Author Topic: Taxi To Ataturk!  (Read 37132 times)

Offline MichaelA

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Taxi To Ataturk!
« on: August 1, 2005, 04:15:07 pm »
Dark peaty waters swirled around my foot, breaking and bubbling as it dropped away into the plunge pool six foot below me. I stood poised, Karate Kid style, one foot on the edge of the waterfall, one foot in mid air, arms balanced, ready to take a leap into the unknown. Common sense and self-preservation dictated that I really needed to concentrate on this, but I was thinking about Istanbul.

I was thinking about being in Istanbul with a broken leg. I was wondering why on earth I had thought that a canyoning trip, three days before the European Cup Final, was a good idea. I was wondering why I had thought that a canyoning trip was a good idea, full stop. But mainly I was thinking about Istanbul. The European Cup Final in Istanbul. I jumped...

It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a very big waterfall, but it was the biggest waterfall that I have ever jumped from. In fact, to date, it's the only waterfall that I have jumped from. When I resurfaced a few yards downstream I was grinning the kind of idiotic grin you don't see very often. The exhilaration of the moment was all consuming; or so it seemed at the time. But this was Sunday morning; by the early hours of Thursday morning I would be rewriting the Big Book Of Superlatives.

Two days later, and I am back on dry land. Work had brought me from Edinburgh to West London. In the weeks since we had beaten Chelsea I had had the attention span of a gnat. Concentration levels in London had not been assisted by the liquid hospitality of various members of my family. Finally, work done, I was able to get away, and meet my first travelling companion, my younger brother Mal. It was hot and sunny, and we were excitedly babbling at each other. We took a quick look at the match tickets in a daze of disbelief; we were on our way to the European Cup Final together. The European Cup Final.

We had flights from Heathrow to Frankfurt, where we would be staying with the third happy traveller, our very own RAWK rocket man - Gareth. For Mal and I, our journey together began in West London. We had to score some stuff for Gareth. I wasn't proud of what we were doing; indeed I felt sullied by the whole experience. So much so that it was Mal who actually carried out the transaction. However, once we had secured the Marmite, we were off to Heathrow, to Frankfurt, to Istanbul. In honour of our pposition, we ate pizza and drank Italian lager in departures, reminiscing, predicting, and nervously and excitedly discussing the trip, the match, and the prospect of winning. Consoling ourselves, even then, with the idea that the trip was the important thing, that the winning or the losing was secondary.

And yet…and yet…like many other fans, I had had a very peculiar sense that destiny was on our side. I firmly believe that you make your own luck in life, and yet since the Olympiakos home game I had had the feeling that events were taking a shape of their own, something that went beyond the mundane and everyday actions of mere mortals. The very stars themselves had been aligning themselves in our favour. Although I felt that this was something that I could not share with any one else for fear of jinxing my own predictions, I also felt that every other Liverpool fan was complicit in this inevitable fate. The idea of 20,000 travelling Reds in departure lounges across Europe merely heightened this sense of anticipation, that feeling that we were destined for something momentous.

Here I was, these feelings intact, 24 hours and 2000 miles from the Ataturk Stadium. Something was going very right, and as our flight hurtled across the skies of darkened Europe, beneath the stars I felt a sense of calm destiny - although it may well have been the lager kicking in. Certainly, an evening spent enjoying German Lager at Schloss Gareth contributed to the indulgent flight of fancy as the kick off drew ever nearer.

Istanbul Ataturk airport was like a slap across the face with a hot towel. It was humid and hot, a frantic and manic sensory overload, sponsored by UEFA. Banners for the Champions League brands hung suspended from pillars and ceilings around the arrival hall. It sent my jangling senses into overdrive. For weeks I had had a nameless, nagging, low-level drip of adrenalin pulsing through me; now I was in Istanbul, the match was hours away, and that steady drip had become a raging torrent of emotion, heightening the senses, and turning me into a jittery and nervous, sweat drenched panic monger. This anxiety was heightened when the car to the hotel was delayed. The driver spoke no English, the traffic was nuts, and sharing the hotel taxi we had a Polish born Chelsea fan who had flown in from Kyiv. Gareth had a migraine, and Mal was eating Magnum ice creams. We were already knackered; hot, sweaty and dehydrated (alright, hungover). As the taxi careered toward the Bosphorus, a peculiar set of circumstances became surreal when Gareth began fielding a series of phone calls from the BBC, which culminated in me being interviewed by Radio Scotland. The interviewer pushed me for a prediction, but I couldn't give a public voice to the quiet confidence that I felt whenever I thought about the game. The game that was now only a matter of hours away. In fact, the truth was that it was uncomfortably close to kick off, and a frantic scene developed in our hotel that was doubtless being replicated in hundreds of hotels across the city: colours, scarves, cash, tickets, taxi, BEER.

