelled out by Marcelinho's 75th minute equaliser as nothing could seperate the play off leagues top two.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazLUMKEKqd9EmFGQLH5t0mKIkbDVazLIHNiCgetpeuMBhQGyT7x81cHA6vjDSJLLLOyBooetnw_3MKko_SNthrO63lwOks2jhpQMnx8LNEct59GPK_vMWNiZtxcxLTZH9pHa6cKfEzSYd/s1600/26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazLUMKEKqd9EmFGQLH5t0mKIkbDVazLIHNiCgetpeuMBhQGyT7x81cHA6vjDSJLLLOyBooetnw_3MKko_SNthrO63lwOks2jhpQMnx8LNEct59GPK_vMWNiZtxcxLTZH9pHa6cKfEzSYd/s320/26.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The black banners signal the flares are on their way...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM3h9frQ2iSnCpmFYYXeCxBHgBEoIMr355cNcFO-3UIYPNzb6mBje9LyMRYGOuMcfb984EpLcPjRAsl9WPnvtoQNKUYoLk5WKLcD-tljrDvwJVht5qkGBdZHkVqV-lWQUoeV1kKAHjTC_r/s1600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM3h9frQ2iSnCpmFYYXeCxBHgBEoIMr355cNcFO-3UIYPNzb6mBje9LyMRYGOuMcfb984EpLcPjRAsl9WPnvtoQNKUYoLk5WKLcD-tljrDvwJVht5qkGBdZHkVqV-lWQUoeV1kKAHjTC_r/s320/21.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Imagine how warm it must've been in the middle of that...not jealous</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We moved to the other side of the terrace at the start of the second half, partly to get a better look at the display and partly in the hope that the main stand may provide a wind break and with it a little less cold (it didn't). 60 minutes of play finally elapsed and right on cue, the CSKA support unfurled a huge black banner. That was followed by the terrace being turned into a wall of fire - a mightily impressive display and, if I'm honest, a pang of jealousy that we weren't in the middle of it if only for heat purposes.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9OI0a4OR_z1p6BqQ5ndzSxjFXldPJROIbKDQwwHHDzPpGZv_L0pNcoU33ADIaPcPAmj_JJIQhgFtc6mkjrHesHq5j1MJtK5kKmw8yJoplpSHOjsZrIH18XCW7tN0kVJa5baxmg3LFhtg/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9OI0a4OR_z1p6BqQ5ndzSxjFXldPJROIbKDQwwHHDzPpGZv_L0pNcoU33ADIaPcPAmj_JJIQhgFtc6mkjrHesHq5j1MJtK5kKmw8yJoplpSHOjsZrIH18XCW7tN0kVJa5baxmg3LFhtg/s320/06.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Disappointingly, the home made bombs were seemingly not actual bombs</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">As their flares expired, the CSKA support threw them onto the running track where they smouldered and the smell of smoke filled the stadium. Krazovir was right, it had proved to be well worth staying for but finally, cold won the battle and we were retreating back to The Irish Harp.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Boris seemed genuinely surprised when we arrived back at The Irish Harp via our own two feet rather than a hearse. He wasn't surprised to hear the game had been terrible and with El Classico now on the big screens, told us we could watch some real football now. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But give me Krazovir, pyrotechnics and CSKA Sofia over a game on television any day. The real football was at </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Balgarska Armia Stadium</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">. The only thing El Classico has over it is that presumably it wasn't -30 in Madrid. So just next time we at a game in Sofia, can we have some Spanish weather please? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>CSKA Sofia: </b>Georgi Kitanov, Stanislav Manolev, Nikolay Bodurov, Anton Nedyalkov, Bozhidar Chorbadzhiyski, Ruben Pinto, Petrus Boumal 1 (Kristiyan Malinov), Arsenio, Gustavo Culma (Kevin Koubemba), Fernando Karanga (Kevin Mercado), Kiril Despodov.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>Ludogorets: </b>Renan, Cosmin Moti, Cicinho, Jose Luis Palomino, Gustavo Campanharo, Anicet Andrianantenaina (Juninho Quixada), Wanderson (Lucas Sasha), Nathanael Pimienta, Marcelhino 1, Jonathan Cafu, Virgil Misidjan (Claudiu Keseru).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>4,200</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Balgarska Armia Stadium, Sofia42.683949685530735 23.34006786346435542.681031685530733 23.335025363464357 42.686867685530736 23.345110363464354tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-14750910034378800692017-04-09T16:30:00.000+01:002017-05-10T09:52:52.191+01:00FC Ingolstadt v Darmstadt 98. 09/04/17<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1494328752903_13838" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;"><b><i>"You know Nigel Farage, the Brexit bloke? Yeah, you look like him"</i></b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FC Ingolstadt 3-2 Darmstadt 98. Audi Sportpark.<br />
Sunday 09/04/17</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">The Bundesliga has been in fashion among English football supporters for over half a decade now. Cheap prices, terraces, great atmospheres and beer while watching a game have made Germany the number one destination for football tourists.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">That popularity has apparently failed to reached Ingolstadt however. There was an incredibly bemused reaction to the appearance of eight English blokes on the south terrace for Die Schanzer's huge relegation clash with Darmstadt. This was perhaps best summed up by one blokes question of "Why the **** have you come to watch Ingolstadt? We never get English people here."</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Audi Sportpark. Creatively named after the local motor company</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">It turned out that this bloke, as well as sharing an uncanny resemblance to Nigel Farage, was actually an Ingolstadt director. As far as opening remarks in a conversation with a board member of a football club you are visiting go, "You know Nigel Farage, the Brexit bloke? Yeah, you look like him" is perhaps not the best greeting you can make. Still, the Ingolstadt fans took it all in their stride. For them at least, Brexit doesn't seem to mean Brexit. Unlucky Theresa.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">But back to the main question here: Why the **** had we gone to watch Ingolstadt? We were actually on a stag do in Munich but rather than do a normal stag do activity like paintballing, go karting or something that involves exercise and grossly unhealthy stuff like that, we decided to take in a football game. A wise choice, I'm sure you will agree. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drinking in Munich's Englischer Garten with Dortmund and<br />
Bayern fans on the Saturday, including Busche. We all love a bit<br />
of busche.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Englischer Garten fun and games</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">Watching either 1860 or Bayern Munich play would've been the sensible choice. But 1860 were away and Bayern were hosting Borussia Dortmund so tickets were scarcer than a vegetarian Bavarian. This was great news for me, having been to the Allianz twice already to see both Munich teams, as it meant the new ground klaxon could sound.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">And that new ground ended up being Audi Sportpark. Ingolstadt is about 45 minutes north of Munich by train and so with the obligatory train beers purchased - not that they were really needed after two solid days of drinking in Munich beforehand, which included a fantastic session in the Englischer Garten with Bayern and Dortmund fans the previous afternoon - we were on our way. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big fine coming the way of whoever<br />
was in Munich and yet opted to buy a pack<br />
of Heineken for the train...</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">Given the lure of Munich's beer and a fantastic train timetable cock up, we only arrived in Ingolstadt 30 minutes before kick off. Thankfully, the club seemingly had the foresight to employ Sebastian Vettell as one of their shuttle bus drivers and against all the odds we made it to the out of town stadium just in time for kick off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">Audi Sportpark was built in 2010 and is your standard new German stadium; single tiered in a rectangular shape, compact and with a great atmosphere. The current version of Ingolstadt were only formed in 2004 - since then they've been on a meteoric rise through the divisions which culminated with promotion to the top flight for the first time in 2015. Seeing that when the ground opened in 2010 when they were still in the third tier, it's on the smaller side for a Bundesliga ground holding just over 15,000. Being miles out of town, there is little around but the club are clearly trying to improve that with a traditional Bavarian wooden shed having been erected outside as a pub.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The South Terrace</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the terrace in what turned out to be blistering heat</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">Inside and we were with the hardcore support on the terrace. It was an interesting mixture of people and not solely the flag waving ultras you tend to find dominating that sort of section of the ground at other German clubs. In amongst those types were kids scaling the fences at the front, old blokes puffing on cigars and yes, members of the board who look like Mr Farrage. No need to worry about the trouble that can come from taking photos or being football tourists as has become the case at some venues across Germany in recent times, everyone was welcome at Ingolstadt.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Child scales fence, not put off by giant speaker next to him</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There were other elements missing that you usually associate with German football. No man with a 1980's building site bullhorn stood at the front leading the singing for example. No, Ingolstadt lead the way in the use of modern technology, giving their top boy a microphone and a set of speakers strung along the front of the terrace. Welcome to the 21st century.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">Some might expect this eclectic take on fan culture to dilute the atmosphere but Audi Sportspark was rocking despite the emoty soaces. This was probably helped by the importance of the game, with both sides in very real danger of relegation to Bundesliga 2 next season. The proverbial six pointer as the season draws to a close this most definitely was.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In with the Ingolstadt massive</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild celebrations all round as Ingolstadt pick up the win</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">If we were watching a side that, come the end of the season deserves to get relegated then the same should definitely be said of the referee, a Herr Manuel Grafe. He would've been better of being named Manuel Gaff given the number of mistakes that happened over the 90 minutes. Had this been in England, the famous chant about the man in black being a word that rhymes with banker would've been ringing out from all four corners of the stadium given how attrocious he was for both sides.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: nornal;">Thankfully, Herr Gaffe didn't affect the quality of entertainment factor of the game which ranks as arguably the best I've seen in Germany since my last match involving Darmstadt. On that day four and a bit years ago they drew 1-1 with Alemannia Aachen in the Bundesliga 3. On this day, they were on the wrong end of a 3-2 defeat that pushes them closer to the trap door back to whence they came. Make no mistake however, it has been quite the fairytale rise for both these clubs to the top flight of German football.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As you can see, I managed to take a lot of varied photos</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">The game went off at breakneck speed, Ingolstadt going 1-0 up through Pascal Gross. That didn't last very long and soon it was 1-1, Darmstadt equalising via Mario Vrancic. Herr Gaffe then decided he wanted to become centre stage, awarding Darmstadt one of the worst penalty decisions I've ever seen which Vrancic converted for 2-1. Almog Cohen made it 2-2 just past the hour mark and then Markus Suttner netted what turned out to be the winner with a quite beautiful free kick. Not content with that penalty decision, Herr Gaffe decided to flash two red cards with a matter of minutes remaninging to Darmstadt's Antonio Colak and the hosts Romain Bregerie. Blimey. That made it three wins in a row for Ingolstadt for the first ever time in the Bundesliga and took them to within a point of safety. For Darmstadt and their manager Torsten Frings - the former German international of fantastic mullet fame - it looks as though Bundesliga 2 beckons for next season.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">What with this being a Sunday, we were on a tight schedule to get back to Munich afterwards and so had to foresake any sort of exploration of Ingolstadt itself. This was a shame as not only does the Danube pass through it, but according to Wikipedia it is the place where Victor Frankenstein creates his monster. Rather less excitingly, it is also home to Audi which explains the sponsorship deal behind the stadium. There was just time for a look around the club shop - given the apparent lack of foreign visitors, were we the first ever English supporters to buy Ingolstadt scarves - and to grab a selfie with the mascot Shanzi. We had no idea what Shanzi was meant to be so any answers on a postcard please.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Any ideas what this thing is meant to be?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: normal;">Once back in Munich, we toasted our new found friends at Ingolstadt's hopeful escape from relegation by turning a Chinese restaurant into a karaoke bar until 3am. If English supporters rocking up at Audi Sportpark seemed bizarre to Mr Farage, Lord knows what he'd have made of them then singing Taylor Swift songs in-between plates of lemon duck.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"> `</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>FC Ingolstadt: </b>Martin Hansen, Romain Bregerie, Markus Suttner 1, Marcel Tisserand, Marvin Matip, Roger (Alfredo Morales), Pascal Gross 1, Sonny Kittel (Lukas Hinterseer), Almog Cohen 1, Matthew Leckie, Dario Lezcano (Anthony Jung).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>Darmstadt 98: </b>Michael Esser, Aytac Sulu, Sandro Sirigu, Immanuel Hohn, Fabian Holland, Mario Vrancic 2 (Leon Guwara), Markus Steinhofer, Hamit Altintop, Wilson Kamavuaka (Sven Shipplock), Antonio Colak, Felix Platte (Jan Rosenthal).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>14,081</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Audi Sportpark, Ingolstadt48.74515344973419 11.48543357849121148.739917949734192 11.475348578491211 48.750388949734187 11.495518578491211tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-45304874140203040422017-03-22T20:45:00.000+00:002017-04-05T19:42:45.864+01:00Germany v England. 22/03/17<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1490891724122_183854" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>"A 20 minute train delay? Have Southern Rail secretly taken over Deutsche Bahn?"</i></b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Germany 1-0 England. Signal Iduna Park. Wednesday 22/03/17</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It may have said Germany v England in
an international friendly on the match ticket. It may have been reported by
such reputable sources as The Times and the BBC as being Germany v England in
an international friendly. But this was not Germany v England in an
international friendly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This was in fact the Lukasz Podolski
tribute match. After 130 games, 48 goals and one World Cup winners medal, this
was Podolski's final game for Die Mannschaft in front of a capacity crowd who
had turned out to worship him at Borussia Dortmund's Signal Iduna Park.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The love in started before kick off.
Podolski captained the side; there was a delightful video played in his honour
on the four giant big screens in each corner of this footballing cathedral; he
then even made a speech to the masses. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Can you imagine England's only
comparable international in the form of Wayne Rooney being feted in that manner
at Wembley if he ever calls time on his Three Lions career? If it did happen,
you can bet your life that some cretins would boo throughout. Which is what
some of the more pond life like element of the away support did here with sad
predictably. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Podolski had the last laugh though,
scoring a quite brilliant goal - number 49 - from a full 30 yards before
departing to a standing ovation as the music from Gladiator was played. That
was frankly ridiculous but it did beg the question, why aren't movie title
tracks utilised more when substitutions occur? Find me someone who says they
don't want to see Raheem Sterling being replaced to the sound of My Heart Will
Go On from Titanic or Eric Dier exiting proceedings to Beauty and the Beast's
Be Our Guest and you will have found me someone lying through their teeth.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It wasn't just a productive evening of
work for Podolski either as yours truly managed to visit European country 28/42
on this trip by going via Luxembourg. There were two reasons behind what looks
on paper like a ridiculous route to have taken. The first was that this was my
third visit to Dortmund and so rather than go to a town that is, footballing
reasons aside, pretty dull, it was a good opportunity to visit somewhere new.
The second was that given than Luxembourg City is not somewhere many people choose
to go to for anything other than business, flights to and from Europe’s fourth
smallest country and travel onwards to Dusseldorf came in at less than £50.
Strap me in.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcoS1kp62jElstWDJ3MwkEihDttMQ6f5BOUogPsMyNnzCeR5XIIgSfpVr_4RVIkgEmhyZ-kNodVY6GPtZIBrWBiqJX2cbAh-jYzHXPj4U9P_6FXdui8bHsxAb58NSlnisEEkxrwv6-hGUu/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcoS1kp62jElstWDJ3MwkEihDttMQ6f5BOUogPsMyNnzCeR5XIIgSfpVr_4RVIkgEmhyZ-kNodVY6GPtZIBrWBiqJX2cbAh-jYzHXPj4U9P_6FXdui8bHsxAb58NSlnisEEkxrwv6-hGUu/s320/01.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiding from prostitutes in Luxembourg City's <br />bars was a great game to play</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That travel came in the shape of an
overnight coach from Luxembourg to Dusseldorf which didn't leave until 5am
Wednesday morning. The plan therefore was simple. Don't bother booking any
accommodation, just find a nightclub and wait until the early hours, jumping
straight on the bus and sleeping for the duration of the five hour journey across
the border and into the heart of the Rhineland. This approach had worked very
well when travelling from Munich to Ljubljana for Slovenia away back in October
and there was no reason to assume it wouldn't work here.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pint of Bofferding please bar keep</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Except of course that Munich is a city
renowned for its drinking culture and has a wealth of bars. Luxembourg City is
frankly on a par with Blackburn for its Tuesday nightlife, although with what I
suspect is a slightly more lively prostitution scene if the number of girls
standing around on street corners, actively offering their wares like something
from a Victorian novel was anything to go by. Things did originally look
promising for the "spend all night drinking" plan when I stumbled
across a bar in which a huge party was kicking off. That was until every
custodian buggered off at 1am, leaving just the four hours to kill traipsing
around the city freezing cold and then waiting at the bus stop. Who says
following England away is all glamour?</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNOR4t3uJ4xkCpkAmHaqNU_X3WQe1P74vxn1K8be15x7gHaNzBKFuUNXOzxiuzYj-dmT8o4xfTNujWTQnxXqDbOKpJ_4slDGULSb66FCapYQl7Bjsrcsm66Dt-sCE0er-RlsDTCVdz40wg/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNOR4t3uJ4xkCpkAmHaqNU_X3WQe1P74vxn1K8be15x7gHaNzBKFuUNXOzxiuzYj-dmT8o4xfTNujWTQnxXqDbOKpJ_4slDGULSb66FCapYQl7Bjsrcsm66Dt-sCE0er-RlsDTCVdz40wg/s320/03.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Schumacher Alt</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Other than spending the night on the
streets, things went well and Dusseldorf was reached by 10am on game day. That
left enough time to pick up a bratwurst for breakfast and meet friends Lewis,
Ciaran, Mark and Dean for several beers. Much like it's near neighbour
Cologne, Dusseldorf is an excellent drinking city which specialises in 0.2l
beers. Finish one of those little beauties and the barman will instantly bring
you another. This will keep happening until you place your beer mat on top of
your last empty glass to signal no more. Rather than the Kolsch you get in
Cologne, in Dusseldorf it is Altbier, a darker, heavier beer that tastes
similar to pale ale. Four of those in the famous Schumacher Brauhaus
(unfortunately not named after Michael) and it was off to Dortmund. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwYIOq0aFdouM9IhSDHYo6iQmnk7xs7vf26eLM0TTnz9TzEGd8QEj6aT5Nly3dKiITQcY09ZSNVB3h-P3uOOGxxu209xQnJxIWaVwIKZNzlv_lj4Qwin2Slqy3ACMV4PqpLS1V6dhC0w8z/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwYIOq0aFdouM9IhSDHYo6iQmnk7xs7vf26eLM0TTnz9TzEGd8QEj6aT5Nly3dKiITQcY09ZSNVB3h-P3uOOGxxu209xQnJxIWaVwIKZNzlv_lj4Qwin2Slqy3ACMV4PqpLS1V6dhC0w8z/s320/04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A train delayed in Germany? What is this madness?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Being a resident of Sussex and
therefore a frequent victim of Southern Rail's train 'service', trips to Germany
are always refreshing to experience how a train system should work. Imagine the
horror then when our train to Dusseldorf was delayed by 20 minutes, surely an
unheard of occurrence in a country famous for its efficiency and punctuality?
Deutsche Bahn do not even have a delay repay scheme in place unlike Southern.
That wasn't the end of the transport woes either as Dean and Co's taxi crashed
once we arrived in Dortmund on their journey from station to hotel. Another
myth surrounding Germany - that they are excellent drivers - was shattered.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyltEIvgvIgWL7aJa5c5MgnHVJnRBVci_Y0GgQvjRbUFcfqwcKuISLD3i_5LhuqLse48xSQQKeuqm0IBzdOH85VGDthyphenhyphen-quJqmyN7dkgQD6QP4PBuaO87Pj4i1HKdzpe6iIOResXkR_xj2/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyltEIvgvIgWL7aJa5c5MgnHVJnRBVci_Y0GgQvjRbUFcfqwcKuISLD3i_5LhuqLse48xSQQKeuqm0IBzdOH85VGDthyphenhyphen-quJqmyN7dkgQD6QP4PBuaO87Pj4i1HKdzpe6iIOResXkR_xj2/s320/05.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Markt Square</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5MtMkWMkgfOXNyeHJVFewQE-8sqvo5dinQ8R1n5qfMOcU0-gx4rwoEOVJI9C7ieuegud9vJGviDsLhIYrGqjs3jHWaJDPOB7Oj7w968GGcEDMZ4BSrruIjiu-0qGBc10CPAxQJ4Ha6gy/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5MtMkWMkgfOXNyeHJVFewQE-8sqvo5dinQ8R1n5qfMOcU0-gx4rwoEOVJI9C7ieuegud9vJGviDsLhIYrGqjs3jHWaJDPOB7Oj7w968GGcEDMZ4BSrruIjiu-0qGBc10CPAxQJ4Ha6gy/s320/06.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">England fans gather before the game with Lukas Podolski</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After a few beers in Markt Square where
several hundred England supporters had gathered for the traditional boot
football as high as possible into air game, the car crash survivors and myself
headed away to a restaurant serving what can only be described as the greatest
schnitzel I've ever had was served. Such was the quality of this piece of pork
wrapped in breadcrumbs that not even the fact the place was packed and we had
to sit outside in the cold could take away from the delight of the meal.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIf87DB4I_oU8swrq91_bDur_FLZe1huZLMygOJIyNHSicDwrhiB27KopaAJNr8y6BH2QVM8aRphqsVtd0hM7aIzG72B2qu772V1iEq3hkPDsNYGD0WgT6Wx1nIcozsAYq-sbCYheElC1/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIf87DB4I_oU8swrq91_bDur_FLZe1huZLMygOJIyNHSicDwrhiB27KopaAJNr8y6BH2QVM8aRphqsVtd0hM7aIzG72B2qu772V1iEq3hkPDsNYGD0WgT6Wx1nIcozsAYq-sbCYheElC1/s320/09.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Schitznel and beer with the taxi crash crew</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">From there it was onto Signal Iduna
Park. The local police had instructed England fans to get off at a certain U
Bahn stop as they wanted to ensure everyone got straight in the ground with no
mixing with the home support. Needless to say we weren't having any of that and
got off a stop early, walking to the stadium, outside of which there were
plenty of outlets selling cans of beer and where you could mingle with the
Podolski supporters. We even had time to have a 100m race on the athletics
track adjacent to the main stand and then a go at the long jump. Neither
performance in these events was particularly impressive.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivz-tERq-MCZiaH3R2kqp-VDlYi-E57w51igiwTafC1Qr5Sn0iHWu1m9Y-uzKS93k-8K6M3wHq39ucZPFiBOWaQYhioTEhHX0fPxDNcWR2ad0GhKsQKG0L-Mupa21MOasMLCnTHxg2T-3q/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivz-tERq-MCZiaH3R2kqp-VDlYi-E57w51igiwTafC1Qr5Sn0iHWu1m9Y-uzKS93k-8K6M3wHq39ucZPFiBOWaQYhioTEhHX0fPxDNcWR2ad0GhKsQKG0L-Mupa21MOasMLCnTHxg2T-3q/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Complimentary German flags? Don't mind if we do</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxkxJoMl6EBonHM-eufgCb74-D-VbOGtmtzHiOxGAOLoMIDvhCKfPQ-bYmJblYfUL1KuChW4FcX9zOb3Xi5uUshUmYx99syyuytFaRNIP-AQI_bCsjyZ1Q_BTnL1udK1BQSv8leXx8fGI/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxkxJoMl6EBonHM-eufgCb74-D-VbOGtmtzHiOxGAOLoMIDvhCKfPQ-bYmJblYfUL1KuChW4FcX9zOb3Xi5uUshUmYx99syyuytFaRNIP-AQI_bCsjyZ1Q_BTnL1udK1BQSv8leXx8fGI/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thomas Muller</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After collecting some complimentary
Germany flags which went down a treat with our fellow England supporters and
obtaining some "selfies" with the members of Die Mannschaft's
triumphant 2014 squad which are painted on the side of the same double decker
that was in Berlin for last year's friendly, it was off into the stadium. My
previous two visits to watch Dortmund have come in the light yet the place was
even more magical in the dark, four steep stands including the famous Yellow
Wall opposite us were shrouded in darkness, surrounding the pristine and
brilliantly lit green carpet below. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKa_IaysAqWwfvq7x_GRLyyUOM0xTyuxh_vb441meBR46cCNeig93W96k4IHWhyB1Eb-tBjNfrZYEtxGRU5oWV7MoMAof6Ewg4jq-AoH3eI-lHGBdZeQl_RKinJYIt0nQ3ieFdxAWJOPw/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKa_IaysAqWwfvq7x_GRLyyUOM0xTyuxh_vb441meBR46cCNeig93W96k4IHWhyB1Eb-tBjNfrZYEtxGRU5oWV7MoMAof6Ewg4jq-AoH3eI-lHGBdZeQl_RKinJYIt0nQ3ieFdxAWJOPw/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let the Podoloski Love In commence</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd3PFPfXbjCojKSZchle6w8DkbETUFDK8pqlhnpDtjTIq7FgfrrA3m1TvmxCxzIl1Cd_wDiAiPMflhzVbKxhCgVY-p6i_Re4a9fDYJx9NuIrAVfxvDXRE6JVLEkW_hg4pXq3hPEEHKdANd/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd3PFPfXbjCojKSZchle6w8DkbETUFDK8pqlhnpDtjTIq7FgfrrA3m1TvmxCxzIl1Cd_wDiAiPMflhzVbKxhCgVY-p6i_Re4a9fDYJx9NuIrAVfxvDXRE6JVLEkW_hg4pXq3hPEEHKdANd/s320/15.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Visit three but Signal Iduna Park remains breathtaking</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The away section is up with the God's
but the England fans created quite a racket. So much in fact that there was
something of a backlash from the FA and the press about some of the more
outdated war related chants. Bad tasting? Yes. Disgraceful? No not really when
most of the German football supporters I've become friends with down the years
through these trips don't mind a laugh and a joke about their past. The anger and
outcry smacked of the current trend of people taking offence on other people's
behalf.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Gareth Southgate took a bold approach
by playing the fashionable-thanks-to-Antonio-Conte 3-4-1-2 formation and it
largely worked as England played surprisingly well, only being undone by that
moment of magic from Podolski. There were a couple of chances to get on the
scoresheet but not enough to convince Coventry Sara and myself to stay for the
final 10 minutes, given we both had to get the 23.15 from Dortmund back to
Dusseldorf. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbyh5g0xhcFjWWTd7e6PTpH94BSxxWBAT-aPkJWhwsjHugwxZU2SqU3V-ROECzf7A3ATz7Z_9bIdSNYshmGIUu3QzogCcUyINipJ_sZgE5gAiTSUSOZE4EMmZH-lC40ROOxJQJZ6m7Nby/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbyh5g0xhcFjWWTd7e6PTpH94BSxxWBAT-aPkJWhwsjHugwxZU2SqU3V-ROECzf7A3ATz7Z_9bIdSNYshmGIUu3QzogCcUyINipJ_sZgE5gAiTSUSOZE4EMmZH-lC40ROOxJQJZ6m7Nby/s320/17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Signal Iduna Park's away end is up with the Gods</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was at this part of the journey that
one of the stranger things you are likely to see at a football game appeared as
a German supporter in his 50s rocked up carrying a toy of Ernie from Sesame
Street. There seemed to be no logical explanation for this but the bloke seemed
happy enough to pose for a selfie. No doubt some members of the British press
and the FA would see this as a disgraceful piss take as well in which case I
look forward to having my England Supporters Membership revoked.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One of the key elements in making a
three day trip with no accommodation work is making sure you don't fall asleep
in random places before the overnight travel element. This can be quite
difficult if, say for example, you have had 10 pints across 14 hours on only
five hours sleep. The trick is not to sit down, keep moving and find something
to occupy yourself. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well here we were back at Dusseldorf
Station, 20 minutes before the train back to Luxembourg when I made the
cardinal mistake of sitting down in the waiting room. The result? Waking up two
hours later with my booked train long gone. This was even more ridiculous in
light of the fact that there was a bloke physically lying on the floor of the
waiting room sleeping when I entered it whom I heartily laughed at owing to his
stupidity for getting into a position whereby he was almost certainly going to
miss his train. There was egg well and truly on face when I was finally shaken
out of my slumber at 4am, 90 minutes after my train pulled out of the station.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thankfully, the ticketing guards were
very understanding of the situation, no doubt still basking in the glow of
Podolski's perfect farewell of the previous day. Luxembourg City was eventually
reached at 10am and what with it being daylight this time, the chance to
explore was taken. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVTJ0RD4dSput8dROghLep6Vvwc6QvhiPhdBipow1oolTU2ybEn02xQJXL7AjUb_cteVA0GAgKhXzunZPBB9ILPB9fXUrTq3rYdv3Vu_K07nvy_rk-Il4S_XJsawMtMMc8SVISpMxKB4VX/s1600/20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVTJ0RD4dSput8dROghLep6Vvwc6QvhiPhdBipow1oolTU2ybEn02xQJXL7AjUb_cteVA0GAgKhXzunZPBB9ILPB9fXUrTq3rYdv3Vu_K07nvy_rk-Il4S_XJsawMtMMc8SVISpMxKB4VX/s320/20.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lovely Luxembourg City</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjoQxcsDaN7BXxG-zNsPMy66RJ0fKQNfQ8e6AOaMvySZQjMGgVMrq3E8157OMs5cAK6EMVn-QurEgAhgiy9r8SJiuPVbxd_T_JueEKZ_h4sw8j0M4R_pV8lbt-qI00QT0H8GLfYc1-6P7/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjoQxcsDaN7BXxG-zNsPMy66RJ0fKQNfQ8e6AOaMvySZQjMGgVMrq3E8157OMs5cAK6EMVn-QurEgAhgiy9r8SJiuPVbxd_T_JueEKZ_h4sw8j0M4R_pV8lbt-qI00QT0H8GLfYc1-6P7/s320/23.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luxembourg City</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It may be a boring place but it is
actually a quite beautiful one. There are plenty of old buildings and a park
running through the middle of the city in a valley. There is also the Stade
Josy Barthel Stadium, a 20 minute hike from the city centre and home to the
famous Luxembourg national team. Unfortunately there was no way in as the place
was being prepared for the visit of France 48 hours later so a few photos from
the outside had to suffice before heading back into town to do the only thing
left to do until the flight home at 9pm - namely, drink some more beer in
several more bars.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe911T52KQiwnEhvA2pabv_Bjdm7d36otGvcZx6CNJaLhXaYrfZbVxulPNYB3WKMd9FqcahpEt4Pw3fz5bCTMxObMn2YBC23Q90umowqwdQNgmNh2dOjtzGCaxevVvh5Jzto33EnwCM-Yl/s1600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe911T52KQiwnEhvA2pabv_Bjdm7d36otGvcZx6CNJaLhXaYrfZbVxulPNYB3WKMd9FqcahpEt4Pw3fz5bCTMxObMn2YBC23Q90umowqwdQNgmNh2dOjtzGCaxevVvh5Jzto33EnwCM-Yl/s320/21.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stade Josy Barthel, home to the feared Luxembourg National Side</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1LR38IT_USe_aAbClOp_KQzMtLv9lbxcr_hyphenhyphenlOoDtMT9Khk9nxYsfOEgMrGYAYIqQFWNzWQR2tBAlDroLM0GpaelsqL1cL1Z_GrPWi-078zabXPUo7HA6dVduhat3I9OwL1_JTZ3H6VL/s1600/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1LR38IT_USe_aAbClOp_KQzMtLv9lbxcr_hyphenhyphenlOoDtMT9Khk9nxYsfOEgMrGYAYIqQFWNzWQR2tBAlDroLM0GpaelsqL1cL1Z_GrPWi-078zabXPUo7HA6dVduhat3I9OwL1_JTZ3H6VL/s320/22.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luxembourg were gearing up for their huge game 48 hours later<br />against France</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As is normally the case, this drinking
killed the remaining hours of the day and gave the chance to reflect back on a
successful time for all concerned. Lukas Podolski got the send-off he deserved
and I ensured Luxembourg is done and dusted and I won't have to go back there
again*</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>*Until England inevitably draw them in
qualifying for Euro 2020</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>Germany: </b>Marc-Andre ter Stegen, Joshua Kimich, Antonio Rudiger, Mats Hummels, Jonas Hector, Julian Weigl (Emre Can), Toni Kroos, Julian Brandt (Andre Schurrle), Lukas Podolski 1 (Sebastian Rudy), Leroy Sane, Timo Werner (Thomas Muller).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Joe Hart, Michael Keane, Chris Smalling (John Stones), Gary Cahill, Kyle Walker, Jake Livermore (James Ward-Prowse), Eric Dier, Ryan Bertrand (Luke Shaw), Adam Lallana (Nathan Redmond), Dele Alli (Jesse Lingard), Jame Vardy (Marcus Rashford).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>60,109</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Strobelallee 50, 44139 Dortmund, Germany51.4925888 7.451857399999994425.9705543 -33.856736600000005 77.0146233 48.760451399999994tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-8224461076406880872016-10-21T20:54:00.000+01:002016-11-08T08:37:13.884+00:00Excelsior v PEC Zwolle. 21/10/16<b><i>"You've come all the way here from Brighton? Bloody hell."</i></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0wgRtf0-ZJkod_Fs0ebjbqkybpd1SA6OIPnZDwpFpmhtuU94Cl0FBzY3fA9v2u0jnxzdxlFHjBrW9HGyzmvkkTfvXBbGVCe8Hr_a-p-9GZwtlRjXX9-IeCMaPDrTh4i17ZnK-y5DFkbPj/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0wgRtf0-ZJkod_Fs0ebjbqkybpd1SA6OIPnZDwpFpmhtuU94Cl0FBzY3fA9v2u0jnxzdxlFHjBrW9HGyzmvkkTfvXBbGVCe8Hr_a-p-9GZwtlRjXX9-IeCMaPDrTh4i17ZnK-y5DFkbPj/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excelsior 0-2 PEC Zwolle. Stadion Woudestein. Friday 21/11/16</td></tr>
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Looking for Eric has to be one of the most preposterous ideas for a film ever with the possible exception of Snakes on a Plane.
For those who have never heard of it, it goes something like this:<br />
<br />
Man's life is falling apart. Man considers suicide. Man smokes marijuana. Man has vision of Eric Cantona. Eric Cantona guides man through the rest of the film to a happy ending.
Day two of our Rotterdam trip could have been the sequel to this - Looking for Danny.<br />
<br />
The Danny in question was Dutch midfielder Danny Holla and although there was no suicide, midlife crisis or weed involved, we were on a mission to find him.
Why Danny Holla? Because he’d spent two years at Brighton and Hove Albion. Until the last five years or so, Brighton were pretty rubbish and so it was rare for a player to leave the Albion and head for foreign lands. They were more likely to be heading for non league. We’re still not used to this whole supporting a good team thing and so once Holla was released and we got wind of the fact he had signed for PEC Zwolle, taking in their Eredivisie visit to Excelsior was a no-brainer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrRmF9B4ViDPFQvNVgKrelnEFcg_VdrBPuBkg52a6LiX0i7O8ed7izwKK4K51IK-zhiIjkph6_D-tvTEAfC6hx7LtAIkYWrgbQ8M8_CB-pQS2_vLyk9IQIwhbEqOMK2aGPLy7clJmJig47/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrRmF9B4ViDPFQvNVgKrelnEFcg_VdrBPuBkg52a6LiX0i7O8ed7izwKK4K51IK-zhiIjkph6_D-tvTEAfC6hx7LtAIkYWrgbQ8M8_CB-pQS2_vLyk9IQIwhbEqOMK2aGPLy7clJmJig47/s320/01.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The International Criminal Court - about as far as sightseeing in The Hague went</td></tr>
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But before the Friday evening game at Stadion Woudestein, there was another Danny Holla related part of the trip to get through. Holla had signed for Brighton from ADO Den Haag and, the Netherlands being a small country with impeccable public transport links, we decided to spend the afternoon in Den Haag, or The Hague as it is known to us English.
