Trip Of A Lifetime: Rome Conquered

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My mum grew up going to Bournemouth games, so this was quite a culture shock for her. The mayhem, widespread drunkenness and electric atmosphere that goes with thousands of Celts abroad on a jolly, wasn’t something she experienced on the quiet slopes of Dean Court.

As Chris finished his set, we went for a drink outside and some fresh air… right as a sing song began:

Glasnevin were up next as the atmosphere ramped up a notch with a Celtic Symphony/Belter medley…

The Irish Brigade were last onto the stage, at which point smoke bombs interrupted their set, half the crowd their shirts off, the sinks were full of urine and general carnage took place… much the bemusement of a lady-like woman such as my mum, who thought that a Take That concert at the O2 was mental.

The gig ended with order mildly restored and a farewell rendition of Beautiful Sunday. As we stumbled out onto the street in search of a taxi, I walked about with my hands stuck to my knees. I had intended to drink whilst keeping my wits about me due to the threats from Lazio Ultras, but that all went out the window as everyone else knew it would. It was up to everyone else to flag down a taxi, whilst I took a snooze against the wall. My friends bundled me into the back and I knelt on the seat with my head out the window, before vomiting all down the door… cue laughter from my pals, a tut from Dad and a combination of disgust and embarrassment from my mum.

I remember nothing of the evening thereafter, but what an atmosphere and laugh, up until those dreadful moments in the taxi. The sun pierced the curtains the next morning, I rolled out of bed and found slices of pizza across the room with no idea how they got there. I felt surprisingly fresh so reached for my phone to see what everyone else was up to, when I saw a text from a friend back home to say that two Celtic fans had been stabbed outside an Irish bar overnight. I hadn’t taken colours out with me, but many did and we didn’t see a hint of trouble, so the news gave me a bit of a jolt to keep the head, especially with mum being with us.

We all met at a nearby cafe for a Piadina breakfast, and then bought a few cans of lager en route to the Piazza Del Canestre, where fans had began to gather. It was a beautiful day with the sun shining, ideal for enjoying a few drinks with friends and family, before the pre-match atmosphere intensified as the crowds got bigger. We were surrounded by armoured police vehicles and police vans all day. Many people were herded onto buses that had been set up to take fans to the ground, but it was so early that we preferred to wait and enjoy the atmosphere rather than be stuck in a stadium paying over the odds for a warm pint in a plastic cup.

Eventually we did board the bus, packed in like sardines. It was a superb journey, absolutely bouncing the whole way. None of us had told my mum about any of the trouble with Lazio, so she turned to me and said “This is great, I feel like a celebrity,” when the convoy of Celtic buses went past all the road closures and police motorbikes rode alongside us. When the bus pulled into the stadium car park, I Wanna Be Edouard started at the back. The driver barely pulled up the handbrake as the bus shook side to side with everyone jumping “I wanna, I wanna, I wanna be Edouard, du, du, du, du.” It just took things up a notch with all the other buses joining in, what a noise.

It was all serious now as about half the away support seemed to have dodgy tickets and all of my group, except myself, were the same. I picked our turnstyle and went ahead. There was an initial check from the steward matching ID to the name on the ticket. Everyone got through. Next up was a police ran, full body search/pat down, even checking hoods. Everyone got through again. Thirdly, there was another turnstyle, whereby you have to scan your ticket to open the barrier, before a final check with stewards matching the details on the ticket to that of your ID. I turned around to see my friends and parents all get through, which was a great relief.

Almost as great a relief was the fact that the stadium had a bar selling paninis and pints, and not the alcohol free ones which so often deceive fans. There was still about 90 minutes until kick off so that was a great relief before we took to our seats. The stadium was nice for athletics, but doesn’t belong in football. We were up the back and could vaguely make out the goal in the background.

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About Author

Hailing from an Irish background, I grew up on the English south coast with the good fortune to begin watching Celtic during the Martin O'Neill era. I have written four Celtic books since the age of 19: Our Stories & Our Songs: The Celtic Support, Take Me To Your Paradise: A History Of Celtic-Related Incidents & Events, Walfrid & The Bould Bhoys: Celtic's Founding Fathers, First Season & Early Stars, and The Holy Grounds of Glasgow Celtic: A Guide To Celtic Landmarks & Sites Of Interest. These were previously sold in Waterstones and official Celtic FC stores, and are now available on Amazon.

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