Shirts on, scarf around wrist, cash distributed in many pockets, tickets secured in my pants, I was ready. The hotel sorted us out with a car. Our driver spoke no English, and obviously we spoke no Turkish, but we rapidly established his support of newly crowned Turkish champions Fenerbahce, the need for an off licence, and the need for extreme haste. By this point, our transport sorted, my nerves were slightly less frazzled, in part due to the staggering response of the Turkish people that we met. Well, the Turkish people that we met at the off licence. Without fail they predicted a Liverpool victory; and wished us well with real passion. These people love their football, and as long as we were spending our money, they loved us too. Having achieved possession of a crate of Efes and, crucially, a couple of bottle openers, our driver negotiated his way through the city and out toward the Ataturk Stadium.

The road to the stadium was a twenty-odd mile procession of twenty-odd thousand Reds, utilising what seemed like every form of transport known to mankind. The Turks who lined the side of the road were selling beer and food, and taking scarves, shirts, HJC stickers, and holding up signs predicting a Liverpool victory. 5-0 was a popular prediction. I was still not prepared to predict anything, but the feeling grew that we were an all-conquering (and increasingly all pissed) army, as we slowly headed toward the stadium. It seemed inconceivable that we would do anything other than win. It wasn't overconfidence, or lack of respect for Milan; it was simply the weight of the anticipation of the thousands of Reds en route to the stadium.

It was an almost physical sense that there was a job to be done. This had already been a season like no other; so let us, in no particular order, have a brief recap. We had the great Thai noodle and Steve Morgan, the NWDA, EFC, and the ground share, the plans for a new Anfield, Ged's departure, Owen leaving, Stevie Gerrard's summer Strummer dither, broken legs, other injury nonsense, the shoddy League form, bloody Chelsea, beaten at Anfield South, Everton coming higher in the table, the Sun 'apology', the twentieth anniversary of Heysel, and then drawing Juve…and then bloody Chelsea again, and throughout the year Anfield had reverberated to the sound of the Rafalution. How could we come through so much, travel so far, without seeing Stevie lift that big shiny silver cup?

And, for many older Reds there was also the long shadow of Heysel to consider. I was conscious of a weight of responsibility upon my own shoulders, but there was a sense of determination and destiny amongst some of the older fans; the one who had been there, the ones with ghosts to lay to rest. There was a palpable sense of responsibility that the club and the fans owed to each other; to put us back amongst the great, but equally as importantly, the good, of European Football. I found it impossible to separate the thirty-odd year journey of my own personal history of support from the events unfolding around me in Istanbul. We were all making history, wiping clean the slate; how could it be anything other than Big Eared European Cup Number Five?

When, finally, our destination appeared in view at the end of that long winding road through the hills, I felt more than ever that the fates were on our side. Set against a barren and dusty landscape, the exodus of 25,000 Liverpool fans from the city took on a biblical feel. As the floodlights glared into the darkening night sky, the Ataturk was a surreal and beautiful sight - like a Coppola set from Apocalypse Now, but with Red flags. 

The Efes had until that point just about cancelled out the adrenalin, but from the moment the stadium appeared, my veins ran ice cold with anticipation. Unfortunately the Efes was also causing my bladder to run swollen with beer, and so, along with several thousand fellow Reds, I found relief along the side of the road to Ataturk. The evening began to take a peculiar turn when brother Mal idly pointed at a bloke standing on a pile of rubble having a pee and said ' he looks like Bob K.' 'Nah' we chorused. Given the extraordinary circumstances of the day, it seemed natural that his suspicions were confirmed moments later when a car pulled up alongside us containing Bob, Dave W and Christine, the three of them also ferrying fine Turkish lagers to the thirsty and increasingly stroppy RAWKites at the stadium.