The Hague was a brisk 20 minute train ride from Rotterdam and once there we were able to do some actual “sightseeing” which for once didn't consist of the inside of a pub. The city is home to the Dutch government, parliament and Supreme Court despite the fact that the capital is Amsterdam. It is also home to the International Criminal Court which is where we were headed for a look around.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEielfb-NqGmjEaZFr4JOgFTEq5Y2OMX0DxZT4vZr23QUzW0vLB9d-qGx9HHHJjGCbQVc2nw2ODCAZlNFsAs__n9pF4hVAFbuSVd389fq2ytNutPbmmEoapVM567gBn0jCwvr70nU66Nofk1/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEielfb-NqGmjEaZFr4JOgFTEq5Y2OMX0DxZT4vZr23QUzW0vLB9d-qGx9HHHJjGCbQVc2nw2ODCAZlNFsAs__n9pF4hVAFbuSVd389fq2ytNutPbmmEoapVM567gBn0jCwvr70nU66Nofk1/s320/02.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beer in The Hague</td></tr>
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With a disappointing lack of ongoing war crime trials, we spent just 30 minutes at he ICC, after which it was back to the city centre where we belatedly discovered a square with lots of outdoor drinking facilities. That was the end of any plans to go and visit Kyocera Stadion, home of ADO Den Haag as we were unable to leave the hospitality of the square and it's beers before journeying back to Rotterdam.<br />
<br />
Although sad not to have made it to one of the grounds where Holla used to play his trade, there were two positives to this. One was that Den Haag wear an absolutely brilliant combination of yellow and green stripes as a home kit, which would almost certainly have led to an obscene an amount of money being spent on merchandise. The second was that by not visiting, we have full justification to go back for a Den Haag game at some point in the future.<br />
<br />
Back in Rotterdam, we decided to chance the 30 minute walk from the centre to Stadion Woudestein which meant that the walk soon turned into a near two hour trek as we decided to stop at five different bars along the way. The best of these was Cafe Hoekzight, a bar with lots (about eight) of supporters heading to the evening's big game as well as a huge poster of a naked lady inside the gents toilets. Only in the Netherlands.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzg4BDoRZwbgXlZKlCpepH8NT7qVcDZaq0Y-BhsJ5mt_bJuUODSnN-IrUpINuxV_nQ5R5I1AD3zIUXQ0rsqAtwOrweqGf3UMTnsixrKqhIlIVcFeqdeYi4y6tZnI_cQZn21eP4xDAeasX/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzg4BDoRZwbgXlZKlCpepH8NT7qVcDZaq0Y-BhsJ5mt_bJuUODSnN-IrUpINuxV_nQ5R5I1AD3zIUXQ0rsqAtwOrweqGf3UMTnsixrKqhIlIVcFeqdeYi4y6tZnI_cQZn21eP4xDAeasX/s320/03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stadion Woudestein</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCML4U-BrO3djcMgF6D-MSef3_rQz6dBjWoo3Rhw8kHD8UCi18ddeI4zetbuPQKQLn__jFjOqxnSqJZiMbImdayfQzyAZD1K3vn-8CGZ-F7SvzKLW-Ib7rgA_tWdBEGDTnKMVvHHQ928gc/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCML4U-BrO3djcMgF6D-MSef3_rQz6dBjWoo3Rhw8kHD8UCi18ddeI4zetbuPQKQLn__jFjOqxnSqJZiMbImdayfQzyAZD1K3vn-8CGZ-F7SvzKLW-Ib7rgA_tWdBEGDTnKMVvHHQ928gc/s320/04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More Rotterdam floodlight porn</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On arrival at Stadion Woudestein it became evident that the floodlight porn experienced at De Kuip for Feyenoord v Zorya Luhansk the previous day wasn't just restricted to the cities biggest team. Even Excelsior had pylons to get you aroused, a particularly impressive feat for one of the smallest professional grounds in the country that holds less than 5,000 people. Rotterdam truly is the European capital of fantastic floodlights.<br />
<br />
It turned out that it wasn't just Danny Holla we would be paying homage to on this trip either. Excelsior was the club that produced Robin van Persie and to say they are proud of it is something of an understatement. We would be positioned for the evening behind the goal in the RVP Stand and in the supporters bar there was an entire wall dedicated to the former Arsenal and Manchester United man.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2aADQwFM_Rhv0inVtAP7ohBy7t17f6L9IUsvd4uAxRvHdZfRRDcRrI6_zjdeJcdgSrINjTgqFxnjg4ErT5YavzX-9paeHoryCczu_naKV87EhjRMVBJIznbCD02jl2mnhX8QxX_gaWsTb/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2aADQwFM_Rhv0inVtAP7ohBy7t17f6L9IUsvd4uAxRvHdZfRRDcRrI6_zjdeJcdgSrINjTgqFxnjg4ErT5YavzX-9paeHoryCczu_naKV87EhjRMVBJIznbCD02jl2mnhX8QxX_gaWsTb/s320/07.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Robin van Persie tribute wall in the Excelsior supporters bar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhti2U_P8E64ymN52oZAQtxFk2nTDzzBhYYKK2dWR-vMy1Z4BJz0KmPUqK71WlW_4E4JiaQsj3zQNnBGboZLY3VFIgUT93gnHByZb_CiNgQVaA0YUooqQVCSR-6x4s2-Zl_DXWNeVfqVzsZ/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhti2U_P8E64ymN52oZAQtxFk2nTDzzBhYYKK2dWR-vMy1Z4BJz0KmPUqK71WlW_4E4JiaQsj3zQNnBGboZLY3VFIgUT93gnHByZb_CiNgQVaA0YUooqQVCSR-6x4s2-Zl_DXWNeVfqVzsZ/s320/06.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just in case you didn't realise Robin van Persie was a product of<br />
Excelsior's youth system... </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNrTy-PUQxiXW-YW9bkjdXrPtt45jK4Enoi1zbTjrVQXDe6iEQo9wLFascOByLdsHd-UJfkjVs_2aAyn1vlaTjc2R4BGq9arK9KnkwwpuO5f0je2RZmmi8YwVtQyk1ffh3taSGrTk0kmi/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNrTy-PUQxiXW-YW9bkjdXrPtt45jK4Enoi1zbTjrVQXDe6iEQo9wLFascOByLdsHd-UJfkjVs_2aAyn1vlaTjc2R4BGq9arK9KnkwwpuO5f0je2RZmmi8YwVtQyk1ffh3taSGrTk0kmi/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't fancy leaving the bar? Just stand on the porch at the front of it to watch the game</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One thing that makes trips to these smaller clubs enjoyable is the supporters bar and Excelsior has one to rival the best of them. Cheap, cheerful and housing a cupboard which doubles as the club shop, the best bit about it is it features a porch that directly overlooks the pitch and you can take beer from the bar straight to your seat. One bloke didn't even bother to leave the bar - we discovered him at half time in exactly the same position watching the television as we had left him in as the teams appeared for kick off.<br />
<br />
The RVP Stand was raised above the pitch and was a curious mixture of seats with a block of terracing in the middle. At the other end the PEC Zwolle fans had gathered, a remarkably large number for a Friday night round trip which at 180 miles is one of the longest in the Eredivisie given they came into the game bottom of the table. The Holla effect perhaps? <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzsudytaDI0RsDUPQt7NP5YxYpWuglbAFOm0cRY778QPW6X3lDAzFeCUtR110BxBwb3UYSVIKbQgDvWBkM3iCRm0-d3F212xukhejMCwIx7IPTtiq1jZS9FX92rNKk5dBawOi0i-2_Wwu/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzsudytaDI0RsDUPQt7NP5YxYpWuglbAFOm0cRY778QPW6X3lDAzFeCUtR110BxBwb3UYSVIKbQgDvWBkM3iCRm0-d3F212xukhejMCwIx7IPTtiq1jZS9FX92rNKk5dBawOi0i-2_Wwu/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The RVP Stand</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Ysj5wiX_wJBYFbGRFGQ1DVA8KmZLHg7RjPQBWAd8WdG0eXSen_WGYKnhogQ91F824v4HNdXqwvgsqchx3cl7m5_Y0sc83ZObGOkscJ29RqIX07eOXkJI05eqxBzEMPfCyX5B-dTIQKjl/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Ysj5wiX_wJBYFbGRFGQ1DVA8KmZLHg7RjPQBWAd8WdG0eXSen_WGYKnhogQ91F824v4HNdXqwvgsqchx3cl7m5_Y0sc83ZObGOkscJ29RqIX07eOXkJI05eqxBzEMPfCyX5B-dTIQKjl/s320/09.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stadion Woudestein</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhax89gmBClHLEp4rqQNixhLqb-fcbTrnYiQ-qoVK1t2ZIKU9sHPiLFBTxJHUiCyLT2QIfp9jxdkKdpf3sOD5h2gqclP-TxreO6Lp1yy8v2V1SgeNbMntOByRC3vGp-ytbMrNPr0PE5GJhy/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhax89gmBClHLEp4rqQNixhLqb-fcbTrnYiQ-qoVK1t2ZIKU9sHPiLFBTxJHUiCyLT2QIfp9jxdkKdpf3sOD5h2gqclP-TxreO6Lp1yy8v2V1SgeNbMntOByRC3vGp-ytbMrNPr0PE5GJhy/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a fantastic little venue for a game of football </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The match itself wasn't too entertaining with the first half in particular a complete non event. Half the Excelsior fans were still refuelling in the bar or taking advantage of the crepe stand (crepes at football - take note English clubs) when Zwolle took the lead through Ajax loanee Queensy Menig with the second half just three minutes old.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_YKKU8DWfcl3CJuCBhdtccfn90PNodhel41Svkk86vrbfuThZ7PJ7DhUyseDSI0fxvLbftPB-tfVSOWQLXZDEAq9ZUjK9Gx6Ez5q2d4cTV5Vfx7Sr_Fu1pAO3IrCdLuf4v_gRrqV9psT/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_YKKU8DWfcl3CJuCBhdtccfn90PNodhel41Svkk86vrbfuThZ7PJ7DhUyseDSI0fxvLbftPB-tfVSOWQLXZDEAq9ZUjK9Gx6Ez5q2d4cTV5Vfx7Sr_Fu1pAO3IrCdLuf4v_gRrqV9psT/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crepes in a football ground is the best idea so far in the 21st century</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Excelsior pushed forward in search of an equaliser after that but Zwolle kept them at bay, adding a second on the counter with two minutes left to play through Django Warmerdam - another player on loan from Ajax. Excelsior 0-2 Ajax some might say.
While the majority of Excelsior supporters slunk off back to the city, a fair few which included us returned to the warmth of the bar. Those downing the Jupiler included a large number of fathers and we soon discovered why when peering out of the window to see lots of kids having an impromptu kick about on the pitch. Tempted as we were to go and join them - who doesn't want to tell their Grandkids about the time they scored at Stadion Woudestein? - they looked quite good and, after Euro 2016, English football is far enough in the doldrums as it is without two pissed up blokes being given the run around by a load of Dutch under 10s.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHqpF6Kk9XUb2G-zwiwR3WJPiE3oHftA8r6UIZ2GF5Z3MQzreiSMD5TEIjPSoim6DQdzVLH7dv87dHPJvm1mLPmJ8JPpXRKqrZdILCToOOUXC6yK1da6ddsJJT5y8UuaDoiJowrPcX5tN/s1600/19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHqpF6Kk9XUb2G-zwiwR3WJPiE3oHftA8r6UIZ2GF5Z3MQzreiSMD5TEIjPSoim6DQdzVLH7dv87dHPJvm1mLPmJ8JPpXRKqrZdILCToOOUXC6yK1da6ddsJJT5y8UuaDoiJowrPcX5tN/s320/19.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some kids have a kick about on the pitch - you don't get that post game at Old Trafford</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So we stayed in the bar which was a wise move. Not content with serving great beer, around 30 minutes after the full time whistle any food that had been cooked but not eaten was offered around for free. Eating a complimentary meat thing that looked suspiciously like a sausage yet wasn't while looking at a wall decorated with Robin van Persie’s face. Does life get any better?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdPAygJZEdjd73e8ZyYo2F_wp5-agramsAO492DxjbrWfL2dGhJRX6IUh0nhloy_onw9E-TPKSklk8Hfe53QCYaHSbmu0L-M47REMQ-LPf7gLoaH9xzZivYtelR6otiCqverRS1RygRiR4/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdPAygJZEdjd73e8ZyYo2F_wp5-agramsAO492DxjbrWfL2dGhJRX6IUh0nhloy_onw9E-TPKSklk8Hfe53QCYaHSbmu0L-M47REMQ-LPf7gLoaH9xzZivYtelR6otiCqverRS1RygRiR4/s320/17.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Free food...but what is it?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It does actually. Up pulled the PEC Zwolle coach and from the sanctuary of the Main Stand the visiting players began to board. Beer necked, sausage that wasn't sausage eaten, we headed outside and five minutes later found ourselves being greeted by the very man we had come to see.<br />
<br />
“You've come from Brighton?” Mr Holla expressed with a look and tone of bewilderment, clearly torn between admiration for the cause and concern that we should be in a secure mental facility somewhere. He was kind enough to chew the fat for five minutes, expressing disbelief that Brighton didn't win promotion to the Premier League last season (we missed out by two goals) and that he hoped it happened this time around. The feeling was mutual, we told Danny - we hope you and Zwolle can stay up. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5-HW9mgmEUB7aM3b6AxxWRh423dSKknF_3oOz9NIWHv6-KqIolA-SxHaX6-OGGLniu0ZweIHeED6MibcQE0pKGFns3i7BNgqri5UzIk6vzoY4mWzoO1a1MCmJRaMJz0UwQvRzMWx1esQ/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5-HW9mgmEUB7aM3b6AxxWRh423dSKknF_3oOz9NIWHv6-KqIolA-SxHaX6-OGGLniu0ZweIHeED6MibcQE0pKGFns3i7BNgqri5UzIk6vzoY4mWzoO1a1MCmJRaMJz0UwQvRzMWx1esQ/s320/18.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The trip is justified as we succeed in meeting Danny Holla</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
They are making a good fist of doing that as well, having moved from the bottom of the table position they occupied before the Excelsior game up to the dizzy heights of 11th at the time of writing.<br />
<br />
As for us, we headed back to the Excelsior fan bar until we were eventually kicked out, catching a tram back to the city centres Cool District to party the night away. The next morning it was a 9am flight from Rotterdam to Manchester and onwards to Wigan, where Brighton picked up a 1-0 win to go second in the Championship.<br />
<br />
Looks like both Zwolle and Brighton could get what we hope for by the end of the season. In which case, keep your eyes peeled for Looking for Danny Part 2 next season.<br />
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<b style="font-size: small;">Excelsior:</b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Tom Muyters, Henrico Drost, Jurgen Mattheij, Khalid Karami, Leeroy Owusu, Kevin Vermeulen (Danilo Pantic), Luigi Bruins, Ryan Koolwijk (Nigel Hasselbaink), Alfredo Kulembe Ribeiro, Mike van Duinen, Stanley Elbers (Anouar Hadouir). </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>PEC Zwolle:</b> Mickey van der Hart, Bart Schenkeveld, Bram van Polen, Calvin Verdonk, Django Warmerdam 1, Ted Van De Pavert, Danny Holla, Mustafa Saymak(Ryan Jared Thomas), Kingsley Ehizibue, Queensy Menig 1 (Annas Achahbar), Youness Mokhtar (Thanasis Karagounis).
</span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance:</b> 3,640</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1Stadion Woudestein51.916902886441981 4.520037174224853551.915678386441982 4.5175156742248532 51.918127386441981 4.5225586742248538tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-27620316339080345662016-10-20T21:00:00.000+01:002016-11-07T20:57:25.229+00:00Feyenoord v Zorya Luhansk. 20/10/16<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"If more clubs played Gloria Gaynor at full time I'd be inclined to stay until full time rather than leaving five minutes early to get back to the pub."</i></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypKVgy1dOjvywpDTVu7Dyi16BeW0j9P-WLDm2DEL8KSM7l_UYoR8IGRYh-jYpRDA-4u4Yitw8EDFLtJRQBfXxYDq_oY1oAPy7S5QNpG0UykS06vaR-VShSB8GECx-xO7U-bPqDFKFsyoP/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypKVgy1dOjvywpDTVu7Dyi16BeW0j9P-WLDm2DEL8KSM7l_UYoR8IGRYh-jYpRDA-4u4Yitw8EDFLtJRQBfXxYDq_oY1oAPy7S5QNpG0UykS06vaR-VShSB8GECx-xO7U-bPqDFKFsyoP/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feyenoord 1-0 Zorya Luhansk. De Kuip.<br />
Thursday 20/10/16</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Dutch football is bloody
fantastic. Yet for some reason it has never become a fashionable destination like its German
counterpart.</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background: white;">While supporters from across Europe flock to venues
such as Signal Iduna Park to watch Borussia Dortmundtourist - been there, done
that, got the t-shirt twice - nobody seems to take much interest in what is
going on across the border in the Netherlands.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;">Perhaps it is Dutch clubs reputation for stringent
membership schemes. Or the banning of away supporters for high profile matches.
Or the threat of hooliganism. Or the vicious rumour that it is nigh-on impossible to get
tickets for games.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;">Well it wasn't impossible for our Dutch Double
Header. A quick e-mail to two of Rotterdam's finest in the form of Feyenoord and
Excelsior and we were on our way to the city that made The Beautiful South famous.
This could be Rotterdam or anywhere...<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUW-szAw1PhBeOkgjRKIXGuVkQorsj5W6Knz1yw78ket_d5F2szwcTTQRF6ujzyi4n2p64WmTuv7DEqqsKUOgy0iS_Xid45oitcrVzQt7dFUlvrg2xXFC4yL_k3TcbVAYiaDGPbQfcPUc/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUW-szAw1PhBeOkgjRKIXGuVkQorsj5W6Knz1yw78ket_d5F2szwcTTQRF6ujzyi4n2p64WmTuv7DEqqsKUOgy0iS_Xid45oitcrVzQt7dFUlvrg2xXFC4yL_k3TcbVAYiaDGPbQfcPUc/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An interesting design for Rotterdam Central Station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Our request for tickets for Feyenoord might have been helped
by the fact we mentioned we were Brighton and Hove Albion fans. Last summer, Brighton parted with £1.5m for Feyenoord striker Elvis Manu who has turned
out to be, for want of a better word, crap. You can imagine the scenes in the
ticket office now as the e-mail came in. “Oh God, two Brighton fans want to come
and watch us play. I suppose it’s the least we can do seeing as we mugged their
club off for over a million quid for a player who doesn’t know the offside rule.” </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
<br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;">Taking in two games at a time on these trips
always seem like a good idea on paper. But paper doesn't have to deal with two
days of solid alcohol consumption. Which is followed by an 8am Saturday morning
flight from Rotterdam Airport to Manchester. On a propeller powered plane. Throughout
which you are desperately trying not to add "above the North Sea" to
the list of places you've been sick.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGzboGIuOCAilJijO1bj1USZyS1Fyon7AZvFZ-z-Dm-uxlLOkSHEVJqYYxRKh1G2GgShdEVwkv07teTduXtaNCPz9jwedviG60lsV4ww0bOo2tPJECq-YGz_N-jYNKNuoWTW_btZOJfxu/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGzboGIuOCAilJijO1bj1USZyS1Fyon7AZvFZ-z-Dm-uxlLOkSHEVJqYYxRKh1G2GgShdEVwkv07teTduXtaNCPz9jwedviG60lsV4ww0bOo2tPJECq-YGz_N-jYNKNuoWTW_btZOJfxu/s320/01.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Statue of a giant gnome pleasuring itself - tick</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">Why were we flying into Manchester airport? Ah,
well just to add to the weekend of football, Andy decided in his wisdom we
could go and watch Wigan v Brighton as it was "on the way home". It
did actually prove to be a prudent move given the Albion won 1-0 to go second
in the Championship which was remarkable as, as we wobbled dangerously
somewhere over Yorkshire, it seemed at the time to be as good a decision as
when Mr and Mrs Hitler got a bit randy and headed to the bedroom.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;">But I digress. Back to Dutch football. Which is
bloody brilliant. Our chosen game at the fabulous De Kuip was Feyenoord taking
on Ukrainian side Zorya Luhansk. A couple of weeks before our visit, Zorya had travelled
to Old Trafford to take on the not-so-mighty-anymore Manchester United. They
had, according to The Times, taken a grand total of five supporters with them
owing to the troubles in war torn Eastern Ukraine where they are based
(although they now play "home" games in Zaporhizia, a mere 236 miles
away).<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;">In honour of the dedication of the fantastic five,
we had decided to secretly give our backing to Zorya despite being in among the
home supporters. That was until we headed out into Rotterdam and were blown
away by the cities passion for football which instead saw us pinning our
colours firmly to the Feyenoord mast. Across our travels we met not just
Feyenoord and Excelsior supporters but Sparta Rotterdam and bizarrely a Dutch
Bradford City supporter. It takes all sorts I suppose.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFNPxv6Hdm9n2j9IxczBtGWQdoIP6KjhZXRuaHvFtRzgY_Tm1hOq7frXC3aEV13mQ4xZMuHexiLiaT0cwR1NeVG3ejEXJPUyCrgc4dSZe0_otrHTZpPCBb7QrWUYEJNQIToJEnnzvWkmAa/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFNPxv6Hdm9n2j9IxczBtGWQdoIP6KjhZXRuaHvFtRzgY_Tm1hOq7frXC3aEV13mQ4xZMuHexiLiaT0cwR1NeVG3ejEXJPUyCrgc4dSZe0_otrHTZpPCBb7QrWUYEJNQIToJEnnzvWkmAa/s320/02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heineken...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmr7LHRU9YNo0gZ0pZdpuWicR0JYYaP-DvU66HFUHC6Gq5CdD8TC3NdbMJeJdhzIY_Ksz9P2hyNFNLYykkBxSBwpiJja95qQZtu4C_HxTq9wBlTjupkB8G1qVIUOmHvtgu_or-JB0BTieD/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmr7LHRU9YNo0gZ0pZdpuWicR0JYYaP-DvU66HFUHC6Gq5CdD8TC3NdbMJeJdhzIY_Ksz9P2hyNFNLYykkBxSBwpiJja95qQZtu4C_HxTq9wBlTjupkB8G1qVIUOmHvtgu_or-JB0BTieD/s320/04.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...in a Sparta Rotterdam bar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">Central to these meetings were the plethora of
bars we came across in an area of the city which was named 'Cool District'. Our
decision to hang around here and not venture too fat away in the hope of finding
a 'Groovy Borough" or a 'Wicked Boulevard' was vindicated as we ticked off
no less than nine pubs. Easily the best of these was Café Visser, which
featured a scary Santa Claus doll just the two months before Christmas, some
weird porcelain dog figure with a set of flowers coming out of its head and a
large poster of George Best. Football mad and probably genuinely mad.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2n4QwbVoxUzBEvClCiRJKptuoosETtR6BEGr4b_aVIlEpX38od6kCiFK3tyYUGW4u_5RDYA7ZhXVCOT-6kr9Q61A5axXJ72WRrQruMmYCwfDQ8Payy5U9LfU2FBRg2ClGkHny4fmeFrU/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2n4QwbVoxUzBEvClCiRJKptuoosETtR6BEGr4b_aVIlEpX38od6kCiFK3tyYUGW4u_5RDYA7ZhXVCOT-6kr9Q61A5axXJ72WRrQruMmYCwfDQ8Payy5U9LfU2FBRg2ClGkHny4fmeFrU/s320/05.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scary Santa Claus - in October</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb07Kci1hiOySF5canweRnp0Js6RgSapbA6euob8dGfJvq9DX5jxt8VRhsAkxkMHG2t2sHHg_ijzzHK-bk7i_eg75FvJIQKbCwDWXCwZkqm24fIH5quIgPgnhpkIA1-eyRL1ofF39lJcO9/s1600/20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb07Kci1hiOySF5canweRnp0Js6RgSapbA6euob8dGfJvq9DX5jxt8VRhsAkxkMHG2t2sHHg_ijzzHK-bk7i_eg75FvJIQKbCwDWXCwZkqm24fIH5quIgPgnhpkIA1-eyRL1ofF39lJcO9/s320/20.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George Best poster</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">Our hotel for the two nights was also handily
located in Cool District. This was the first time I had stayed in an Easyhotel
and it was everything you would imagine a hotel run by Sir Stelios would be.
Check in on line, the most budget of budget rooms, extra charge for tea and
coffee. The only disappointment was there was no speedy boarding for the shower
and no option to pay extra to reserve a chosen bed.</span></span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQ-rj5zG-pio7zTdB8Lttt1RZYjGwVMijGWRVuk3rhVHv7Q9QHahwidu23p8BjYUOPgiwyR67D2pxVMnC3sCmccwfWJrGQrMOclOb_TwMaUF_O8npayR-_tlDXIyBTb1Vxf76n99l6l42/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQ-rj5zG-pio7zTdB8Lttt1RZYjGwVMijGWRVuk3rhVHv7Q9QHahwidu23p8BjYUOPgiwyR67D2pxVMnC3sCmccwfWJrGQrMOclOb_TwMaUF_O8npayR-_tlDXIyBTb1Vxf76n99l6l42/s320/06.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">De Kuip. Look at those floodlights</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" /><span style="background: white;">From Cool District it was a 10-15 minute tram ride
over the river to the Feyenoord area of the city. The first thing you notice
about De Kuip are its floodlight pylons. With the ushering in of modern, all
seater stadiums proper floodlights you can see for miles away have all but
disappeared in favour of boring lights strung along a roof. But not in
Rotterdam. De Kuip features four beautiful pylons reaching high into the sky. Floodlight
porn, some might say.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;">Once inside the stadium, the lights peer down over
the roof illuminating the pitch below. Two tiered all the way around and in a
bowl shape with a low hanging roof, it ticked every box that features on the excellent
stadium checklist. The floodlights, well you are probably bored about hearing
about those gorgeous metal creatures by now. The player’s tunnel was the
opposite side of the stadium to the dugouts which led to a fantastic procession
of coaching staff, medical teams and substitutes at the start and end of each
half. And then we come to the atmosphere.</span></span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6c8SyNJL_Xwh3kzcXwTi1RejH_bnR5Xa5ke_B-opByW0NqBFcgNLMg0z7xSZjRqlxZMBIdAKII_A2YbVuSkWw_dUUCRU9v8kiZ3wmTUZz9FX8dE70XsbcNljaNxNs0z_X9JYjpp3pAa6x/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6c8SyNJL_Xwh3kzcXwTi1RejH_bnR5Xa5ke_B-opByW0NqBFcgNLMg0z7xSZjRqlxZMBIdAKII_A2YbVuSkWw_dUUCRU9v8kiZ3wmTUZz9FX8dE70XsbcNljaNxNs0z_X9JYjpp3pAa6x/s320/08.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">De Kuip complete with the lower half of the bottom tier covered up</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBN_uoWerJgcrY79Qxrg4GgMKY-oAYLdUB8OPaFYaIu8lcAIu-sQaRw2V2-J2emhANcLdX6UoIbIxd0BjwiVIm2xFelHG9v3-evThJ1W__t7EZ-Lpy76ePnj5HC0O9FsRQgoLfhcsilPMU/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBN_uoWerJgcrY79Qxrg4GgMKY-oAYLdUB8OPaFYaIu8lcAIu-sQaRw2V2-J2emhANcLdX6UoIbIxd0BjwiVIm2xFelHG9v3-evThJ1W__t7EZ-Lpy76ePnj5HC0O9FsRQgoLfhcsilPMU/s320/09.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">De Kuip</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">De Kuip was partially shut this fine Thursday
evening. UEFA had dished out a suspended sentence punishment of a future game
behind closed doors after crowd trouble in a Europa League game there last
season against Roma. As a result, Feyenoord took it upon themselves to close
the front half of the lower tier in a bid to prevent a repeat. Preventative
action if you will. This meant around 16,000 seats in the 51,000 capacity
stadium were covered up which you would expect to impact on the atmosphere
somewhat.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;">Not a chance. The place was raucous throughout,
none more so than when Nicolai Jorgensen scored the only goal of the game.
There was even a green flare let off in celebration. If it could be that loud
in a game which did nothing to excite with a third of the ground shut, imagine
what it would be like when Ajax come to town. Add that one to the bucket list.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN7ATeg_lluAqNAj_8iM8ueHF5xYSnT9NbwX-Eo7OPMXYRaPabCzqe6sJogqQFpcRjSjlPIKojZPBxcdef2bzrOcqCcm9HtHTHF5ouCEMegNyXRIC6AauUDyJZhAwGLhWeyDHyXChTRLGZ/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN7ATeg_lluAqNAj_8iM8ueHF5xYSnT9NbwX-Eo7OPMXYRaPabCzqe6sJogqQFpcRjSjlPIKojZPBxcdef2bzrOcqCcm9HtHTHF5ouCEMegNyXRIC6AauUDyJZhAwGLhWeyDHyXChTRLGZ/s320/10.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feyenoord score, the boredom is shattered with a flare</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">One of the loudest songs of the night was
"Don't take me home" which seems to have caught on since it was sung
relentlessly by England supporters at Euro 2016. This is a real bugbear of mine
as it should surely only be sung when you are away? You can't be taken home if
you are already at home, can you? England fans who persist on singing it at
Wembley, take note.</span></span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4s9tpqNP6qDsG3LF5x2rWn7uaDhlWOHQfBgHcyUzTpV5KU23taBu3ybDzbpaAjdaReBmlygKDrch2To5WU4yK8XjMzO_p7jqE9W2NQThbWwXx_n9YhpVdQSzqLVaU9i9yjxGTxQKi5Fnl/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4s9tpqNP6qDsG3LF5x2rWn7uaDhlWOHQfBgHcyUzTpV5KU23taBu3ybDzbpaAjdaReBmlygKDrch2To5WU4yK8XjMzO_p7jqE9W2NQThbWwXx_n9YhpVdQSzqLVaU9i9yjxGTxQKi5Fnl/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zorya are in the Feyenoord half. Quick, take a photo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">That wasn't the only English thing about the
evening either as the football was reminiscent of the on-the-pitch-tripe served
up by England in their last four games. There were just four shots on target,
all from Feyenoord. Brad Jones of Liverpool and Middlesbrough fame cold have
bought out a chair and a book he was so underemployed in the Feyenoord goal.
Perhaps this is the reason people don't flock to Dutch games. Certainly not
those against limited Ukrainian opposition on a Thursday night.<br />
<br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">There was one last treat at the end to make up for
the mind numbing boringness of the 90 minutes. Plenty of clubs have a song that
they play on the full time whistle. But none are as good as Feyenoord pumping
out Gloria Gaynor and I Will Survive, complete with supporters joining in as
they file out of the magnificent De Kuip.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;" />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Dutch football. Bloody brilliant.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background: white;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><b>Feyenoord: </b>Brad Jones, Rick Karsdorp, Eric Botteghin, Jan-Arie van der Heijden, Terrence Kongolo, Karim El Ahmadi, Renato Tapia, Tonny Vilhena, Jens Toornstra, Nicolai Jorgenstern 1 (Michiel Kramer), Bilal Bascikoglu.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Zorya Luhansk: </b>Oleksiy Shevchenko, Mykyta Kamenyuka, Mikhail Sivakov, Rafael Forster, Eduard Sobol, Olexandr Karavayev, Artem Gordienko (Igor Kharatin), Dmytro Grechyshkin, Ivan Petryak (Paulo Victor de Menezes Melo), Jaba Lipartia, Vladyslav Kulach (Zeljko Ljubenovic).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Attendance: </b>35,000.</span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3De Kuip51.893761845912955 4.523191452026367251.888862345912955 4.5131064520263671 51.898661345912956 4.5332764520263673tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-23792281259975792016-10-11T20:00:00.000+01:002016-10-28T09:22:37.702+01:00Slovenia v England. 11/10/16<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><i>"When I said I was going to have a little nap, the general idea was to wake me up when the second half kicked off. Not leave me asleep for another 20 minutes."</i></b></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRmtPCrm7nF7wa-SaYsbqNBqUB7ss6mB0a1i74ChLoXJKEBBNcV7brQGlFwUg0zy-GCw9lbC8kgIquo54IsSvmWSVLzT2-A1CSPG08mLF0Qj0Tw3Zv4iqmvDuRmCuRXaFxnbqRA_91up3i/s1600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRmtPCrm7nF7wa-SaYsbqNBqUB7ss6mB0a1i74ChLoXJKEBBNcV7brQGlFwUg0zy-GCw9lbC8kgIquo54IsSvmWSVLzT2-A1CSPG08mLF0Qj0Tw3Zv4iqmvDuRmCuRXaFxnbqRA_91up3i/s320/21.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slovenia 0-0 England. Stozice Stadium.<br />11/10/16</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Insomniacs, your days of sleepless nights are over. For I, Scott
McCarthy, have come up with a cure that will send any man, woman or child into
the land of nod at the drop of a hat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
<br />
You won't find this treatment on the NHS. If you went private, it would
probably cost you hundreds of pounds. But, being the kind and considerate
member of the human race that I am, I'm giving it to you for free.<br />
<br />
Firstly, you want to book yourself a cheap flight to Munich. There, visit six
or seven of this great cities finest beer halls. At 3.30am, board a bus to
Ljubljana. Five hours later you will arrive in Slovenia's capital city. Have
some breakfast. At 10am, recommence drinking for the next eight or so hours. At
9pm, attend Slovenia v England at Stozice Stadium. By 10pm, you will be out for
the count.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoPPgk8St4bpKqvYpPx9HSMVuiYiKvm_SWY15SSUrp5t0Jx2dFMXYnK1mZyqsUzpkdLSf1T8vn32rNT-oFA6rrUPZ9i-8kYrgDmBQZcoCfFQ-6iwMzgzJPW11-VPAoPe9paerCudBW9tUP/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoPPgk8St4bpKqvYpPx9HSMVuiYiKvm_SWY15SSUrp5t0Jx2dFMXYnK1mZyqsUzpkdLSf1T8vn32rNT-oFA6rrUPZ9i-8kYrgDmBQZcoCfFQ-6iwMzgzJPW11-VPAoPe9paerCudBW9tUP/s320/01.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GERMAN BEER!!!! </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQkAka-Wf-jJbQ2cO9oqmT_qYxgB6x-F3AbTM63s8YfyJhR32tjKuXWQfciY8hAhZ8t8Jf0VAzmRj7Y824GrBrf-MhypnBkCI7KqBNZBYPZ_oA8P2STLxXMZEhPeRCUxJ0AQqa3TUqQzg/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQkAka-Wf-jJbQ2cO9oqmT_qYxgB6x-F3AbTM63s8YfyJhR32tjKuXWQfciY8hAhZ8t8Jf0VAzmRj7Y824GrBrf-MhypnBkCI7KqBNZBYPZ_oA8P2STLxXMZEhPeRCUxJ0AQqa3TUqQzg/s320/04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In typical Bavarian style, a group of around 20 elderly ladies come<br />and join me for dinner</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">If you forget the turgid 90 minutes Gareth Southgate's England side served up
in Slovenia - which it is bloody easy to do given sod all happened - this was
another excellent trip. Munich remains one of my favourite cities in Europe. It
has the perfect mix of beer, sausage and history, which made it the ideal
starting and finishing point.<br />
<br />
So, what does one do on a Monday night in Munich when one has to wait around
until 3am for a bus? Augustine Klosterwirt, Ratskeller, Hofbrauhaus, Augustiner
am Platz, Weisses Brauhaus, Palais Bar. In that order.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzuhdSoBAoQygbNSCscE05Pd8gtLTbw0ACh-7wvU2gKUWc2pypc9KPkMra72HT6O1836C64JhQGYSBWa_AsFK7ZUvvNh5GRy2aDs_wFH2H6Dkw77qGuZ3QEGE3E1SrGJw-jHdAhaH8Xq5/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzuhdSoBAoQygbNSCscE05Pd8gtLTbw0ACh-7wvU2gKUWc2pypc9KPkMra72HT6O1836C64JhQGYSBWa_AsFK7ZUvvNh5GRy2aDs_wFH2H6Dkw77qGuZ3QEGE3E1SrGJw-jHdAhaH8Xq5/s320/02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pint of Hofbrau please bar keep</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One of the many cost cutting measures you can take on these sorts of trips is
overnight travel. It means you don't have to pay for accommodation and your
time sleeping is put to good use getting from A to B, leaving more time to
explore wherever you happen to end up.<br />
<br />
This is all well and good in theory until the bus driver decides somewhere up
in the Alps at 6am to whack the air conditioning on full blast, ruling out any
more sleep. Cheers mate. There is of course also the washing situation. If you
are sleeping on a coach for two consecutive nights, showering becomes a
problem. Thankfully, I had my friends Lewis and Mark to sort me out in this
regard with the use of the facilities in their splendid apartment in Ljubljana.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLLIU-j-nVgOsaqUuYNfRb1eQdanT7eN5DSsQLQHqHtILWVKDyvVkr8Yq27g9lfq4DEWAQ2sLwfCbi9BkslD0oeBaIN6jFRbyS9kNSPJJ4FOzDBiUdSeftt3BwWkHjZfAcmZR5od645mF/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLLIU-j-nVgOsaqUuYNfRb1eQdanT7eN5DSsQLQHqHtILWVKDyvVkr8Yq27g9lfq4DEWAQ2sLwfCbi9BkslD0oeBaIN6jFRbyS9kNSPJJ4FOzDBiUdSeftt3BwWkHjZfAcmZR5od645mF/s320/03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ljubljana drinking at 10am with complimentary blankets</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The best way to say thank you to Lewis and Mark was clearly to drag them to the
pub for 10am and get the beers in, after which we could explore Ljubljana.
There have been plenty of beautiful places on these footballing trips and
Ljubljana ranks up there with the best of them.<br />
<br />
The tiny Ljubljanica River meanders its way through the middle of the city with
a plethora of charming bridges connecting the cobbled streets on either side.
High above the city rises the castle, keeping an eye on everything going on below.
A cable car takes people up to the top, from where stunning views of this
quaint corner of Europe can be had.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1A4mjLymhZKg3RCuyja80_BjTK3TNW4zwd0UcvUFnjIga5qZF0Uv5ycAduTIq-cVIhsazny9RAKL__jj9igf-vss95QDpmS51-zscDLIyym8R7Rq9qhCDtYGPh1sz2GfZKikx7t1LBrzi/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1A4mjLymhZKg3RCuyja80_BjTK3TNW4zwd0UcvUFnjIga5qZF0Uv5ycAduTIq-cVIhsazny9RAKL__jj9igf-vss95QDpmS51-zscDLIyym8R7Rq9qhCDtYGPh1sz2GfZKikx7t1LBrzi/s320/05.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful Ljubljana</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWafZtd8l58KXSK7lK2_4_7G5xyNUXNJUPvGvQ2dhGpjXI7O8fFJeVqxHhogkqgSRnGmD1IN6nj_PK07_HUZACNqVBntdnK96DFX8KRQ4pH82cSO-ZJLyZtS4j9Uy3XTR1AbEGfu3FQFAm/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWafZtd8l58KXSK7lK2_4_7G5xyNUXNJUPvGvQ2dhGpjXI7O8fFJeVqxHhogkqgSRnGmD1IN6nj_PK07_HUZACNqVBntdnK96DFX8KRQ4pH82cSO-ZJLyZtS4j9Uy3XTR1AbEGfu3FQFAm/s320/07.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drinking on the banks of the Ljubljanica</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Unfortunately, I never made it onto the cable car, instead preferring to try
out a number of the bars situated along the banks of the river. In the height
of summer, you can imagine the throng of people drinking outside these places
as the sun beats down. It wasn't quite that pleasant on a cold October day with
intermittent showers but, thanks to the Slovenian penchant for blankets we had
a real good go at remaining outside while pursuing a range of local beers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLuDPTqTVolDnJJucDay3AxUu8b378rgYldDFB6RWcc3cnJScYgPVTccwa-bqFxc58-Tc-KehndpJLE0L1W4XLxq0oM6UudLSsZ1XSvw-ewXt7KtD0W8Hjc57MuuceKkvEqJl1DoB_PhE/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLuDPTqTVolDnJJucDay3AxUu8b378rgYldDFB6RWcc3cnJScYgPVTccwa-bqFxc58-Tc-KehndpJLE0L1W4XLxq0oM6UudLSsZ1XSvw-ewXt7KtD0W8Hjc57MuuceKkvEqJl1DoB_PhE/s320/08.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monk Lewis is all wrapped up for our boat trip</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It wasn't all drinking, mind you. There was some culture involved as Lewis,
Mark, the recently arrived Ciaran and myself decided to take a cruise down the
Ljubljanica. This featured a complimentary beer when boarding the boat and lasted
for approximately an hour. I slept through approximately 45 of this which was a
sign of things to come. At this juncture, I’d like to take the opportunity to
apologise to any of my fellow boat passengers who may be reading this and who,
in their attempts to take photos of the scenery around us, will probably have a
Seth Rogen look-a-like ruining every one given my prime position at the back of
the boat. Sorry.<br />
<br />
Boat trip over, we were soon trying to make our way to the ground. On route, we
passed a hotel with a coach outside and a mass of people. Curiosity may have
killed the cat, but here it allowed us to see the England team boarding their
transportation to the stadium. Wayne Rooney got the biggest cheer from the
crowd, a far cry from those who shamefully booed him at Wembley three days previously.
