Celtic Diplomacy mode, the Mayor of Seville and memories for a lifetime

FOLLOWING the anniversary of Celtic’s UEFA Cup final appearance in Seville, The Celtic Star asked for your memories of the pilgrimage of 80,000 supporters to the South of Spain back in 2003.

Here is Steve’s experience from Seville involving renting a car and meeting the Mayor of Seville.

My Seville story starts in London. This is where I live, having done the flit as a young boy in 1972. (apparently I’m the only person who has been the prestigious Celtic Boy twice. So I was told way back in the early 70s,.that’s another story to tell at some point).

So after the semi final. My Mum said are you going Son, I wasn’t able to sit at a computer for hours trying to source a ticket. My elderly Uncle who had been a great friend to all the Lisbon Lions and could probably get me a ticket with his vast network of contacts. However at this time he was not in good health and I didn’t want to trouble him or the family.

I thought this is on me to get there with or without a ticket.. Just had to be with the Greatest fans (family) and experience the occasion following my Team.

So I flew out from Heathrow on the Monday, heading to Malaga, and as we all know now, everything direct was booked up.. I had to go via Zurich, then connect flight to Malaga.
Terminal 2 at Heathrow is the European Business travel terminal. But at 6am all I saw was a Green and White carpet of flags, Scarfs, Celtic Shirts of all era s. It was a lasting memory, especially as the high powered suited businessman and women, also were in dis belief in what was in front of them. Truly Spectacular.

So once on the plane, which was a mad mixture of Gucci suits and sweating Scots, all singing the Celtic songs, I’m sat with a guy from Dundee, who had bravely told his missus, he’d been lucky to buy a ticket on line from a guy in Seville, and was arranging the meet on arrival, ticket cost £795.00 as I recall. She bid him a good luck message, “We’re divorcing when you get back” Some women just don’t get it!

I eventually get to Benelmadena, where I’m to kip on the floor with my great pal Chas Paterson and his wee boy David. That’ll do for me.

Chas had promised in earlier conversations that he was getting seats on the bus to Seville. That was the plan. Chas forget to tell me he could only get the two, but I was on board if there was going to a drop out… As if..

So with less than 24hrs before kick-off I’m trying to arrange travel to Seville, three hours away. No chance Every bus overbooked up.

Now for some reason I had taken my driving licence with me, Thought maybe needed as extra identification document. I certainly wasn’t planning on driving, had only driven abroad once before, and it did go well.

So I’m in the hotel reception, and a new party of bhoys arrive, checking in, asking where they can book the bus to Seville. I’m hearing this, and being in the know, tell them all seats taken, And kind of dawning on me. The tele in the hotel is the nearest to Seville any of us are getting..

When they hear this, their faces drop and a sense of panic and the blame game, who should have done this or he could have done that.. They all had tickets but it was getting a bit fruity. They needed a chill out beer or two..

So I see them in the bar, calmer now, I go over and ask there 5 of them, Why don’t they hire a car between them. The hotel had the facilities on site..

‘Cheers pal, but the only one whose got a licence is the young boy here.. And he’s only just passed his test. So it’s a no.. And the thing is we’ve all got tickets… And can’t get there.’

A light bulb switched on.. ‘I’LL DO THE DRIVE! You hire the car, I’ve got my licence, let’s do it.’ I didn’t have a ticket but I wasn’t bothered, I was doing it the “Celtic Way” helping them get to the game, and me to Seville for the biggest Green and White party I’d ever seen.

So it’s the morning of the game. Car getting sorted, guys are buzzing, the hotel empties and coaches are filling up.. The hotel (can’t remember the name) had a wee hairdresser from Manchester in her salon had come up with a novel hair colour style of Green and White hoops. I’m having that I said.. The bhoys see my new hairdo. Love it, and pile back off the bus.

So she’s now got a queue of fellas wanting green and white spray paint on their heads… I said you need an assistant.. Yeh and she’s not due in for another hour… Give me a can, and a strip of cardboard, I’ll do it.
So for Ten quid we had set up a conveyor belt of Green and White Hair styles. She made a wee fortune that hour..

So all in place. New hairdo, guys all loaded into the Focus Estate.. Seville bound.

The journey was for me quite an ordeal. Here I am driving a brand new car. No real experience of driving abroad, concentration levels right off the scale, already soaking in sweat cause it 90degrees at 11am full of hyper adults.

Now normally I’d be right up there with the best of them on all levels but I was in hero mode. Had to get my new found crew to Seville in one piece. The amount of coaches on the road, all from Malaga and basically the whole of Spain was again a lasting memory of the trip..

So we get to Seville, all sober. And park the car in an underground car park, arrange to all meet up in the morning, whatever time that means..
So we walk into the Centre and into the wall of Green and White. Amazing…

The lads had arranged a meet for a drink before with other s they knew were in town. I had tracked Chas and wee David to a bar in the old part.. So wee wished each other the best luck, have a ball and we’ll meet up in the morning…

I’ve sat down enjoy the whole atmosphere, then see some lads out of London I know, Pull up a chair bhoys.. Drinks, stories on how we got here, and so much singing.

So it’s time to get to the game for the lucky ones with tickets, I like thousands others was going to be at the video park. As we are making our way, we’re hearing some things not going well on the massive screen, whether it was broken or the sun was hitting the screen. It wasn’t happening there.