At this point we were still well ahead of kick off time, but the gentle flurry of text messages had become an avalanche, as those aforementioned thirsty RAWKites at the ground variously queried the whereabouts of the beer, and in the case of Spartacus, the whereabouts of Gareth. Christine had Gareth's ticket, and seemed, to us, to be super keen to get in ahead of kick off time. Gareth was fielding more and more questions about our arrival time, and so with the stadium in sight, the traffic in jam, and Gareth in trouble, we jumped out and sprinted and hopped the last half-mile to the stadium.

The beer was distributed to various inebriated RAWKites. Flags were admired, news exchanged, selves were pinched, Christine learned about all about international time lines, and line-ups were texted. Without doubt the team news sent a shudder through the assembled fans; no Didi, Harry starts. Bloody hell. I'm no tactician; the finer points of the beautiful game are often lost upon me. However I know that Didi Hamann is one of our most essential players, and that leaving him out of the starting line up in a European Cup Final was tantamount to conceding a goal before we had even kicked off…

The night before the game, Gareth and Mal and I had sat up talking and drinking. We were discussing the nature of our support, and how we all experience matches. Mal pays attention to transfer chatter, listens to the tacticians, and watches the game with one-eyed passion. Gareth and I both agreed that for us it is a more instinctive thing. For me personally, it is partly tribal; it gives me an identity, simultaneously a sense of self, and a sense of belonging. When I watch a game I see shapes and pattern and colour and movement. I enjoy the skill, I have a reasonable grasp of tactics; but for me it is the visceral sensation of passion; the unconfined, unrestrained catharsis of throwing yourself body and soul into the moments of transcendent delirium when we play, when we score, when we win. Well, at least that's what makes me go back again and again; I know a couple of people who are just partial to the pies.

And so for me, the match itself was a kaleidoscopic tumult of images and noise and emotions. I can vaguely remember all the pre-match nonsense from UEFA. And I had my first proper pangs of doubt when the Milan fans began their flag waving and chanting. They looked ace; especially considering how few of them there were…but when we started singing You'll Never Walk Alone, invincibility reasserted itself as the dominant emotion - 30,000 Reds on their feet, scarves swaying, I was confident again. And I found myself part of an iconic memory of my childhood - in amongst 35,000 Reds at a European Cup Final.

I remember hugging my brother before kick off. We had come a long way together from that couch in the front room back in 1977. Back then, we had watched history made from afar; tonight we were to be part of it. Standing side by side on a night like that meant a great deal to both us. Before kick off we were very much in self-congratulation mode. I remember the rush of adrenalin as the game kicked off - COME ON REDMEN! Which was swiftly followed by the sobering slap of Maldini's goal. Although coming that early on, it only served to make us sing louder. So we sang. And we sang when we went three nil down, but I'm not sure my heart was really in it by then. All this way, with so much weight of expectation, thrown away. Thoughts were already turning to the dismal prospect of the return trip, defeated. So much for fate; and so much for destiny; I knew I was wrong to believe in any of that sort of nonsense. 40,000 Victor Meldrews uttered four little words over and over again.

At half time, the talk was of saving face, and restoring some pride. The text messages from friends and family at heart were laden with sympathy; it was, quite clearly, all over. I have a clear and distinct memory of sitting on my seat alongside Mal. We were possibly lost in our own little reveries, maybe exchanging the odd word or two. From somewhere to my left, the first chants of '4-3, we're gonna win 4-3' drifted across the terrace. It raised a smile, and it raised a few chins. And although you never give up hope, I just couldn't see us scoring four goals. We had seen Didi warming up though, so there was still a chance…I still think I was sat down when the chant changed…Walk On. Come on. With Hope In Your Heart. I know that I was definitely back on my feet then, and then stood back up on my seat, with my arms up, scarf held aloft, chin up, lungs bursting. Under those foreign stars we spat every word defiantly out into the night sky, and breathed life back into the punctured dreams that lay around us. The teams returned to the pitch, and we began to believe all over again.

The second half started and although we had improved, we didn't look much like scoring. The elation began to dissipate; the noise was beginning to drop when, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he scored. Well, we jumped around, as you do. In fact, as we looked around it appeared that half of the stadium was jumping around with us; astoundingly it looked as if we had 40,000 fans in there.