There was also a high five from Southgate who thanked us all for coming. With the
benefit of hindsight with regards to his sides eventual contribution, I
could've returned the favour and thanked him for aiding my pioneering work into
insomnia.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0ZTIOGKhmSKJq9nUha7LdX7kiOV7RraE00MSbaJdbG1rzx1JEDqotJDhQLp9w-y-TyPuVIVTlQlke9P0xs_zs2-tkvJuO3uvmppPMdXOLcAmh0RHJ851yTfAeq3qpO2uZHHLKLhNoMiK/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0ZTIOGKhmSKJq9nUha7LdX7kiOV7RraE00MSbaJdbG1rzx1JEDqotJDhQLp9w-y-TyPuVIVTlQlke9P0xs_zs2-tkvJuO3uvmppPMdXOLcAmh0RHJ851yTfAeq3qpO2uZHHLKLhNoMiK/s320/09.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stozice Stadium</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpMtx4KXPKNxld2PBgclw5tTAl0iRyn2k16OG_tTo5gp4eR5NsBCtN7x7TM0_sFRYvN48jIHwOPX04dIbuzEYJRKIsQM_x2K4gca1bMP0JiECMgud53xZO9LK9E_4v3d7AjYqlmWzysc4f/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpMtx4KXPKNxld2PBgclw5tTAl0iRyn2k16OG_tTo5gp4eR5NsBCtN7x7TM0_sFRYvN48jIHwOPX04dIbuzEYJRKIsQM_x2K4gca1bMP0JiECMgud53xZO9LK9E_4v3d7AjYqlmWzysc4f/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The birthplace of the cure to insomnia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Stozice Stadium was a 20 minute cab ride outside the city and at first glance
appeared to be tiny. Only upon entry did it turn out that the entire place was
sunk into the ground, so that you entered at the very top of the stadium with
the pitch below you. It was a smart little place although on this occasion
relatively empty. A combination of the
fact that England had played there less than 18 months previously and a
disastrous Euros meant that the away end wasn't sold out. It was even less full
by the end as supporters began streaming out from as early as the 15 minute
mark in favour of the warmth offered by the city centres many great bars.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
<br />
We stuck it out. At half time, I informed Mark, Fiona, Kevin and Sara who I'd
miraculously ended up with having lost them after our little boat voyage that I
was going to take a nap. The intention here was to catch up on some sleep
during the 15 minute break. Silly me presumed somebody would wake me up if I
was still out when the second half kicked off. My associates decided that,
rather than do that, they wouldinstead focused on taking a load of pictures of
me fast asleep while the game was going on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAzZ3VhXyX5I0OTxOZlhbzXn7cQH4pZPdbyYN1zfp0GV9VTfkVkDfxvaXHZDAMUuT-zmlGD8hx-vynl7azxRm7gDN1kGT8bJOappvNgSdWuSP8qK8xle_OdchHQp9MiEBA4xkZWAkxvAR4/s1600/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAzZ3VhXyX5I0OTxOZlhbzXn7cQH4pZPdbyYN1zfp0GV9VTfkVkDfxvaXHZDAMUuT-zmlGD8hx-vynl7azxRm7gDN1kGT8bJOappvNgSdWuSP8qK8xle_OdchHQp9MiEBA4xkZWAkxvAR4/s320/22.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the photos my lovely friends took instead of waking me up...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiam4oIJehDCn-gLtCMBqGiKC_kj-UcE1TA67XzZHWwYwhX7gOMcKfBff0sy-nRp3rmAwVAQbBIPZBdDapJPnnHgGkh0maIZZ1cGzuKH0nWVxF3S8Hc3RXGX_q_6UQxlVwuNoSkMuVH3jPw/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiam4oIJehDCn-gLtCMBqGiKC_kj-UcE1TA67XzZHWwYwhX7gOMcKfBff0sy-nRp3rmAwVAQbBIPZBdDapJPnnHgGkh0maIZZ1cGzuKH0nWVxF3S8Hc3RXGX_q_6UQxlVwuNoSkMuVH3jPw/s320/23.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping beauty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Eventually, I woke up into the second half, in time to see an
absolute wonder save from Joe Hart. Hart was the only player to emerge with any
real credit on a dire evening of football and that save was about the only
thing of note that actually happened. Without him, England could easily have lost
the game. But then at least there would have been some goals. Every cloud
and all that.<br />
<br />
Still, that snorefest had set things up nicely fit the return journey to
Munich, this time at the slightly earlier time of 2.30am. 2.30am duly rolled
around at the fabulous facilities supplied by Ljubljana Coach Station (a street
with some bus stops) and there was no sign of the bus. 3am rolled around and a
bus turns up. Brilliant, Munich here we come. Except, this isn't the 2.30am
bus. There is a two hour delay on the border with Croatia owing to passport
checks due to the migrant crisis and this is the 12.30am bus. Eventually, the
2.30am bus makes an appearance at 4am and we are off and running. That sleep in
the stadium isn't looking such a silly move now thanks to that lack of
efficiency from those at the Croatia-Slovenia border.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnHMnXrMZNA9WiZzu2M_DPD_tRNeWYsuMOJo_yG6GjFEgxXg8qcE0C_SB1gAl6dqYCYiC_KTcaRMczRtYakHvBTMjTbtbblQ6cCUFCEP4oZSWLLiJo_be6jHWyDNZXMNwUKXtBGpP-RmWj/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnHMnXrMZNA9WiZzu2M_DPD_tRNeWYsuMOJo_yG6GjFEgxXg8qcE0C_SB1gAl6dqYCYiC_KTcaRMczRtYakHvBTMjTbtbblQ6cCUFCEP4oZSWLLiJo_be6jHWyDNZXMNwUKXtBGpP-RmWj/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Odeonsplatz</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgveqn8pXq81_bu8aLkYbigXn757HWLbGpKSfbCvT95f2Br3O_ZlwOH1iZBmeBMt3AM5Mx__X0dFphPrI3Dy7y89yUT7zLfWCElr1s4ujkUCpGj4EOAjXWjW91PGQBzTzQmIprio5l4rXlr/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgveqn8pXq81_bu8aLkYbigXn757HWLbGpKSfbCvT95f2Br3O_ZlwOH1iZBmeBMt3AM5Mx__X0dFphPrI3Dy7y89yUT7zLfWCElr1s4ujkUCpGj4EOAjXWjW91PGQBzTzQmIprio5l4rXlr/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lowenbraukeller</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One man who knew a thing or two about efficiency was Adolf Hitler and you can't
really go to Munich and escape the cities links to the Nazi Party. One I'd
finally arrived back in Bavaria, there were more beers to be had in amongst
visiting several sights such as Odeonsplatz, where Hitler made several speeches
and the Beer Hall Putsch came to its bloody conclusion and the Lowenbraukeller,
one of the places frequented by Hitler and his henchman. Remarkably, I stumbled
across some sort of rally going on in Marienplatz in front of the domineering
Rathaus led by the far right Pegida party with plenty of anti-Muslim propaganda
going on and a lot of people listening. Munich a hot bed of the far right?
Things don’t change that much.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFyHtn-JRTpF9coPNPGGH6GFetZIDxusOn9xpMV3UoSwu9oimAm47Vz5SdMdDsiOe4G0kx3yFaYyLxHnE3gWUjYC7BYnraN-fC8jwujFkouFg22x0AM6QCL_v-of4hFe_poEQMRMiNaVd/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFyHtn-JRTpF9coPNPGGH6GFetZIDxusOn9xpMV3UoSwu9oimAm47Vz5SdMdDsiOe4G0kx3yFaYyLxHnE3gWUjYC7BYnraN-fC8jwujFkouFg22x0AM6QCL_v-of4hFe_poEQMRMiNaVd/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nazi Congress Hall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMJDIWtsSoRztpgEL4NF5y-MDHeF1nvFD-kN85zp_SD_GMuWrSfPy9xtnymolgsVozMiWW6O5DHEJ7M7gtZjJREgHh32AlelLJehOpFBnFc1zpyOgnwMM4RFZ-H7Xo0rbvUUSNjnKbz_VL/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMJDIWtsSoRztpgEL4NF5y-MDHeF1nvFD-kN85zp_SD_GMuWrSfPy9xtnymolgsVozMiWW6O5DHEJ7M7gtZjJREgHh32AlelLJehOpFBnFc1zpyOgnwMM4RFZ-H7Xo0rbvUUSNjnKbz_VL/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Nazi Congress Hall, which would have held 50,000 if it<br />were completed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">A short 90 minute train journey from Munich is the city of Nuremberg, where the
Nazi Parade Grounds are. This was where Thursday was spent, checking out the
fascinating museum about the Nazi's rise and fall and standing on the balcony
from where Hitler would inspect the troops. The whole place was fascinating,
from the lake which was where the Nazi's had laid the foundations for a 400,000
capacity stadium (the Americans didn’t know what to do with it after the war,
so just filled it up with water) to the Congress Hall, a 50,000 seater version
of Rome's Coliseum which would have been where Hitler made grand speeches.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAFai5N5t7IzHnEa6E7seSKVvybUO9cK7XJo_Uk34nmL8eWefTQAxUT1TU1IPgcjwbgGveDpEHVrMVmAaXJJHfNq1mPPxQNKYXg88GTq9TW0aT89wp2et-ESv9h1-1JAZVojIQ4M9cM-kg/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAFai5N5t7IzHnEa6E7seSKVvybUO9cK7XJo_Uk34nmL8eWefTQAxUT1TU1IPgcjwbgGveDpEHVrMVmAaXJJHfNq1mPPxQNKYXg88GTq9TW0aT89wp2et-ESv9h1-1JAZVojIQ4M9cM-kg/s320/16.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nuremberg Parade Ground</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmJ32RRkPFmHatw5J3PHdKh039NAQeuRoHK76fhGni7PDEnn9yR8VPQAuniZjnvDH91jIgGMvHS1iUjvhWkRJG29_ygYCkChelqsWscqXul_ZoHpK5M9CXO5GJFNIyxX2nOgio1ETFb0b1/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmJ32RRkPFmHatw5J3PHdKh039NAQeuRoHK76fhGni7PDEnn9yR8VPQAuniZjnvDH91jIgGMvHS1iUjvhWkRJG29_ygYCkChelqsWscqXul_ZoHpK5M9CXO5GJFNIyxX2nOgio1ETFb0b1/s320/17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hitler's balcony</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Nuremberg itself was a great little place, a smaller version of Munich with
pubs and town squares galore. Having only half a day here was a travesty and a
return visit to watch FC Nurnberg has to be on the cards. Their stadium? Part
of the Parade Ground, of course. It would be nice to return to Ljubljana
as well at some point. If the city was this great as Autumn kicks in, I can
only imagine what it is like in the middle of summer.<br />
<br />
Best do it soon as well. After all, thousands of people will be flocking there
in the not too distant future to visit the city and see the spot where that
great medical breakthrough happened. Ljubljana - where the cure for insomnia
was discovered.</span><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>Slovenia: </b>Jan Oblak, Aljaz Struna, Miral Samardzic, Bostjan Cesar (Miha Mevlja) Bojan Jokic, Rene Krhin (Nik Omladic), Benjamin Verbic, Valter Birsa (Rok Kronaveter), Jasmin Kurtic, Roman Bezjak, Josip Ilicic.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Joe Hart, Kyle Walker, Gary Cahill, John Stones, Danny Rose, Jordan Henderson, Eric Dier, Theo Walcott (Andros Townsend), Deli Alli (Wayne Rooney), Jesse Lingard, Daniel Sturridge (Marcus Rashford).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>13,274</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Stozice Stadium46.080896388716084 14.52450513839721746.079519388716086 14.521983638397217 46.082273388716082 14.527026638397217tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-54209600252299298482016-09-04T17:00:00.003+01:002016-10-28T09:23:35.901+01:00Slovakia v England. 04/09/16<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<b><i>"I probably should have warned you before we booked a boat down the Danube that I was once seasick when totally sober on the Isle of Wight ferry."</i></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR95dg94XbOw6OvJibilq1o-B5z_ue4U09rpnAVvujxqOlgXzKppZ9sZ_5Rki2vml9anQUmZVbtTwQGNmrItDI3KCBqnK_T_ifx_p0XS3_vOiHS_gMVjl0W7UHOne1lCplJBdEiZ5LVZ12/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR95dg94XbOw6OvJibilq1o-B5z_ue4U09rpnAVvujxqOlgXzKppZ9sZ_5Rki2vml9anQUmZVbtTwQGNmrItDI3KCBqnK_T_ifx_p0XS3_vOiHS_gMVjl0W7UHOne1lCplJBdEiZ5LVZ12/s320/17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Slovakia 0-1 England. City Arena.<br />
Sunday 04/09/16</td></tr>
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Of all the great philosophical questions throughout human history, one has never been truly answered - what happens if a man who suffers from notorious seasickness visits 27 pubs over 72 hours in two Eastern European countries and then takes a boat up the Danube?</div>
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England playing away in Slovakia finally gave us the chance to answer it once and for all. The plan was simple. Fly to Budapest on Friday for a night out; bus to Bratislava for a Saturday evening of more beer; train on Sunday to Trnava to witness the first game of the Big Sam revolution and then the ultimate test - a boat from Bratislava to Vienna along the Danube.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Danube is a bloody fantastic river so whatever sickness might occur would be a price worth paying. From its source in Germany, it passes through Austria, Slovakia, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, Romania, Bulgaria. Moldova and Ukraine before emptying into the Black Sea. Sailing the length of it with a football game in each country would be quite the European Football Tour (makes mental note for next years 30<sup>th</sup> birthday).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQo9hi8eeUE7WoDTFn1Jr6IaJHoLoQBQDRFS4W6-ITpP4zA0odQ2d6KCMfWPYpkiBx1YAZmrdT-6jSe-qBBO4RmG-h_3H66lIXwa0BYTpByqcGtW6Bc-Awf6c9E5-fb2AvOkHs60R3-aN/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQo9hi8eeUE7WoDTFn1Jr6IaJHoLoQBQDRFS4W6-ITpP4zA0odQ2d6KCMfWPYpkiBx1YAZmrdT-6jSe-qBBO4RmG-h_3H66lIXwa0BYTpByqcGtW6Bc-Awf6c9E5-fb2AvOkHs60R3-aN/s320/02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Beautiful Budapest</td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
But first things first. Destination one – Budapest. It wasn’t hard to see why this has become an extremely popular city with stag and hen parties alike. At around £1 a pint if you headed off the beaten track – which proves a vital tactic if you want to avoid the aforementioned stag and hen do’s – it is very cheap. There are also a plethora of pubs. I hardly scratched the surface having spent the morning and afternoon sightseeing yet still managed to visit 13 in less than 36 hours.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVVY6zcHSOsGmDci0Eo2TkhcNwkk8Y3Fw5uwrD2JWc2RnJ7nNtX_iN9XDJbNYVdX1p-x8tztWxso83Ac1ybKp5sEb2-Gjmgpm8DgTTVQ8Z0OcTI735OEsMxBCaN0h4KR6dIiBmJHAlioPi/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVVY6zcHSOsGmDci0Eo2TkhcNwkk8Y3Fw5uwrD2JWc2RnJ7nNtX_iN9XDJbNYVdX1p-x8tztWxso83Ac1ybKp5sEb2-Gjmgpm8DgTTVQ8Z0OcTI735OEsMxBCaN0h4KR6dIiBmJHAlioPi/s320/01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Budapest Castle</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0gJqKkNs8pYDvXecTjv-YJy9sP4VJQR3Pa8akWuMm0Uq280Dyt_KgYeqaxsy-JE-wNqmNnDr9jlpXwNo253WhJOfiHs4QS6VTD9A0rHYeet4W-xlCuStoP6eDFViVD2-qrYfA1W6q938Q/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0gJqKkNs8pYDvXecTjv-YJy9sP4VJQR3Pa8akWuMm0Uq280Dyt_KgYeqaxsy-JE-wNqmNnDr9jlpXwNo253WhJOfiHs4QS6VTD9A0rHYeet4W-xlCuStoP6eDFViVD2-qrYfA1W6q938Q/s320/03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Houses of Parliament</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5frk1wSuXnT_Mt4Suk2NNbeACbEi7N8vVO4WWWxzDFqNbNOL_-AoLVxA8PGVw_J-UKSMneY2lIKWqvJ1CnZTepNaEjRag-OHbPgT_-3UNx_V3afzhxGXtid9Ujv2UsBtNVNHxlDs0xh9V/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5frk1wSuXnT_Mt4Suk2NNbeACbEi7N8vVO4WWWxzDFqNbNOL_-AoLVxA8PGVw_J-UKSMneY2lIKWqvJ1CnZTepNaEjRag-OHbPgT_-3UNx_V3afzhxGXtid9Ujv2UsBtNVNHxlDs0xh9V/s320/04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Europe's largest Synagogue</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ZblEkX5YhwZLghr2nOcd9Huvs8iv70l2w3mmTnTOoCBhKzO0lyQLAzOCIZ0GTfZl7sZQzaJkncgUxI80lDQqNsg9aaR3ceubY_B0eOj8br8-AXdIRYjSkxWavu8cZ5nxCxY1nY4xm2k1/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ZblEkX5YhwZLghr2nOcd9Huvs8iv70l2w3mmTnTOoCBhKzO0lyQLAzOCIZ0GTfZl7sZQzaJkncgUxI80lDQqNsg9aaR3ceubY_B0eOj8br8-AXdIRYjSkxWavu8cZ5nxCxY1nY4xm2k1/s320/08.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Heroes Square</td></tr>
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All of those pubs were in Pest on the eastern side of the Danube. Buda sits on the west and they were separate cities until 1873 when unification occurred. Buda is home to the cities castle and provides a stunning view of the Parliament building situated the other side of the river so technically I can say I did two cities in Hungary as well as visiting the biggest Synagogue in Europe, the site of the Ferenc Puskas Stadium which is currently being completely rebuilt except for the fantastic old school ticket booths and the iconic statues of Heroes Square. And there you were thinking this was a trip dedicated purely to drinking.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYjwi9q3u9T66eq0Vo638iFg_XC0fvPbk0I72UjndyJP5UAlHeKnKXSO-G5cnt580HZAtujS9aCesKjL-fPCBH_zFRWSGpcWFaO2co6fG1QZ1tmp2xinZVpIKkx-1x1v995dhcX33EV_mP/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYjwi9q3u9T66eq0Vo638iFg_XC0fvPbk0I72UjndyJP5UAlHeKnKXSO-G5cnt580HZAtujS9aCesKjL-fPCBH_zFRWSGpcWFaO2co6fG1QZ1tmp2xinZVpIKkx-1x1v995dhcX33EV_mP/s320/05.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Great visiting supporters ticket office at the site of the Puskas Stadium</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu4tnm5t9JquhYYsjJ3lWjbTXpLqCWWQNiAs_TS6XKDZuVGanOqT1LPDofd8-1CdoGlbyTbU0-H81uhX4rgDoCDC1nNBmiGe5-razFDPXU3i7cGjp_a1l9-olYMGMyy_ucRZA4iTxiU2tq/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu4tnm5t9JquhYYsjJ3lWjbTXpLqCWWQNiAs_TS6XKDZuVGanOqT1LPDofd8-1CdoGlbyTbU0-H81uhX4rgDoCDC1nNBmiGe5-razFDPXU3i7cGjp_a1l9-olYMGMyy_ucRZA4iTxiU2tq/s320/06.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Love an old school set of ticket booths</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjln0cNU-mP9wf-LmuF7C71_IInks2zFVivNjry-2JEF04bUsHH5BPO6SdftKD1ZfuoYPPtet2WRdued1S4dCz2_GjzW44KagRxuIsmtcKx2-8lPdnb_uiQVL3wS1ov23nTTzSCpuTZ1U3/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjln0cNU-mP9wf-LmuF7C71_IInks2zFVivNjry-2JEF04bUsHH5BPO6SdftKD1ZfuoYPPtet2WRdued1S4dCz2_GjzW44KagRxuIsmtcKx2-8lPdnb_uiQVL3wS1ov23nTTzSCpuTZ1U3/s320/07.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Not much left of the Puskas Stadium</td></tr>
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The Hungarians are a laidback and friendly people which you would expect when you can have Jägermeister for 80p. The only time they became anywhere near angered was in a karaoke bar in the early hours of Saturday morning. By this point I’d met up with the rest of the scientists aiding the sea sickness experiment – Mark, Fiona and Kevin – and the former two had performed a wonderful version of Nightboat to Cairo. My version of Delilah was not quite received in the same way, not helped in part by the fact I was unable to read by this point and this resulted in being removed from the stage area. It turned out that we had wandered into some sort of X Factor Finals night style levels of ability competition that the locals were taking very seriously. And I thought butchering one of Wales’ favourite sons most iconic anthems in Cardiff once had bought a bad reaction.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio6iGdwsl38Z0hC0P9JYXtWND7TCHIuhrg6hFrmIhpLDMaFxzCZzDFBF66jGMKGdgniGd5Q_5sixwm2hcVGTFRCWx3mTFaKnieM-zSACqqT6Zu7vVHG9WWyko0WQ4qEYykRuxWn11xB10y/s1600/28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio6iGdwsl38Z0hC0P9JYXtWND7TCHIuhrg6hFrmIhpLDMaFxzCZzDFBF66jGMKGdgniGd5Q_5sixwm2hcVGTFRCWx3mTFaKnieM-zSACqqT6Zu7vVHG9WWyko0WQ4qEYykRuxWn11xB10y/s320/28.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">A karaoke display the locals didn't seem to appreciate</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;">After a night asleep on a table in a corridor in my hostel due to being unable to find the correct room, Bratislava was next up which entailed a three hour bus journey. Bratislava is, I am reliably informed, a beautiful city with its own castle situated high above the Danube. And being reliably informed is all I have to go on in this instance as the one photo I took of Slovakia’s capital city was a blurred effort at night of the castle such on the mission to visit a number of bars on stationary boats along the river.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpmWqZJawvyggq2BT_38I_7DIIpjUCnsQHvQVujpajIOCDnOuD7U-E9arDsP-G6uQc1KBYnZdhefDzcmGCcUf7ILTHjkZ3X0V37Slj2QXJ-Xry2ZZb3Z4o0lbLFNMM91VJaF3HFsyjzs5/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpmWqZJawvyggq2BT_38I_7DIIpjUCnsQHvQVujpajIOCDnOuD7U-E9arDsP-G6uQc1KBYnZdhefDzcmGCcUf7ILTHjkZ3X0V37Slj2QXJ-Xry2ZZb3Z4o0lbLFNMM91VJaF3HFsyjzs5/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">"Sightseeing" in Bratislava complete</td></tr>
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One rule of McCarthy’s Football Travels is that, where possible, you must always imbibe the local brew. Bratislava proved troublesome when it came to this, as nowhere seemed to sell Slovak beer – it was all from the near neighbours the Czech Republic. One barman explained why this was in brutally honest terms. “Slovak beer is shit, Czech is better.” Cheers mate.</div>
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There was still hope of finding some local stuff – the game itself would not be played in Bratislava but in Trvana, an hour journey away by train. With a population of 65,000 and so many churches it has been named the Slovak Rome, perhaps this would be the place to try beer from the country we were actually in. Or if worse came to worse, some communion wine.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBp2qcFa_J4YLot5LWyDBhpx0Er-DpOHo3jcuRcyfAmdrRu55bxGw13Dxk1gB8CMQB96NUmGvSxK7K_yn6jxD5FixbSVPXzwmx632oqyVBW3GseOvDt6BhihuWs_LX09YHkqh1NRJfqaeu/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBp2qcFa_J4YLot5LWyDBhpx0Er-DpOHo3jcuRcyfAmdrRu55bxGw13Dxk1gB8CMQB96NUmGvSxK7K_yn6jxD5FixbSVPXzwmx632oqyVBW3GseOvDt6BhihuWs_LX09YHkqh1NRJfqaeu/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Welcome to Trnava - another Slovak city with no Slovak beer</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bihGqDYbcW_5JP_E24pp64repPdefQu-nXS9E8S4o_asqsxvhj0TDpQnOU-lHQJLTum-5PQiqg31QedvGur1IoN8FkfyaSPegv_1RBZFM1TzBQn35V2V1HrbdgQFaSycJz7i_Z2Pahu5/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bihGqDYbcW_5JP_E24pp64repPdefQu-nXS9E8S4o_asqsxvhj0TDpQnOU-lHQJLTum-5PQiqg31QedvGur1IoN8FkfyaSPegv_1RBZFM1TzBQn35V2V1HrbdgQFaSycJz7i_Z2Pahu5/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Sightseeing in Trnava complete</td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm;">
Ah, but this was England away and the first England away game since our reputation had been done the world of good since visiting Marseille in the Euros. That meant that in a mysterious coincidence quite a few bars on the main street had “run out” of beer. And the first two pints we were able to find in backstreets? Pilsner Urquell and Bernard, two of the Czech Republic’s finest. We even had to resort to pre-game cocktails as the thousands of riot police and their dogs lay on the ground in the searing heat – one officer felt so threatened he’d dozed off while his colleague devoured a kebab – such was the trouble they faced in policing the rowdy English hooligans.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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City Arena was handily placed slap bang in the middle of the city which meant a nice leisurely stroll. It is the home of Spartak Trnava and was completely rebuilt between 2013-15, during which time Spartak continued to play there in front of just one stand. As a result, the new stadium has the highest UEFA ranking of any in Slovakia and has become home to the national team.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijIGSMsp_MVlGcotwwqDMCpeOTH8dXXqZ3Nqh21r31AZHhVwjhMi0USgGgXfQXfYtZe_H7K9S8vBch0nlIauWCDeRsQ1v8-Jv5-68UtKoFBP7yTs6mpqn5l9H_57qMstTuFGNdesLXo3K3/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijIGSMsp_MVlGcotwwqDMCpeOTH8dXXqZ3Nqh21r31AZHhVwjhMi0USgGgXfQXfYtZe_H7K9S8vBch0nlIauWCDeRsQ1v8-Jv5-68UtKoFBP7yTs6mpqn5l9H_57qMstTuFGNdesLXo3K3/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">City Arena</td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm;">
Thanks to a quite spectacular cock up from the FA, it was the local supporters who I would be joining for the evening. Despite having been given a ticket in the England fans ballot and carrying out a transaction to purchase one, somewhere down the line something went wrong which left me ticketless. Thankfully, England are not the draw they once were and for €35 – which ironically worked out at less than I would’ve paid to get in the away end – I was in the home end.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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There was a new experience on entering City Arena which involved having a photo taken before entry. Each turnstile featured a small camera you had to stare into, presumably so if you caused any trouble inside you were easily identifiable by the name on your ticket. No need to worry Slovak man whose name I was using – I behaved like an angel, even if it was far from ideal being among irate home supporters when Adam Lallana banged in a 93<sup>rd</sup> minute winner.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNiHp1R7aG63NYQghiw-GmpziuorlSRgKjKd-HviE_ezpOR1cfWsgw1RJmBKo6iRD-QxABqEiPgIIw6pk9EzSW1H1QdULp5r2Vt68RJiLWKXrBFXyJ-6EE3lZ2lKbP5dAtMrieDadduI2w/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNiHp1R7aG63NYQghiw-GmpziuorlSRgKjKd-HviE_ezpOR1cfWsgw1RJmBKo6iRD-QxABqEiPgIIw6pk9EzSW1H1QdULp5r2Vt68RJiLWKXrBFXyJ-6EE3lZ2lKbP5dAtMrieDadduI2w/s320/18.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">In with the home supporters</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypkUnDYAsMhZSDj91UNUvFfq8-_DDrsDVovzdvld_szKxNSJtWGGwUvSQN74rvhwHDvUkhq8Ik37krma2GGTCqrE9ZcP1A6xUuiCKy2ghuvYmliK39PVG0l-zyDzwyNUtq3CE6SNVAbqz/s1600/20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypkUnDYAsMhZSDj91UNUvFfq8-_DDrsDVovzdvld_szKxNSJtWGGwUvSQN74rvhwHDvUkhq8Ik37krma2GGTCqrE9ZcP1A6xUuiCKy2ghuvYmliK39PVG0l-zyDzwyNUtq3CE6SNVAbqz/s320/20.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The wonderful City Arena</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<span style="text-align: center;">City Arena was a tiny but smart ground, two tiered all the way around except for one small single tiered stand along one side. It was reminiscent of stadium:mk in that that concourse occupied the gap between the two tiers and as such you could walk around it, buy food and drink beer all in view of the pitch. The pitch itself began cutting up almost immediately, although that couldn’t be used as an excuse for the dirge that followed.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHMx5F1E03EVFj4NwVYL5RnHqLHqZBiBzg3MKille1hPvYzr3dyLmzrRfJyxrzJSGoT73Pzl4jN-vZqbkJ2j6WIviX1yQiNa7xbwAP1AdzDh6kqfPPwis-PbVHjrAPrzKyN7V-THYLH2d7/s1600/19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHMx5F1E03EVFj4NwVYL5RnHqLHqZBiBzg3MKille1hPvYzr3dyLmzrRfJyxrzJSGoT73Pzl4jN-vZqbkJ2j6WIviX1yQiNa7xbwAP1AdzDh6kqfPPwis-PbVHjrAPrzKyN7V-THYLH2d7/s320/19.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Great pitch this one...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
The Slovak fans were a passionate lot for the first 20 minutes until 18,110 people in the ground fell asleep through sheer boredom. The one person who managed to keep up a level of excitement throughout the 90 minutes was a rather rotund chap in a blue t-shirt who had an irrational hatred of Theo Walcott. Every time Walcott would warm up in front of him, this man would bellow “THEO WALCOTT HOMOSEXUAL”. This was clearly factually incorrect as Walcott has been with the lovely Melanie for as long as he has been famous. It was also extremely bizarre as, if as suspected this was just abuse of a player, there are surely more high profile members of the England squad to target such as Wayne Rooney and Joe Hart? Anyway, the homophobic abuse couldn’t last and he was eventually tackled to the ground by no less than five stewards and bundled out with beer flying everywhere.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaw0BDT_J79R_i0rhdQVHH-wWVFN-hZ8Ap-IXcrTNCJ-AXNLJ5CqPI-dmbR2hvG75u-1hUB9_LVhBFaf1oWYuCCXJa0LBxOuCnPrqPWaR0DgUyozDbT0qFH-d9Ipo4d9f1hOh90kgo633i/s1600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaw0BDT_J79R_i0rhdQVHH-wWVFN-hZ8Ap-IXcrTNCJ-AXNLJ5CqPI-dmbR2hvG75u-1hUB9_LVhBFaf1oWYuCCXJa0LBxOuCnPrqPWaR0DgUyozDbT0qFH-d9Ipo4d9f1hOh90kgo633i/s320/21.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">"THEO WALCOTT HOMOSEXUAL" man before his ejection</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
That forced removal was the highlight of the game as the Big Sam era continued where the Woy Hodgson one had left off in being uninspiringly dull to the point where it really didn’t matter that I was in the home end. Martin Skrtel finally seeing red for trying to steal the leg of Harry Kane after he’d earlier failed in an attempt to behead him raised a little interest, but even with a man advantage England looked on course for a repeat of the 0-0 draw in the Euros. That was until the last minute when Lallana struck, after which a loud cheer escaped me. This was followed by a hasty retreat out of the Slovak end and back to a pub on the square to await the rest of the traveling party with a beer – Rebel, which I’m sure you can already guess was Czech. On arrival back in Bratislava we finally found something homemade thanks to Fabrika, a lovely bar which brewed its own beer on site.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilBZNpCnHtl5rtMbr8Std28x3MHou2m72jCGGjXxDjXIUPzqs6raQFlsgX77erfIO9LsUIL2ChxU6NynCVOLAORgrAR8GaqbwacnE2whKgjtJ7JIM705UAc0K9DgH_waCceDICgmewVJyU/s1600/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilBZNpCnHtl5rtMbr8Std28x3MHou2m72jCGGjXxDjXIUPzqs6raQFlsgX77erfIO9LsUIL2ChxU6NynCVOLAORgrAR8GaqbwacnE2whKgjtJ7JIM705UAc0K9DgH_waCceDICgmewVJyU/s320/22.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Boat time...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOGEfNTcDx4qTQKvPf729FV725cC7X1eu8LACc4jgHWzpHQJoCnCiNBqFX0jSdyt799dDmxATg_pktDEVGa7u9brEpEaj1WwO2vVwRxFkZ1aEvssZzDtQsHxpqz2wX0olPS7ImGwYGKWF/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOGEfNTcDx4qTQKvPf729FV725cC7X1eu8LACc4jgHWzpHQJoCnCiNBqFX0jSdyt799dDmxATg_pktDEVGa7u9brEpEaj1WwO2vVwRxFkZ1aEvssZzDtQsHxpqz2wX0olPS7ImGwYGKWF/s320/23.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">On the boat, no sickness to report so far</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
Monday morning arrived with a sense of nervousness as the boat trip to Vienna loomed. To settle the nerves, it was a pint for breakfast (another Bernard, Czech). The trip itself was an absolute delight, passing past old towns, forests and finally into historic Vienna where we were able to eat a schnitzel which contained at least six whole pigs, have a few more pints and then fly home.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
Most importantly, we finally had the answer to that great philosophical question – it turns out that if a man who suffers from notorious seasickness visits 27 pubs over 72 hours in two Eastern European countries and then takes a boat up the Danube, he can be absolutely fine. Good news for that 30<sup>th</sup> birthday plan.<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<b style="font-size: small;">Slovakia: </b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Matus Kozacik, Peter Pekarik, Martin Skrtel, Jan Durica, Tomas Hubocan, Viktor Pecovsky (Norbert Gyomber), Robert Mak (Frantisek Kubik), Jan Gregus, Marek Hamsik, Dusan Svento (Filip Kiss), Michal Duris.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Joe Hart, Kyle Walker, Gary Cahill, John Stones, Danny Rose, Jordan Henderson (Dele Alli), Eric Dier, Wayne Rooney, Raheem Sterling (Theo Walcott), Neil Kane (Daniel Sturridge), Adam Lallana 1.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance; </b>18,111</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0City Arena, Trnava48.374667757958953 17.59194374084472748.369394257958952 17.581858740844726 48.379941257958954 17.602028740844727tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-16578255575549069412016-06-20T21:00:00.000+01:002016-06-26T19:27:14.708+01:00Slovakia v England. 20/06/16<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>"I don't mean to worry you about the flat we are staying in, but I wouldn't be surprised to find out Jihadi John was our next door neighbour."</i></b></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0C_pPN-3ub33y9JcYz5BP_bc3pXnoKi1Gb3aFjJckHIPHtFqtvhNMIPGLmGq2WRe0F5Uy339Q10sto_lr3MtT4FnxOvo6l5kZWtVTpNo8dnqkODy9x3LPjluz6khHuaZ8wXn0yoH_h51S/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0C_pPN-3ub33y9JcYz5BP_bc3pXnoKi1Gb3aFjJckHIPHtFqtvhNMIPGLmGq2WRe0F5Uy339Q10sto_lr3MtT4FnxOvo6l5kZWtVTpNo8dnqkODy9x3LPjluz6khHuaZ8wXn0yoH_h51S/s320/07.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slovakia 0-0 England. Stade Geoffroy-Guichard.<br />
Monday 20/06/16</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There have been many inventions that have changed the world
down the years. The wheel, sliced bread, the internet, fried chicken. But could
Airbnb go onto become the greatest of them all? Even better than Colonel
Sanders secret recipe of 11 different herbs and spices coated over a bit of
poultry? If the latest instalment of my Euro 2016 travels are anything to go
by, yes it could.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the problems with following England away,
particularly in tournaments with the number of fans who travel, is the cost of finding
a bed for the night. The Slovakia game was a particular nightmare.