I’m still with the Bhoys I knew from London. Oh forgot to mention one had broken his leg on the Monday in Spain and was in a cast. So walking with him in toe wasn’t ideal. So we’re looking out for him, trying to find somewhere decent to see the game..This guy from down a wee side street.. Boys please come here, free jugs of beer. Watch the game in my bar.. NO BRAINER.

The free beer was just the first jug, but he had laid out around six on other arrivals, who soon filled the wee bar. But at least we were in the shade. Chilled beer and no problems with the tele.. Wasn’t the big 55inch HD TVs that we’re all used to now, more 24inch Sony Trinitron! That’s one for the more senior of us..

Anyway our host George could not have been more friendly and was always asking me about Celtic. Our amazing fans etc.. I not realising, cause I was first in probably, became the fountain of Celtic knowledge to our newest fan…

OK the game. Well we all know Mourinho’s chosen tactics were not sporting of any final. Shocking and embarrassing to say the least. At the final whistle after the team had given everything, the whole bar broke into Celtic Celtic.. A tear did trickle… So proud of our team. Our club and the supporters who never stopped singing.. We had lost the game, but it didn’t matter cause we were all in it together… Memories again..

Sorry, but this story still has a little bit more to give. The bar empties, hugs, kisses are all given out, regardless of gender. We were all feeling a bite of a loss, as if a family member or dear friend had passed. It was that much of a body blow at the time.

I wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. Still in the nearly empty side street bar. George trying his best to lift my spirits. His wife as well. They asked if I was going anywhere.. I told them meeting up in the morning, with the other guys I’d brought to Seville.. Stay and have dinner with us.. Please they said… Dinner its about 11.00 I’m thinking.. So I obliged, we had I think, tapas or Similar. I was just thinking it’s usually a manky kebab about now… Sample the local culture and quisine.. I needed to eat. Too much lager, hardly any food. Beautiful food, great hospitality.

It’s about 11.30 now and George the owner says ‘Steve, I’d like you to meet mysterious friends’. So I turned round and a guy who now years down the line looked very similar to the Pablo Escobar and his beautiful wife were holding out their hands. I obliged hand shake. And a warm hug from the wife… ‘Steve this is my good friend the Mayor of Seville and his wife’.. Wow! ‘Pleased to meet you Sir /Madam Mayor.’ I’m now in Celtic diplomacy mode.. Don’t want to make a fool of myself and embarrass the club and our new found reputation.

So best behaviour. Mind the language Stevie boy…

The Mayor. Well he was fuming, he started by having a right pop at Porto and Mourinho’s game plan.. He was callings him all sorts, as well as Deco.. His wife as stunning as she was had a potty mouth!

This was music to my ears. So I told them my story or one or two of them.. They came back with the Celtic fans are our fans, we will welcome them back any time. He was so in love with the whole Celtic experience..

So here’s the thing.. It’s my own best memory of everything Seville.. I was so much in awe of the Mayor’s chat to me.. I said this is so amazing for me to hear this. But it’s just me whose hearing it. I asked him if he or his office couldput the sentiments I’ve heard from you to the Scottish people, maybe in the papers..

The rest they say is History. Cause I believe he issued a statement that made the Daily Record later that week. So I’m having that one! I’ve also got the paper hanky he wrote.. ‘To my Friend Steve. Celtic. One friendship in Sport..’ That’s what he wrote..

I took a disposable camera with me, to record moments. These were special moments. They are all on film. All of us together group pictures but the downside is I left the camera at the bar. Headed out not realising what I’d left behind.

I was so chuffed about the people I’d shared my night with.

So I was heading back to the car park, I was going sleep in the car until the rest of the guys turned up.

Snaking through the wee alleys and unfamiliar streets. It must have been around 2.30 or 3.00 in the morning. When this young woman at the entrance to a block of flats. Stopped me, and in broken English said, ‘Men. Men in the bushes they have hurt themselves. Been crying for a time now..’ I thought she was at first asking for business? Although she seemed concerned about their health because these two guys we’re sobbing so much, it had woken her and her wee boy up..

I tried to explain that this kinda thing just sometimes happens. They’ll be gone in the morning. No harm done!

So we’re all back in full numbers, no lost sheep or casualties. Amazing. We all share tales of the evening. Still cursing the result.. I of course throw in my nights work.. Didn’t know if it impressed or not at that time of day…

I now realise I don’t have the camera.. I need it back. It’s got all the weeks memories on it. I need to find it.

I drove in to the old part of town, acting on limited memory and no knowledge of street names. I parked up.. Let the guys sleep, I went a looking for a bar I never been to before. In a city I don’t know.

I do believe I found the bar. But at 9.30 everything all locker up. No phone number… they all looked similar. I had to give it up. Back to the car. Not quite as noisy as the first journey. Which was a good thing really…

Once the car was given back. No surcharges and deposit given back to the lads.. They said Steve let go to the bar. You done us proud.. I said ‘let go of my arms. I was going there anyway!’

So in finishing my Seville Storyline. It turns out my crew were from Rutherglen.. And the Man in charge was Matt Murdoch (Bobby’s Brother) and his son and I think young nephews. They were a great bunch of lads. I was so happy to help them, as they helped me have so many memories of the whole occasion.

Thank you for the chance to share my story.. Sorry if it was a bit long. But it couldn’t be shortened. It wouldn’t have done the time justice..

In memory of my Great Pal Chas Paterson. He would have love me doing this.

Thanks to Steve for his Seville memories. Whilst the result is still a sickener, the sight of 80,000 Celtic supporters invading Spain for the final is one that will last a lifetime for supporters.