I remember, will always remember to the grave, the look on my brother's face as we settled back to watch the game. He just raised a questioning eyebrow; and we were doing that idiotic grinning thing, and then it seemed that almost instantaneously, Vladi scored. The linesman didn't flag; but for some reason I was expecting a whistle, I think Vladi was too, simply because that sort of thing just doesn't happen outside of Fulchester. No whistle. Now this was elation, jumping in waterfalls was all very well, but, Jesus, 3-2. Incredible. Think about that word - something that is credible is something that is believable and conceivable. Incredible. Unbelievable. Inconceivable was just about right. Writing this now, trying to recapture that moment I realise the inadequacy of language in describing human emotion. You could swallow (and some have) a thesaurus and still struggle to encompass the depth and strength of feeling amongst the fans at that point in the evening.

I think that Vladi's goal was the moment at which Milan shrank from the task; even though we were still losing, there was only one team winning from that point on. The noise was insane; it was a barrage of sound and white noise that you could feel vibrating through your body as the stadium echoed to the sound of 45,000 Red men screaming for Milan's blood. I could hear the sounds echoing around my head for days afterwards. When the penalty was awarded, I remember being virtually rigid with fear; it felt as if every muscle was straining. When Xabi scored, the release was almost an out of body experience; I can almost see myself, even now, glassy eyed and to all intents and purposes having a shrieking, screaming seizure. The next hour was a torturous ordeal; having been drained by six minutes of madness. It seemed as if everyone in the entire stadium had been exhausted by the turning wheel fate. We sang You'll Never Walk Alone as a mantra for ourselves as much as for the players on the pitch. The punctuations of full time and half time in extra time were nothing more than breathless pauses in the inevitable and inexorable progress toward the penalty shoot out (which we won). 


I don't believe in fate, but even looking back now I still cannot fully shake the feeling that these fantastical events were being shaped elsewhere. In fact I like to think that Emlyn Hughes had something to do with it. He had the nerve to sidle up to a supreme being and ask a cheeky favour; lets face it, he worked with Shanks for a few years…but I guess that it is just coincidence and superstitious nonsense - Popes, and Grand Slams and Star Wars and whatever else. To an extent, we certainly did make our own luck, but more than anything, I think that we believed single-mindedly in the inevitability of victory. It was a victory written for the pages of Roy Of The Rovers - an epic certainly, and unprecedented without a doubt.

However, despite the romance and the majesty, the machinations of fate and destiny, the comic strip script and comic style goalkeeping, this was very much a human victory. It was a drama wrought through the combined efforts of the Liverpool team, the manager, and the fans. We all made it happen because we believed that it would happen for us. Milan wavered, they stopped believing, and from the moment that Stevie scored they never recovered their self-confidence. Once they saw the look in the eyes of the Redmen on the pitch, and heard the noise of 50,000 travelling Kopites surrounding it, they were lost.

In all likelihood, none of us there that night will ever see a game like that ever again. Through, skill, and talent, and belief and passion, we achieved something that will be unsurpassed. It is a privilege and an honour to be able to say, down all the years to come, that 'I was there'.     


Copyright MichaelA ;)
« Last Edit: October 10, 2006, 09:36:38 pm by MichaelA »

Offline JOELFC

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #1 on: August 1, 2005, 04:20:11 pm »
Surperb read.........I was there too................without doubt the best day of my life.....

Offline Captain-Carra

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #2 on: August 1, 2005, 04:25:43 pm »
"In all likelihood, none of us there that night will ever see a game like that ever again."

Truer words were never spoken.

Read peoples accounts many times and each time I do so with the broadest smile on my face.

That night was amazing, beyond belief, and those of us that were there have a memory to brighten the darkest days.
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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #3 on: August 1, 2005, 04:29:31 pm »
Am speachless. Superb account. Its almost as if I was there with you ;D

Offline MichaelA

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #4 on: August 1, 2005, 04:34:30 pm »
Am speachless. Superb account. Its almost as if I was there with you ;D

 :lmao


Offline smiggers

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #5 on: August 1, 2005, 04:40:54 pm »
These accounts never get boring.
Fantastic read.

