Athens Diary – Day 3 – This is NOT the day that we win away
Day three starts with a run along the promenade. I’m running the New York City marathon in November to help promote and raise funds for the Celtic FC Foundation, so a bit of warm weather training is required to offset the Guinness and unhealthy food.
I quickly realise that I’m the only runner on the go and it’s not difficult to work out why. The proper athletes would have been out a couple of hours earlier to avoid the searing Athens heat, even at breakfast time. Note to self…
Nevertheless, I’m out now so I drag myself down the seafront towards Piraeus. Saddo that I am, I’m hoping to catch a glimpse of the Olympiakos stadium, in any other year the venue for a match involving the champions of Greece. I do see the Karaiskaki eventually, however there is a harbour between it and me and triathlon is not my game, so a visit will need to wait for another day. I turn around and jog back to the hotel for water and breakfast, initial training mission accomplished.
It’s match day and I’m nervous. I move upstairs to my Skybar office to do some writing to take my mind off tonight’s game, enjoying a balanced lunch of strawberry daiquiri so that I can wind up my Celtic Tour Guide colleagues, who are sending me selfies of rainy Glasgow.
Writing for the day complete, it’s time to head down for a shower and change for the big game. Ticket, strip and Matchday boxers (I know – how old are you?) are laid out and soon I’m on my way for the tram ride into Syntagma.
I’ve received a heads-up from Tour Guide Davie that the Bhoys will be congregating at Monasteriki Square, prior to heading to the stadium. That’s around the corner from the James Joyce, so happy days.
I’m early so it’s still quiet. The Didsbury Celts from Manchester are here, as they always are, with their banner up in the square, whilst a few other Celts are mingling outside the metro station, which will be our departure point. There are some curious locals at the far end observing proceedings, blissfully unaware of the madness to come later as the ancient and historic square, in the shadow of the Acropolis rock, fills up with the Troops.
I decide to head back to Joyce’s for some food and a pint of black gold. As with last night, it’s wall-to-wall Tims and the usual songs are going at full blast. However, I feel the atmosphere is different today. The bar staff seem stressed and weary, I guess two days non-stop of the massed choir giving it the full Wolfe Tones repertoire is taking its toll.
Fed and watered, I head back to the Square, by now filling up rapidly. Unsure of the journey time during the Athens rush-hour, I decide to beat the crowd and head up to the stadium early. My kids will be so proud, if a tad unbelieving. Monasteriki metro station itself is an historic site and it’s Tourist Central, so my decision is vindicated.
I manage to get on the second train, which even the Japanese ‘people-pusher’ from the bullet train would have thought twice about. After a couple of stops, things are a bit calmer and I eventually get to sit down. Old habits die hard and I offer my seat to a lady, who accepts. Immediately, a Rasta guy offers me his, as ‘I am a guest in his country’. We get talking about football, as you do. He is amazed that supporters travel so far to see a game.
As he leaves the train, an AEK fan, Georgios, who has been listening in, moves across to join me and show me photos of his trip to Glasgow last week. We spend the rest of the journey together, him advising me that AEK fans see a lot of similarities between our two clubs.
Apparently, they were originally formed by immigrants from Constantinople (now Istanbul I believe) and have always been underdogs in their adopted country. They also share a lot of the socialists beliefs and principles which many of us like to feel is core to being a Celt, together with a strong alliance and friendship with St Pauli. Georgios believes the first leg result favours AEK and that the tie is ‘60/40’ in their favour. I think he is being tactful, kind or both.
The train arrives at Irini station and I follow him off. After a handshake, I find that I am the lone Celt in the area, a Hoops-adorned subject of curiosity walking through the Greek crowds. I am asked to pose with three young AEK fans and happily oblige. I so want them to take the same photo with my phone, however the cautious Scot in me worries about losing my mobile, my only means of contact. I immediately feel embarrassed and ashamed by my lack of trust. These are good people.
Having walked the length of the stadium, I finally reach the away section. The other early birds (No not those birds Frank, calm down!) are making their way into the ground, through the security checks. At the top of the stairs is a fantastic sight, a banner hung by AEK Ultras, welcoming Celtic to their home. I am truly chuffed to see that. Ajax fans take note.
Into the stadium bowl and as always on such trips, it’s ‘sit where you like’, as long as there isn’t a guy with a riot shield or machine gun there first. I find a good spot with a similar view to that in the Estadio Olimpico in Seville, back in 2003. Hopefully, there will be a happier outcome tonight. There is still over an hour until kick-off, which is 9pm local time, so the crowd is sparse.
