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IN ISTANBUL, BY THE BOSPHORUS
Liverpool fan Nigel Shaw has summed up the events before, during and after the Champions League final in Istanbul in this brilliant poem.
In Istanbul, by the Bosphorus
It's the story of an emotional roller coaster ride
And it still seems so preposterous
How we sang and we sighed, we screamed and we cried
In Istanbul, by the Bosphorus.
The delight when we qualified, but started to brick it
Sped straight home to book a flight.
The greed, the desperate need, I must have a ticket!
Got one! And couldn't sleep all night.
The anticipation, the lack of concentration
That affected everything I did
Easily distracted, for three weeks I acted
More childish than me kid.
The jittery 'Jet 2' journey to Amsterdam
And the nervous night over there,
Just jealous as the jabbering texts come in
From mates in Taksim Square.
The anxiety and anticipation - oh heck!
Still in a Dutch airport the next day.
Finally in Istanbul - a gibbering wreck
After a five-hour delay.
The relief and excitement - we're arriving
Full five hours before the match
But the total naivety, not realising
Traffic jams were the catch.
'At last you're here, join us for a beer'
Said a text from my mate Andy;
But the party's over there, and we're over here
A helicopter would be handy.
The impatience, a bus to the centre, thinking
The old bazaars must be beautiful.
But there's no time for eating and drinking
Or sightseeing round Istanbul.
The reassurance, Rob talks good sense,
'Best get up the ground -
There'll be a party, kebabs and beer'
'OK mate that's sound.'
The angst - all taxis are full and ignore us
The relief - as some Reds call our name
The recognition of fellow fans in a minibus
Who've remembered us from the plane.
On every street corner it's Scousers we pass
Rocking to the big Scouse sound.
The flags and the songs are such total class
As they try to grab taxis to the ground.
The fans grab any vehicle in this mad, slow dash
Some even bribe the riders of scooters
One loon stands on the pillion seat singing Johnny Cash,
All the taxi drivers honking their hooters.
Some join the race, hanging out of packed vans,
While Turkish lads appear alongside
At walking pace, selling Efes beer in cans
Cos this is a mighty slow ride.
The collective goodwill from Turks lining the street
Is amazing on the way to the ground,
Like the collective will with which the Kopites beat
Those great teams in each earlier round.
The elation - the Stadium appears on the skyline
The frustration - traffic stretches ahead.
The inspiration - across the fields a 2-mile line
Of hopeful hikers in Red.
The decision - 'Come on lads , it's quicker to walk'
And we trek through fields full of goats.
Striding and singing, with tantalising talk
Of how beer would feel in our throats.
The enthusiasm - 'Up there there'll be bands,
Pete Wylie, Mighty Wah!'
But when we get there it's barren wastelands -
No bands, no kebabs, no bar.
Our Shankly flag meets the Paisley flag
So we stop and shoot a snap.
We start some songs, but no beer's a drag
The organisation is crap.
I'm not one of those anaesthestised, alcholic fans,
But I get nervous at a big match,
So thank when we meet our Andy with cans
And that helps me relax.
Then someone says 'let's get inside, there's bars'
(I don't know where he meant.
Though we did pass by some arl Liverpool stars
At some corporate event.)
Stood smiling like a statue with drink and a plate
Was the hero of Rome eighty four
'Hey Zico lad, bring us some take-outs, mate'
I shouted through the open door.
The realisation, as we scan round the stadium:
Thousands of flags and a hundred songs.
We place our Shankly ensign in celebration
At pitch-side, where he belongs.
The bouncing, the buzzing, the bursting with pride
Forty thousand Reds, up for the Cup
But concerned as we work out the starting side
From the way they're warming up.
Not depressed, don't worry, Rafa knows best,
When there's Kewell but no Didi
And we're nonplussed, but still a bit impressed
By the strange pre-match ceremony.
Crestfallen, we've hardly touched the ball and
Maldini makes it one-nil
This is appalling - we're in for a mauling
They're tearing us apart at will.
The fury, the feeling this won't be our night
We should have had a penalty kick
Then Schevchenko's surging down the right
And Crespo! two-nil! I feel sick.
The rage: 'Stop Kaka, attacking playmaker,
He's roaming totally free'
Then the grimly gobsmacking sick-maker
As Crespo makes it three.
