The sheer cost probably helped Celtic turn Seville green. Sure, Porto’s fans were ardent but even the most ardent must have been sorely tempted by the riches on offer for a ticket. The sums the Celtic supporters were prepared to pay were vast amounts for people from one of Europe’s poorer nations.
One ticket was raffled at Tommy Tango’s, the newsagent and sweetie shop in Whifflet. The ticket had been bought by one Celt whose wife was so outraged at his use of their hard-earned cash she made him give it to charity. Tommy Tango’s is a busy wee shop but an extra several thousand people trod through the door in the space of a few days to part with their £1 in the hope it would buy them a foreign holiday.
Money talks, of course. The likes of Jim Kerr, Rod Stewart and Billy Connelly were always going to be in the ground. Others were saving, just in case. No-one wanted the offer of a ticket without the funds to redeem it.
As a result, North Lanarkshire Council’s Finance Committee held an emergency meeting as its budget went into freefall. Council tenants in Coatbridge had stopped paying their rent. Just in case.
Some fans got their tickets through extraordinary means. Before the game a Porto fan, devastated by the accidental death by drowning of his best friend, was so overcome by the sympathy offered by one Celtic supporter, he handed over his ticket. He couldn’t face the match without his pal, so an astonished Bhoy went instead. It was typical of the bonhomie that the two sets of fans established.
There was no need for segregation with fans so determined to enjoy themselves. Indeed, had segregation been required, it would have been virtually impossible, given that there were four buyers for every seat in the ground, no matter where it was.
For those without tickets, just being there was enough, with or without accommodation. Some had actually managed to book a bed and failed to find it, having decided they were having too much fun where they were or, more commonly, just failed the test of getting there. One fan was woken early in the morning by the persistent sound of ringing in his ears. Having eschewed the comfort of his hotel he’d slept in a handy telephone kiosk.
The event assumed such magnitude that Scottish Television decided to begin its live broadcast eight hours before kick off. The satellite pictures drew a stark contrast between Glasgow and Seville. For a start, the pictures suggested one half – at least – of Glasgow had made it to Spain. The city’s streets and squares and parks were a sea of green and white and the familiar rallying calls were echoing off the buildings as the Bhoys applied themselves to the task of attempting to drink Seville out of beer and wine.