Shortly before kick-off, however, it’s a very different story. Despite several sections of the ground being closed completely, the Greek fans ramp up the noise. It’s impressive stuff, synchronised and with the whole ground joining in, led by their ultras behind the goal at the far end. There’s another pleasant surprise from the Greek support, as a banner stretching the length of their boundary wall bears the words of the great Jock Stein, ‘Football without fans is nothing”. These guys know their football and how to support a team with a touch of class.
As the teams come out, an explosion of yellow smoke erupts from their section behind the goal. Around me, the crowd has grown substantially. It looks like there are a couple of thousand Celts in the ground, giving it everything. As always, there are Hoops dotted in home sections, Heroes CSC.
All of the Celtic family are represented here. I’m now in the veteran stage, putting it kindly, however there is a guy giving me twenty years struggling up the steps with two sticks. We help him into a seat and he’s good to go. There are dads with kids in matching new away jerseys, young girls and older ladies, whilst the majority are me from an earlier era.
I never cease to be amazed by the international element to our travelling support. Two lads from Germany opposite me are explaining to a Scot why they came to love and follow Celtic, “we try to go everywhere”. Bizarrely, a similar conversation is going on behind me, as a Greek Celt tells why he fell in love with our team. I’m dying to hear the reason properly but it’s drowned out as another anthem gets the treatment. For the next two hours, though, his is the distinctive voice I can hear belting out the tunes. More than a club indeed.
We’re not yet more than a team sadly, as no lessons are learned and the schoolboy defending and early gift goals continue. Yet another cross not defended and it’s ‘after you Claude’ as the Greeks grab the goal and the initiative. The volume is pumped up and it’s looking and sounding ominous. In fairness, the Bhoys respond well and look the better team as the half progresses. There is a crucial moment as the Griff deflects a cross towards the far post, looking on as it agonisingly squeezes just wide. I check the scoreboard which shows 33 minutes. That would have made a big difference. Small margins, huge impact. Half-time arrives with no further score. Despite the early setback, this feels much better than my previous awayday, in St. Petersburg, where I felt we lacked real belief and heart throughout.
There’s a sickening start to the second half. Despite a 15-minute warm-up, involving kicking to Scott Bain on the touch line to ‘set the sighters’, for the umpteenth time on the night Craig Gordon chips the ball over our players and out for touch. Once again we pay, as a cross is played to the far post then headed back for Croatian striker Marko Livaja, in my opinion the player of the tie, to knock in. Another basic goal conceded, undoing all of the hard work and giving us a new mountain to climb.
Again, Celts come back and Scott Sinclair, just on the park, heads home after good work down our left. Game on. There’s the usual finish for such matches. All-out attack from Celtic and sadly every trick in the book from the Greeks, as they manage the tie out, surviving a final scare as Simunovic flicks a shot for goal and for a split-second I think we’re going through. Sadly it’s past and we’re out.
After the obligatory wait, we’re finally leaving the ground. There’s another surprise, for me anyway, as a fleet of airport-style buses await to take us into town. The mood is sombre, although one hardy soul is giving the early Celtic songs of my childhood albums his heart and soul, and is applauded by the fans accordingly. Never fails to amaze me, as we move from ‘not going back’ to ‘who’s up next?’ within an hour of full-time.
We’re dropped off in Syntagma and by now I’m a local, moving quickly to the tram stop for the slow ride home. Again my Hoops bring me into a conversation, this time with a York City fan who is in Athens to visit his girlfriend’s family and who was at the game. He opens with a view that Celtic were the better team. I’m far too raw and gutted to endorse that, instead changing the conversation to his own club.
I’m unaware that they are now ploughing their trade in the lower levels of non-league football. He is chuffed that I remember their games against Manchester United, one a league game from before his time the season after United’s relegation, the other a more recent 3-0 victory at Old Trafford. He has adopted Panionios as his Greek team and is a regular attender. He points out the stadium on the tramways map, we’re about to pass it as it happens. Apparently, the stadium holds around 12,000 but normal gates would be less than half of that. You enter the terracings via a social club, which sounds cool and as with all Greek matches, away fans are banned due to past violence.
We leave the train at the same stop, shake hands and go our separate ways. It’s a five-minute walk to my hotel and no-one is on the streets. Back in the cupboard-under-the-stairs, I check out what’s happening in my chat groups. The guys have had a sore night back home and their views are angry but pretty much spot on. I don’t have the heart or inclination to get involved tonight. Despite the years of travel and an alleged maturity, it doesn’t hurt any less. Instead I Google FK Sūduva.
Matt Corr in Athens