Saint-Etienne where the game was to be played isn’t exactly known for its
booming tourism industry and so available rooms were rarer than a good Jordan
Henderson set piece. The hoteliers of neighbouring Lyon showed the
capitalist traits you simply wouldn’t think existed in a country where
everybody goes on strike at the thought of having to work more than six hours
a week by whacking all their prices up for the influx of up to 30,000 English
supporters.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And this is where Airbnb comes in. For as cheap as just £24 a night in
this case, you can rent a room in somebodies house or indeed their entire abode
if they are away. For Joe and myself, this was an absolute God send as we
decamped to a small flat a few tram stops from Lyon’s main station.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaaIZmCMtkkhN5LkJPqdBF_vWu4C0tgwjfXPzGHVDKCfiX-IKDJM0mzRQPzCjScifDTtlh6MQvytsgV9Wde1PkMSo6H2c6oxzAEEl91PSzgpTx8RC4wu7QIB2U6ny7mrFY-lwz1aJfFiq/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaaIZmCMtkkhN5LkJPqdBF_vWu4C0tgwjfXPzGHVDKCfiX-IKDJM0mzRQPzCjScifDTtlh6MQvytsgV9Wde1PkMSo6H2c6oxzAEEl91PSzgpTx8RC4wu7QIB2U6ny7mrFY-lwz1aJfFiq/s320/04.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Airbnb accomodation - no French SWAT teams<br />
on site as yet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is of course an element of risk with this arrangement
as, although you can view photos of the accommodation before arriving, you
never know exactly what you are going to get. Take our first impressions here.
We were renting off a young female student who had gone away for a couple of
days to visit a friend in Auxerre. On arrival at the location, it appeared as
though the flat was on the sort of estate that you traditionally see being
raided by police for suspects in the aftermath of a terrorist attack. Now I’m all for trying new things and experiences, but staying in a
potential ISIS stronghold might have been a step too far.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But first impressions are a funny thing. Take my first
impressions of Les Dennis joining Coronation Street. What a bloody terrible
decision, you can’t have a bloke who presented Family Fortunes on the Street.
But Michael has been a revelation and, once you got past the fact that French riot police could burst onto the scene at any minute, so was this flat.
Sure, there were a few problems like not being able to work out how the window
opened when it was 27 degrees outside and my sofa bed being riddled with creatures that
bit when you were asleep but for £12 each, there could be few complaints.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPw6vop_fNYih6HvtitrIR4v5Z-R0hwksbI2BXXzp9sne4G9s1yLDRbaA5a5oT3CHO-Sz6CSxre7_V6F-vJr4_OSgaQQSUJd7vQaP-_Oiv6XSxYZkc8MiaoG1qUnPH0XZtZdJu8xLoYGA/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPw6vop_fNYih6HvtitrIR4v5Z-R0hwksbI2BXXzp9sne4G9s1yLDRbaA5a5oT3CHO-Sz6CSxre7_V6F-vJr4_OSgaQQSUJd7vQaP-_Oiv6XSxYZkc8MiaoG1qUnPH0XZtZdJu8xLoYGA/s320/01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A comfortable "bed" for Sunday night in Gatwick's North Terminal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And at least there was a bed, which was a far cry from the
previous evening when a bed consisted of a seat in Gatwick’s North Terminal
that afforded about two hours of sleep before the 6am flight to Geneva. Having
three hours to kill in Geneva struck the sort of fear into my wallet that
seeing John Leslie wandering down a corridor strikes into a young lady but in a
blog that is fast becoming a gushing piece handing out praise left, right and
centre (don't worry, it won't last) then Geneva is another that needs to take a bow for providing the first
ever sub £8 pint I’ve had in Switzerland. The last time I visited everyone’s
favourite home of Nazi gold was a trip to Basel in 2014 where it was £12 a pint yet here in Geneva a
delightful Feldschlosschen weighed in at £5.70. Keep them flowing please
barkeep.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWhumx91dJVMDGkSfU_9SLYcqi_VeDzzdjyAW-ztGnchywH-pEg7bkYcuOu9VQoAPWcNBdcWLWifJ2Leurors-R6V2uVLKcS9iwaadNkX89L9jPlDVi174nbxKUkNJnXR3xhpl0Z8TPSp/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWhumx91dJVMDGkSfU_9SLYcqi_VeDzzdjyAW-ztGnchywH-pEg7bkYcuOu9VQoAPWcNBdcWLWifJ2Leurors-R6V2uVLKcS9iwaadNkX89L9jPlDVi174nbxKUkNJnXR3xhpl0Z8TPSp/s320/02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Geneva</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalJck8yvWwM7lvMsrXzKpm4eFZg9Z8-WdB9DEbQ2nS5y141JzTWOfGViElbuRwjERi_X4w7ayQGs7VxidrpfTO4oFiiK35W11mlvw_Yps11P3gD9iJWw-AqxXO37mabEVWpGXR-Cca2ol/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalJck8yvWwM7lvMsrXzKpm4eFZg9Z8-WdB9DEbQ2nS5y141JzTWOfGViElbuRwjERi_X4w7ayQGs7VxidrpfTO4oFiiK35W11mlvw_Yps11P3gD9iJWw-AqxXO37mabEVWpGXR-Cca2ol/s320/03.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It had to be photographed - a £5.70 pint in<br />
Switzerland!!!!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From Geneva, it was a two hour train journey to Lyon through
the rolling hills that represent the Swiss-French border and from Lyon, another
45 minutes onwards to Saint-Etienne. I’ve always had a soft spot for AS
Saint-Etienne, ever since a trip to Bordeaux seven years ago when in a rash
decision that had nothing to do with a lot of French beer, I went into a sports shop and forked out €80 for a full ASSE kit – shirt, shorts and socks –
based purely on the fact that it’s combination of three shades of green was one
of the best things I had ever seen. So to visit <span style="background: rgb(249, 249, 249);">Stade Geoffroy-Guichard was going to be a real treat,
even if it was to watch England rather than Les Verts.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-q15TYedX0zR1i09xfBZLqyikmAr0h1NCqfKOVKFzZr4JErSZW4QLPAoad0XuY_7BYd3oBhNKGR4xQvwIHJi2vtafdcilzx2cTjr6hR3p_A3HdfFwUFRNTwPGbHa7WCQsK6hSe8MMdLo8/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-q15TYedX0zR1i09xfBZLqyikmAr0h1NCqfKOVKFzZr4JErSZW4QLPAoad0XuY_7BYd3oBhNKGR4xQvwIHJi2vtafdcilzx2cTjr6hR3p_A3HdfFwUFRNTwPGbHa7WCQsK6hSe8MMdLo8/s320/06.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun and game in Saint-Etienne's main square</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;">But
before heading off to the Green Hell as the locals refer to it, there was plenty
of fun to be had in the city centre. A right party was underway on in the
main square where people were flocking from many of the bars around. The
traditional boot a football as high as possible into the air game was going on as
one of the local cafes blared out a playlist that included Three Lions,
Vindaloo, The Beatles, Oasis and of course Will Grigg on fire – or in this
case, Vardy on fire - the teaching of whose lyrics to a group of a young local
ladies who had come to join in the fun proved to be no easy task. England
fans danced around throwing beer, pot plants and in the case of one
particularly cultured individual, red wine into the air. One bloke came onto
his balcony above the square to watch events. He was greeted with a huge cheer
when he headed the ball that was booted up to him back down into the crowd. An
even bigger cheer went up when he introduced his wife to the crowd. And then an
even bigger one for his daughter, no more than five years old, who waved and
led the crowd in a Mexican wave. Bloody English hooligans eh?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;">Stade
Geoffroy-Guichard was a 10 minute tram ride from party central and on arrival
we were met with huge queues to get into the stadium. Could there be thorough
security checks here for the first time at an England game in the tournament?
Perhaps they had heard a couple of England fans were staying on an ISIS estate
in Lyon and might have been radicalised? No. The queues were actually being
caused by the genius decision to have just four entrances to the stadium on
each of the four corners. Each entrance was manned by no man than five security
staff responsible for patting down every person entering. So a 42,000 seater
stadium, four entrances, an average of over 10,000 people per entrance and five
staff. Now I’m no mathematician but that was never going to add up without
complete chaos which needless to say ensued.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFj4mTZdoiPa6La9lN3Gfnj-OFEXeslNMPHNT3Rlcwe-2cjeuzT0Ldx8Vly4syNxp29JscOP2Z46n_2p3ipsfnqy-hhvM-mO2hyphenhyphenBDQSEhZaStkZp0FoWeX_JHFkDwQUd7AJbn5j56xqUEV/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFj4mTZdoiPa6La9lN3Gfnj-OFEXeslNMPHNT3Rlcwe-2cjeuzT0Ldx8Vly4syNxp29JscOP2Z46n_2p3ipsfnqy-hhvM-mO2hyphenhyphenBDQSEhZaStkZp0FoWeX_JHFkDwQUd7AJbn5j56xqUEV/s320/08.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> Stade Geoffrey-Goichard. Another very English stadium</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJhLtCqN-uWFG8_jbzaaaY9QBKY-QI1_R7-yJLs52tbmY45jrdlOGlZxNmN3kgipOWY4ueldExJgRmY1Oku8iWzw_VGB1Y0hxM41J7_NW07ZI91C0G79VdrA-VhoU8ISEjwA2ASHGlIJA/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJhLtCqN-uWFG8_jbzaaaY9QBKY-QI1_R7-yJLs52tbmY45jrdlOGlZxNmN3kgipOWY4ueldExJgRmY1Oku8iWzw_VGB1Y0hxM41J7_NW07ZI91C0G79VdrA-VhoU8ISEjwA2ASHGlIJA/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fantastic floodlights behind the goals</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;">But
what about when inside the stadium? Well it isn’t hard to see why ASSE are
famed for having one of the best atmospheres in France. The acoustics of Stade
Geoffroy-Guichard are superb and despite the lack of inspiration on the pitch from
England in a turgid 0-0 draw, the Three Lions support was loud and proud
throughout. Around 80% of the ground was England and it really did feel like a
home game – if a home game at the corporate bowl that is Wembley had any
atmosphere at all, of course.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;">Just like the venue for the Bales game in Lens four days previously, this was another stadium with an
English feel to it. Four separate stands, all two tiered raising into the
sky with some fantastic floodlights perched under the roof behind each goal. Thank Christ the stadium and the
atmosphere was something to marvel at as there was bugger all on the pitch to.
Roy Hodgson made six changes and while that garnered a lot of criticism, the
fact is England had 29 shots and 61% possession. England didn’t play terribly, they
just couldn’t get past a stubborn Slovakian defence. Whereas in the Bales game on
Thursday you just knew at the 60 minute mark that England would eventually go onto win, here the clock ticked past an hour and everyone
could sense that even with the introduction of Wayne Rooney, it was
finishing as a stalemate. Better to concentrate on relentlessly singing The
Great Escape and having the news filter through that Wales’ hammering of Russia
would relegate England to second place in the group, putting them in the same
half of the draw as the likes of Italy, France and German. At least there shouldn't be the need to break through an 11 man blockade to score against any of those three.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZd5fPPLJW650jk9YNsIITn31qkQN87rApD2bh0fPG33XeOSa3qNwIqN_JXiYjOKExZbi9unmjRNqjWiCvlD-vACJiMQRp2RoPQJgyOUpobPUkDDA9-e4yGcZv5N9yrjKeKi4tfq4x7TyS/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZd5fPPLJW650jk9YNsIITn31qkQN87rApD2bh0fPG33XeOSa3qNwIqN_JXiYjOKExZbi9unmjRNqjWiCvlD-vACJiMQRp2RoPQJgyOUpobPUkDDA9-e4yGcZv5N9yrjKeKi4tfq4x7TyS/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone under the England flags to keep out the rain in the queue<br />
for the station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;">If
the queuing system to get into the ground was bad then back at Saint-Etienne
Station afterwards it was farcical. Even Paul and Barry Chuckle would have
blushed as it took three hours to get onto the station platform for a train
back to Lyon. We’d booked on the 00.45 but one of the police guarding the line
said rather helpfully “Don’t worry about tickets, just get on the train. They
will run until this queue is cleared." £10 well spent on a worthless bit of paper
then. Things got even worse when it began hacking down with rain until England
supporters began unfurling their flags and passing them over heads to use as
makeshift marquees.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;">Upon
finally reaching the station entrance it became apparent as to why we had been
kept out in the rain for twice as long as the game we’d come to see had lasted.
The station staff were taking the Noah’s Ark approach to loading up the trains
and counting people in two at a time to ensure that there was not so much no
overcrowding as a lack of crowd at all. While it was pleasant for everyone to
have a seat for the journey back to Lyon, I’m certain most people would have
traded having to stand for the journey for an hour and a half less spent in a queue. We finally
boarded a train at around 2.45am, arriving back at ISIS HQ at 4am for some well
deserved sleep that was thankfully not interrupted by anti-terrorist police
raiding the building.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4g1y30mTty9M_XgpT2ZA4kyr7xFYhWSgO4jRZyovrMCjPAHEwP-4R60yqdEOZiFiysoYGdcnlUhDz-rHjUMBN81A2LKSTMiCxWEVBLrCsuYnFu6SazkUPJuoVSXE_ptLN8YLU7O8l0tHo/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4g1y30mTty9M_XgpT2ZA4kyr7xFYhWSgO4jRZyovrMCjPAHEwP-4R60yqdEOZiFiysoYGdcnlUhDz-rHjUMBN81A2LKSTMiCxWEVBLrCsuYnFu6SazkUPJuoVSXE_ptLN8YLU7O8l0tHo/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The French-Swiss border. It is goodbye to the EU here...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;">The
following morning Joe and myself went our separate ways – he to spend 20 hours
and a night in Lyon airport before a flight home on Wednesday, me to the French
border town of Saint-Louis. After walking into Switzerland where the beer was
more expensive – see, it’s not always brighter out of the EU – I returned to
France and what must rank as the best pub of Euro 2016 so far. Tabac Altay was
its name and confined within was a stunning piece of technology. The television
in the bar was showing horse racing and this contraption allowed you to place a
bet direct with a bookmaker via an ATM style machine. You could pay with cash or card
and pick up your winnings as soon as the race was over. Why do we not have
these in England? If this hadn’t have been the trip I discovered Airbnb, then the
gambling machine would easily have won best invention of the trip.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNKwdPTDVRzNTFil6AmWsFdpaY3jVZbKNx9qIM7HWlSl_pZeDuZC8MQNd8isdIqrf3aeoku09rpEdOuku5rcbyOBulBoBCWg6X8_2w18JaRBiOH0tDoKvmI9UW_D3amXvnY9wIH4vcEVlw/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNKwdPTDVRzNTFil6AmWsFdpaY3jVZbKNx9qIM7HWlSl_pZeDuZC8MQNd8isdIqrf3aeoku09rpEdOuku5rcbyOBulBoBCWg6X8_2w18JaRBiOH0tDoKvmI9UW_D3amXvnY9wIH4vcEVlw/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bet direct with a bookies with this fantastic machine inside a<br />
pub. A genius idea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;">After
dragging myself away from Tabac Altay it was onwards to the continents most
confusing airport, Basel-Mulhouse-Freiburg. Straddling the border between
France, Switzerland and Germany, it has one big terminal that is split into a
two – a Swiss side and a French side. The Swiss side deals in Swiss Francs, the
French side in Euros. This resulted in a steak dinner (not horse this time) in France
and seeing as I was flying from the Swiss area, a few beers in Switzerland.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMnbld03LJT-LmXig7VfFOXF9EgWV4qF7pfa7ma7lN1oqp_6BoHh25pO7iYcnUaBVh5fRs37OBInBfWgKbJmwFr6BTyShjhbqI8Y_fZXEqiVc5W5z1KEcaIx5WEplSxFtz2ZYz4sTL4vR/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMnbld03LJT-LmXig7VfFOXF9EgWV4qF7pfa7ma7lN1oqp_6BoHh25pO7iYcnUaBVh5fRs37OBInBfWgKbJmwFr6BTyShjhbqI8Y_fZXEqiVc5W5z1KEcaIx5WEplSxFtz2ZYz4sTL4vR/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Managed to get a steak that wasn't horse this time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2eIFAz5o0OcU693wHoDaycMqpU6ZP45kEoI1c_bVRX99m18urjBS6jkrELkqIgSujW8Zs1IH4Ghyei5nFvys9iopVdCnlzDoVPq_TENSKmA6UdORI-36ggWE2P3urvRfamS0ddifNxLlw/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2eIFAz5o0OcU693wHoDaycMqpU6ZP45kEoI1c_bVRX99m18urjBS6jkrELkqIgSujW8Zs1IH4Ghyei5nFvys9iopVdCnlzDoVPq_TENSKmA6UdORI-36ggWE2P3urvRfamS0ddifNxLlw/s320/16.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stunning sunset at Basel-Mulhouse-Freiburg</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;">There
was a beautiful sunset to send us off from Switzerland and after 48 hours in
which sleep had been confined to two hours in Gatwick and five hours on a bug
ridden sofa, it was a relief to finally get home and climb into bed in a building were there was little worry of being dragged out handcuffed by some balaclava clad SWAT team. We'll save that one for the next Airbnb experience.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background: #F9F9F9; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Slovakia: </b>Matus Kozacik, Peter Pekarik, Martin Skrtel, Jan Durica, Tomas Hubocan, Robert Mak, Juraj Kucka, Viktor Pecovsky (Norbert Gyomber), Marek Hamsik, Vladimir Weiss (Milan Skriniar), Ondrej Duda (Dusan Svento).</span></span></div>
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<span style="background: #F9F9F9; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Joe Hart, Nathaniel Clyne, Gary Cahill, Chris Smalling, Ryan Bertrand, Jordan Henderson, Eric Dier, Jack Wilshere (Wayne Rooney), Daniel Sturridge (Harry Kane), Jamie Vardy, Adam Lallana (Dele Alli).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><b>Attendance: </b>39,051</span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Stade Geoffroy-Guichard, Saint-Etienne45.4612142654756 4.390754699707031245.4584297654756 4.3857121997070312 45.463998765475594 4.3957971997070313tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-76039941392977216412016-06-16T14:00:00.000+01:002016-06-19T18:21:20.933+01:00England v Wales. 16/06/16<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<b><i>"If I had to take an educated guess at what we're eating, I'd say it probably ran in the 16.05 at Auteuil on Sunday."</i></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Z8k_oZUW6GCneX2QS2IZfi4SYtS03JT8h7Ph10eyD3gWjt8sMxLtWzTL46HSgPBoPUUAs76_emKBEu47bti7YZHjnKku5YGcJ94kykRFN1siRE-IpB8rYMeqDWejXtc2__1goEa6qp-Z/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Z8k_oZUW6GCneX2QS2IZfi4SYtS03JT8h7Ph10eyD3gWjt8sMxLtWzTL46HSgPBoPUUAs76_emKBEu47bti7YZHjnKku5YGcJ94kykRFN1siRE-IpB8rYMeqDWejXtc2__1goEa6qp-Z/s320/06.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">England 2-1 Wales. Stade Bollaert-Delelis.<br />
Thursday 16/06/16</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
I live in a reasonably sized Mid Sussex commuter town by the name
of Burgess Hill, about 15 miles north of Brighton with a population of 30,635
according to the 2011 census. By comparison, Lens in 2012 had a population of
32,663. That meant that UEFA were basically holding England v Wales, set to be
one of the most popular group games at Euro 2016, in a French version of
Burgess Hill. Is it any wonder that people were kicking up a fuss about the
venue?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Well, yes actually and they really shouldn’t
have been. There are some not-so-subtle differences between the town in
northern France and the one in southern England. Take the respective
communities football clubs. RC Lens' Stade Bollaert-Delelis is capable of
holding around 38,000 people which is slightly more than Burgess Hill Town's
Green Elephant Stadium with a capacity of 2,000. Lens is famed for its huge
coal slag heaps which are a UNESCO world heritage site. It is unlikely that
Burgess Hill's slags of a quite different sort that can be found of a Saturday
night in the town’s one nightspot Pulse are likely to receive honours from the
UN anytime soon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSZK1GkGKCjPZ7jM7p48P_NBPknuJX79M7WXUmRgmYOn-TgeqNvPzBUZhChbhryT1_S5aZdxv_gnUuFTzhNPCbak0G-VDH8WrjYxKGa5AjJoItOBJppCxKtq_scca5Brnkuhjt3Sn5s_ZG/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSZK1GkGKCjPZ7jM7p48P_NBPknuJX79M7WXUmRgmYOn-TgeqNvPzBUZhChbhryT1_S5aZdxv_gnUuFTzhNPCbak0G-VDH8WrjYxKGa5AjJoItOBJppCxKtq_scca5Brnkuhjt3Sn5s_ZG/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Police horse in Lens - coming to a dinner table near you soon?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
The French and British authorities were
desperate to keep ticketless fans away from Lens. Their first tactic was to say there would be no
alcohol on sale in the town. Then they told supporters to go to neighbouring
Lille to watch in the fanzone and bars there. After people heeded that advice, altered
their travel and booked accommodation in Lille accordingly, another problem
belatedly dawned on the organisers – Russia were in Lille the night before.
Forget everything we told you and go watch the game anywhere but Lens or Lille
was the next piece of guidance. With all this hulaballo going on, you’d have been
forgiven for expecting it to be absolute carnage in little old Lens, but the
truth is that it actually proved to be an excellent host for the Battle of
Britain. Although I nearly didn't make it there to find out.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Friday night you see was spent in Paris.
Before Euro 2016, Paris was just about on a par with Baghdad, Tripoli and
Caracas as places I was in no hurry to visit. On every previous visit I'd hated
the place but something magical has happened during this tournament in that
I've grown to actually quite like it. It's got to the point now that not even
the fact that I ended up eating what can only be described as a former
racehorse for dinner before getting locked for an hour and a half in a shopping
centre that resembled a building site has put me off the place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxqTSjYuCSCh6LhaHzbK87DuEkDHSTwl736pE7UnfUMhXGhpQ6zEzIWAa9VOZl3UztOOt3D_2gFoDPPFbPM_juUUdMsgHny9vwHvqbWkO3k61aI2kfnbwZYDpVOJJsKkUZPl2jd5XH8t9/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxqTSjYuCSCh6LhaHzbK87DuEkDHSTwl736pE7UnfUMhXGhpQ6zEzIWAa9VOZl3UztOOt3D_2gFoDPPFbPM_juUUdMsgHny9vwHvqbWkO3k61aI2kfnbwZYDpVOJJsKkUZPl2jd5XH8t9/s320/01.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Piece of meat, depending on the market" -<br />
sounds promising</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSeY_1qkEfV4jMa9271Q74CwNaVb6sMjGPrvnqVcAYKehJXQJyovgYGIa9N26hkB-WtC6uoqLS_PMkisbMZ_N8nFESv09zJzPZ9G2bgMRW7kQtN9WWcTb5dQ8JXBBAt-LZJj-W1wx_eMW/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSeY_1qkEfV4jMa9271Q74CwNaVb6sMjGPrvnqVcAYKehJXQJyovgYGIa9N26hkB-WtC6uoqLS_PMkisbMZ_N8nFESv09zJzPZ9G2bgMRW7kQtN9WWcTb5dQ8JXBBAt-LZJj-W1wx_eMW/s320/02.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big old slab of horse anyone?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Firstly, to the dinner. My good friend Joe
and I had met up in the Rue Saint-Denis area to watch Les Bleus late victory
over Albania with some beers and food. On the menu was the generically described
"Piece of meat, depending on the market" that weighed in at around
half the price of a standard issue steak. No need to worry the waiter explained, the “piece of
meat”was also a steak. What he neglected to point out however, was that "the
market" was obviously a faller from Sunday's racing at the nearby Auteuil
track as a huge great piece of horse came out accompanied by some chips and a
healthy serving of some much needed salad. Undeterred by the fact that Shergar’s
cousin was winking up from the plate, Joe and I both ploughed through and weren't
left disappointed. It is little wonder that nobody complained about Tesco's
meat until they knew they were eating My Little Pony as horse tasted bloody good.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
After that, we were joined by Coventry fan
Sara for a pub crawl of Rue Saint-Denis, after which the sensible decision was
taken to get the metro home. Sensible, that is, if the metro had have run all
the way to its final destination which needless to say it didn't, instead inexplicably
stopping at a station that exited into a closed shopping centre in which a lot
of overnight building work was going on. It was hard to know what to be more
surprised at, the fact that I was seemingly locked in a Paris shopping centre
in the early hours of the morning or that there were builders in France actually carrying
out work and not on strike.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikecOMj0cYyGccbyVWRBhbDDxocX1F1NU9KdaNMtwF-5IwWWU7znwsVaOnc6dnHjBFSkhiYW6awotVBeS7K4xlPOTtqV3BZrP2ApvM1QXPI9BCF8DkFIRmjn5qEvVlR4pkPAeWrZYmjuad/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikecOMj0cYyGccbyVWRBhbDDxocX1F1NU9KdaNMtwF-5IwWWU7znwsVaOnc6dnHjBFSkhiYW6awotVBeS7K4xlPOTtqV3BZrP2ApvM1QXPI9BCF8DkFIRmjn5qEvVlR4pkPAeWrZYmjuad/s320/03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Builders work through the night on this Paris shopping centre while<br />
McCarthy wanders around locked inside for 90 minutes taking selfies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
The shopping complex itself was an elaborate
corridor of mazes with no unlocked doors that it took over an hour and a half to
finally find an exit out of. Not that anybody inside the building seemed overly
bothered about a lone, slightly drunk Englishman wandering aimlessly around. Again, for
a country and city on the highest state of security alert it is just as well I
did not have a bomb on me. Eventually, I was out of the building, from where it
was another 45 minute walk back to the hostel, finally clambering gracefully
onto the top bed of a triple bunk at around 5am. And then to round things off
nicely, when I woke up perilously close to missing the train to Lens five hours
later, I discovered my trousers were missing. Excellent.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho-lAQGUnGLsDhDwexGJ8yBbFLIwdcxt1XE3IyJkXOEWfCo4T2JoY9xpWYzI_UY9DrAd5wxjw-9VT0Q58Iuyc92NX19Ij12o3v85BhLwcGsNpDRH9GvyYQbhCfGetylU5f3V9JFOGr5CqD/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho-lAQGUnGLsDhDwexGJ8yBbFLIwdcxt1XE3IyJkXOEWfCo4T2JoY9xpWYzI_UY9DrAd5wxjw-9VT0Q58Iuyc92NX19Ij12o3v85BhLwcGsNpDRH9GvyYQbhCfGetylU5f3V9JFOGr5CqD/s320/04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lens beer ban in full flow</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
The only way to get over losing a pair of
your favourite jeans is to have a beer to toast the happy times you spent
together. Thankfully, the Lens alcohol ban proved to be the myth that most of
us strongly suspected it would be. The entrepreneurial kebab shop
opposite Lens station was doing a roaring trade in cans of Kronenbourg and when
they ran out, out came some 8.6% Belgian beer. From fears of no beer to hallucinogenic
beer being consumed on the streets, this was the most welcome of developments. Meeting
up with fellow Brighton fan Mark and Man City Dave, we went to another bar that
had ran out completely of draft beer and was very close to being drunk out of
Sol as well. Despite the fact that Lens seemed to be on the verge of running dry, there was no trouble (no Russians = no trouble, who'd have thought that?)
and England and Wales fans were soon meandering through the town on the short
walk to Stade Bollaert-Delelis.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxu9sjaGXw7CGZZ20YGc8FIFQltHNO-7gA8V1fHv82Qv02RKe1U54nZLyQDZSjQaHRHvPzyzDjZ5T41lXA47pPxlraFx8wec2qIbjw4EOQgiCu9n1_BjdGcFDDFRAlU9Gf-xGsKfc0FYm/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxu9sjaGXw7CGZZ20YGc8FIFQltHNO-7gA8V1fHv82Qv02RKe1U54nZLyQDZSjQaHRHvPzyzDjZ5T41lXA47pPxlraFx8wec2qIbjw4EOQgiCu9n1_BjdGcFDDFRAlU9Gf-xGsKfc0FYm/s320/05.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plenty of trouble en route to the stadium as these gripping and<br />
violent photos show</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Stade Bollaert-Delelis was basically a
traditional English ground - four separate stands, all two tiered and all
rammed with supporters of both sides. Lots had been made of Wales - and in
particular, Gareth Bale's - comments about the Welsh being far more passionate
than the English in the build up to the game. If Bale and co truly believed
that then they would have known by the final whistle that they were gravely
mistaken, the atmosphere from the English end being as loud, if not louder,
than the so-called more passionate Welsh. There was a sense of respect between
the two sets of supporters as well, with the rousing rendition of Land Of My
Fathers even getting a smattering of applause from the English support.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1TmLaQ8vehIn6hXy9OJC7QtaxyUQ6uHUcz_weaySDDcrIvyu30as7508tunZhnCt7VSgsmdcBqL5HhcurEfq6YT7VD9ppjLLRLEaJR0FaGKc7XRd2XgHYseACBImkfVe86re-TpPfsRBy/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1TmLaQ8vehIn6hXy9OJC7QtaxyUQ6uHUcz_weaySDDcrIvyu30as7508tunZhnCt7VSgsmdcBqL5HhcurEfq6YT7VD9ppjLLRLEaJR0FaGKc7XRd2XgHYseACBImkfVe86re-TpPfsRBy/s320/07.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stade Bollaert-Delelis</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHQhrGJBxHduwMp7qWVq7RtHTJc0Fvs292ITdrLl-JVV5Qe9tw9oL9xpNwz-pjqL8dI0xwlOOrJmoNu_VDb4gKtS8Nc7qzyDOQ_X5ZqKXxTTMWnEoq7RJwwK6d2FFAknNshYYXDuk5kO-h/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHQhrGJBxHduwMp7qWVq7RtHTJc0Fvs292ITdrLl-JVV5Qe9tw9oL9xpNwz-pjqL8dI0xwlOOrJmoNu_VDb4gKtS8Nc7qzyDOQ_X5ZqKXxTTMWnEoq7RJwwK6d2FFAknNshYYXDuk5kO-h/s320/08.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very British feel to things</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Wales went into half time 1-0 ahead thanks to a
combination of a Bale free kick from 35 yards and Joe Hart developing chocolate
wrists, which led to England being booed off by elements of the
Three Lions support. Raheem Sterling was on the end of most of the flak.
"England's going home" sang the Welsh. Roy Hodgson gambled in the
second half, sending on Jamie Vardy and Daniel Sturridge and his boldness at
the break saw the supporters as well as the team galvanised. That second 45
minutes was one of the best in terms of support from the stands that I have witnessed
and once Vardy equalised the general feeling on the terraces was that there was
only going to be one winner of the game – and it wasn’t going to be Bale and co.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmURf9WiAZ8mG_FGpY7UfBX0kwg9V89iKj3fNeigNxmHdTjBSkwU2BKI-h3-NVTibXfAncSmlJ8vOLnDomCv7FuNC5AJ_7zCJwWdZ5NGV1Uxmk8mkaJqKn3n9rmVQ3OwCyF9JGrSx1JRi9/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmURf9WiAZ8mG_FGpY7UfBX0kwg9V89iKj3fNeigNxmHdTjBSkwU2BKI-h3-NVTibXfAncSmlJ8vOLnDomCv7FuNC5AJ_7zCJwWdZ5NGV1Uxmk8mkaJqKn3n9rmVQ3OwCyF9JGrSx1JRi9/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild scenes as Daniel Sturridge scores a 91st minute winner<br />
for England</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
England left it late to prove that theory
right, Sturridge scoring at the death to spark wild scenes as bodies went
flying over seats and grown men who didn't know each other kissed and embraced.
Football, bloody hell as somebody once said. "Footballs coming home"
now the English fans sang back to their earlier tormentors. There was little
sympathy for Wales' players given all their comments in the build-up about
their passion and how no England player would get in their team, but it was
hard not to feel just the smallest bit sorry for their fans. Hopefully, they can join England in the
last 16 and knock Russia out along the way. </div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
As for the English support, that second
half performance when fans and players were united as one (#TogetherForEngland
as The FA marketing bods would put it) as well as Hodgson throwing caution to
the wind and going on the attack to win the game felt like a genuine turning
point. England aren't going to progress far in this tournament by being
defensive, their back four isn’t good enough for that. But play on the front
foot like they did in the second half, and who knows - maybe it won't be the
traditional exit on penalties in the quarter finals.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
That was certainly the feeling on the
train back to Paris after the game, from where it was the Eurostar home. They
say bad things come in three's and so after Shoppingcentregate and
Losttrousersgate there was bound to be another cock up and that duly arrived
when trespasses on the line outside Gare du Nord meant that the train was
nearly two hours late leaving for St Pancras; a delay which meant missing the
last connection back to Burgess Hill - the Lens of southern England, lest we
forget - and a night sleeping rather uncomfortably on the platform of London’s
international train terminal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
But when England win like that, it's hard to
mind. Especially if football does come home.<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<b style="font-size: small;">England: </b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Joe Hart, Kyle Walker, Gary Cahill, Chris Smalling, Danny Rose, Eric Dier, Dele Alli, Wayne Rooney, Adam Lallana (Marcus Rashford), Harry Kane (Jamie Vardy 1), Raheem Sterling (Daniel Sturridge 1).</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Wales: </b>Wayne Hennessey, James Chester, Ashley Williams, Ben Davies, Chris Gunter, Joe Ledley (David Edwards), Joe Allen, Neil Taylor, Aaron Ramsey, Hal Robson-Kanu (George Williams), Gareth Bale 1.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>34,033.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Stade Bollaert-Delelis50.432743748463444 2.814860343933105550.430215248463448 2.8098178439331054 50.435272248463441 2.8199028439331055tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-16853009236692080652016-06-11T20:00:00.000+01:002016-06-14T10:49:05.213+01:00England v Russia. 11/06/16<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<b><i>"It's a shame the French didn't show as much spirit and determination in fighting foreign visitors in 1940 as the locals have down in the port area over the last few days."</i></b><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixCnMWJdWOKZXLXY_Hlz2Obz-Fgv7zZmC5x6bFCu2frFBlTSmMRc8k6LE1Is8cyZ_cUPqwKXKyOkj2P9-s7R4zJxWVy_TQseuKLrxs_Jz9A4NqNlxTVUCGihKnvd1ooHR9fZlQVCJlRGxd/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixCnMWJdWOKZXLXY_Hlz2Obz-Fgv7zZmC5x6bFCu2frFBlTSmMRc8k6LE1Is8cyZ_cUPqwKXKyOkj2P9-s7R4zJxWVy_TQseuKLrxs_Jz9A4NqNlxTVUCGihKnvd1ooHR9fZlQVCJlRGxd/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
England 1-1 Russia. Stade Velodrome.</div>
<div>
Saturday 11/06/16</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
First things first - yes, I am alive and well. It's never a good sign when
the most commonly asked question you get when away on international duty from
those watching back home is "Are you safe?" Thankfully, it very rarely happens
but England v Russia in Marseille was one of those occasions when the messages
came flooding in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
"England fans riot" is the sort
of the headline that people love to write. It sells newspapers, it gets clicks
to websites and if you are a certain Labour MP who failed catastrophically to
become the parties leader and looks suspiciously like a Thunderbid puppet, then
it gets you retweets.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
From the way the events in Marseille have
been reported, you'd be forgiven for thinking that once the English and Russian
fans clear out and head north to Lens and Lille respectively for their second
games in Group B, they will leave behind a city that has been reduced to rubble
after 72 hours of running battles.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBQU8sSvdXTWcL421vJjPXjsBaIK3Af_hxI9pVeVMsplUeVrJDdMH2jjcX8QUeRfnTeT8UjCiIHsGdwijT5g6o7HqkmL88DclTNWPzdbF1-Pk0uIlEvjje8cByUeYvYNHqfVpAYczsJEtg/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBQU8sSvdXTWcL421vJjPXjsBaIK3Af_hxI9pVeVMsplUeVrJDdMH2jjcX8QUeRfnTeT8UjCiIHsGdwijT5g6o7HqkmL88DclTNWPzdbF1-Pk0uIlEvjje8cByUeYvYNHqfVpAYczsJEtg/s320/06.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Marseille Saint-Charles Station - still in one piece</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MV_Gt09Qadh_mG0Ocw4E8s-eeNb_daAqmn0sT_TajRqGPHYefL5nkWQvzVMjKfzqrlB9_MNuFbWY4MNK2TPKTRl3W-HP5BZWua6LdxhoKZqFQVV7tTMgm3W6bThQu6myjM1ghMYj5_7d/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MV_Gt09Qadh_mG0Ocw4E8s-eeNb_daAqmn0sT_TajRqGPHYefL5nkWQvzVMjKfzqrlB9_MNuFbWY4MNK2TPKTRl3W-HP5BZWua6LdxhoKZqFQVV7tTMgm3W6bThQu6myjM1ghMYj5_7d/s320/07.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
Outside Stade Velodrome - England and Russian fans having</div>
<div>
a drink and a sing song</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In reality, most of the trouble was
confined to the port area. Avoid that and you would generally avoid being hit
with a bottle, a water cannon (which wouldn't necessarily have been a bad thing
after I’d spent 24 hours in the same clothes) or the French police's liberal
deployment of tear gas. Do they have a contract with a supplier? There must be an incentive for them to get through so much, such as the more tear
gas they use, the cheaper they can get it for. Even when there was no sign of
trouble, they were only too happy to inflict it on supporters who had the nerve
to gather, drink and sing. You suspect that if The Last Supper had taken place
in Marseille, Jesus and co would have ended up tear gassed. 12 foreigners
gathered together having a good time? We can't be having that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
So you've got a police force who think the
answer to everything is to make peoples eyes burns and their throats choke followed
by a traditional batten charge. Then you have the locals. Their role in
proceedings seems to have gone largely unreported, but then again it doesn't
really reflect well on the hosts if their own nationals are running around
battering guests. Olympique Marseille's ultras are well known and they were out
in force around the port, barging into pubs with weapons and ensuring things
kicked off nicely. For England fans who had gathered in the run up to the
game, it was largely the local population who were starting the fun and games of Thursday and
Friday night, knowing that some of the less intelligent of England supporters
who can’t handle their beer would be happy enough to respond in kind. Make no mistake, a minority of England fans were far from blameless.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6kk34aiK201yg_-5MYkUYrASnO9kIInVMrUWh0ZzCgvJH5c7cbVh4d6H26n1ys1gq3pgajRro34tfOS3D2fJET1J0RHVYqw2Kur-L1kMgid2TpbrbVFwH0nbk7HJ4W6B1hdTgw3Go8qM/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6kk34aiK201yg_-5MYkUYrASnO9kIInVMrUWh0ZzCgvJH5c7cbVh4d6H26n1ys1gq3pgajRro34tfOS3D2fJET1J0RHVYqw2Kur-L1kMgid2TpbrbVFwH0nbk7HJ4W6B1hdTgw3Go8qM/s320/08.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
This was a lovely little arch that seemed to serve little purpose</div>
<div>
outside the stadium</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And then of course we come to our friends
from Russia. They were relentless inside the stadium once the final whistle
blew, some masking their faces and storming across the "segregation"
(a small strip of tarpaulin that wouldn't have been enough to
provide a tent at Glastonbury),
past the flummoxed stewards and into England fans and neutrals. It was precise
and organised like a military operation – a far cry from a few drunks luzzing
chairs around. From the opposite end of the ground where the majority of
England fans had their tickets, you could only stand and watch as a sea of
bodies scrambled away from the charging mob who were throwing punches at
everyone and everything with nobody in a position of responsibility willing to intervene to help. That section of
the stadium would have originally been designated for Russian supporters but
with them not selling out their allocation, it was used in the later ballots to
allocate tickets to casual fans. Many of them were English but the ballot means
that there would have been a fair share of neutrals, some even Russian. Not
that that mattered to the Russian hooligans, anyone in their path of
destruction was fair game.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0q035NkN8f4gJzawROa7wmlj4jp0yuJiaqG_0EiSTwlWMr4yo85UrHWpALy8maPXkItc-1_kEOVbAFmPL8pNh0nTWzhNHiC8huNgU67nD3hCqUOMstCAKMLrWO0waYw8Hu_z_eTQdfqk/s1600/19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0q035NkN8f4gJzawROa7wmlj4jp0yuJiaqG_0EiSTwlWMr4yo85UrHWpALy8maPXkItc-1_kEOVbAFmPL8pNh0nTWzhNHiC8huNgU67nD3hCqUOMstCAKMLrWO0waYw8Hu_z_eTQdfqk/s320/19.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
Superb security checks ensured that no fireworks or flares could</div>
<div>
get into the stadium</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRiVwPOxjVMnxYc7ak4hLyTqmFIN2Ej3MKyZ2-G45mSQiZTw-iiWx5wL9oszB5cAOkVTv1v5FhWEniZkhdA4SNoG1Sll_O0K5EoYPaFlGUHA9_q_gyGfuSXY3PI18gZed2LV_8Ih5aZL9/s1600/20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRiVwPOxjVMnxYc7ak4hLyTqmFIN2Ej3MKyZ2-G45mSQiZTw-iiWx5wL9oszB5cAOkVTv1v5FhWEniZkhdA4SNoG1Sll_O0K5EoYPaFlGUHA9_q_gyGfuSXY3PI18gZed2LV_8Ih5aZL9/s320/20.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
Russian fans charge into the English and neutral sections leading</div>
<div>
to scenes of utter carnages</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If it was frustrating watching from 100 yards away as your fellow
countryman are innocently beaten by rampaging Russians, then it was
excruciating to be met upon leaving the stadium by 100 riot police keeping an
eye on the England support as we exited. An actual riot going on inside the
stadium? Nah, we're not interested. We’ll stand here watching you instead. They were either happy to see the supporters scrambling
away dangerously over fences and walls as if their lives depended on it, or
Uefa didn't want them inside the stadium for fear of how it would look on
television.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0zFbz4-ltmnCtCBNvzdSHSSKHxYtK6ON9MEwQI-qP9nK0tSRStLwTUpkLWysSvdz-DO5giFha4Iw3fKOQ_rHxUcov73K-defEPW31w1Sv4I67jF9DVSshAygoN97svy8WjPx4ofRey5E0/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0zFbz4-ltmnCtCBNvzdSHSSKHxYtK6ON9MEwQI-qP9nK0tSRStLwTUpkLWysSvdz-DO5giFha4Iw3fKOQ_rHxUcov73K-defEPW31w1Sv4I67jF9DVSshAygoN97svy8WjPx4ofRey5E0/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
Giant flags were also on Uefa's list of banned items...</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Uefa also didn't want flares, pyrotechnics
or presumably things like bombs inside the stadium. We've been constantly told
by the FA, the Home Office and countless others that France is a country on the
highest level of terrorism alert. Now I'm not a security expert, far from it.
