Three months from the day that we won away in Trondheim, it is time for another Celtic pilgrimage.
This time it’s Valencia and there will be no more Norman Nae-mates, as both of my sons are coming along. The Corr Bhoys will be on tour for first time since Amsterdam 2013. Sadly, Celtic-daft daughter’s teaching commitments prevent a full house, so she will be stuck rooting for Celtic at home. I can finally utilise the ‘Essentials Pack’ I kindly received from the Heriot-Watt/Edinburgh CSC following last year’s Tommy Burns’ Supper, although I have to decide who will get the Sankt Pauli t-shirt and who will sample the vintage wine.
When the draw was initially made, I checked to see if Real Madrid were at home to Ajax in the Champions League, giving us the option of combining both cities. Turns out they are not, but Atletico are playing Juventus the night before our game and Ronaldo’s return to Madrid should add a bit of spice to that. A plan is forming. Fly to Madrid, take in that game and/or perhaps the Bernabeu, then travel through to Valencia on Thursday morning.
My older son and I took the tours of both Madrid stadia in August, when there were no viable flights to Trondheim, a busman’s holiday for me. So the Hoops have been here this year already. The trophy room in the Bernabeu with the thirteen European Cups in a line is something else. Time to get to work catching these guys up, Brendan!
Attempts to buy home tickets for the clash at the Metropolitano, venue for this year’s Champions League Final, require you to join Atletico’s membership scheme. We try that but there are no responses forthcoming, despite several prompts. And most third party agents are looking for silly money. We’ll just take our chances when we reach Madrid.
The Mestalla ticket situation is more worrying. I qualified for one from Celtic but neither of the boys did and the day trip was not an option. Eventually, I break my own rule and buy two ‘home end’ seats online from a third party provider. They will be delivered to our hotel in Valencia, apparently. Not a great situation but I’m desperate, so it’s better than nothing.
We’re at Glasgow Airport at silly o’clock on Wednesday morning, to catch a flight to Heathrow then onwards to Madrid. No customary Guinness or roll and sausage for me this morning. I am running the Tokyo marathon in ten days, so there’s been no alcohol since Hogmanay and I need to limit any intake now, which will be a challenge on this trip. Tokyo is the second objective in my efforts to raise money for the Celtic FC Foundation. The November marathon in New York City has raised £1,000 for the cause and I’m trying to nudge it up towards £1,500. A recent Celtic TV piece has helped promote this, however, if you can afford to help us achieve this target, then please do. It would be greatly appreciated.
????♂️ “I did my own winter training camp in Dubai, at the same time as the team was there!”#CelticFC tour guide @Boola_vogue is running the #TokyoMarathon???????? to raise funds for @FoundationCFC. pic.twitter.com/T6joeAgPLe
— Celtic Football Club (@CelticFC) February 5, 2019
We arrive in Madrid and take a taxi straight to the Metropolitano. We have the obligatory photo taken wearing the Hoops then join the Italian fans in the ticket queue. Touts are looking for £250 but after about an hour in the queue we’re sorted, getting three main stand tickets for that price. Happy days. On the way back to the metro station, sitting on the stairs soaking up the sun, we meet another Celtic man who is going to the match tonight.
Catch the train into central Madrid to take in the sights. Through Puerta del Sol, we stop for a spot of lunch and a beer in Plaza Major. Later we head towards the Palacio Real. I have it in my head that you can see the Vicente Calderon from up here, as I did on a previous visit, but no joy. It has either been demolished or, more likely, I’m havering.
Back in the hotel, showered and changed, soon it’s time to head for the game. We stop for a pint in an Irish bar, the James Joyce, where a group of Celtic fans are sharing some beers and songs with Atletico supporters. Didn’t think I’d ever see that following the events of 1974. We then make our way to the game via the metro. Soon we are approaching the stadium, which is lit up in red and looks amazing. There is a Fanzone outside the ground, where both sets of fans seem to be mingling, so we stop for a beer, as you do.
Inside the stadium, up a few flights of stairs and we’re good to go. Our seats are all in the same area and are excellent and so is the atmosphere, with a couple of familiar tunes belting out. If Celtic Park had an upper tier in the main stand, my dream, this would be it. The stadium’s open ‘bowl-effect’ feels massive, despite it only seating 8,000 more than Paradise. Not for the first time, the Champions League anthem is roundly booed.
Ronaldo is getting dog’s abuse every time he touches the ball, unless his nickname is ‘Buta’. He goes close with a free-kick and then Atletico are on the receiving end of a couple of VAR decisions, firstly having a penalty then a goal cancelled. Both turn out to be correct decisions. Griezmann hits the bar and we’re thinking this has 0-0 written all over it but then Atletico finally make the breakthrough, with both central defenders getting on the scoresheet late on. The crowd around us go berserk. It is a sight and sound to behold.