The fatalism - as the Ultras fete Milan's Cup
At half time on their side of the ground;
The withdrawal - as I watch Hamman warm up
'Come on Di, we can turn this around'
The weeping, grieving, a few Reds even leaving,
How they felt nobody else knows.
Shocking, disbelieving, some Reds unbelieving,
And some even coming to blows.
But faith is unswerving, unshirking, unblinking
With faith you can walk through fire.
And not everyone who tells you they were thinking
We'd win at that moment's a liar.
So in temporary insanity, the blackest hilarity
We sang 'We're gonna win 4-3'
Then 'You'll Never Walk Alone', in solidarity
And the rest is history.
The re-organisation, drive, determination;
A new Liverpol came out.
With the inspiration of singing Scouse nation
They began to stop the rout.
The immediate attack, Gerrard's goal back
The relief! What a goal can do
And before Milan can get possession back
The belief! Vladi's made it two.
The terror - I couldn't watch as Xabi shook us
With a petrified penalty in our name.
Incredible! Unbelievable! Utterly outrageous
How are we back in this game?
The delight - I danced and hugged strangers
Light headed, all burdens removed.
Now we felt immune to Milan's dangers,
And sang 'we shall not be moved'
The bouncing, the dancing, the waving of flags
'Whatever happens now it's OK, la'
My mate said to me as we sang 'The Fields'
The sense of 'que sera, sera'
The worry only came, apprehensive, defensive
Deep into the extra time.
The dazed amazement of Dudek's double save
Defying destiny, divine.
The disbelief, the pinching meself,
Feeling it's all too surreal.
Then again 'You'll Never Walk Alone'
Before the penalty ordeal
The solidarity, arms round mates in the stands
As the players do on the field;
We felt Dudek's arms and legs and hands
Were part of our human shield.
The ecstatic Reds went Berserk in the Ataturk
When Jerzy saved, I cried like a kid;
But emotionally drained, part of me remained
Detached, watching what everyone did.
The delirium, as they piled on Dudek right away
And in the stands we did the same.
But two Liverpool stalwarts sped straight to thank
Us for support throughout the campaign.
Scouse and proud, Carra sprinted to the crowd
And Stevie ran to my bit
They'd been told it strictly wasn't allowed
But they didn't give a s***.
I tried to absorb every sight and sound
Of presentation and lap of honour.
I was one of the last to leave that ground
Dying for a beer and a doner.
The exhaustion, another hour to find taxis
'Meet in Sultanahmet'Andy said
But after over an hour's drive it turned into
Incredulity - he'd just gone to bed.
Half past three and he's just gone to bed,
Though the European Cup is ours
It hasn't sunk in yet and he's gone to bed,
But we haven't eaten for 18 hours.
The texts came in from Taksim square
'Brilliant party Nige get here'
I'm still jealous of those who were there
But at last I had me kebab and beer.
In the Old Town we had a smaller street party
(Though I heard Taksim was better by far)
I sang 'Let it Be', with the words about Stevie G
On the steps of the Karaoke bar.
The team were total stars, and the fans were the best
Partying with the Turks and no trouble
Made loads of friends in the bars, not a single arrest
To burst our Istan-bubble.
The anti-climax, exhaustion and chaos
Of the airport – it was one big scrum.
We were lucky ones - our flight took off
Just 4 hours after it should have done.
When I found out the delay, like so many that day
Meant we missed the homecoming parade,
It was temporary confusion, a sense of exclusion :
Drained, disappointed, dismayed.
At the airport a text from another mate
'Are we meeting up later in Town?'
Brilliant! Incredible! It must have been great!
What was it like in the ground?
I wrote 'haven't slept 2 nights, didn't eat for 18 hours
Didn't have time to drink enough beer,
Wasn't at the party, didn't meet most of me mates
But I bet you still wish you were here!'
'Emotional roller coaster' doesn't sum it up -
We're numb, knackered and shattered.
We just met a bloke who didn't know we won the cup
He left when we were getting battered.
So that's the story of our roller-coaster ride
And it still seems so preposterous;
How we sang and we sighed, we screamed and we cried
In Istanbul, by the Bosphorus. |
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樓主: 奧雲仔仔
發表於 06-5-25 06:08 PM
發表於 06-5-25 07:04 PM