There have been at least five occasions when I've driven off and left the front
door wide open. But I suspect if you want to stop a terrorist attack occurring
in a stadium, then you should probably have more than one casual pat down
lasting all of five seconds as fans enter the stadium. My bag wasn't even
searched, just given a cursory glance and waved through. Luckily, it had just a
flag and a phone charger in but there could have been anything contained
within. A bomb. A suicide vest. A gun - rather like the flare gun the Russian's
used to launch fireworks onto the pitch and into the England section. The cue
for that charge over the segregation came from a very loud explosion which one
fan in front of me actually mistook for a bomb, hitting the deck when it went
off. That reaction provoked laughter around but think how serious it could have
been. Anything could have been smuggled into that ground with a minimal amount
of effort. It was only marginally safer in the Velodrome than you would be
walking down Raqqa high street with an "I hate ISIS" t-shirt on.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ6_4_hdgfZ71-N8xkJgTajMZIE__ZXPIoMt-xohu4qY9ZxwNNqwITXL1CJq-Ze-gwkeYPMA3dffjYHxKPjWbF1igsJ6dUo5cKyAUMMMd6Zna1eUegUadEl2zO1qxXPffvyvbBHN83eT9B/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ6_4_hdgfZ71-N8xkJgTajMZIE__ZXPIoMt-xohu4qY9ZxwNNqwITXL1CJq-Ze-gwkeYPMA3dffjYHxKPjWbF1igsJ6dUo5cKyAUMMMd6Zna1eUegUadEl2zO1qxXPffvyvbBHN83eT9B/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The brilliant Stade Velodrome</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsTdlvYQ74LVcs5pD4CkNsCVb51KMdeAaESzBTeTOx6sRoqraqSYHjZ3AmuA5JcLf4GxRP7GIBNezRVEPBsAUOSivtInLNli2mmzSBWDDEWkwv_w8_uUlOp3yjnskYj_T_V3I1LVI4BoZm/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsTdlvYQ74LVcs5pD4CkNsCVb51KMdeAaESzBTeTOx6sRoqraqSYHjZ3AmuA5JcLf4GxRP7GIBNezRVEPBsAUOSivtInLNli2mmzSBWDDEWkwv_w8_uUlOp3yjnskYj_T_V3I1LVI4BoZm/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A packed Stade Velodrome moments before kick off</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Which is a shame as I'd hate to see the
Velodrome blown up. It is a fantastic stadium, earning an instant place in my
top five, perhaps even going straight into the top three. The steep curved
stands are a thing of beauty, disappearing high up as far as the eye can see.
The main stand in particular is a mish mash of tiers and a seat right up the
top - from which the view must be stunning - would be no good for anyone with vertigo.
The stadium underwent renovation for the tournament, the biggest part of which
included the installation of a huge new roof engulfing the ground. This
greenhouse like structure kept all the noise in and that made for one of the
best atmospheres I can remember being part of. It was genuinely deafening and
the place was rocking from at least an hour before kick off. If aliens were
suddenly to be appear on Earth, this was the sort of stadium and game you would
take them to in order to show them just why the beautiful game is the most
popular sport on the planet. You’d just have to get them out before the charge
of the light brigade on the final whistle and hope they have a tolerance to tear gas.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRsUko3qmB_SEIspe3RvDJ-ynNiyFU1zTt3uOeoy_p7iktPTvEtBzD0N-wgRtyPuJzLhodO0ge3WUUz9fHVUeXcrRkKFxe82HwvWW4slWfm1y26C4dvq3Tt4TuPk8L55n8pqf-40mLY4_d/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRsUko3qmB_SEIspe3RvDJ-ynNiyFU1zTt3uOeoy_p7iktPTvEtBzD0N-wgRtyPuJzLhodO0ge3WUUz9fHVUeXcrRkKFxe82HwvWW4slWfm1y26C4dvq3Tt4TuPk8L55n8pqf-40mLY4_d/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A greenhouse or a stadium? Either way it was wonderful</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Getting to the Velodrome itself had been
an interesting experience, with the Metro being shut in the run up to the game forcing
those heading in the hours before kick off to walk. Thankfully, the Mediterranean
sun was beating down for the 40 minute stroll from the city centre and with a
plethora of little bars to stop at on route from the station for refuelling, it
was a pleasant experience that was far removed from the scenes of chaos being
reported as standard by the media. And, keep this quiet, but supporters of both
teams mingled with no sign of any trouble as the beers flowed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
It was a totally different atmosphere for
the walk back, with tension in the air given the scenes at the end of the match
and local kids riding full pelt on their mopeds through busy crowds as if they
were determined to crash into people. Which they probably were. England
conceding in the last minute to throw away what should have been three points
for the Three Lions after Eric Dier's brilliant free kick sent the 50,000 odd
English fans wild would have dented the party atmosphere regardless as a draw
felt more like a defeat given how well England played in the first half, but
the scenes at the end also had their effect on the tense post-game atmosphere.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZhtRZ3avJNFHepNBDZq-Ly52_WkM9JpeZuKlgREzjEw0UdaMH_yU2WeCDuBwQk-_nEVQsMHkRh6sk1nVZcuiZ5s1X1koeiSFswJRTIEb7mwWspc95khjdS5LPzZ65ezqCcsDbOTMWoiE/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZhtRZ3avJNFHepNBDZq-Ly52_WkM9JpeZuKlgREzjEw0UdaMH_yU2WeCDuBwQk-_nEVQsMHkRh6sk1nVZcuiZ5s1X1koeiSFswJRTIEb7mwWspc95khjdS5LPzZ65ezqCcsDbOTMWoiE/s320/17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
Bit of a discussion going on about what to do with this free-kick</div>
<div>
as Eric Dier steps up...</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOqWwFmG-SBRw2Nfk47ZuxHAdCyHlq4ZP3C1VHkPpFZE9FP0M6yU8qKNlqndRAKJjg5G2qw58KrVa8sTmdlrToI8GoJGfgwAQyKxSHRK6VBQkXLrgh6YOhkhBEWjg-8KKPSXxfrBoaHB7w/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOqWwFmG-SBRw2Nfk47ZuxHAdCyHlq4ZP3C1VHkPpFZE9FP0M6yU8qKNlqndRAKJjg5G2qw58KrVa8sTmdlrToI8GoJGfgwAQyKxSHRK6VBQkXLrgh6YOhkhBEWjg-8KKPSXxfrBoaHB7w/s320/18.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...GOAL!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Stories were passed around about Russian's
going on the rampage again in the port area afterwards, England fans being locked into
pubs and bars for their own safety by sensible and caring landlords. Marseille Saint-Charles station provided a refuge from the battles being waged 10 minutes away and on boarding the 1.30am overnight train back to Paris, the 50 or so riot
police who had been ordered to take the journey north back looked pretty upset
that rather than being able to pick up more
commission for deploying their tear gas, they were simply greeted by a packed
train of supporters of both teams going straight to sleep ahead of a 6am
arrival in the capital.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcxXMKYin2AiuBYjnSHxRH7WlfaNCwy2b3192Ak7FxwkWxAF3xmRix2HH8Uw_6dByJE8xerfj-qMIAqAZgMd9nicxM_qRUlkUSaUa0UIYNDw_GcPQq3wKSxDkalnwtJbxUp3rAXpJ8ChXA/s1600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcxXMKYin2AiuBYjnSHxRH7WlfaNCwy2b3192Ak7FxwkWxAF3xmRix2HH8Uw_6dByJE8xerfj-qMIAqAZgMd9nicxM_qRUlkUSaUa0UIYNDw_GcPQq3wKSxDkalnwtJbxUp3rAXpJ8ChXA/s320/21.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
Running away from angry Russians is a tiring days work - hope</div>
<div>
this bloke at Marseille Saint-Charles woke up in time for his train</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
The train had taken the strain on the way to Marseille on Saturday afternoon as well, which meant that Friday night was spent in a Paris that was in party mood. Nearly every
country was represented in the huge fan zone underneath the Eiffel Tower for the opening match between the hosts and Romania. There was no sign
of trouble here as everyone gathered to enjoy the party, a rousing
rendition of La Marseillaise under the shadow of France's most famous sight.
The noise and celebrations when Dimitri Payet scored an absolute worldie out of
nothing to secure a late win for Les Bleus were as if Hugo Lloris was on the podium
lifting the Henri Delaunay trophy, rather than a scrappy win over what appeared to be pretty limited opposition. Goodness knows what the scenes will be like if Lloris is in fact back there on
July 11th hoisting the cup in the air.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc28u9leBQC7nY4MFtxuovIaGRP7hEgNXPeeNPo-0OycHhV7Sgm_qOY-w0kVRADjP4TP5DYiJgzNl5-AGDl-zYNrReW68mcIU-Hx7druH82SkV2bl-gzFOhXCjJ_36FEf0zHcVFoMY-OzH/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc28u9leBQC7nY4MFtxuovIaGRP7hEgNXPeeNPo-0OycHhV7Sgm_qOY-w0kVRADjP4TP5DYiJgzNl5-AGDl-zYNrReW68mcIU-Hx7druH82SkV2bl-gzFOhXCjJ_36FEf0zHcVFoMY-OzH/s320/03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
Paris Fanzone - an absolutely brilliant spot to watch France beat</div>
<div>
Romania in the opening game</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwgknDfaf2WScJcpSG_GikwUcFyVr0RC2R7dWtIC-X8WlMQEWbRpMA5tFyzupoyIivz42TG71W-A1bOS_KPdYb8lRzmPsV8OYRQ1kLy_FBn0f3AL67APtHFBUouJ5SQXV8ETNg4UwVaAee/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwgknDfaf2WScJcpSG_GikwUcFyVr0RC2R7dWtIC-X8WlMQEWbRpMA5tFyzupoyIivz42TG71W-A1bOS_KPdYb8lRzmPsV8OYRQ1kLy_FBn0f3AL67APtHFBUouJ5SQXV8ETNg4UwVaAee/s320/04.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Scotland fan in France. What are you doing here mate?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
So it's been a mixed start to Euro 2016.
Paris was excellent, the celebrations wild and the beer flowing even if Uefa's
sponsorship deals mean that you can only purchase Carlsberg in the Fanzones. If
Carlsberg did Fanzones, they wouldn't sell Carlsberg. They'd sell Kanterbrau,
the best French beer of the trip thus far. As for Marseille, the pubs were
good, the weather was good but the people and the police are the sort that you
wouldn't piss on if they were on fire. If the boot was on the other foot and
you were on fire, they'd probably pour more petrol over you or kick your head in for good measure.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGRz3nbQZrYtx7f8KCaCz2tSunYzZerhG5L6fr800peNQ8vXYV9EdnLRBSDj2JGV8NirlPHH01T0i-wX8qlHsww8MrB8mPoxQFCj4HsHosGjgDe4zNUCP8tDsEgDMpPav31hj7S7vUvZxS/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGRz3nbQZrYtx7f8KCaCz2tSunYzZerhG5L6fr800peNQ8vXYV9EdnLRBSDj2JGV8NirlPHH01T0i-wX8qlHsww8MrB8mPoxQFCj4HsHosGjgDe4zNUCP8tDsEgDMpPav31hj7S7vUvZxS/s320/02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An Albania fans admires the Eiffel Tower</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_Pv9kwjOMrLHac_aayh0AQ6ptqatnCcsa0D5tOvR3uKgkTw3x6LABrzf4Zizn83KV6Wc9AUozggXs4FEXT46PSS2v5LVF3MeG-kraawRGtMTdLX1EBDLM-DdLnP5Yz9rrRCyNlNBgcpd/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_Pv9kwjOMrLHac_aayh0AQ6ptqatnCcsa0D5tOvR3uKgkTw3x6LABrzf4Zizn83KV6Wc9AUozggXs4FEXT46PSS2v5LVF3MeG-kraawRGtMTdLX1EBDLM-DdLnP5Yz9rrRCyNlNBgcpd/s320/01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It wasn't all tear gas and violence - some culture at The Louvre</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
After 12 hours in Marseille, it isn’t a
place I would be in any rush to head back to – although I suspect an Olympique
game in a packed Velodrome would be quite the experience. But a match with an
English team involved? No thanks. And here is where the bad news comes. Finish
second or third in Group B and England would face a potential semi-final back
at the Velodrome. Think we all know what is going to happen now - and it isn't
the traditional quarter final defeat on penalties.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJCiNErYMINDmygnwsJNcP6kxmgmiS4B_SdKgHm-mqrQhqIj4ZrgjlCS4Y0iiPa52AGneKawit7UNRS0DnHZv0aMahWOjnEP1s18jDiIO5f1KF7RQu0s6Y7Byj-ZQN_UsGb-XXqxCZ0HY/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJCiNErYMINDmygnwsJNcP6kxmgmiS4B_SdKgHm-mqrQhqIj4ZrgjlCS4Y0iiPa52AGneKawit7UNRS0DnHZv0aMahWOjnEP1s18jDiIO5f1KF7RQu0s6Y7Byj-ZQN_UsGb-XXqxCZ0HY/s320/05.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJFSK2ED4ik0l-f_-Eyw8ejoIpPe3zaQhtBE-oGHrlGA3TUWKThW_QTdWgL2ANi4YF9ZfrG0jlXSl1Ty0q9p1mUq68kIqdkuPnM4dxAlWdVrYX22Vs57n3jI_83UvTfJvojMhzh157LY-M/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJFSK2ED4ik0l-f_-Eyw8ejoIpPe3zaQhtBE-oGHrlGA3TUWKThW_QTdWgL2ANi4YF9ZfrG0jlXSl1Ty0q9p1mUq68kIqdkuPnM4dxAlWdVrYX22Vs57n3jI_83UvTfJvojMhzh157LY-M/s320/09.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbqNtzmafygnQFaGJw06pG3oNdweGkNuDrbRzK8Cwk__eyLRS0QaHpSqhdkVWEQXUTPJzWyBzoUtau0DbKRVcqJd7TIrq2lTLwJuoMREodAs_sDILUzI7LQmH80BqXm_MPiMqXC2rP_0x/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="91" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbqNtzmafygnQFaGJw06pG3oNdweGkNuDrbRzK8Cwk__eyLRS0QaHpSqhdkVWEQXUTPJzWyBzoUtau0DbKRVcqJd7TIrq2lTLwJuoMREodAs_sDILUzI7LQmH80BqXm_MPiMqXC2rP_0x/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfE2irGfPXCcuGjanWPsqcSVBGFX1APdAif6ERt7IR9m5bbyQ8imLQghCDPaPBLPFMGHSkm4oD9rW_BQHpSwzjHthPuj4Vw4GE34bHdx0NYEh0e97JPmxKJg4UtSusSi2B5ZKjmLVzEKVk/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfE2irGfPXCcuGjanWPsqcSVBGFX1APdAif6ERt7IR9m5bbyQ8imLQghCDPaPBLPFMGHSkm4oD9rW_BQHpSwzjHthPuj4Vw4GE34bHdx0NYEh0e97JPmxKJg4UtSusSi2B5ZKjmLVzEKVk/s320/16.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Joe Hart, Kyle Walker, Gary Cahill, Chris Smalling, Danny Rose, Eric Dier 1, Dele Alli, Wayne Rooney (Jack Wilshere), Adam Lallana, Harry Kane, Raheem Sterling (James Milner).</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Russia: </b>Igor Akinfeev, Igor Smolnikov, Vasili Berezutski 1, Sergei Ignashevich, Roman Neustadter (Denis, Glushakov), Aleksandr Golovin (Roman Shirikov), Aleksandr Kokorin, Oleg Shatov, Fedor Smolov (Pavel Marnaev), Artem Dzyuba.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>62,343</span> </div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Stade Vélodrome, 13008 Marseille, France43.270164 5.392521299999998517.7481295 -35.9160727 68.7921985 46.7011153tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-12179339155824623532016-04-12T19:45:00.000+01:002016-06-14T10:53:30.393+01:00Real Madrid v Vfl Wolfsburg. 12/04/16<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<b><i>"You had your match ticket stolen? Do not worry, we will buy you the beers"</i></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFlYmg1eo1tKvDby94dARnSWUpx56hh3s6cEuNrn0rbJ0gPIaNRFcCKJ9QzSEvZE9emMDpRBt9dFbp9OUm_25CeKvBANjOpqOFiOLxaDg6lLwRy5u9PRV71zHm5ETHyo_Bhc1F_Xh_2c3/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFlYmg1eo1tKvDby94dARnSWUpx56hh3s6cEuNrn0rbJ0gPIaNRFcCKJ9QzSEvZE9emMDpRBt9dFbp9OUm_25CeKvBANjOpqOFiOLxaDg6lLwRy5u9PRV71zHm5ETHyo_Bhc1F_Xh_2c3/s320/05.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Real Madrid 3-0 Vfl Wolfsburg. Santiago Bernabeu.<br />
Tuesday 12/04/16</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
If, at the start of just the second Champions League campaign in
Wolfsburg's history, you had have said, "I reckon we'll be watching them in
the second leg of quarter finals against Real Madrid at the Santiago Bernabeu
with a 2-0 lead", then you'd more than likely have been sectioned.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Well, there is no need to section me as I never actually got to watch the game at the famous Bernabeu. Yes,
I had a ticket for what was all set to be one of the biggest nights in Die
Wolfe's history. But with 30 minutes to go before kick off, that ticket along
with the rest of the contents of my wallet was pickpocketed away in a mass
crush outside the stadium.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0OAV5ohKJ3zrgqoqOhfbF_TVZyuOB5Fpul42MHCNCxTlm-Vw63UVpDqs9UbNX8Au0esrL2DyfafNkd5zwUorWtO4Ei35CP19V381ZBycKlxy6VaBu9OYYynjJkyu3og2yxW-G2U1i_yh/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0OAV5ohKJ3zrgqoqOhfbF_TVZyuOB5Fpul42MHCNCxTlm-Vw63UVpDqs9UbNX8Au0esrL2DyfafNkd5zwUorWtO4Ei35CP19V381ZBycKlxy6VaBu9OYYynjJkyu3og2yxW-G2U1i_yh/s320/01.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Took a rare photo of the match ticket - it is almost<br />
like I knew what was going to happen...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Let’s lay our cards on the table here – I don’t really like Spain
that much. Never have done. There isn’t one particular reason why but on
previous visits to Valencia and Barcelona, I’ve just never got why
holidaymakers are so keen to flock there.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
Madrid was, however, slowly turning that view around. We found
plenty of good pubs across the city, the people were friendly and anywhere that
offers you a free plate of food when you buy a beer is always likely to make it
onto the good venue list. It’s what has always counted in Italy’s favour, after
all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaIwnvcCtAVwrJhjwy0So27ttuM-cvcr9ojhmn63Q7FlAB-k8qWK9_aErsieCUV2sdvMajaRgLhlBDC0nghe_15zSx6sPCjubxmxf40SePBpo8wiBLTyDfzRkCFRKfl890C0mdAPoOaooj/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaIwnvcCtAVwrJhjwy0So27ttuM-cvcr9ojhmn63Q7FlAB-k8qWK9_aErsieCUV2sdvMajaRgLhlBDC0nghe_15zSx6sPCjubxmxf40SePBpo8wiBLTyDfzRkCFRKfl890C0mdAPoOaooj/s320/07.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beer and complimentaty food - don't mind if I do</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
The fact we didn’t even have anywhere to stay didn’t seem like an
inconvenience in the run up to the game. Nor the fact that it spent most of the
day raining, which mean that we would be sleeping in Madrid airport afterwards
in soaking wet clothes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHi03ve22TD9sUTxMbMIhZrxBBENc2ErqD7X0L-ldeYTNWeslnRZOIHEiGEHSc44oB81L_bNpGRxD5K7cKf0qwQlhDZ0JHSX7LlZZCUy8JRzJMZ2GgW9NY4acYxtY9M4SGqRwnw2QDL2oP/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHi03ve22TD9sUTxMbMIhZrxBBENc2ErqD7X0L-ldeYTNWeslnRZOIHEiGEHSc44oB81L_bNpGRxD5K7cKf0qwQlhDZ0JHSX7LlZZCUy8JRzJMZ2GgW9NY4acYxtY9M4SGqRwnw2QDL2oP/s320/12.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The impressive Bernabeu</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjusXOVNgyDaq8aHYZ2zZcanQkwfynmhWjUBzbdZ9x416_0s2NMmTQqRrhjRM5zJfuqlsBKf2h-T89RB40EpGyysJ2wiVUDBnyNEI9FNy7DZdMAqBXBDW7RI3PlofO5ftozjxC0BGoH24g7/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjusXOVNgyDaq8aHYZ2zZcanQkwfynmhWjUBzbdZ9x416_0s2NMmTQqRrhjRM5zJfuqlsBKf2h-T89RB40EpGyysJ2wiVUDBnyNEI9FNy7DZdMAqBXBDW7RI3PlofO5ftozjxC0BGoH24g7/s320/03.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A great stadium - wonder what it is like on the inside?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
The feelgood factor of the trip started the moment we arrived at
the Bernabeu for a cursory look around in the morning. Like it’s other famous
Spanish stadium counterpart Camp Nou, it appears to be a tourist attraction
first, football ground second. Even though this was a match day and there were
no doubt countless things going on inside to ensure the ground was ready for
action, thousands of tourists had flocked there to visit the Madrid Megastore which
was more akin to a department store than a football club shop and to take the
ground tour.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
From the outside, it was mightily impressive. A huge concrete
structure looming over busy roads. Despite it’s size, it is in such a densely
built up area that until you are stood next to it, you can’t actually see it.
It just appears from nowhere which adds to the mystique and grandness of the
place. If it is that impressive from the outside, imagine how good it will be
from the inside? Well, I never got to find out.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYsTb7VjYMHWSMQVHz_eSPVEBLIokdiKMH-elZ8r2PZ3os6IHrMpk9YgtkFRhogBOraMe5FMsms335BDecZac7gcz3pW9VoForRmfqb13siloyv7KmRiegKdndMNvCjs18fjuCkIXw9Re7/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYsTb7VjYMHWSMQVHz_eSPVEBLIokdiKMH-elZ8r2PZ3os6IHrMpk9YgtkFRhogBOraMe5FMsms335BDecZac7gcz3pW9VoForRmfqb13siloyv7KmRiegKdndMNvCjs18fjuCkIXw9Re7/s320/11.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No trip to Spain is complete without a Spanish<br />
omelette</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjayq4b4BTdoosUbTxu5D2NE7oC8VhAH5vu7pukgtw3rfWlOOwUtqhWZTKi3X9LO2oiSpHRh0YxF-geBDypEt0n0OrQXRkDZbfnGvj4gjqMoxmI2nbpLCkyNBPGzsg11srdojzCBIJ2RfUt/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjayq4b4BTdoosUbTxu5D2NE7oC8VhAH5vu7pukgtw3rfWlOOwUtqhWZTKi3X9LO2oiSpHRh0YxF-geBDypEt0n0OrQXRkDZbfnGvj4gjqMoxmI2nbpLCkyNBPGzsg11srdojzCBIJ2RfUt/s320/04.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pint of C please barman</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
After that saunter around, it was back to the city centre and to the Wolfsburg meet point for some beers with our fellow Die Wolfe fans. Despite holding a 2-0 lead from the first leg, most were approaching the evening game with a sense of trepidation and not many were expecting, come 11pm local time, for their side to be in the last four of Europe’s premier knockout competition. That didn’t stop the party though, a large crowd assembling in Plaza de Santa Ana under the careful watch of the local police for a sing song and the customary pre match drinks, after which it was back off to the ground.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KgtMp_kC5QGGix4D30a6kJyH8YDPDIqE7lYtyNzhK3OYJLmUKhwQCfdqQf5z5FxGxy2e-rgkJ5yBF3atXpQXTi3Vv7UA4JZeXqb4FuRcTBuQQtP-QLZv6eHBWua4qXzxwWrTzqQL_fRL/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KgtMp_kC5QGGix4D30a6kJyH8YDPDIqE7lYtyNzhK3OYJLmUKhwQCfdqQf5z5FxGxy2e-rgkJ5yBF3atXpQXTi3Vv7UA4JZeXqb4FuRcTBuQQtP-QLZv6eHBWua4qXzxwWrTzqQL_fRL/s320/13.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Someone obviously didn't like their pint, depositing<br />
half a plant into it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5v5JvU7JV45vaZykswdeth5VqI2d5tXdJOIpbDAQ-gzHC_dr8iTY2-uZemaq4LWSOOIuTKYxI9mI_KJJQXU5Wbe_CdBKy2LQXOFc1ziY1QnuMUKDnPFxZ7wZ1S3w6jMQsnl-ggKUQRn8/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5v5JvU7JV45vaZykswdeth5VqI2d5tXdJOIpbDAQ-gzHC_dr8iTY2-uZemaq4LWSOOIuTKYxI9mI_KJJQXU5Wbe_CdBKy2LQXOFc1ziY1QnuMUKDnPFxZ7wZ1S3w6jMQsnl-ggKUQRn8/s320/10.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Go to a Real Madrid game, pick up some food<br />
for your dog from a stall outside the ground</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
It was when passing under one of the four giant entrance tunnels
that are dotted on each corner of the Bernabeu that the pickpocketing incident
happened. These funnel people into a remarkably small area, around 10 people
wide which with 75,000 odd fighting their way in can lead to an almighty crush.
Entering this almighty crush, the wallet was safely stored in the front pocket.
Exiting this almighty crush, it was gone – nowhere to be seen on the floor and
seemingly not handed in anywhere.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
So what do you do when you’ve lost the entire contents of your
wallet and €75 worth of match ticket? Firstly, you tell your companion to go.
Andy didn’t need telling twice and he disappeared with the agreement that we
would meet up at the airport afterwards. Secondly, you find somewhere to watch
the game.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
All around the Bernabeu’s little side streets are small kebab shop
type places that feature big screen televisions. They are also serve beer and
it is to these that the local supporters who have been priced out of going to
games come to watch their team. They are absolutely heaving and so I settled
into one of these, sheltered out of the rain, to catch what could be an
historic night for Wolfsburg.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibGonsYWHPpla2ThhXHuun5ieaRiCrESYLUY6o5vntkmqhOvo-U_qui_mkqOU-cVbq6dhpyCLK16gZP3MlzUCw6sQdMLOHsffxdfkwEozr4WN8i7D0WOJivnBPyfy8WoAMBRwSG3inPy1h/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibGonsYWHPpla2ThhXHuun5ieaRiCrESYLUY6o5vntkmqhOvo-U_qui_mkqOU-cVbq6dhpyCLK16gZP3MlzUCw6sQdMLOHsffxdfkwEozr4WN8i7D0WOJivnBPyfy8WoAMBRwSG3inPy1h/s320/14.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching the game in a kebab shop was a new<br />
experience</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
One young girl of no more than 15 was soon intrigued as to what I,
an Englishman in a Wolfsburg shirt, was doing watching the game in this café with
her and around 100 Madrid supporters. And so I explained pickpocketgate, after
which she took pity on me and said not to worry, her and her group of friends
numbering four who must surely have all had school the next morning would buy
me beers to make up for it. Her English needed improving and she was sorry
about what happened.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
Now in most situations, taking beer off a 15-year-old girl would
be a pretty grey area but, this being Spain with its liberal approach to life
meant that I didn’t think twice about thanking her and instantly found a pint
of Mahou thrust into my hand by one of her friends. Their pity grew as
Cristiano Ronaldo showed just why he is the best player in the world with a
hat-trick to fire Real into the semi finals thanks to a 3-0 win. Not only had
this poor English Wolfsburg fan had his match ticket stolen, but he had also
seen his side blow a 2-0 first leg lead. Let’s get him some more beers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5QIvJKfwmplZ-CxGrFTWyF7Fud8elnnV-87O7P5vYzqGLLF9I2PkXeBKx0-TVP2fGGm3iRme87BWclcd9Fx4sQW4w4fLsOZrRZj0RIN3Crvp5ERLjCr8AUsyqJM8pcBpk4QJZosABerX/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5QIvJKfwmplZ-CxGrFTWyF7Fud8elnnV-87O7P5vYzqGLLF9I2PkXeBKx0-TVP2fGGm3iRme87BWclcd9Fx4sQW4w4fLsOZrRZj0RIN3Crvp5ERLjCr8AUsyqJM8pcBpk4QJZosABerX/s320/09.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A handy hand dryer for drying yourself off before<br />
a night of sleeping in the airport</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVUoaof8zX7HOMCc3HC4WsKSNeDBKYUXg35dmTdKYCTC5z_SyUCr9-AJCQx6Iw3b2JMVMluY0wz1bz4ibvxYbmKjQCCeVVseURbCJYa9cZ0BHxuaweKdeP0ytmSZbXK4zKol0K1nMDxbl/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVUoaof8zX7HOMCc3HC4WsKSNeDBKYUXg35dmTdKYCTC5z_SyUCr9-AJCQx6Iw3b2JMVMluY0wz1bz4ibvxYbmKjQCCeVVseURbCJYa9cZ0BHxuaweKdeP0ytmSZbXK4zKol0K1nMDxbl/s320/08.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snoop Andy settles down for the night</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
Eventually, I had to drag myself away from the happy party and
head back to the airport for some sleep ahead of the 7am flight home. Such was
the ferocity of the rain that even the 10 minute walk to the metro station left
me utterly drenched. Thankfully, Madrid Airport had taken soaked passengers
sleeping in their facility into account and installed the most powerful hand
dryers available in the gents which were soon being used by the multitude of
Wolfsburg fans all spending the night at the airport to dry out their clothes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Soaked, robbed and despondent. Was this then the final nail in
Spain’s coffin? Well why it may have been a totally pointless trip in
footballing terms, that didn’t make it any less enjoyable. And sorry Mr Farrage
– I may have been pickpocketed by one of these nasty foreigners you keep
warning us about, but I won’t be voting to leave the EU anytime soon. You can
thank the friendly local girls and the Mahou for that.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjve1zrqPAcqc8mGmFkUswCN5DAEyrCl4uXvpQ0L_MmZHydAQrVjHgbuVADkyyao9vCzrCVKqxoZQpD_atUQNg5NRAAWxR3Y8YRHTpK3iu64p8VKdC3KQUkX3re7pU0XhLRVEPC0zRbpa2P/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjve1zrqPAcqc8mGmFkUswCN5DAEyrCl4uXvpQ0L_MmZHydAQrVjHgbuVADkyyao9vCzrCVKqxoZQpD_atUQNg5NRAAWxR3Y8YRHTpK3iu64p8VKdC3KQUkX3re7pU0XhLRVEPC0zRbpa2P/s320/02.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrW-gITNsIIZtx5QsP9sXSBuLXRBUytpGwWve_z5ivTFSXiBzkUxQxM_jYo6ZmuKaNWPpPzWuhUFXRVenzlXaO4DqsJn0F5aRvNNwujHskHCYXGPkHzKz535KHNI4dqULHJo32bclCPCZ1/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrW-gITNsIIZtx5QsP9sXSBuLXRBUytpGwWve_z5ivTFSXiBzkUxQxM_jYo6ZmuKaNWPpPzWuhUFXRVenzlXaO4DqsJn0F5aRvNNwujHskHCYXGPkHzKz535KHNI4dqULHJo32bclCPCZ1/s320/06.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Real Madrid: </b>Keylor Navas, Daniel Carvajal, Pepe, Sergio Ramos, Marcelo, Luka Modric (Raphael Varane), Casemiro, Toni Kroos, Gareth Bale, Cristiano Ronaldo 3, Karim Benzema (Jese).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Vfl Wolfsburg: </b>Diego Benaglio, Vierinha, Naldo, Dante, Ricardo Rodriguez, Joshua Guilavogui (Bas Dost), Luiz Gustavo, Bruno Henrique (Daniel Caligiuri), Maxi Arnold, Julian Draxler (Max Kruse), Andre Schurrle.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>76,684</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Santiago Bernabeu, 28046 Madrid, Madrid, Spain40.4521419 -3.690385500000047614.9301074 -44.998979500000047 65.9741764 37.618208499999952tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-42686443576723389782016-03-26T21:00:00.000+00:002016-04-07T12:34:08.727+01:00Germany v England. 26/03/16<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>"In England when they say there is no beer in the ground, they mean there is no beer in the ground. Here when they say there is no beer in the ground, they mean there is a 2.5% beer in the ground but we're not counting that."</i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIev5aRdlWkMZpOa0aBfYR-NthyphenhyphenjGpgJr1a4QAvIS2ONQEpBv0sKpKNL_KV9Gvffq4YMBCZaWCAslYxVhDwzWUn9nuDtGU4x8gn7iduDe58fIN3MG7G-xuMxLQbiF6DoGiRrtAt0p2H8lI/s1600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIev5aRdlWkMZpOa0aBfYR-NthyphenhyphenjGpgJr1a4QAvIS2ONQEpBv0sKpKNL_KV9Gvffq4YMBCZaWCAslYxVhDwzWUn9nuDtGU4x8gn7iduDe58fIN3MG7G-xuMxLQbiF6DoGiRrtAt0p2H8lI/s320/21.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Germany 2-3 England. Olympiastadion.<br />
Saturday 26/03/16</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cycle that English football goes through every two years
is a gloriously predictable thing. Not aware of what I am talking about? Well, it goes
something like this:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stage One: Abject performance in a tournament.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stage Two: Talk of needing to build a young side for the
future to gain experience in the next tournament.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stage Three: Several young players emerge and England sail
through qualification, beating several substandard teams.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stage Four: Qualification assured, there is an encouraging
friendly win against one of the best sides in the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stage Five: Just before the next tournament, optimism is
rife as people talk about winning a first trophy since 1966.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then you go back to Stage One and repeat. Ladies and
Gentleman, welcome to Berlin on March 26th 2016 for Stage Four. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was one of the best England trips of recent memory and
it still would be even if there wasn’t such a stirring comeback in a stadium
as iconic as the Olympiastadion. Berlin is simply a fantastic city that lives
and breathes history. It seems like every time you turn a corner you are
greeted by something historic, whether it be a remnant of the wall that divided
the western and eastern worlds, the massive television tower at Alexanderplatz
lavishly built by the DDR or one of the many sites that played a part in the
administration of the Nazi’s.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcWO5a3qxPf4zIo2nFIZfvyulT4NZVnjtyjx26QcwP-hWkf-pAYPvoKZnhwysKrNJOMskNFDmRat5nc2aw34pOh30vcBjP-xSz0t-dPM0Q3enkP_Q0JawV9G8OJrrjn4XsMjktH7qBI8w/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcWO5a3qxPf4zIo2nFIZfvyulT4NZVnjtyjx26QcwP-hWkf-pAYPvoKZnhwysKrNJOMskNFDmRat5nc2aw34pOh30vcBjP-xSz0t-dPM0Q3enkP_Q0JawV9G8OJrrjn4XsMjktH7qBI8w/s320/23.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Berlin Television Tower</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, that means there is plenty of sightseeing to do
which would at least delay arrival in the pub on Friday until dinner time.