Back into town for some late-night food. We land in an Italian restaurant and I am feeling chuffed that my schoolboy attempts at the language are going down well with the waiter. It is only afterwards that my sons advise that he was going back to the counter to convert my comments into Spanish. Needless to say, I get pelters for the rest of the night, my every word receiving a response in German or Russian. It’s been a great day, despite that!
By 9.30 the following morning we are on a train to Valencia. It is all very civilised, with food served and the opportunity to catch up on some writing and reading. The calm before the storm. Pick up on some mixed reports about Celtic fans being able to buy tickets at the ground then that the ticket office will be closed. I then receive an e-mail from the third party provider, advising that UEFA has now classified the match as ‘high risk’ and so my purchase has been cancelled. Not great news. Also concerning to hear reports of violent police action in Valencia, which sort of puts the ticket situation into perspective. Hopefully, no-one is seriously injured.
Arrive in the sunshine of Valencia around noon and walk quickly to the hotel. We have booked a loft conversion in a place near the city centre, which is ideal. Quick turnaround and we are heading for the Mestalla to see what the ticket situation is. As we suspected, the ticket office is closed, as are the tours. So, the plan is a walk around the stadium for some photos, a quick beer, then something for lunch.
We get talking to a retired couple from Tucson, Arizona. They have moved permanently to Valencia and are giving us some tips on where to go for lunch, utilising the ‘menu del dia’. There is a bit of excitement as the Valencia team coach pulls up a few yards from where we are sitting, although, bizarrely, the players then all arrive in a fleet of cars, disappearing into an entrance next to the Bar Mestalla. The coach remains parked there for some time but we still have no idea who or what it was carrying .
We find the Bar Mestalla, where a couple of Celtic fans have already pitched camp. They introduce themselves as Des and Alastair and we chew the fat with them for a while. The food is of a quality you would expect for a three-course lunch at 8Euro, but it’s food, which doesn’t always happen on European awaydays.
The bar has photos of Valencia matches over the years, so I nip in to capture some of those. The waitress who has been looking after us decides to photo-bomb me. She is called Patricia and is what we would describe as someone who takes no s**t but is funny with it. You basically do what you’re told in her bar!
On the way to the ground, one of my sons is stopped by a lovely young Spanish girl, who asks to exchange scarves, which he gladly does. As we’re sitting in the Bar Mestalla awaiting our cheap feast and abuse from Patricia, we are approached by a TV crew. Well, when I say ‘we’, I mean my sons. The crew don’t want the old git with the good face for radio, they want the talent. They have assumed my son with his Valencia scarf is a home fan, engaging in gentle banter with his new Celtic friend. Despite us advising them to the contrary, they still want to do the piece. So my sons become the poster Bhoys for Valencia’s official Instagram, causing great hilarity back home as they get slaughtered on social media, by friends and strangers alike. If they hadn’t been so cruel to me last night in the Italian, they would have my sympathy.
I have arranged to meet up with my big pal, Davie, from Celtic FC Tours. I have known him since he was a boy and it’s great that he, I and our sons can spend some time in the sun enjoying the Celtic awayday experience. All too soon it’s time to head to the ground, feeling a huge sense of guilt at leaving my boys outside. Davie helpfully suggests that I give my ticket to my favourite son, which causes some hilarity (and panic) in the ranks. I remind him that this is against club policy, so I’ll have to go myself!
We make arrangements to meet outside the ground afterwards and I head in. As always, the away end is packed and I struggle to get a seat in the section I’m ushered into. Having been moved from my spot on the passageway several times by the super-keen Valencia steward, I eventually squeeze in to watch the match. I’ve been in the Mestalla before, November 2001, however, I’m still taken aback by the height and steepness of the stand. It’s an incredible place.
Celtic are holding their own and then disaster, as Toljan is red-carded for what looks like an innocuous challenge. Like Rab Douglas, more than seventeen years ago, Scott Bain is producing heroics to keep Celts in the tie, ably supported by his yellow-clad teammates. Sadly, it is deja-vu, as just when you start to think we might just secure a draw, which could be crucial to Celtic and Scotland’s co-efficient moving forward, the ball is headed back across the goal for Valencia substitute, Gamiero, to score, the ball appearing to go through Bain’s legs on the line. As in 2001, it will be close but no Celtic cigar. I feel like we deserved better.
There is the post-match ritual of support for the team and then it’s time to head home. I have another problem, the frenzy of photos taken earlier has drained my battery so I have no way of contacting my sons. I head back to the bar behind the stadium where, hopefully, they will have remained. There will no doubt be tales to be told of their evening, as another Celtic European campaign comes to an end.
Roll on June, when we start to plan for next season.
Matt Corr