Having arrived in Berlin at approximately 4pm, that was around four hours –
FOUR HOURS - in which no beer was taken. Unheard of on a trip to the
Fatherland. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjdLsUvWOxgbrSdjsmLbv9BDum2FX1JcCLNwWKlV1i9lr5ttFGe84hs1rIwAZ92N6N8QcPTBzfpIEgAUaGDhC3_CBKzwxFW39gud4lNDJKN46ckouqAq3HhtF4o6P-ExX5KBQTz5UTAfp/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjdLsUvWOxgbrSdjsmLbv9BDum2FX1JcCLNwWKlV1i9lr5ttFGe84hs1rIwAZ92N6N8QcPTBzfpIEgAUaGDhC3_CBKzwxFW39gud4lNDJKN46ckouqAq3HhtF4o6P-ExX5KBQTz5UTAfp/s320/01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Checkpoint Charlie - where America met Russia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdeY1vFkBn3ZgRP3F8OHsxZJuRt_cqO5AqummgsIurdPq2eKrinyQy8MTrIIsgF8XUMx2Ecv90J3-qkJvKZD4EPVHg7vIKVXtMBp5yDoJLLa86RaQy23y9poVqsSHbf7gLuXqDYn1wbjNf/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdeY1vFkBn3ZgRP3F8OHsxZJuRt_cqO5AqummgsIurdPq2eKrinyQy8MTrIIsgF8XUMx2Ecv90J3-qkJvKZD4EPVHg7vIKVXtMBp5yDoJLLa86RaQy23y9poVqsSHbf7gLuXqDYn1wbjNf/s320/02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No weapons off duty please</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
How can somebody spend FOUR HOURS sightseeing I hear you cry. This is how: Firstly, there was the most famous border crossing of the
Berlin Wall at Checkpoint Charlie where American’s and Russian’s would stare
each other down. Second, the Wall itself which features an excellent exhibition
entitled Topography of Terror which details the rise and fall of Adolf Hitler
and the Nazi Party on the site of the now demolished SS building. That was an
hour alone gone there on a 100 metre strip of fascinating and harrowing wall.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6CzRzinCX9uVsuCSyPNwWTapBUOdzeLxIG22lRWcVkJ-6t_QAjrwmgmNonLSAyAUtZxcr8BVOj2lca4fUZaUI9GY9iyR-crr_fpGeriB3bbHDgQbScbroG9oVrvTr2QeaoegychcF46AA/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6CzRzinCX9uVsuCSyPNwWTapBUOdzeLxIG22lRWcVkJ-6t_QAjrwmgmNonLSAyAUtZxcr8BVOj2lca4fUZaUI9GY9iyR-crr_fpGeriB3bbHDgQbScbroG9oVrvTr2QeaoegychcF46AA/s320/03.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Topography of Terror dealing with the rise of the Nazi's -<br />
Goebbels, Goering and Hitler</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWE9Sx2nEKP-6agY1ovaittlJDng7girzS9mBZJtYZX07jeAON19_hP8ypCmZaJWrEe3_N5F4zrUnmVJ2-Jq0pVVwQKolvuaxH2AKtks3EpvUxJFaKumDyf-3QlxA10GKjVILe0Zl3n3g_/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWE9Sx2nEKP-6agY1ovaittlJDng7girzS9mBZJtYZX07jeAON19_hP8ypCmZaJWrEe3_N5F4zrUnmVJ2-Jq0pVVwQKolvuaxH2AKtks3EpvUxJFaKumDyf-3QlxA10GKjVILe0Zl3n3g_/s320/04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Berlin Wall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Then you have the Fuehrerbunker which must be the most
visited residential carpark in the world,the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, the Brandenburg Gate, the Reichstag
Building and the aforementioned television tower. It’s thirsty work, which is
where The Pub came in. Just when you think The Pub With No Name in Tallinn is the most imaginatively named venue in Europe, Berlin tops it with The
Pub. It is such a German name - straightforward and efficient. And
just like the country we were in, it encouraged beer and plenty of it.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqp_zf3vT59azdG1CBdj_73JK8BBTMFRSVElk1YEzt7i3VjvFiKeTz9to4PiQwyrEqhbDWcfSOchFEmF6lRdjvJiYljuJvZF47HdoH_Z4Vt54h7By70AxpHzY-dVtFNODE4L3p4tV-BNb/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqp_zf3vT59azdG1CBdj_73JK8BBTMFRSVElk1YEzt7i3VjvFiKeTz9to4PiQwyrEqhbDWcfSOchFEmF6lRdjvJiYljuJvZF47HdoH_Z4Vt54h7By70AxpHzY-dVtFNODE4L3p4tV-BNb/s320/05.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Site of the Fueherbunker - now just a car park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDeV6o08TYR8AuTwVLTIAa6c2Y85RNKHg4OirSpOlQHeWjilJ6jUhTQHyb37ybRiSMuU8iHEpth4CPBMuTQdhltn3Z4VTdo2zG1v8aC5TCDuvoh23h_MenOs5bDuAgH1UZBqWKOJ4YKqsi/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDeV6o08TYR8AuTwVLTIAa6c2Y85RNKHg4OirSpOlQHeWjilJ6jUhTQHyb37ybRiSMuU8iHEpth4CPBMuTQdhltn3Z4VTdo2zG1v8aC5TCDuvoh23h_MenOs5bDuAgH1UZBqWKOJ4YKqsi/s320/07.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Reichstag</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The Pub had a simple premise. Each table had its own set of
beer taps from which you poured your own beer. On a big screen, there was a
league table which showed how many litres of beer each table had consumed. The
basic challenge was drink as much as you can as quickly as you can to get to
the top of the league. Table 14 made a slow start to proceedings before coming
from nowhere to look like European qualification was on. And with The Pub about
to shut, we had our own “AGUEEEERRROOOOOOOOOO” moment to steal top spot with a
late necking of several pints. We’re table 14, we’re top of the league!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgymoPxM2EIsdhPvq5c5KrMgggENnio_5gfFLjQhPVfx3BRAfJpW5fWLw3bag0Lgx5_nmda7LQl7gdhZkhbxWRJ06gcWXi3MqEJw1dKMDVVi-ur90czbvH5VtKLSrir54TqR2G8_iCQhBNN/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgymoPxM2EIsdhPvq5c5KrMgggENnio_5gfFLjQhPVfx3BRAfJpW5fWLw3bag0Lgx5_nmda7LQl7gdhZkhbxWRJ06gcWXi3MqEJw1dKMDVVi-ur90czbvH5VtKLSrir54TqR2G8_iCQhBNN/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Table 14 sitting in a play off spot before that late surge to the top</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-Pqq9DQeiBvE2xSu_amm3gQR9NtwB6fB8BPlJoKW-JwxoTM3W3S_NxrcBtHN33zBYcgPwM3xQVpVol_WsRw_saD2SXnIfWzpz6aK5L_19cUE4at6wE0GEBp1ny0N1c6Xk97sANe7smB6/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-Pqq9DQeiBvE2xSu_amm3gQR9NtwB6fB8BPlJoKW-JwxoTM3W3S_NxrcBtHN33zBYcgPwM3xQVpVol_WsRw_saD2SXnIfWzpz6aK5L_19cUE4at6wE0GEBp1ny0N1c6Xk97sANe7smB6/s320/09.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're table 14, we're top of the league!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Game day was no less a subdued affair. There were England
fans all over Berlin in places varying from the Irish Bars (why go to Germany
and drink in a bloody Irish pub?) to the many pop up bars that you stumble
across in squares. It was in one such square that we came across a green beer
that looked like it had been made by sticking Bruce Banner in one of those
smoothie maker contraptions that are all the rage with health freaks, waiting
for him to transform into the Hulk and then blending him down into an alcoholic
liquid.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApIkPlR5nPP1RPK17HYwK5z6C_KfbKrflNnwfryyQo4sfdkD3mLKg5Fp6plk6NnDFGgly8CqpzUd4iRm-ZuOo5S1cnTP0ZDXiMdOHZOn3Ph_60t92Sb8jmmaHtAbovF37lDCEJGvZzfHP/s1600/19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApIkPlR5nPP1RPK17HYwK5z6C_KfbKrflNnwfryyQo4sfdkD3mLKg5Fp6plk6NnDFGgly8CqpzUd4iRm-ZuOo5S1cnTP0ZDXiMdOHZOn3Ph_60t92Sb8jmmaHtAbovF37lDCEJGvZzfHP/s320/19.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Never drink green beer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Indeed it did taste a bit like drinking a gamma ray induced
mutant that had subsequently been turned into a beer. The first few sips were
decent but after that it was akin to drinking nuclear waste. One pint of that
was enough so naturally several more pints were needed to cleanse the pallet
and then it was onto the Olympiastadion.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was plenty to do in Olympischer Platz just outside the
stadium with bars, a strange double decker bus which had Die Mannschaft’s squad
painted on the side and a penalty shootout game whereby lots of young German
children had four attempts to get a ball through one of two holes into a goal.
Given their panache from spot kicks, it will come as little surprise to hear
that most of the children partaking all managed to score with at least one of
their efforts. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilujnm-MEG_cVM3DKwzJg29ydaqloqV1EbqivcygUJ2F9LWNzfgD9Zxty00RYhopQb-EuVGOJlLLc1iNshvQxk1YUSKBMwySDoli11VPRdWvkqqF68lZFZqBy4N7FR3DIcxqh-nO0IjQPu/s1600/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilujnm-MEG_cVM3DKwzJg29ydaqloqV1EbqivcygUJ2F9LWNzfgD9Zxty00RYhopQb-EuVGOJlLLc1iNshvQxk1YUSKBMwySDoli11VPRdWvkqqF68lZFZqBy4N7FR3DIcxqh-nO0IjQPu/s320/22.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">McCarthy and Alastair join Die Mannschaft</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
What will astound, shock and even amaze you is that yours truly having joined the queue also managed to bend one into the bottom corner with his third effort. Target achieved, the fourth penalty was a case of lean back and send it as far away into the crowds as possible which was greeted with lots of “ooooh”, “aaaaaaah” and one excellent cry of “What ze f**k”. With an English man taking it, the gathered masses probably thought it was just another shocking English penalty and not deliberate. But just to confirm that some of us can take penalties, Alastair also slotted one of his efforts into the top corner. We’re both free this summer if you need us, Roy.<br />
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirEbGF0MudNeoxmfCyNBWUYjsUVwQu6lAvUbMJCVAOxo-LC5OdwYsvqlJtkQZkpghjGDg2BDvGNXE5FZ3lzoomr_JcE4wiI0okL6JkSHnFtOrPqJkjdV8wqI52Myp7IQ5f3mRVN3LJv-HC/s1600/20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirEbGF0MudNeoxmfCyNBWUYjsUVwQu6lAvUbMJCVAOxo-LC5OdwYsvqlJtkQZkpghjGDg2BDvGNXE5FZ3lzoomr_JcE4wiI0okL6JkSHnFtOrPqJkjdV8wqI52Myp7IQ5f3mRVN3LJv-HC/s320/20.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"What ze fuck" - McCarthy's penalty disappears into the crowd</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-align: center;">In the late 90s with Berlin reunified, there was quite a
debate about what to do with the Olympiastadion and the legacy it had from, in
particular, the 1936 Olympics when Jesse Owens won four medals in what was
supposed to be a games that demonstrated the dominance of the Aryan race. (Interesting
fact learnt at the Topography of Terror – Hitler did not refuse to celebrate
Owens’ medals, he was asked by the IOC to show neutrality throughout the Games.)
Some favoured tearing it down and building a new stadium from scratch, others
wanted to slowly let it decay while there was also a strong argument for
renovation. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqcZNlmCzgF8oEC2v6H7p3IIxPvmIZ1O8qJ5v_aM9AiqLUONGiGiZ-0hjjzVat2OF20SHLcLMOXnB5_hBmk_46lAuCo2Y7ADx9tTL05IphiikLCBdNPp7aq0TLazvJ6jTgK9bbF1Mx8TJ/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqcZNlmCzgF8oEC2v6H7p3IIxPvmIZ1O8qJ5v_aM9AiqLUONGiGiZ-0hjjzVat2OF20SHLcLMOXnB5_hBmk_46lAuCo2Y7ADx9tTL05IphiikLCBdNPp7aq0TLazvJ6jTgK9bbF1Mx8TJ/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olympiastadion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the end, renovation won the day – all the seats in the stadium
are now grey to remind visitors of its dark past - and for this writer this was clearly the right decision as it is now a superb modern arena with a fantastic
atmosphere. It hasn’t lost its soul, you can feel history oozing out of the
magnificent outer stone walls and great feats are still being recorded there to
this day with the current 100m world record from Usain Bolt set in 2009 at the very top of that list.
It is a glowing vindication of the theory that old stadiums are always the best,
certainly in comparison to the sort of soulless corporate bowl that Wembley has
become since it’s own rebuild.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN4aF0jk6XOLBXeaFp_hfsSxJNDxKwQ-h84EZhKHVPFCqH5DxBguiiRyMw9lnvJQco618EuaDAPA5leUA_37iI7bmgDZYEBSKdGee6y8WA2XfNv9JGbPHgiHMGNG2PwdKEs64EMXq6zmuq/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN4aF0jk6XOLBXeaFp_hfsSxJNDxKwQ-h84EZhKHVPFCqH5DxBguiiRyMw9lnvJQco618EuaDAPA5leUA_37iI7bmgDZYEBSKdGee6y8WA2XfNv9JGbPHgiHMGNG2PwdKEs64EMXq6zmuq/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team Spirit is the name of the game for Die Mannschaft</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9cB5K7NOmJIRxGKFX50c-C6Iriup7rnvCzkxNZs8I4wN3e1mTFmjwzS32hzfEaFqwlWsjyGHKJXiNV0n7LWJRUEO8zCxUneXeo7RzkCELzVN4DuuEhsi_90bHSwhPhJlCNulLK7JPH5U/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9cB5K7NOmJIRxGKFX50c-C6Iriup7rnvCzkxNZs8I4wN3e1mTFmjwzS32hzfEaFqwlWsjyGHKJXiNV0n7LWJRUEO8zCxUneXeo7RzkCELzVN4DuuEhsi_90bHSwhPhJlCNulLK7JPH5U/s320/17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The England section next to the Marathon Arch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You expect England fans to be in fine voice wherever they
travel but a whole day on the beer, a 9pm local time kick off and a packed
away end ensured that this was good even by the Three Lions travelling supports high
standards. One particular highlight was at the end of the game when some genius
decided to play Monty Python’s ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’ over
the tannoy with both away and home fans singing along in unison, no one
wanting to leave.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrGnz4oPP4ajFS5AHns50AJjyY_ieuGx1qFqjExRfE3clQs3O0kWGdPvm-QKV12NyTgVm7TYvK6mS0OFYJrEqK8eHLPsPUNCRBq7rYyAbmI2A0JOSCT6UOD0xt0aHoa5NO9zf1BbEwyGJ1/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrGnz4oPP4ajFS5AHns50AJjyY_ieuGx1qFqjExRfE3clQs3O0kWGdPvm-QKV12NyTgVm7TYvK6mS0OFYJrEqK8eHLPsPUNCRBq7rYyAbmI2A0JOSCT6UOD0xt0aHoa5NO9zf1BbEwyGJ1/s320/16.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olympiastadion as England produce a mighty comeback</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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As for the game, well it was a classic. 2-0 down to goals from Toni Kroos and Mario Gomez, goals from Harry Kane, Jamie Vardy and Eric Dier right at the death secured a huge win. Each goal was greeted with wilder celebrations, more beer going flying as pints were launched in joy and so much noise that by the time Dier struck the third you half expected the Olympic Bell just through the Marathon Arch adjacent to the England section to start ringing as a result.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh8GeHJJIVUrcD5JIjYXBRAzqUS70HMsNqqiL3BeMMroBlIp1kBL-6_m1KgOdCnqVpFjs0hT_uelfG6Po4HU2V0DVg_6-uRnBN9rA_3HPPElbn09A0BvF9_OVwKG1CCzwXWrV2Q02aPXWJ/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh8GeHJJIVUrcD5JIjYXBRAzqUS70HMsNqqiL3BeMMroBlIp1kBL-6_m1KgOdCnqVpFjs0hT_uelfG6Po4HU2V0DVg_6-uRnBN9rA_3HPPElbn09A0BvF9_OVwKG1CCzwXWrV2Q02aPXWJ/s320/18.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3-2 to the England!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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When we did eventually manage to drag ourselves away into
the Berlin night it was time for more beer and to thank this wonderful place
for being an outstanding city before talk somewhat predictably rolled round to
Stage Five of the England cycle. Firstly we had to explain to Lauren who was making her away debut that not every trip - in fact, probably one every 15 years - has that sort of excitement packed into it. But then even us hardened followers of England began to wonder. If we can beat the world champions like that
in their own backyard, could we do it again in Paris on July 10th?</div>
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Don’t worry, we’ll be back to Stage One by then.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCYe4hRTc6L_jVqDUfrWasGvf8F51FgXYPKpMpUuMsAIxhDSo0I_hoUJiWhVT0yH4GG0Z7Bd9WK67knPHsEEdYqVpirmStmfzK2xRYByESQQpvdgbrgm87HwxOTI8NHJLbDFbSDuw_BXI/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCYe4hRTc6L_jVqDUfrWasGvf8F51FgXYPKpMpUuMsAIxhDSo0I_hoUJiWhVT0yH4GG0Z7Bd9WK67knPHsEEdYqVpirmStmfzK2xRYByESQQpvdgbrgm87HwxOTI8NHJLbDFbSDuw_BXI/s320/06.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7uYMbRIZuw6cm88KV2ZMdhbLn-mQ1h_X2MVsAlayISdCZ-p1uCJHTnXaPLanYW5kVdCt-lj087BXY5uei2yhIwz87HDOlNgqdKfd3Og7krxbrEUX-SCQ3tuI0rp0mtz4RP_mtnw5of45/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7uYMbRIZuw6cm88KV2ZMdhbLn-mQ1h_X2MVsAlayISdCZ-p1uCJHTnXaPLanYW5kVdCt-lj087BXY5uei2yhIwz87HDOlNgqdKfd3Og7krxbrEUX-SCQ3tuI0rp0mtz4RP_mtnw5of45/s320/08.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhym4jluAsmln4zWRbk-LGA9w3_BkiJ56bB8esshT_wds0GZRvZPvxFqYKAQbTPrSonkgTwLlgFsQb7cjfwCp-X9NXuDzYOQ2ZMfKevHGPiI8By84CS4WzoivvKBdeuI2o2nMq3yYf0o_/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhym4jluAsmln4zWRbk-LGA9w3_BkiJ56bB8esshT_wds0GZRvZPvxFqYKAQbTPrSonkgTwLlgFsQb7cjfwCp-X9NXuDzYOQ2ZMfKevHGPiI8By84CS4WzoivvKBdeuI2o2nMq3yYf0o_/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmnvPYhkM0ntwzY20f8BCMpSghmxCjyiCZV9FC9k9BqtcRrMrG7dtCvRzVJDE8YxHkhHPnHMqoQ704QPXedzrcjQeNdq3RswjhSrz_NZHwLT2ty1vh6TDMVw68VJY9THypvE9s2aBkKQWs/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmnvPYhkM0ntwzY20f8BCMpSghmxCjyiCZV9FC9k9BqtcRrMrG7dtCvRzVJDE8YxHkhHPnHMqoQ704QPXedzrcjQeNdq3RswjhSrz_NZHwLT2ty1vh6TDMVw68VJY9THypvE9s2aBkKQWs/s1600/12.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaWVXS2EMkUrToD3XD4SXTiO5KX1f_7pUA9CTGTfNJ21_rTrMOnYfkUxR8KHLoCoLF1jBY2LAC2m4v6QNukOS0C6vUezePrZckEAtCzsia95hcL-g0K6BM0tsoIcXLlrmktAbVteIaMOQr/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaWVXS2EMkUrToD3XD4SXTiO5KX1f_7pUA9CTGTfNJ21_rTrMOnYfkUxR8KHLoCoLF1jBY2LAC2m4v6QNukOS0C6vUezePrZckEAtCzsia95hcL-g0K6BM0tsoIcXLlrmktAbVteIaMOQr/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Germany: </b>Manuel Neuer, Emre Can, Antonio Rudiger, Mats Hummels (Jonathan Tah), Jonas Hector, Toni Kroos 1, Sami Khedira, Thomas Muller (Lukas Podolski), Mesut Ozil, Marco Reuss (Andre Schurrle, Mario Gomez 1 (Mario Gotze).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Jack Butland (Fraser Forster), Nathaniel Clyne, Gary Cahill, Chris Smalling, Danny Rose, Eric Dier 1, Jordan Henderson, Adam Lallana (Ross Barkley), Dele Alli, Danny Welbeck (Jamie Vardy 1), Harry Kane 1.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>71,413</span></div>
</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0S Olympiastadion (Berlin), 14053 Berlin, Germany52.5115101 13.24122920000002141.6887801 -7.413067799999979 63.3342401 33.89552620000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-43595728611486811622016-03-24T19:30:00.000+00:002016-04-15T01:03:39.372+01:00SC Victoria Hamburg v Condor Hamburg<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b><i>"I've been watching Victoria for years. Make sure you enjoy the currywurst and beer as it will be a miracle if you enjoy the football."</i></b></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjP_ZvZYsX1G4AuL2kPPP9KrYbVpodtfoIC6z3qD9QELGZGieC3b0npwDI4mBmI-N7RZRiAdiQzn-4iQGhyphenhyphensKht3cbs9jjbOn_VzIqFBSBLjML9HfzxgIlEPZHgtJv4bSP8TQdrK_33onx/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjP_ZvZYsX1G4AuL2kPPP9KrYbVpodtfoIC6z3qD9QELGZGieC3b0npwDI4mBmI-N7RZRiAdiQzn-4iQGhyphenhyphensKht3cbs9jjbOn_VzIqFBSBLjML9HfzxgIlEPZHgtJv4bSP8TQdrK_33onx/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SC Victoria Hamburg 3-3 Condor Hamburg. Stadion Hoheluft.<br />
Thursday 24/03/16</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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No less an authority on debaucherous behaviour than John
Lennon once said “I didn’t grow up in Liverpool, I grew up in Hamburg”. Before
they were famous, The Beatles spent a lot of their time there, largely on the cities
Reeperbahn which is known across Germany as the most sinful mile.</div>
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Sinful is the right way to describe it. It features a red
light district, restaurants, back street bars, live music venues, theatres,
brothels, strip clubs and sex shops. It isn’t hard to see why John, Paul
George, Pete Best and Stuart Sutcliffe – this was pre-Ringo when the Fab Four
were the Not-So-Fab-Five – had such a good time in Hamburg.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwt80tkg2cwlzQHyOvWHp4_E5OpEf6Ahyphenhyphen2jzORKXnsRy6K7ioYp3GqEDU_pmuO0IX_w2ch9fwJprBHQJg-ypbHvqWYV9poXCPa4u6l3iHtRiFTy22KQSo-YDJ4JT85w9f8GcqwIujG9R0/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwt80tkg2cwlzQHyOvWHp4_E5OpEf6Ahyphenhyphen2jzORKXnsRy6K7ioYp3GqEDU_pmuO0IX_w2ch9fwJprBHQJg-ypbHvqWYV9poXCPa4u6l3iHtRiFTy22KQSo-YDJ4JT85w9f8GcqwIujG9R0/s320/01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hamburg Razvan Rathaus. A splendid building</td></tr>
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The city isn’t just good for those looking for pursuits that
would require a three figure number of Hail Marys in the confession booth on
the return home. It is also a cracking place if you are on the lookout for
football and it isn’t just about the cities two big teams, Hamburger SV and St
Pauli. Dive into the fifth tier of the German pyramid and you find Oberliga
Hamburg, a regional league based around Hamburg that feeds into the
Regionalliga Nord.</div>
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That means you can go to Hamburg on virtually any weekend of
the year and be able to find some form of football to watch. And on this
particular Thursday night, that meant a trip to Stadion Hoheluft in a north
eastern suburb of the city to catch a Hamburg derby between Victoria Hamburg
and Condor Hamburg.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYUehxaBDNyZ_3ropwRW0CYhMw0pOb9YlrqF82jYw-eEmI6-R7EoaJelFQsDF9mV-CkoNjUF3b40aiXmr-XkiHOAmw7pOtxf_O7o1JqxOVaq_qs7vpYqZCaVHP6y78-VE9PY_XnAu0DQq/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYUehxaBDNyZ_3ropwRW0CYhMw0pOb9YlrqF82jYw-eEmI6-R7EoaJelFQsDF9mV-CkoNjUF3b40aiXmr-XkiHOAmw7pOtxf_O7o1JqxOVaq_qs7vpYqZCaVHP6y78-VE9PY_XnAu0DQq/s320/04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Herbertstrasse - part of that sinful mile</td></tr>
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Victoria Hamburg have been going since 1895 with little success of note, bouncing between the fourth, fifth and sixth tiers. They do have
some pedigree in the German Cup in the last decade however, having qualified
and faced Bundesliga sides FC Nuremberg, Vfl Wolfsburg and Freiburg as well as
pulling off a massive shock by defeating second tier Rot-Weiss Oberhausen in
2010.</div>
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But there was plenty to do in Hamburg prior to heading off
to Stadion Hoheluft which naturally involved that most sinful mile for “cultural
purposes”. Those cultural purposes were namely visiting St Pauli’s famous home,
Millerntor-Stadion which is handily placed at one end of the Reeperbhan.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHD8jK0MsbOFxW81XEFZ3ghO_5pZ1reUxqj_pqt8cvSZKgp-Qu1_cN399kuDAdMq9_Uq14XpQzLf4eiFaWc-DgdWInbWQznc7daOWwraVhZyWVYtC8d3rMueMJ_9VKg8d-SCBp7WkR8Ls/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHD8jK0MsbOFxW81XEFZ3ghO_5pZ1reUxqj_pqt8cvSZKgp-Qu1_cN399kuDAdMq9_Uq14XpQzLf4eiFaWc-DgdWInbWQznc7daOWwraVhZyWVYtC8d3rMueMJ_9VKg8d-SCBp7WkR8Ls/s320/02.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some wonderful St Pauli grafitti</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgagcuYIFvuErYiceDNlM4JQOUlzWIlrwbHMPXxwTTC3yP_jZOlZgnuhbzrqpXVa1RadH2qBEPcflQCf7LUqsYJKUYLP_Mgjh372KUxNatKjcAjfs4a4fGnHuSLc8n5uSuhbTxXlwNPesEn/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgagcuYIFvuErYiceDNlM4JQOUlzWIlrwbHMPXxwTTC3yP_jZOlZgnuhbzrqpXVa1RadH2qBEPcflQCf7LUqsYJKUYLP_Mgjh372KUxNatKjcAjfs4a4fGnHuSLc8n5uSuhbTxXlwNPesEn/s320/03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Millerntor-Stadion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Last time I visited Millerntor-Stadion was in 2010 when St
Pauli were a Bundesliga side and Wolfsburg were in town. Back in those
not-so-glory days when Steve McClaren was leading Die Wolfe, the Millerntor was
halfway through a redevelopment with two shiny new stands featuring corporate
boxes down one side and behind a goal. In the intervening five and a half
years, the rest of the stadium has been completed and with it has gone the character of the crumbling terraces and old school stands. I am afraid that not even the famous anti-capitalist St Pauli have been able to avoid the lure of the corporate world and the money it brings in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There wasn’t a lot going on at Millerntor on this quiet afternoon
bar the bar being open and so after a hearty pint of Jever it was onto the
Reeperbahn to sample a few (or seven) of the pubs this fantastic area of the
city has to offer. Best of these was Zum Anker where, despite it being just 3pm
on a Thursday a party was in full swing with loud 1980s music blaring out and
women dancing as if it was 11pm on a Saturday.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was too much for me, especially with a huge Hamburg derby to come and so it was off to Stadion Hoheluft. A 40 minute
journey from the Reeperbhan via U-bahn and walk with the obligatory 10 minutes
thrown in for getting lost left me arriving at the gates a matter of minutes
before kick off. Or so I thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOpxG2qRyokFMW5Sfzo1UBgXSAMIc2zco_tLqY7a6YexQAR0j0e-cH-wq5-A-KDRT2RF92sGT5WJCULk9cgER31CSEcPfUieXyxtoK1DWpdYBlhCjgrDuIUqy8Tms7MP400rEVHVf0kR0b/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOpxG2qRyokFMW5Sfzo1UBgXSAMIc2zco_tLqY7a6YexQAR0j0e-cH-wq5-A-KDRT2RF92sGT5WJCULk9cgER31CSEcPfUieXyxtoK1DWpdYBlhCjgrDuIUqy8Tms7MP400rEVHVf0kR0b/s320/06.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stadion Hoheluft and it's old school turnstiles</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVc58QPQGa6TICv04TU_t4noKb85ChA1_W1YkFpZA2wsMOG8xXJJU1BgrcNofR33rKYtzWC2WNQrdX6UyMQgM5ZRDZsPht7cshQka_iWdVs-udfIMsaaJLVtmWXhaZzY1UVhb1A8HNm_gH/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVc58QPQGa6TICv04TU_t4noKb85ChA1_W1YkFpZA2wsMOG8xXJJU1BgrcNofR33rKYtzWC2WNQrdX6UyMQgM5ZRDZsPht7cshQka_iWdVs-udfIMsaaJLVtmWXhaZzY1UVhb1A8HNm_gH/s320/05.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to SC Victoria Hamburg </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="text-align: center;">If the man on the gate thought it was strange that someone was running up to him in an attempt to not miss the start despite there still being over an hour until kick off, then goodness knows what he thought when it turned out this man who was clearly unable to tell the time turned out to be English and wanting to part with an absolute bargain </span>€9 to watch a German fifth tier game.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6V7iKmQZS2bbTO9xe67y-Qer7fEEzqFtQGZOqSoJQsDexd-8PQe6AQsbcdUlO97BtIqQe3GiguRlyY0ubqN8mOWwbCMNSSTf6NHDRnb46kj5IUPzto_C-zIUVQYsDD4F8a-s_a2ExnSbu/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6V7iKmQZS2bbTO9xe67y-Qer7fEEzqFtQGZOqSoJQsDexd-8PQe6AQsbcdUlO97BtIqQe3GiguRlyY0ubqN8mOWwbCMNSSTf6NHDRnb46kj5IUPzto_C-zIUVQYsDD4F8a-s_a2ExnSbu/s320/07.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arriving just the hour before kick off...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXXsgBT03s9J49bnNsXy6rvsPUF6YjBe8mrkdOcS-KTus-fy8xhdICd-sQD6Xy5BqqHsvJnCVA_fYgRAy99yX0X5xzoCN_d3uRxdvIzAToV9w4Wg-sirR7HIajL-7yPeOQF7Z-TCTfZsH/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXXsgBT03s9J49bnNsXy6rvsPUF6YjBe8mrkdOcS-KTus-fy8xhdICd-sQD6Xy5BqqHsvJnCVA_fYgRAy99yX0X5xzoCN_d3uRxdvIzAToV9w4Wg-sirR7HIajL-7yPeOQF7Z-TCTfZsH/s320/08.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standard German urinal fun and games</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The communication breakdown that had made me one of the
first people through the Hoheluft gates did have one upside however and that
came in the shape of the stadium bar. Situated under the main (and only) stand,
it was almost a pub in itself serving food, doing fantastic beer and featuring
those wonderful gents urinals with a miniature football and goal which you can
try and use your urine stream to score with. If the FA are genuinely looking
for a way to mirror the German’s ruthlessness from six yards, then installing a
set of these in every football ground in the country could be the way to go
about it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9lS2d5gVxnzHhtaRnQBMQEs4uWQExZ8sh4ri_zBzluZ8iyLkNQgocVBePAFrjRVNWAWQb_kU8hgiw1UGZ8675bGxX0uQY9U4orWk59eGPOduu6JDEox27CJJmYznCsCVvpe_p1L8Y2Tys/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9lS2d5gVxnzHhtaRnQBMQEs4uWQExZ8sh4ri_zBzluZ8iyLkNQgocVBePAFrjRVNWAWQb_kU8hgiw1UGZ8675bGxX0uQY9U4orWk59eGPOduu6JDEox27CJJmYznCsCVvpe_p1L8Y2Tys/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Victoria ultras gathered in force behind the goal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are far worse places to mistakenly arrive over an hour
before kick-off and after putting away several more pints it was time to join
the 203 other hardy souls on the terraces. Among those 203 were the ultras of
both sides making as much of a racket as groups of approximately 15 people each
can do. The Victoria hard-core support took their position on a small terrace
behind one of the goals while the visiting Condor fans were on another small
standing block next to the large main stand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That main stand was elevated above a flat area and was home
to everyone else in attendance bar a handful of folk who, like me, took up a
tactical placing in front of it that allowed, a) quick and easy access back to
the bar at half time, and b) a handy position next to the food cabin that was
doing a roaring trade in excellent plates of currywurst. Just the two of those
for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJxpnJpDs3rKVulrn0Fno6TyjsJJNUpnU5YCAjrcEu9xueWFaJabq7d1BdLC-QQWno7aTHqVkEKLDPnNYKX2EioU7OB6ocxX33OwfWP3doB3ky5dlVjJ3IN5FO27J5k1LSY_688V9S1DE/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJxpnJpDs3rKVulrn0Fno6TyjsJJNUpnU5YCAjrcEu9xueWFaJabq7d1BdLC-QQWno7aTHqVkEKLDPnNYKX2EioU7OB6ocxX33OwfWP3doB3ky5dlVjJ3IN5FO27J5k1LSY_688V9S1DE/s320/09.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wonderful old school main stand</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHsfCZGxqJ8kbzrnGB2e7tDDkMJACMeKxBGMO3wVLt9kwITFI0Vvc-Y4nEsuSWcyXfX_GRgstJIzQtGMUqaojdtIbLFp7rEMI_XU50d7_M5WDvLxb4mZzmK9TFl7w3ADB6Lvye-fQo8Mj/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHsfCZGxqJ8kbzrnGB2e7tDDkMJACMeKxBGMO3wVLt9kwITFI0Vvc-Y4nEsuSWcyXfX_GRgstJIzQtGMUqaojdtIbLFp7rEMI_XU50d7_M5WDvLxb4mZzmK9TFl7w3ADB6Lvye-fQo8Mj/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Currywurst for <span style="font-size: x-small;">€3? That's going straight in my basket</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Opposite that was another uncovered terrace that ran the length
of pitch but is only ever used when one of the big Bundesliga sides was in
town. And judging from the comments of those around me, it will be some time
before that happens again as despite Victoria sitting pretty in third spot in
the league prior to this game, I was warned by one home supporter clearly
channelling the spirit of Victor Meldrew that the game was likely to be
schiesse as he questioned my sanity at being in attendance when there was
plenty of other things to be getting on with in Hamburg. It wasn’t explicitly
stated, but we both knew it was another reference to that mile of sin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He’d dampened expectations nicely and it certainly looked
like he had summed up his sides ability when after only four minutes that old
maxim of “keep it tight in the opening exchanges” was thrown completely out of
the window as Victoria’s perfectly named Torben Wacker decided to whack someone
in the box, conceding a superb unnecessary penalty and allowing Alexander
Krohn to give Condor the lead.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcfdgHZry3GpPmro9e7LKKvZ4EueTIPAgMxgW_E3NruUWJ8eEw4keo3wRYy_gqSKzKVLJQyEZE7gO4OOYhZTzvj003IrA2GwOI25aoy8Mtch9Yoo7-JuKJ0_Lr7KibnAdwOKKaoYdFQCD/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcfdgHZry3GpPmro9e7LKKvZ4EueTIPAgMxgW_E3NruUWJ8eEw4keo3wRYy_gqSKzKVLJQyEZE7gO4OOYhZTzvj003IrA2GwOI25aoy8Mtch9Yoo7-JuKJ0_Lr7KibnAdwOKKaoYdFQCD/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Victoria giving away a penalty after four minutes was a wonderful<br />
start to proceedings</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Needless to say, this didn’t please the German Mr Meldrew and
neither did his side missing a succession of easy chances. The best thing about
sinking to this level of football is that it is often punctuated by all manner of
hilarious cock ups and after that ridiculous challenge to concede a spot kick
inside five minutes, the bloopers kept coming, particularly from Victoria’s
strikers who didn’t appear as if they’d be able to hit the posterior of a milk
bearing animal with a string instrument.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can imagine the surprise then as after a succession of
chances that you suspect a bedridden grandmother would have done better with,
Victoria not only equalised through Marcos Rabenhorst but then took the lead
through Julian Schmid with only five minutes of the first half remaining. Quite
the turn around and a defining moment if Victoria could get to the break with
the lead intact. Of course they couldn’t as three minutes later Emre Coskun
equalised. “Ich glaube nicht es!!!” cried my new friend.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTBqq1-3QfoIw-lixN-xyevMjVHFFKfpGndtYmfqXJV6X0F2WMRWFbQz5llOp9tYG9D0F_BiJvGJbwXHXbp6yknHbWkUTkJIDeqq0DJWDpAaPUHdUQgafDia-ypOrIdRIpqlACnpILhh0z/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTBqq1-3QfoIw-lixN-xyevMjVHFFKfpGndtYmfqXJV6X0F2WMRWFbQz5llOp9tYG9D0F_BiJvGJbwXHXbp6yknHbWkUTkJIDeqq0DJWDpAaPUHdUQgafDia-ypOrIdRIpqlACnpILhh0z/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excellent use of garden furniture going on in the home dugout</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
German Meldrew may have been right in his assessment of the
standard but he was certainly wide of the mark when it came to the entertainment
levels on offer. But surely the second half couldn’t match the breath-taking
pace of the first? Condor clearly felt it could as they took the mantra of “anything
Victoria can do, we can do better” and subsequently gave away a ludicrous
penalty of their own, this one inside three minutes of the restart thanks to
the antics of Benjamin Kruk in goal. Marcel Rodrigues converted for the home
side.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not to be outdone with their fine efforts of throwing away a
lead within three minutes of taking it in the first half, Victoria went one
better this time as they allowed Condor to draw level within 90 seconds as
Ibrahim Ozalp netted the sixth and final goal of a ridiculously enjoyable
game.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There could and should have been more goals but again both
sides finishing let them down but this was a wonderful advert for Oberliga
Hamburg and the only way to celebrate and calm the nerves after an end-to-end
encounter was by naturally heading back to the sanctuary of the bar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAPnqMJX_TiZAjlijTuze0o0ogShkGocqniGpape-MZP9l_MEKjkyon2FGN7OgNiJALRNEcDUogBcd1IG8OlNykvDzfwSVKtxMYkN9D2zfh37CfwXRLLRef0MorTcbdMyS_F-6mgJYROr/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAPnqMJX_TiZAjlijTuze0o0ogShkGocqniGpape-MZP9l_MEKjkyon2FGN7OgNiJALRNEcDUogBcd1IG8OlNykvDzfwSVKtxMYkN9D2zfh37CfwXRLLRef0MorTcbdMyS_F-6mgJYROr/s320/16.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post game shot anyone?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ey4BfBV1I5NX5qGrs1uFEPDtUgIB3XPP9VZLjGrDUZXu07CLYYY0MXEBD68pZI6c_MXE2QvAi6EiaeeH1LS0zSqdHgOAars5HUBXS8qcoQRQZr6IhyOujdgUHhZdHWyXGfZyraArdwZy/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ey4BfBV1I5NX5qGrs1uFEPDtUgIB3XPP9VZLjGrDUZXu07CLYYY0MXEBD68pZI6c_MXE2QvAi6EiaeeH1LS0zSqdHgOAars5HUBXS8qcoQRQZr6IhyOujdgUHhZdHWyXGfZyraArdwZy/s320/17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mystical ceramic bull</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here, the party was kicking up a notch with trays of shots
going round and a strange green ceramic bull in full Victoria kit sat on the bar which nobody was able
to suitably explain the purpose of. Had the option existed, I could have
happily stayed at Stadion Hoheluft all evening talking football and taking
selfies with the locals but unfortunately at some point the bar had to shut with
McCarthy as one of the last people to crawl out of it and into the Hamburg
night, significantly lighter in wallet but happy to have donated a large number
of euros to such a superb club.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfblaktv7Df_7wJOLrsUdv3rbE20wRnHz0XvMRqnwySfV8cw3nRAXroBySNRYjUn93kJ2BWGmlAdeQ_pMIndAK8-lhOl1b86LvxnWa4ZWUG2-0qMN_kgsV-SAUTFH5V9JtzT_Z0SsARTWI/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfblaktv7Df_7wJOLrsUdv3rbE20wRnHz0XvMRqnwySfV8cw3nRAXroBySNRYjUn93kJ2BWGmlAdeQ_pMIndAK8-lhOl1b86LvxnWa4ZWUG2-0qMN_kgsV-SAUTFH5V9JtzT_Z0SsARTWI/s320/18.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new Victoria Hamburg friend poses for his first ever selfie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5y5_axhzGxJs17il4BuL3r5EjJFrSP1FBq549IPJIL-RvsVELeqZ_XBfAnxfstaVuNecp-8n8yHQsp5ZjJjYviAUU2X35aBGSolHHgVC_0qKvyy6zuuV5MUiNyhmzsEK7K87vSj9xdWtd/s1600/19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5y5_axhzGxJs17il4BuL3r5EjJFrSP1FBq549IPJIL-RvsVELeqZ_XBfAnxfstaVuNecp-8n8yHQsp5ZjJjYviAUU2X35aBGSolHHgVC_0qKvyy6zuuV5MUiNyhmzsEK7K87vSj9xdWtd/s320/19.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A "you've got a Jogi Loew jumper on" selfie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And where did that Hamburg night take me? Back to the
Reeperbahn of course and that is I am afraid to say where the brilliant story
of Victoria Hamburg versus Condor Hamburg must come to an end. For legal
reasons, I am unable to report on what happened back on the Beatles favourite
street.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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All I can say about the nights activities is this: Hail Mary. Hail
Mary...Hail Mary...Hail Mary...<span style="font-size: x-small;">Hail Mary...Hail Mary...Hail Mary...Hail Mary...</span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Hail
Mary...Hail Mary...Hail Mary...Hail Mary….</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>SC Victoria Hambug:</b> Tobias Grubba, Tarek Abdalla, Marcel Rodrigues 1, Vincent Boock, Jan-Ove Edeling (Mats Neumann), Torben Wacker, Matthias Ribeau (Luis Hacker), Len Stromer, Julian Schmid 1 (Kevin Zschimmer), Benik Carolus, Marcus Rabenhorst 1</span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Condor Hamburg: </b>Benjamin Kruk, Adam Hamdan, Alexander Krohn 1, Isaak Hoeling, Emre Coskun 1, Kevin Mellmann (Lars Ludemann), Mike Theis, Till Daudert, Max Anders, Ibrahim Ozalp 1, Stefan Klaes (Julian Kunkel).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>203</span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Stadion Hoheluft, Hamburg53.587206447678 9.968504905700683653.584849947678 9.9634624057006835 53.589562947678 9.9735474057006837tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-11880996920616798102016-02-17T19:45:00.000+00:002016-02-23T22:38:19.372+00:00Gent v Vfl Wolfsburg. 17/02/16<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<b><i>"Ghent has the world’s most vegetarian restaurants per head.
Thank Christ we'll be too busy drinking to eat anything"</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRgedy8po7qz_ZaO2M-XAA9Ku6PaTKjtMAyNNE9I7bBkc8uGdBjKADSh9F_B_aMimPOkaUyriKUrmCWj6IYTz0LvN-mKG3yWqj5NOY3lTzeX_o3to-2YavpkVmV25EHwPVnxBD_hentBwY/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRgedy8po7qz_ZaO2M-XAA9Ku6PaTKjtMAyNNE9I7bBkc8uGdBjKADSh9F_B_aMimPOkaUyriKUrmCWj6IYTz0LvN-mKG3yWqj5NOY3lTzeX_o3to-2YavpkVmV25EHwPVnxBD_hentBwY/s320/11.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gent 2-3 Vfl Wolfsburg. Ghelamco Arena.<br />
Wednesday 17/02/16</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
If your team reaches the Champions League
knockout stages for the first time in their history and you know you have very
little chance of lifting the trophy come the end of the season, then perceived
wisdom suggests you should want to draw one of the big boys and go out with a bang and a trip to one of Europe's Cathedrals of football.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Well sod that. With all due respect to
those at Camp Nou, the Bernabeu or Juventus Stadium, the place we wanted
Wolfsburg to be sent to was Ghelamco Arena, home of the Belgian champions and
another side losing their Champions League last 16 virginity, Gent.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
The reason behind shunning the big boys in
favour of the tournaments smallest remaining club was very simple. A well
respected and experienced traveller had described the city of Ghent to us as
"Bruges but on a smaller scale, cheaper and with a lot less
tourists". Having experienced Bruges on last years Belgian themed football
trip, that basically meant an absolute plethora of pubs to visit all serving
beers that would blow your head off - metaphorically speaking of course.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQcIliErTO0_0fS0U_gcQfWEziwRPCDbr5wTPhO0EJdT-_L9z76dvA1PDKK8-Ahc8k0VPdCH6LB35WnXu6DnljfPcHgb_mbGjNq5NPg_7-B5m7KySOLFqIdXxjYiFLfGxO723SaKzQMx8/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQcIliErTO0_0fS0U_gcQfWEziwRPCDbr5wTPhO0EJdT-_L9z76dvA1PDKK8-Ahc8k0VPdCH6LB35WnXu6DnljfPcHgb_mbGjNq5NPg_7-B5m7KySOLFqIdXxjYiFLfGxO723SaKzQMx8/s320/04.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tongerlo - only 6.5%</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Thankfully, the footballing Gods came
together to decree that Wolfsburg would visit Gent and so we found ourselves
emailing our old mate, Holger Ballwanz. A word on Holger here if I may diverge
- and I may, it is my blog after all. Holger played nearly 200 times for
Wolfsburg and is now what is effectively a Fan Liason Officer. He looks after
the supporters and for reason that very few people would be able to fathom
other than a highly paid psychiatrist, we are among those supporters. It is
obviously difficult for us to sort out tickets for ourselves living 600 odd
miles away but Holger without fail always manages to get them on our behalf.
It's like somebody in Germany getting in contact with a retired Ledley King at
Spurs and him sorting out tickets for them whenever they can make a game. Can you ever imagine that happening in the profit and corporate driven world of the
Premier League? No, and that is why German football is superior.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Knowing full well the damage that Belgian
beer has reeked on the broken bodies and minds of greater men on previous
visits, the wise decision was taken to embark on just the three beers on the
Eurostar over, with one following while we awaited a connection at Brussels.
The Eurostar is a glorious way to travel, even more so when you can go onwards to anywhere in Belgium with your ticket and we took full advantage of
that to arrive in Ghent at around 3pm.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWc9rZSo50ev03Z7Jvm8YLdsHSrkafBvKcme-mbXYVeAauDriLpU6tceQwwr6j8b6AtG2IIfGFavj-8gVN2eyM0_0e_P2Xq9hgz_LlmIYqz3EDkNGdF3r6VhbSREme518K7IHj2UxkSnvo/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWc9rZSo50ev03Z7Jvm8YLdsHSrkafBvKcme-mbXYVeAauDriLpU6tceQwwr6j8b6AtG2IIfGFavj-8gVN2eyM0_0e_P2Xq9hgz_LlmIYqz3EDkNGdF3r6VhbSREme518K7IHj2UxkSnvo/s320/01.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saint Nickolas Church</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
That left the best part of six hours until kick off,
plenty of time to "explore". That exploration took us to see Saint
Nickolas Church and have a wander around the cobbled streets which confirmed
one aspect of the Bruges comparison. But how would Ghent do in the beer stakes
against it's northern cousin? Well, the 10 bars we visited over the course
of the evening suggests pretty well.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Wolfsburg had arranged for their
supporters to meet in Dulle Griet before the game which we duly did for a few
"weak" beers of only 8%. That loosened up the tongue for when the
inevitable questions came as we began chatting to Die Wolfe's travelling army
about why we supported their club with the answer of "Schteve
McClaren" resulting in the normal reaction of bemusement and the sort of
look you tend to reserve for people who you suspect should be locked up in a
secure mental facility.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM6B1Fg4gy-1_r_bKZxkjFq9tslcU0tkQQ77gJsDDphSrTblLdiz_rfsMSAju00FaXYjGpnBhOQpdes4md9NXft4fBkKph3KgcCzL5QalwUh64AJSPWr1u2O7UuzW_1d9Ah6pPFq1uvx9D/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM6B1Fg4gy-1_r_bKZxkjFq9tslcU0tkQQ77gJsDDphSrTblLdiz_rfsMSAju00FaXYjGpnBhOQpdes4md9NXft4fBkKph3KgcCzL5QalwUh64AJSPWr1u2O7UuzW_1d9Ah6pPFq1uvx9D/s320/02.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wolfsburg fans enjoying the beer in Dulle Griet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrh45JqZMNhq_4WwEemEi-0LHIhp1-qx4pUYs8a1_FyBsG0dk94D74Alq5lHPLtwieOcxtn9VaCInnmLh1SrilGqtodnlnJv6QBIACJhE-IxW31KnL3geZWzDepsvBLj4yHKvCvYvZYfWt/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrh45JqZMNhq_4WwEemEi-0LHIhp1-qx4pUYs8a1_FyBsG0dk94D74Alq5lHPLtwieOcxtn9VaCInnmLh1SrilGqtodnlnJv6QBIACJhE-IxW31KnL3geZWzDepsvBLj4yHKvCvYvZYfWt/s320/03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"So, why do you support Wolfsburg?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Mental we may be, but this was our third
away game out of four on the Champions League tour with Wolfsburg and we were
soon being asked if we were joining the fans on the shuttle bus for the journey
to the ground. No was the answer - it would be leaving two hours before kick
off and we had to visit plenty more pubs. Purely for research purposes in our
quest to compare the city to Bruges, you understand.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
And so we left our fellow Wolfsburg fans
and headed off on this mission of great importance. It took us to Primus, The
Cover, Trefpunt, Gloria and Bar des Amis before the game. Trefpunt and Gloria
were the stand out pubs of these, the former for having a man with the greatest
waxed moustache I have ever seen in my life and the latter for being an
underground bar that appeared to have been hollowed out of a cave and was lit
with what seemed to be only candles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkq0rFmLCaVfDf-35o9fi4skCXwHuTKfN4t7wEvhDuMRLRpVmCs4SH_Bzbc5CBtxICvSdG2WfvXSuipzXDqs666mUQAQw-BE89ZxIrcryf1irV_yPWTsPUXBzB9UCrwLvn5dG9gEjPRZIH/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkq0rFmLCaVfDf-35o9fi4skCXwHuTKfN4t7wEvhDuMRLRpVmCs4SH_Bzbc5CBtxICvSdG2WfvXSuipzXDqs666mUQAQw-BE89ZxIrcryf1irV_yPWTsPUXBzB9UCrwLvn5dG9gEjPRZIH/s320/07.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piers enjoys his beer in a cave</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Like a good batsman building his innings,
we'd got our eye in with the 8% stuff and by the time we were in the taxi
heading to Ghelmaco Arena we'd moved through the gears to hit the 14% beer.
This proved to be a dangerous move in terms of bladder control as the stadium was some way out of the city.
Ghelmaco Arena was only opened in 2013, which Wikipedia reliably informs me makes
it the first new stadium to open in Belgium since 1974.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ZtaBwfo6toPKxVXq1FCjzsLJIGe_D6zTKYVwzU5VSAuCnLZFudleyzazx8EoAaXCrYgFT-hbSe_i-Vw-tfEmRutjpIRqXoVTLalQi1sGq_E-4I7_aepP9Gj3goZihgySegXB0jpa0bMP/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ZtaBwfo6toPKxVXq1FCjzsLJIGe_D6zTKYVwzU5VSAuCnLZFudleyzazx8EoAaXCrYgFT-hbSe_i-Vw-tfEmRutjpIRqXoVTLalQi1sGq_E-4I7_aepP9Gj3goZihgySegXB0jpa0bMP/s320/09.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ghelamco Arena - or a shopping centre?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
From the outside, it looked more like a
shopping centre, very square and lit up in the brilliant bright blue colours
of Gent - although on this evening, the wonderfully nicknamed Buffalos played in a stunning electric yellow. It's on the small side, holding just 20,000 which means tickets are
hard to come by for a lot of games. But that smallness and intimacy leads to an
excellent atmosphere which is no doubt helped by the fact that the stands are
steep, keeping the noise in and the fans close to the pitch. It also clearly
has the corporate fan in mind, with the two stands along the sides of the pitch
featuring a whole host of executive box facilities as well as some giant
windows that jutted out over the back couple of rows of seats.</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVhWaC6pA9UZ6k3zQAyfruQKMG2xTkS47qyH-SlghpYINaHialhW7tZ57AwZ7jpYLchpFRomMnQ2kv6YkKaIYYMq_L1V62ytRlf6rTG_eApnBA_BX2oguS7f_UpgLzCid_rpvg4biBz1C/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVhWaC6pA9UZ6k3zQAyfruQKMG2xTkS47qyH-SlghpYINaHialhW7tZ57AwZ7jpYLchpFRomMnQ2kv6YkKaIYYMq_L1V62ytRlf6rTG_eApnBA_BX2oguS7f_UpgLzCid_rpvg4biBz1C/s320/10.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big window</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3wXSzR7I6y7BzXyeFXUkpXJCw94izVoXGWXBQCe_O9Z8PKoknNZz1Ml4BBrHDZJzt_9FFPTZE-8lFACBl2fjQJp7S9Z40zBt-S5zUtGJsAm86xA0LJivc7hz4nh5D3PwCYrOnWvV7zR9/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3wXSzR7I6y7BzXyeFXUkpXJCw94izVoXGWXBQCe_O9Z8PKoknNZz1Ml4BBrHDZJzt_9FFPTZE-8lFACBl2fjQJp7S9Z40zBt-S5zUtGJsAm86xA0LJivc7hz4nh5D3PwCYrOnWvV7zR9/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ghelamco Arena in all her glory</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
The Wolfsburg support were kept in one
corner and had plenty to cheer, thanks partly to the Belgian champions bizarre
formation. Now despite being a Sunday League title winning manager, I'm not
going to claim to be Gary Neville with an iPad at the best of times, let alone
after 10 pints of Belgian beer. But Gent seemed to be in a rather odd 3-1-3-1-2
set up which needless to say was a total disaster for 80 minutes. They were
also up against Julian Draxler who was playing like a man possessed. The German
international scored one right on the stroke of half time and then added a
second ten minutes after the restart. Max Kruse added the third after which Wolfsburg
hit the bar. It could have been a massacre but somehow Gent will go to Germany
for the second leg still in the tie as the Wolfsburg defenced parted like the
proverbial red sea in the last ten minutes to allow Sven Kums and Kalifa
Coulibaly to pull two back with the game finishing 3-2.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very intimiate and impressive stadium</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Lady luck was with us again as we exited
the Ghelmaco as we managed to jump straight in a taxi along with Rob, another bloke we discovered who travels out from England to support Wolfsburg, with the instruction to
the driver of "take us where the nightlife is." The man absolutely
delivered on this front, dropping us in a student area packed with bars and we
soon found one local chap who was happy to take us on yet another pub crawl to
toast the Wolfsburg win which saw us add Rock Circus, Salamander and Delirium
to the pubs list.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ghent has the most vegetarian restaurants
per head of any city in the world which meant we’d avoided eating all day and
so you can only imagine the relief when the bar lady in Salamader took pity on
our food plight and presented us with a complimentary sausage. This is not a euphemism,
but one genuine meat sausage on a plate. "Don't have too much mustard, it
is very hot," was the friendly warning which was needless to say ignored -
the result being that the mustard was nearly so hot as to make me sick. Still,
having the roof of your mouth burnt off is better than eating something veggie.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More beer please captain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
We eventually stumbled back to the hotel
at 3am, waking up the next morning in a world of too-much-strong-Belgian-beer
related trouble as confidently predicted some 12 hours previously. But the ultimate conclusion was that our learned friend had actually got it wrong in his description of Ghent. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
Ghent was like Bruges, but on a smaller
scale, cheaper and with less tourists - and slightly better. High praise
indeed.<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxtwtgvOTttWWRJwonhw_Rg_HJRZsIWOro9BVAtdpVGsCIdLapiI3suvygzUkl0jkLl23Bq_NHkReXqR_WoOLCWIWPA4vOQpuajhd13fCpcoS2NZAaEjJbG3C2vhg1BzC-YmTtGBQJ1lMq/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxtwtgvOTttWWRJwonhw_Rg_HJRZsIWOro9BVAtdpVGsCIdLapiI3suvygzUkl0jkLl23Bq_NHkReXqR_WoOLCWIWPA4vOQpuajhd13fCpcoS2NZAaEjJbG3C2vhg1BzC-YmTtGBQJ1lMq/s320/05.jpg" width="176" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b style="font-size: small;">Gent: </b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Matz Sels, Lasse Neilsen, Stefan Mitrovic, Nana Asare, Thomas Foket, Renato Neto, Sven Kums 1, Brecht Dejaegere, Danijel Milicevic (Kenny Saief), Laurent Depoirte (Kalifa Coulibaly 1), Moses Daddy Simon (Thomas Matton).</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Vfl Wolfsburg: </b>Koen Casteels, Sebastian Jung (Andre Schurrle), Robin Knoche, Dante, Ricardo Rodriguez, Luzi Gustavo, Maxi Arnold, Vieirinha (Marcel Shafer), Christian Trasch, Julian Draxler 2, Max Kruse 1 (Leandro Putaro).</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>19,978</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Ghelamco Arena, Ghent51.016022559222428 3.733248710632324251.014774059222425 3.7307272106323244 51.017271059222431 3.7357702106323241tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-28532159438637042292015-11-03T20:45:00.000+00:002015-11-18T19:10:24.272+00:00PSV Eindhoven v Vfl Wolfsburg. 03/11/15<div>
<b><i>"If Wolfsburg are going to lose this game then I hope it is 9-0 so we get to hear Zombie Nation eight more times."</i></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PSV Eindhoven 2-0 Vfl Wolfsburg. Philips Stadion.<br />
Tuesday 03/11/15</td></tr>
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<div>
It sounds like a dream inspired by a combination of the strongest gouda and edam imaginable - a street that features 50 different bars with names such as Sgt Peppers and the Tipsy Duck. But this is no dream, no figment of the imagination like Diagon Alley (sorry kids, Harry Potter isn't real). It exists and is alive and well in Eindhoven, the latest destination in the Vfl Wolfsburg 2015-16 Champions League tour.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDNSnGuZpoqN0RdGBukHkJjAYt21uImHbzvQWi5NAtQfBCEQwO8kt-u2TD9ClbvJe_7ivmjz6yCfT7gRVTjRVphPvPTYfXoiggPB10QOMllQSNZjh1BYDM4ecfwSgIzy9SgdwWVjxCwID/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDNSnGuZpoqN0RdGBukHkJjAYt21uImHbzvQWi5NAtQfBCEQwO8kt-u2TD9ClbvJe_7ivmjz6yCfT7gRVTjRVphPvPTYfXoiggPB10QOMllQSNZjh1BYDM4ecfwSgIzy9SgdwWVjxCwID/s320/14.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Interesting light effects around the cathedral</td></tr>
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<div>
It's name is Stratumseind and it isn't particularly long. It stretches just the 200 odd metres from the imposing figure of St Catherine's Cathedral down to the River Dommel but in that space it has packed in a plethora of licensed venues varying from nice cafes to traditional English pubs to smokey venues that pump out European dance music into the early hours. Yes, we're talking 2 Unlimited.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmcxFsvoqU0d8g34Wqc-_sIs-rx_iNe3WLBcfvw34Ouvy5AeJFUw904_DywsLogCAohSPH7UIJC0Mhj9eF_xadsKaAqgxc9h8ZIS5OAJyt13LWvbu_o0imIThErN7P7Ufc8tY0coPNGEf/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmcxFsvoqU0d8g34Wqc-_sIs-rx_iNe3WLBcfvw34Ouvy5AeJFUw904_DywsLogCAohSPH7UIJC0Mhj9eF_xadsKaAqgxc9h8ZIS5OAJyt13LWvbu_o0imIThErN7P7Ufc8tY0coPNGEf/s320/01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Train beers from Amsterdam to wonderful Eindhoven</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Two away games into Wolfsburg's first Champions League campaign since 2009 and only the second ever in the cubs history, finding gems like Stratumseind has represented one of the few highlights of going away with Die Wolfe so far. The home form for Dieter Hecking's men has been good - two games, two victories over both their opponents here PSV Eindhoven and CSKA Moscow. Away from home, not so good as they arrived in the Netherlands having lost their only game on the road against Manchester United at the end of September.</div>
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That hadn't stopped several hundred Wolfsburg fans making the four hour trip via coach and train while we'd headed there by flying into Amsterdam and then catching a 90 minute train. Complete with train beers, of course.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Efobi6kFEOh7bYWYBF4UWeqNGQo1e7TaD0B-VKmp_7grPsaTJWkgTmhzcyeTOEQXcHyDBr3Zhld78ZNBNoKpZdcRBmGBH9PK5W8H0cbLMNVorFw1tBtRLMj3s5ahieDZrUico5qhIbwa/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Efobi6kFEOh7bYWYBF4UWeqNGQo1e7TaD0B-VKmp_7grPsaTJWkgTmhzcyeTOEQXcHyDBr3Zhld78ZNBNoKpZdcRBmGBH9PK5W8H0cbLMNVorFw1tBtRLMj3s5ahieDZrUico5qhIbwa/s320/02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hertog Jan - fantastic Dutch beer</td></tr>
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<div>
It wasn't just Strastumseind that highlighted the best of Eindhoven's drinking holes. Eindhoven is after all a big university city with plenty of places for students to go and that meant we got through our fair share of beer - into the double figures of pints, gulp - before kick off at the Philips Stadion.</div>
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<div>
And the Philips earned Eindhoven another tick in the box, being one of those all too rare a breed of grounds that is bang in the city centre. Being little more than a ten minute walk from Stratumseind we joined a friendly PSV fan who not only showed us the way but then bought us a beer from the stands that had been handily set up around the stadium. "F**k UEFA, if they don't let us drink in there we drink out here". Couldn't agree more, mate.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUiYNHNmC3Zoh-lVtwDOljnx5rl7bc360fey3bODljFB1ajJOUqa81Co5dm6YJ64HZO2_Pnn5Cvj1bN1GEHIvbZcVEFeVfkPJM-wfAUvPFXhubAkG11vDBBja7ZRjNe1iEnaE11qe8XlB/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUiYNHNmC3Zoh-lVtwDOljnx5rl7bc360fey3bODljFB1ajJOUqa81Co5dm6YJ64HZO2_Pnn5Cvj1bN1GEHIvbZcVEFeVfkPJM-wfAUvPFXhubAkG11vDBBja7ZRjNe1iEnaE11qe8XlB/s320/04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rumble, Rboert, our new PSV friend and McCarthy "f**king Uefa" <br />
with some beer outside the Stadion</td></tr>
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<div>
The Wolfsburg support was kept high in one corner of the stadium with a pretty poor view of the action. The ground itself appeared excellent from up in the Gods with the steep stands packed with beered up PSV fans and a rocking atmosphere that was no doubt helped by the home sides dominance of the game which they went onto win 2-0.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1bpxC_nU58Xomlx7GAB8XHGOOvbcB_n-zmbHocKV3yOCAE4oZVX4qprj4NJFxHkjYNumZILrUpLAyKsvl4oVJhqXVRQH9HNNAzwP4zTsKmiu9MgcHpZhxyDoxammpKxMDZh6tRwYfIlb/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1bpxC_nU58Xomlx7GAB8XHGOOvbcB_n-zmbHocKV3yOCAE4oZVX4qprj4NJFxHkjYNumZILrUpLAyKsvl4oVJhqXVRQH9HNNAzwP4zTsKmiu9MgcHpZhxyDoxammpKxMDZh6tRwYfIlb/s320/06.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Philips Stadion - cracking view from the away end</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdc1qFHJIH8XuXfjOXFMCS0Zo7fdzLCoKTQCHF9ZvtWlyZKQZbA8GoZtASY3MndeVXcFLWmPh1K_0WkLzOxzJgQa-w2-Dd0jIBTiUGplv_2HzdSZ3mBiNxYdRhEkLgs3kpRYnli5NVlPv/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdc1qFHJIH8XuXfjOXFMCS0Zo7fdzLCoKTQCHF9ZvtWlyZKQZbA8GoZtASY3MndeVXcFLWmPh1K_0WkLzOxzJgQa-w2-Dd0jIBTiUGplv_2HzdSZ3mBiNxYdRhEkLgs3kpRYnli5NVlPv/s320/05.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Philips Stadion toilets - or were they showers?</td></tr>
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<div>
Jurgen Locadia and Luuk De Jong were the goalscorers as PSV kept this wide open group even more wide open than it was before kick off. The 1990s dance music wasn't restricted to the pre and post game partying either, both PSV goals and the traditional end of game lap of honour being carried out to the brilliant tones of Zombie Nation and Kenkraft 400 which was incidentally one of Rumble's top remixes back in his days of being a London DJ. Could this place get any better?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxOH_2YY-3xSTPGftLr6k3VVvfl_OL__YDI2VaoWlLMRXTV8Qc9WHYGBM-e467VZm9WPi7Pm7lHA1J-ZPv_o6o28RnNVQTkqjkUF66nLwILh1jGWr58B8SM3sLBmhUaGOjE6WaycUXqkc-/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxOH_2YY-3xSTPGftLr6k3VVvfl_OL__YDI2VaoWlLMRXTV8Qc9WHYGBM-e467VZm9WPi7Pm7lHA1J-ZPv_o6o28RnNVQTkqjkUF66nLwILh1jGWr58B8SM3sLBmhUaGOjE6WaycUXqkc-/s320/09.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An alternative view - should have started the game there</td></tr>
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Well, yes it could. All those Wolfsburg fans not traveling back on the coach that evening - and there were quite a few madmen planning on staying up all night to catch the 6am train home - were ushered back into the ground and walked around the perimeter track to get out. Which gave a much better perspective of what a fantastic ground the Philips Stadion was if you weren't penned into a corner up in the clouds.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exiting the ground via the pitch was a new one...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The imposing stands of the Philips Stadion</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pubs giving out free emergency services<br />helmets - tick</td></tr>
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Post-game entertainment? Well that was pubs giving out free firemen and police helmets and fireworks and flares galore going off. Rumble kept up his fine record of falling asleep in foreign night clubs. And I woke up the next morning in the hotel covered in stolen butter. All on Stratumseind of course, the greatest street in the world. Unofficially.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>PSV Eindhoven: </b>Jeroen Zot, Joshua Brenet, Santiago Arias, Jeffrey Bruma, Hector Moreno, Jose Andres Guardado, Davy Propper, Adam Maher (Jorrit Hendrix), Luciano Narsingh (Gaston Pereiro), Luuk De Jong 1, Jurgen Locadia 1 (Nicolas Isimat-Mirin).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Vfl Wolfsburg: </b>Diego Benaglio, Sebastian Jung, Ricardo Rodriguez, Timm Klose, Naldo, Luiz Gustavo, Daniel Caligiuri, Joshua Guilavogui (Julian Draxler), Andre Schurrle (Vieirinha), Max Arnold, Bas Dost (Nicklas Bendtner).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>35,000</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Eindhoven, Philips Stadion, 5616 Eindhoven, Netherlands51.441964 5.469102000000020851.4144015 5.4287615000000207 51.4695265 5.5094425000000209tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-45382113103564740582015-09-06T17:00:00.000+01:002015-09-11T11:50:18.961+01:00San Marino v England. 06/09/15<b><i>"If I ever have a child I'm going to fly my partner to San Marino to give birth purely so my kid can become an international footballer"</i></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">San Marino 0-6 England. Stadio Olimpico.<br />
Saturday 06/09/15.</td></tr>
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San Marino. Is there a more pointless international team on the planet? They have one win to their name - a 1-0 friendly victory over Lichtenstein in a friendly in 2004 - and have spent pretty much their whole existence propping up the FIFA World Rankings. The place itself has a population of 32,576, meaning that you could fit the entire principalities residents into Wembley nearly three times over. And from that, you need to find at least 11 people who are vageuly talented at playing football. Poor sods.<br />
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All of that may make you wonder, what is the point in going to San Marino to watch a game? Surely you could find an equivalent standard at say, Sussex Sunday League level and not have to pay for flights or a match ticket. Just be wary of the dog excrement around the side of the pitch and the vomit left by the hungover left back.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birra Moretti - and plenty of it</td></tr>
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But that defies the point. Italy is a fantastic country. Anywhere that brings you out a plate of sandwiches as a complimentary accompaniment to a pint is going to be. And San Marino itself is also beautiful if slightly boring. No readers, this is a trip well worth making.<br />
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We started in Pisa which has so much more to offer than just a poorly constructed tower. Really, you have to admire the carefree attitude that epitomises Italian life. If The Shard had have been built and then started leaning at an alarming angle, there would be enquiries, lawsuits and it would probably be torn down and rebuilt. But the Italians? "Ah well, the Tower of Pisa leans a bit, not a lot we can do now, hey maybe we can even turn it into a tourist attraction." One that shouldn't be climbed if you've had a couple of pints, it must be said.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bloody cowboy builders</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the top of the Leaning Tower. Not advisable to<br />
climb after a few pints</td></tr>
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So what else was there? Well, pizza to start with. The sort of pizza that was so good it turned me into one of those people who photograph their food. And then there was beer and plenty of it. Small squares off the main road - seemingly, the cities only main road - where you could sit outside drinking Birra Moretti and Peroni in 660ml bottles for just <span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">€3 until 4am in the morning when it was still a barmy temperature. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pizza in Pisa. Yes, I've become one of those people who<br />
photographs their dinner</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">1 Euro a flavoured vodka shot. A dangerous game to play</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We also stumbled across a bar selling flavoured vodka for </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 18.4px;">€1 a shot but the less said about that, the better. Especially for Mark and Steve for whom the experience proved to be just a little too much as they both dozed off mid drink and were unable to locate their hotel without the help of an unusually tuned in McCarthy. Who, needless to say, couldn't find his hotel afterwards.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 18.4px;">From Pisa, it was off to Florence. There wasn't much to report about this great city other than the fact that yours truly can now add it to the list of places he has slept rough in after a hostel mix up saw me miss check in. This started out by spending as long as possible in a pub that fantastically saw a performance of Taylor Swift at some weird Open Mic night type event before joining some migrants in a park, sharing around some more Moretti and then visiting the cities cathedral - the biggest bricked dome building in the world no less. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Florence Cathedral. A bloody impressive building even when<br />
drunk at 3am and with nowhere to sleep</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 18.4px;">Afterwards, the station for departure at 8am the next morning was found and sleep was taken - heartily interrupted every 30 minutes by Steve who in an attempt to find the right station for his train seemed to be on a mission to visit every single town and village within a 15 mile radius of Florence by boarding the wrong locomotive. He did finally make it to Rimini before the rest of the happy campers, where we met him and from where it was off to San Marino.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stunning views across Italy from the City of San Marino</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 18.4px;">The Stadio Olimpico is not actually in San Marino itself but at the bottom of the mountain on which the principality is situated so if you go straight to the ground, you can't actually say you've visited the place. For reasons of sheer goonery in the quest to tick off as many different countries as possible, that meant a bus to the top of the hill and a visit to the City of San Marino.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgipFQdn6X1u-lJ36UEc6pDiOas2dzMDa-YC9cvVwEFVTujMjqvJVbQzcjwP7NXY42CbPE6DQTSBg9VoqYygHiTwollgBiXgcZzDNeMy7x9Pj-3lP9yZJVlsbwUQOG_wG-nt3ONoOjCla-h/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgipFQdn6X1u-lJ36UEc6pDiOas2dzMDa-YC9cvVwEFVTujMjqvJVbQzcjwP7NXY42CbPE6DQTSBg9VoqYygHiTwollgBiXgcZzDNeMy7x9Pj-3lP9yZJVlsbwUQOG_wG-nt3ONoOjCla-h/s320/08.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">San Marino's main export is weaponery, available over the counter</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #282828;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.4px;"></span></span>
<span style="color: #282828;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.4px;">A medieval place with old walls and plenty of stairs, it offers breathtaking views across Italy from the top of Mount Titan. There is not a lot else going on there bar food and drink unless you fancy picking up some weaponery with a plethora of shops having guns, knifes and for those of us who'd like to impress Jennifer Lawrence with our Hunger Games skills, crossbows available for sale over the counter. Unfortunately, EasyJet's overly strict policy on dangerous items meant that no purchase was practical.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #282828;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.4px;"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMuyqFFyvaEKJ2NGg-X-tC8Ux0_GjVVFe_i4p2_n7WTUD2i9m7faw7wm8OZ_p-vOKfqbJJT7dCrCJSiUodC5HP2fYbhAZ6hpn5mt1yaiMzlNOGwnCDWYiBXFJquz9MQy9EtqYrzNSyh6k_/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMuyqFFyvaEKJ2NGg-X-tC8Ux0_GjVVFe_i4p2_n7WTUD2i9m7faw7wm8OZ_p-vOKfqbJJT7dCrCJSiUodC5HP2fYbhAZ6hpn5mt1yaiMzlNOGwnCDWYiBXFJquz9MQy9EtqYrzNSyh6k_/s320/09.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stadio Olimpico - pre-season friendly in Scandanavia anyone?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YzAzHAALKIE6VONobXtK519IUrGNfyMCzLUyIMn6PgJ-K1OGpkoVlN2rNGbeQMce17dNrzFPRBUwMZdb0nzxFhuq71QAxHKnt08mJhdcX-afnu0F-VBL_4STDjwmqb-30FPwmeYVML3X/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YzAzHAALKIE6VONobXtK519IUrGNfyMCzLUyIMn6PgJ-K1OGpkoVlN2rNGbeQMce17dNrzFPRBUwMZdb0nzxFhuq71QAxHKnt08mJhdcX-afnu0F-VBL_4STDjwmqb-30FPwmeYVML3X/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An excellent venue for international football</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 18.4px;">So I suppose we should mention the football. Think pre-season friendly away against a European lower league team and you've got it just about right. The Stadio Olimpico hosts 7,000 odd fans in two stands down either side separated from the pitch by a running track that, despite the grounds name, is yet to hold to the Olympics. There were 3,000 odd England fans in the crowd of 4,378 and for those who didn't have a ticket, you could pick up a cracking vantage point from the top of one of the hills behind the goal.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8L3A3ZmYjjeKi5q2nOS10vbzQSkFWBx441LmH6-u0LUxgp9G9FXTEqnZYIyo1S9HI17dkKX-8Z5hLLxA6-VfcPLLsrDScGCq7FLl1G5UxYCFkTWUFVLlQ0_wL3etoMS2HmB-h_EA1juda/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8L3A3ZmYjjeKi5q2nOS10vbzQSkFWBx441LmH6-u0LUxgp9G9FXTEqnZYIyo1S9HI17dkKX-8Z5hLLxA6-VfcPLLsrDScGCq7FLl1G5UxYCFkTWUFVLlQ0_wL3etoMS2HmB-h_EA1juda/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not got a ticket? Don't worry about it, this handily placed<br />
hill will sort you out</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 18.4px;">The game itself was played on a surface comparable to my Grandfathers vegetable patch and that is probably doing a huge disservice to where he produces some award winning stuff. The atmosphere was totally flat bar anytime San Marino got into England's half when the entire crowd would cheer them on. They even nearly had a shot at one point which sparked wild celebrations scenes of jubilation.</span><br />
<span style="color: #282828;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.4px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #282828;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.4px;">As you might expect, England ran out comfortable 6-0 winners through goals from Wayne Rooney, Ross Barkley, Harry Kane, a Theo Walcott brace and an own goal from Cristian Brolli. Brolli himself did actually manage to justify the entrance fee alone with an absolutely stunning display of ineptitude, scoring not only that own goal but having to play most of the first half with a bandage around his head which constantly came off on the several times when he fell managed to fall over thin air. He was definitely the pissed up left back of the pub team.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuXZ1pEkNXm8zZH-DVVgPliZLTEtdOABGATnVMJxnhHS9U5Z45mXpbDF1DAEjl7gxA1-Q3u2vLr1_aRKAc34YFtkbpWymzBQna7RYV5867WXdILViQcqx8ZYrVyXru9gvTtfQE4ZA91map/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuXZ1pEkNXm8zZH-DVVgPliZLTEtdOABGATnVMJxnhHS9U5Z45mXpbDF1DAEjl7gxA1-Q3u2vLr1_aRKAc34YFtkbpWymzBQna7RYV5867WXdILViQcqx8ZYrVyXru9gvTtfQE4ZA91map/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">27 degrees, sun blaring, floodlights on. Caring for the<br />
environment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZQ3eZ7YpqcA-ZymVSYMxvimqJz8ja8Emgvt2I0uVvLT12ji8t6timrCrG5A5P3VXlMTdwhja71yL4csLjkSYe4NM-aprAvdu4lA5WUHU8xnc0LArziNxssoVKpWp7LQ5mZflg-feOM8h/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZQ3eZ7YpqcA-ZymVSYMxvimqJz8ja8Emgvt2I0uVvLT12ji8t6timrCrG5A5P3VXlMTdwhja71yL4csLjkSYe4NM-aprAvdu4lA5WUHU8xnc0LArziNxssoVKpWp7LQ5mZflg-feOM8h/s320/18.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Boy Rooney prepares to equal the England goalscoring<br />
record</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 18.4px;">That Rooney goal saw him tie level with Bobby Charlton in the England goalscoring list and he was withdrawn early in the second half. Of course the official reason would have been the game was run and he had no need to stay on but the cynic inside can't help but wonder if the FA saw the opportunity to sell a load more seats for Tuesday night's game against Switzerland by having him attempt to break the record then rather than in front of a sparse crowd that was doing it's hardest not to fall asleep.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tZHcYE01t76gQ7sUC34_qf_uXHID61dVseIbwteXBVCUCiGNn0t3zqnlIOfxdC2VhfvoP-F0aJCiq8n9JpD1eLu3olgBK0LKAh5v6ftEu80jFfxAMsUIQn5TkXEfflSGHGzPRDSIy1KH/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tZHcYE01t76gQ7sUC34_qf_uXHID61dVseIbwteXBVCUCiGNn0t3zqnlIOfxdC2VhfvoP-F0aJCiq8n9JpD1eLu3olgBK0LKAh5v6ftEu80jFfxAMsUIQn5TkXEfflSGHGzPRDSIy1KH/s320/16.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home via Rome - another ground ticked off</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrATRdwe4M4Ry01DO0LNCyuulB8FoQRod1cxMbOtKCJMRdjdRECFTDhSWwN0jyKZPdLVFwCsvTus7rmgx-Na9i1NM3nikT4tlGSusTMsYIZR0zLQ2xxU1M7B6fBuvSiGLYAV1JF2ktawdp/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrATRdwe4M4Ry01DO0LNCyuulB8FoQRod1cxMbOtKCJMRdjdRECFTDhSWwN0jyKZPdLVFwCsvTus7rmgx-Na9i1NM3nikT4tlGSusTMsYIZR0zLQ2xxU1M7B6fBuvSiGLYAV1JF2ktawdp/s320/17.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No sign of the Pope</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 18.4px;">Job done for Roy Hodgson and his side then and after a 30 minute journey back to Rimini it was beers and food all round before an early night (yes, really) ahead of the journey to Rome on the Sunday. Rome itself was fantastic with all the usual sights hurriedly ticked off but in truth you need more than the day there that I'd afforded myself. </span><br />
<span style="color: #282828;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.4px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #282828;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.4px;">A return visit to Italy for a Roma or Lazio game then? Ah, that would be a shame.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #282828; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.4px;"><b>San Marino: </b>Aldo Junior Simoncini, Cristian Brolli, Marco Berardi, Davide Simoncini (Alessandro Della Valle), Mirko Palazzi, Nicola Chiaruzzi, Manuel Battistini, Giovanni Bonini (Luca Tosi), Andy Selva (Danilo Ezequiel Rinaldi), Jose Hirch, Matteo Vitaioli.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #282828; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.4px;"><b>England: </b>Joe Hart, Nathaniel Clyne, John Stones, Phil Jagielka, Luke Shaw, James Milner (Fabian Delph), Jonjo Shelvey, Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain (Theo Walcott 2), Ross Barkley 1, Jamie Vardy, Wayne Rooney 1 (Harry Kane 1)</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #282828; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.4px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #282828; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.4px;"><b>Attendance: </b>4,378</span></span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Stadio Olimpico, 47899, San Marino43.9712835 12.47720370000001818.449249 -28.831390299999981 69.493318 53.785797700000018tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-6085214814056316042015-06-07T13:00:00.000+01:002015-06-10T18:29:24.879+01:00Ireland v England. 07/06/15<b><i>"That game was enough to make me realise that if I haven't had at least one pre-game beer I don't actually like football"</i></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosscommon 2-20 Armagh 1-14. Croke Park.<br />
Saturday 06/06/15.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When you are a regular spectator of Brighton and Hove Albion, the phrase "a great day out ruined by 90 minutes of football" is one that is ingrained in your footballing lexicon - a constantly apt description for 90% of the prattery you will witness going on on the pitch over the course of a season.<br />
<br />
It's been particularly prevelant in 2014-15 as the Seagulls survived in the Championship largely because somehow there were three worse teams in it. Twelve shots on target which yielded just one goal from the final eight games meant that rounding off the campaign with an England trip - especially given the way Roy's Boys have played recently - should have been a cause for celebration. We might see a goal.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUhsVFfkITwXku5l4twEMtY0utvBdfNVjk9l0lzMZxeqG7WO735ZzH5-FcZdxxBvG9N3HqqBaCfsSZSXKsz8Q7jYaCxnu9MejX_G2xW1ZGd5nRU67bstr_KVgk8E_U0Yo26sFH9wCSyOoB/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUhsVFfkITwXku5l4twEMtY0utvBdfNVjk9l0lzMZxeqG7WO735ZzH5-FcZdxxBvG9N3HqqBaCfsSZSXKsz8Q7jYaCxnu9MejX_G2xW1ZGd5nRU67bstr_KVgk8E_U0Yo26sFH9wCSyOoB/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yet in Dublin the Three Lions caught Brighton-itis. Whoever reported on the BBC website 14 shots from the visitors with three on target must have been on the strongest hallucinegics available as this was literally as boring as any sort of football can get. Throw in the blanket no sale of alcohol going on across the city and a 1pm kick off on a hot Sunday afternoon and you had an encounter that was marginally less boring than any television show involving Miranda Hart. It really was that bad.<br />
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And this was a real shame as - and here comes that phrase - this was a great trip ruined by 90 minutes of football. It involved 33 pints of Guinness across 16 different venues, two different sports in two iconic stadiums and the inevitable marriage proposal to one lucky local lady.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaSx5FiPOOT83FS3PkaIyuWZYmGiqrrhb6ujtoj9I20fOdY07OI3rnyMiZ2NkZe0Qv_i6UdP2weIev7f4drlwR0uVTuEY2En5zXku082j9W5OIrcN5LT01syde9OUFRmrCZFvrTUO1xCq/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaSx5FiPOOT83FS3PkaIyuWZYmGiqrrhb6ujtoj9I20fOdY07OI3rnyMiZ2NkZe0Qv_i6UdP2weIev7f4drlwR0uVTuEY2En5zXku082j9W5OIrcN5LT01syde9OUFRmrCZFvrTUO1xCq/s320/02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A nice non-partisan plaque to Bloody Sunday at Croke Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Three Conference-standard hurling cup finals were on offer on the Saturday of Mr Raven, Mr Beddow and Mr McCarthy's arrival in Dublin in front of huge crowds of about 4,000 at Croke Park. After rocking up at the home of gaelic sports, we were luckily handed some complimentary tickets by one friendly local outside and took our place in Europe's third largest stadium for a sport that involved all the best elements of rugby, football, hockey, cricket and quidditch (minus Ginny Weasley).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV4UCNGotkrm2ETnQPQKVQyLfuN3b6x4Yp_Ri6STnfiSj8N6f5rf0gxgOJeLtodUW4iHovPsZIsP_4PHfD2yund2c0-USSNrCRJs67Em4higEXH4Z1Ac4e-GwzTuuz4SY_j506CYUxe6hY/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV4UCNGotkrm2ETnQPQKVQyLfuN3b6x4Yp_Ri6STnfiSj8N6f5rf0gxgOJeLtodUW4iHovPsZIsP_4PHfD2yund2c0-USSNrCRJs67Em4higEXH4Z1Ac4e-GwzTuuz4SY_j506CYUxe6hY/s320/04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Croke Park was home to this delightful floodlight</td></tr>
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It was relatively easy to pick up the general rules and scoring system although this was no doubt helped by the copious amount of alcohol that was flowing. Hurling it turns out is far more entertaining than a sobering post season international friendly, especially if you are a Rosscommon fan and you get to witness your side score a last minute goal against Armagh to win the prestigious Nicky Rackard Cup, as we did.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjioZne_Qq_ycENWwyiThapHKC0hcCJsqru8PQzvh85_9_A5e3GOpIrFctqR_7PEWEH6RTVDp9HrJeY4vJrotlMYTGTt_aI0nL-sHLfiqJIDYtY64wUEdEt3VZ7tycSOS7RHtVEELidM727/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjioZne_Qq_ycENWwyiThapHKC0hcCJsqru8PQzvh85_9_A5e3GOpIrFctqR_7PEWEH6RTVDp9HrJeY4vJrotlMYTGTt_aI0nL-sHLfiqJIDYtY64wUEdEt3VZ7tycSOS7RHtVEELidM727/s320/03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Croke Park</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfcaV9QnuUaBBWFoHgczdgzqLOzlYxW_NeMaEoiA2ZvXI5BfdueI9JxumHL7LiTGgc88HRyI_Gabiebpj8yMibLGluhpEbdGJyYpgLlnqHAMFfFC0VeUK3-NIvmIkWGhYZhgZX102swVLy/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfcaV9QnuUaBBWFoHgczdgzqLOzlYxW_NeMaEoiA2ZvXI5BfdueI9JxumHL7LiTGgc88HRyI_Gabiebpj8yMibLGluhpEbdGJyYpgLlnqHAMFfFC0VeUK3-NIvmIkWGhYZhgZX102swVLy/s320/05.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The clouds gather over the terracing</td></tr>
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The second game featured Fermanagh winning the Lory Meagher Cup against Sligo despite having three men sent off. The rain and cold descended after that so we left before the third and final game of the afternoon got underway for the sanctuary of the pub but having seen a last minute winner and a trio of red cards in just two games, serious consideration will have to be given to sacking off football from next season and starting the McCathy's Hurling Travels blog.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz56p3gxT2KUv3O3vxiou880sRLXAb1tqMgx4pZk2rc53TLpeiu2DT9CPe1y6IEHKVeH5VeDfBt9F6Fi7QUpB2dNem6BwH8P93CtorzgNCySq4QBAC4_PRNV-7cT5LuMv6pg1bblu36_MF/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz56p3gxT2KUv3O3vxiou880sRLXAb1tqMgx4pZk2rc53TLpeiu2DT9CPe1y6IEHKVeH5VeDfBt9F6Fi7QUpB2dNem6BwH8P93CtorzgNCySq4QBAC4_PRNV-7cT5LuMv6pg1bblu36_MF/s320/07.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Rosscommon boys celebrate lifting the Nicky Rackard Cup</td></tr>
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Pub sanctuary soon extended from the welcoming Bridge Tavern to the less welcoming Sunset House. This venue had everything you could want from an Irish pub that was clearly not designed to be found by tourists such as ourselves. Deathly silence as two English men ordered drinks - tick. An Irish bloke with no teeth you couldn't understand who looked suspiciously like Barry Chuckle - tick. A shrine to the H Block Hunger Strikers - tick. Somehow, we made it out of there alive.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVl5xv9s5XOX4lUrftsCrHKi_B5V8nFqkAvQsIcN9LuZIRBJ_XLdp81TCJa8fZHM3Q4UjZeaeH4Y75dqla9AwS29q7ZAm8kInL_8412TH4RH3qHYFsR8dO9SScCm7OoZQ4Lxh0dq_BXdZN/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVl5xv9s5XOX4lUrftsCrHKi_B5V8nFqkAvQsIcN9LuZIRBJ_XLdp81TCJa8fZHM3Q4UjZeaeH4Y75dqla9AwS29q7ZAm8kInL_8412TH4RH3qHYFsR8dO9SScCm7OoZQ4Lxh0dq_BXdZN/s320/17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barry Chuckle's long lost Irish brother? Complete with background<br />
shrine to the H Block Hunger Strikers</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsbNdSCjW_luZ0Oug_j7GY9q2XHboAl49Y1PZLFcgIf7aGf4QHdQ4vTWMtviUKVwjIqSR27oprzlfo_7zpotqx-CCntHnOxkrsGkke4IkKPWVvAgwPIXcilivCgeIs6DfrEk0uHTOh7QwH/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsbNdSCjW_luZ0Oug_j7GY9q2XHboAl49Y1PZLFcgIf7aGf4QHdQ4vTWMtviUKVwjIqSR27oprzlfo_7zpotqx-CCntHnOxkrsGkke4IkKPWVvAgwPIXcilivCgeIs6DfrEk0uHTOh7QwH/s320/08.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The dream comes true - an Irish fiance</td></tr>
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What followed was a wonderful pub crawl encompassing Lloyds, Bowes - where a delightful Irish girl snapped up the opportunity to become engaged although unfortunately I have since forgotten her name - Brogans and The Oak but not even those 16 pints could make the following days visit to The Aviva Stadium anything other than a mind numbingly boring experience. We were in the ground unusually early given that the lack of alcohol on sale anywhere left bugger all to do apart from venturing in to the home of Irish football and rugby and appreciating what sitting in a giant greenhouse must be like.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2LdndALijWZlrm3dom8vFDuFAElye3Vp5XNu5NVxAM2fWERxYO10GOeIGfUmMTgiS_MjtWVbcKDRjhesJo_NVTrDSPh_garsvE9TM7kXF8Jc8RsiDnuXLsMsjngj6SX-8HRWYHwZpacX/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2LdndALijWZlrm3dom8vFDuFAElye3Vp5XNu5NVxAM2fWERxYO10GOeIGfUmMTgiS_MjtWVbcKDRjhesJo_NVTrDSPh_garsvE9TM7kXF8Jc8RsiDnuXLsMsjngj6SX-8HRWYHwZpacX/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Aviva Stadium - or a giant greenhouse?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj8p5GMgg4u2mZH4Zl-MSfve2rV9QjZLGdHbQQaLcF2CLZqd1GP092i5XdduC4PSzZNDjj09HXg_jOPTGB1_ypm4aIfFiHeL34hXBFnl7fXe01kVuKgp4F0s6fpEG70uQjJ8PWBqx3N6ZN/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj8p5GMgg4u2mZH4Zl-MSfve2rV9QjZLGdHbQQaLcF2CLZqd1GP092i5XdduC4PSzZNDjj09HXg_jOPTGB1_ypm4aIfFiHeL34hXBFnl7fXe01kVuKgp4F0s6fpEG70uQjJ8PWBqx3N6ZN/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Aviva</td></tr>
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The entire place is made of translucent plastic which means it is very bright and on a sunny day like this one leaves fans susceptible to sunburn and extreme dehydration, especially in the shallow away end which is open to the elements and encompases only a handful of rows behind one of the goals. The weather, environment and complete lack of atmosphere or interest from anybody present - not helped by no pubs being open - easily made the experience more akin to growing tomatoes out on the pitch and to be honest the action would almost certainly have been improved had Jamie Vardy marked his debut by coming on and helping Wayne Rooney plant some vegetables in the centre circle.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAXHW9ibwj_l2uNt0ahlkHL04Tn7fowRN9qwhcSIZhPCX26k0-y_WvZ3uesSql025d8Mfja_Ym6EIh-JIQy_YwOCr5BEsvNwdBmvy0mST66krBqyV7VJWikwDKdGyPqTb9w8SeMdhYiLPD/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAXHW9ibwj_l2uNt0ahlkHL04Tn7fowRN9qwhcSIZhPCX26k0-y_WvZ3uesSql025d8Mfja_Ym6EIh-JIQy_YwOCr5BEsvNwdBmvy0mST66krBqyV7VJWikwDKdGyPqTb9w8SeMdhYiLPD/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">England fans try not to doze off...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-DGJ2shCcN-ayvult8OGm7dN9FKF9AtUe6PCJeUNSV7JKdCmI0qCWzbUVnZar5xYbNP1C9Qwa8MPCI5Dl4SWfwxA-f6jIfFEXOc-DJYD340bX8NIBVZFynAEAS3wUZ1hnUJEYIR6TqO4/s1600/19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-DGJ2shCcN-ayvult8OGm7dN9FKF9AtUe6PCJeUNSV7JKdCmI0qCWzbUVnZar5xYbNP1C9Qwa8MPCI5Dl4SWfwxA-f6jIfFEXOc-DJYD340bX8NIBVZFynAEAS3wUZ1hnUJEYIR6TqO4/s320/19.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">England players thank the fans for somehow not falling asleep</td></tr>
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Relief at there a) being no lock in for England fans afterwards, and b) finding a Guinness was therefore palpable. After nearly two hours sat out in the sun, I was so thirsty that if you'd offered a glass of Jack Warner's urine I'd have happily drunk it, and this point was hammered home as three pints were gone within ten minutes, shortly followed by another 13 across The Schoolhouse Bar, The Long Hall, The Stags Head, Mercantile Tavern, The Norseman and JW Sweetmans. Unfortunately, the famous Temple Bar wasn't allowing anybody in because somebody in there was singing. Clearly, having a good time wasn't just outlawed at The Aviva.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizdimyAwIe-GY7wX3zaYEeEo9V7izYYpaIRn_Z3MLcNhP1C-ftmFwrtqgESVRfNRZe-kE04hdcaRP4ymOIBQHOQa54uVe7ulDbEnq5st95z0S3aCTrrTU_n7qGjD4N60jf5l9yitinjseh/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizdimyAwIe-GY7wX3zaYEeEo9V7izYYpaIRn_Z3MLcNhP1C-ftmFwrtqgESVRfNRZe-kE04hdcaRP4ymOIBQHOQa54uVe7ulDbEnq5st95z0S3aCTrrTU_n7qGjD4N60jf5l9yitinjseh/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Nobody having a good time is allowed in Temple Bar"</td></tr>
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Dublin was an absolutely cracking city and Ireland a wonderful place. The bonus of the League of Ireland playing through the summer months means it surely won't be long until a return to the Emerald Isle for some league football is on the agenda. Fingers crossed that that inevitable visit won't come under the "great trip ruined by 90 minutes of football" banner.<br />
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And if it is, McCarthy's Hurling Travels might not be such a farfetched idea after all.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Ireland: </b>Keiren Westwood (Shay Given), Seamus Coleman, John O'Shea, Marc Wilson, Glenn Whelan (Harry Arter), Aidan McGeady, James McCarthy (James McLean), Robbie Brady, Jeff Hendrick, Daryl Murphy (Jonathan Walters), David McGoldrick (Shane Long).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Joe Hart, Phil Jones, Gary Cahill (Phil Jagielka), Chris Smalling, Ryan Bertrand, Jordan Henderson, Jack Wilshere (Ross Barkley), James Milner, Raheem Sterling (Andros Townsend), Adam Lallana (Theo Walcott), Wayne Rooney (Jamie Vardy).</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Aviva Stadium, Lansdowne Road, Dublin 4, Ireland53.3352318 -6.228456999999934927.813197300000002 -47.537050999999934 78.8572663 35.080137000000065tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242893827434476477.post-85894769367571269662015-03-31T20:45:00.000+01:002015-04-16T10:59:38.736+01:00Italy v England. 31/03/15<b><i>"Of course I'm coming for a beer afterwards. Anything to avoid going back to a hostel where I am the only guest and that appears to be run by a geriatic retired mafia boss."</i></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Italy 1-1 England. Juventus Stadium.<br />Tuesday 31/03/15</td></tr>
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Italy is home to many things that I love. Pizza, Ferrari, beautiful women, excessive use of car horn and the best national anthem in the world to name but a few. Yet criminally this was my first ever proper visit to the country that gave us bunga bunga.<br />
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We'd all heard the horror stories of football trips to Italy. Stabbings, batton charging police, running battles on the terraces, mopeds being launched and chairs luzzed. "Make sure you pack your running shoes and your stab proof underwear" was the general advice. Do I look like I own a pair of running shoes? And as far as stab proof underwear goes, I know living in Brighton would you'd think make it easily accesible but would it really be necessary?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow covered Alps just a ciagrette lighters throw from Turin</td></tr>
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Unfortunately for the tabloid headline writers and the doom mongerers among us, no was the answer. Italy v England passed out without so much as a hitch. A few lighters flying through the air when Andros Townsend popped up with his second half equaliser for the Three Lions was about as Football Factory as the visit to Turin got. With this trip taking place on a limited budget, there was disappointment all round that no much needed spare change was lobbed into the away section by the locals.<br />
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The trip started and ended in Milan, a short 45 minute or so hop via the very amicable Italian express train service alongside the snow covered alps from Turin. There wasn't s great deal of time to explore Milan before heading to the host city but naturally we found time to cram a couple of beers in.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR4lTObNYloXXXlQOUquI4axZ-FIW9oH3qtrgu7sMVdKUWqlJk4hFcLsOTFbGQyntNIudh3nmR3Ui0WmynNbCvJmryaNX71Kmfu9xrEQajHo6cAA9l37wbpnLbgdre2Ri4eQFy3w13SgW1/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR4lTObNYloXXXlQOUquI4axZ-FIW9oH3qtrgu7sMVdKUWqlJk4hFcLsOTFbGQyntNIudh3nmR3Ui0WmynNbCvJmryaNX71Kmfu9xrEQajHo6cAA9l37wbpnLbgdre2Ri4eQFy3w13SgW1/s1600/01.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look out for rouge minis...</td></tr>
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Turin itself was a beautiful place. Situated at the foot of the mountains, it is a mixture of the old and the modern with the arches that The Italian Job made famous in all their glory, minus a plethora of minis running riot around the city.<br />
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Having been subjected to weather that was wetter than an otters pocket upon leaving Gatwick, it would have been rude not to take advantage of the balmy sunshine, sitting outside in t-shirt and sunglasses in one of Turin's delightful piazzas drinking refreshing Italian beers. Or at least it would have been had Anticco Cafe not run out of local brew due to the plethora of England fans enjoying their facilities - Becks all round it was.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgErC39h35oVD-6ESHyMLagPOdmBThSCGA0VAAqx1EJGpZ4lAF0bKNxXmJws4M8h9jOwJMlwDrvq7lt-GK94Yzobcn4-Vsbww7tvJG_1m4AdhDGzMuU4aEMTaWogzRyr3AfyS0rydPJPr1j/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgErC39h35oVD-6ESHyMLagPOdmBThSCGA0VAAqx1EJGpZ4lAF0bKNxXmJws4M8h9jOwJMlwDrvq7lt-GK94Yzobcn4-Vsbww7tvJG_1m4AdhDGzMuU4aEMTaWogzRyr3AfyS0rydPJPr1j/s1600/02.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "small" pizza which could block a mans<br />arteries with one moutful</td></tr>
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For food, we took the when in Rome - or Turin - approach which meant pizza of course. This was pizza unlike I'd ever seen it; a grossly unhealthy mixture of dough, cheese, bacon, sausage and tomato that was bigger than a car wheel and could clog an artery by looks alone. It was the sort of item that would turn the black hole in NHS funding into whatever a black hole turns into (a quick Google search doesn't throw up the answer to complete that particular analogy so any advice gratefully received if Brian Cox is reading).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2tIwsMx-aqBHrtVYb_E68sRDJOB75Jthvr-Jpx3ifQaVa-ZGczBUX7Sr8doLwHGyrHNVFhgPzbYfGPqjPtHYLivCPLm0zCOiJUAjTGNzms9lDNxSogywRpmh_zzJ9ZxYdOWCxE-nhd1m/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2tIwsMx-aqBHrtVYb_E68sRDJOB75Jthvr-Jpx3ifQaVa-ZGczBUX7Sr8doLwHGyrHNVFhgPzbYfGPqjPtHYLivCPLm0zCOiJUAjTGNzms9lDNxSogywRpmh_zzJ9ZxYdOWCxE-nhd1m/s1600/03.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Italian entreprenuership at it's best - this chap sells bottles of<br />beer from a trailer to England fans queuing for the shuttle bus<br />to the ground. Berlusconi would be proud.</td></tr>
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The Italian authorities had laid on a convoy of busses straight to Juventus Stadium for England supporters which after what appeared would be a total cock up actually ran quite smoothly aided by a beautiful blonde police woman on a motorbike. Attempts to find, be arrested by and propose to her after the game were I am afraid to report a failure.<br />
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After some pretty stringent security which involved an ID check against name on ticket, a thorough search, another search and then another turnstile check we were into Juventus Stadium. And what a place it is. If you'd missed leg day for the trip then there was no need to worry, the steepness of the stands was such that you got a thorough work out just getting down a couple of rows of steps.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGhzhRK8vDfpmqpLAf9VjcPbUzkOnlM0zUxVx44bqoHph6irF8i5y7hPqewTu1e5uZ-yh4TKfLSa7yZ_s-VyZIWGo-qrNEwwW75uKrLmppoOh_NZ8vZONtm0BVbAoE0PNa7q95xShqE2r/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGhzhRK8vDfpmqpLAf9VjcPbUzkOnlM0zUxVx44bqoHph6irF8i5y7hPqewTu1e5uZ-yh4TKfLSa7yZ_s-VyZIWGo-qrNEwwW75uKrLmppoOh_NZ8vZONtm0BVbAoE0PNa7q95xShqE2r/s1600/04.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How's that for a steep stand?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaZCohBaqr702YCJsua8wAPGugh3a85YInuAa1pd6Vmi0ZVbtvZINMjXmMFBfJGqwg_WTJWuHIdUt2wvK9f0Oly9RRb3kvqA3rQ9XxhAcopnwZV6Z1fv7uujvwYQnCrelXof3mwsO7kiNW/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaZCohBaqr702YCJsua8wAPGugh3a85YInuAa1pd6Vmi0ZVbtvZINMjXmMFBfJGqwg_WTJWuHIdUt2wvK9f0Oly9RRb3kvqA3rQ9XxhAcopnwZV6Z1fv7uujvwYQnCrelXof3mwsO7kiNW/s1600/05.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The England section</td></tr>
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Built on the site of Stadio delle Alpi and opened within the last few years, the top seat in the stadium is just 49m from the pitch thanks to the desire to keep the atmosphere in with the steep rake. Whether it works or not we didn't find out on the night as there were plenty of empy seats - around 1/4 of the stadium was unfilled - among the Italian support with the crowd being a mixture of younger fans and families - a far cry from the passionate locals that pack it out for Juve games. Having said that, when the Tifosi did score and for that brilliant national anthem, the noise generated was loud so when the place is rocking for a Grand Old Lady game it must be quite the sight (added to "must do games list").<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnt9mrTI7R17lta09CuKkAs1ml1plVWdvq9j7kgN5NyeT0Gh7ida9gJoASixYLP0vODUUA9APObzuJrnJ7C0XOh8-vlKvzPCX9qRRyoDPWGZVrcp7CxsHyDy_mBzhEobRfnYZvxGoNmI7/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnt9mrTI7R17lta09CuKkAs1ml1plVWdvq9j7kgN5NyeT0Gh7ida9gJoASixYLP0vODUUA9APObzuJrnJ7C0XOh8-vlKvzPCX9qRRyoDPWGZVrcp7CxsHyDy_mBzhEobRfnYZvxGoNmI7/s1600/06.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Juventus Stadium in all her glory</td></tr>
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Two tiered all the way around, it is one of the better new grounds visited particualry for international football. A nice touch is the executive boxes which appear to take the form of conservatories in the middle of the main stand, all rather bizarre.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimwi_jHY8QnOS4wHX9rs2J0o_oNA5PTnIj-3-3fEYO18yb973wYVS1GSG7ZWWG00Fo5PwuP8-AScVv-Myzwz0IWMoBZvNb2onaQ4CRaE33m4_L4jWxzuWN3cXQ4bwJrBVwdevdWuhowaR_/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimwi_jHY8QnOS4wHX9rs2J0o_oNA5PTnIj-3-3fEYO18yb973wYVS1GSG7ZWWG00Fo5PwuP8-AScVv-Myzwz0IWMoBZvNb2onaQ4CRaE33m4_L4jWxzuWN3cXQ4bwJrBVwdevdWuhowaR_/s1600/08.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Conservatories as executive boxes was a novel addition</td></tr>
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As far as friendlies go, this was a decent one with Southampton's Graziano Pelle opening the scoring in a pretty dire first half for the Three Lions. Once Roy Hodgson made a raft of second half changes including a tinkering with the formation England were the better side with Townsend's goal securing a draw and sparking wild scenes of celebration despite the friendly nature of the game and the aforementioned opportunity to add to ones lighter collection.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3KjB14ASxHA7uySBTLDOW1gsGEJllGPnztBTTW0CN4PTflp3YqZysf5RjKBWDK6bSSMGL1rj6PCMITXFkBSgbzZNkM0YFtZgdAb7RhpnJVTGXbTKfzNfUOuwkbsD9Gb3wTvkaBNJ-J_r/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3KjB14ASxHA7uySBTLDOW1gsGEJllGPnztBTTW0CN4PTflp3YqZysf5RjKBWDK6bSSMGL1rj6PCMITXFkBSgbzZNkM0YFtZgdAb7RhpnJVTGXbTKfzNfUOuwkbsD9Gb3wTvkaBNJ-J_r/s1600/12.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pints in the Joking Jester with some friendly locals<br />before moving onto a student night at Lapsus.</td></tr>
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The standard lock in happened afterwards and around 45 minutes later we were back on buses and the convoy was off to the city centre, where we found a delightful little pub called Jumping Jester. It was obviously the place to be as we were soon joined by Neil Ashton and some other members of the Sunday Supplement squad, fresh from filing their reports and ready for a manly vodka and lemonade.<br />
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One thing they certainly weren't having to go through is the nightmare accomodation situation suffered by the journalists at McCarthy Football Travels. Somehow, I'd managed to book myself into a hostel that appeared to be run by a geriatice former mafia boss and in which I was the only person staying. He also had a penchant for parading around naked. One man in an eight man room in an empty hostel. If that wasn't the premise to be murdered in some sort of horror movie scene then God knows what was.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqJjjV0BjMclUmm6EYhJqtkm7ofA7UsHz6MUo4bKg4Zvqk8G6NaUAtIFKsTdj2dXu1M5aHFds2q8n2mc_PfFEcRYtnScTKGgrPBqGdPOjJq9Aly_auxiQIfmhadBO5fZBj_EB7Z-vK4vyW/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqJjjV0BjMclUmm6EYhJqtkm7ofA7UsHz6MUo4bKg4Zvqk8G6NaUAtIFKsTdj2dXu1M5aHFds2q8n2mc_PfFEcRYtnScTKGgrPBqGdPOjJq9Aly_auxiQIfmhadBO5fZBj_EB7Z-vK4vyW/s1600/13.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only guest in an eight man room in an empty hostel run by<br />a retired geriatic mafia boss. Somehow, I survived</td></tr>
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With that in mind, the aim was to stay out as late as possible which was achieved in stunning style thanks to the nightclub Lapsus' student night going on until 4am. A club full of beautiful Italian students and not one batton wielding police officer in sight. That wasn't the case for all our England supporting friends however, rumours swirling around that the police did clear out one pub full of English for no other reason than that they were bored with the lack of trouble stirred up throughout the day by the visitors.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_Vbm9DshhrAB3CgSlwkAXaFNsbGqqj7h7M3fggWtDVtRSKnnr_A1N12TtX-9jdtQ9ZWVbsAaWFeL2FU11rGEjxPodQhdCPAmmEb4iVTl3-jzm5zFCOO12G9v9LajbmBokx-Yr0Xqn7ee/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_Vbm9DshhrAB3CgSlwkAXaFNsbGqqj7h7M3fggWtDVtRSKnnr_A1N12TtX-9jdtQ9ZWVbsAaWFeL2FU11rGEjxPodQhdCPAmmEb4iVTl3-jzm5zFCOO12G9v9LajbmBokx-Yr0Xqn7ee/s1600/14.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turin Cathedral - home to the Holy Shroud</td></tr>
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Of course, Lapsus led to a terrible hangover the following day and the recreation of one of the cities great artefacts with the Shroud of Turin being delightfully imitated with the Sick Covered Bath Mat of Turin. Being owned by a former mafia boss, the hostel had obviously seen worse than this modern day twist on an historical relic, which was inspiration enough to go on a Holy items tour before the journey back to England including the resting place of the actual Shroud, the stunning Milan Cathedral and then finally the Church of Saint John the Baptist and then onto the Convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie when back in Milan, scene of Da Vinci's Last Supper.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOcfXud1co9AVxek74QLK_J32Gzdv4-e-H6wHn3KlCbvHylg5LBGvPlNEhs0U9ubQUQwjB-NB1zIWJFgEOIW4xc4oiqZKdkS8UdjpzBQF-coimArBTFb7sAzv4-tmIUWXUfLxFdhE2-cSn/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOcfXud1co9AVxek74QLK_J32Gzdv4-e-H6wHn3KlCbvHylg5LBGvPlNEhs0U9ubQUQwjB-NB1zIWJFgEOIW4xc4oiqZKdkS8UdjpzBQF-coimArBTFb7sAzv4-tmIUWXUfLxFdhE2-cSn/s1600/15.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Milan Cathedral</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPi9SlXNu3lY1qTwK8bf9SE_RNZr9OaE1Fq1rRLG3OdGRi9N4AkQ5J6AmJpH7HX84dJ8JyFcUZoE-ZgMoSn2cfs5ABBXug85viWqJxWB4M4MhCpbdzk5k3vJW6xbxZc-KLqgj_aZ1buoOW/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPi9SlXNu3lY1qTwK8bf9SE_RNZr9OaE1Fq1rRLG3OdGRi9N4AkQ5J6AmJpH7HX84dJ8JyFcUZoE-ZgMoSn2cfs5ABBXug85viWqJxWB4M4MhCpbdzk5k3vJW6xbxZc-KLqgj_aZ1buoOW/s1600/16.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home of the Last Supper</td></tr>
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Which was quite ironic, seeing as all the elements (batton charging police, machete carrying locals and a hostel owner who was seemingly more used to dealing with corpses and horses heads than a living, breathing guest) suggested it could have been the scene of my last supper too.<br />
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Forza Italia<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Italy: </b>Gianluigi Buffon, Giorgio Chiellini (Emiliano Moretti), Matteo Darmian (Luca Antonelli), Andrea Ranocchia, Leonardo Bonucci, Roberto Soriano, Mirko Valdifiori (Marco Verratti), Marco Parolo, Alessandro Florenzi (Ignazio Abate), Eder (Ciro Immobile), Grazian Pelle 1 (Franco Vazquez).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>England: </b>Joe Hart, Nathaniel Clyne (Kyle Walker), Chris Smalling (Michael Carrick), Phil Jagielka, Kieran Gibbs (Ryan Bertrand), Phil Jones, Jordan Henderson (Ryan Mason), Fabian Delph (Andros Townsend 1), Theo Walcott (Ross Barkley), Harry Kane, Wayne Rooney.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Attendance: </b>31,138</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Juventus Stadium, Corso Gaetano Scirea, 50, 10151 Torino, Italy45.109569 7.641264399999954519.5875345 -33.667329600000045 70.6316035 48.949858399999954