'Istanbul Ataturk airport was like a slap across the face with a hot towel. It was humid and hot, a frantic and manic sensory overload, sponsored by UEFA. Banners for the Champions League brands hung suspended from pillars and ceilings around the arrival hall.'

Even little things like that bring memories flooding back.

Brilliant read

Offline theCanadian

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #6 on: August 1, 2005, 04:41:47 pm »
An inspiring story, thank you for the fantastic read. I watched the match on a 27inch tv at home with my friends.  :'(

I'm entering University in the fall and I desperately hope to be able to do an exchange with Liverpool Hope University in my third year. This of course would be so that I can live in Liverpool, in England and I can go to Anfield.

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Offline Spartacus.

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #7 on: August 1, 2005, 04:47:10 pm »
I still feel bad about messing up re kick off time, what makes it worse is the fact that I didn’t even learn my lesson.

Taxi cam to the hotel round 3am to take us to the airport on the Saturday morning but as my watch was still set to UK time like it is for every single trip I go on I was fast asleep, why get up when its only 1am?

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Offline Barney_Rubble

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #8 on: August 1, 2005, 04:48:24 pm »

Good read... :D

because that sort of thing just doesn't happen outside of Fulchester.

:lmao

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #9 on: August 1, 2005, 04:50:51 pm »
Brilliant.

Personally, I'm still struggling to take football seriously again after that night.

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #10 on: August 1, 2005, 04:54:16 pm »
I still feel bad about messing up re kick off time, what makes it worse is the fact that I didn’t even learn my lesson.

Taxi cam to the hotel round 3am to take us to the airport on the Saturday morning but as my watch was still set to UK time like it is for every single trip I go on I was fast asleep, why get up when its only 1am?



Don't worry Christine. Paris is only an hour ahead, so next year you'll be fully justified in panicking ;)

Offline Spartacus.

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #11 on: August 1, 2005, 04:55:16 pm »
Don't worry Christine. Paris is only an hour ahead, so next year you'll be fully justified in panicking ;)

Hope so :) :) :)
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Offline Mal

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #12 on: August 1, 2005, 05:40:19 pm »
Mike, I'll never forget the whole experience, incredible is the best word I can think of too, I will never forget your part in me being there, cheers!

Am speachless. Superb account. Its almost as if I was there with you ;D

Quite remarkable that - I felt the same way too ;D ;D - it could easily be argued that without your hospitality I wouldn't have been able to go - my mrs (who still doesn't really understand why it was soooo important) found the cost of a flight via Frankfurt much easier to deal with than the cost of a direct flight, dankeschon!


Finally, the one thing I believe my brother has missed from his, otherwise fantastic, account is the key detail that I will always remember, and this is a bit of a softy brotherly love kinda thing; When we had our arms upon each others shoulders during the penalty shoot-out we only scored and Milan only missed - on the occassions when we didn't, we missed and Milan scored - this very personal experience, will always be my abiding memory of the 25th May 2005.
@ManifoldReasons

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #13 on: August 1, 2005, 05:44:39 pm »
So you mean after all the headlines about Gerrard, Vlad, Xabi and the Dude, it was actually you and Mike who won us the EC? ;D

Offline Mal

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #14 on: August 1, 2005, 05:53:28 pm »
So you mean after all the headlines about Gerrard, Vlad, Xabi and the Dude, it was actually you and Mike who won us the EC? ;D

Then as now, it's absolutely obvious.
« Last Edit: August 1, 2005, 07:25:44 pm by Appy »
@ManifoldReasons

Offline red vinyl

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #15 on: August 1, 2005, 06:14:59 pm »
Superb read!!

The emotion of that night will live me for the rest of my life.Without doubt the best night of my life!!

My only regret was i couldnt watch vlads pen,i knew the magnitude of that penalty kick and fair play to him he didnt let us down.

Offline Paxil

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #16 on: August 1, 2005, 07:00:20 pm »
Michael,
Thank you for such a lucid account. I wasn't there. You gave me a sense of what I would have felt had I been able to go.

Cheers,

Brian
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Offline JoeK210185

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #17 on: August 1, 2005, 07:15:35 pm »
absolutley fantastic read, my hairs were standing up on my neck reading that mate,

i was there. an im so proud of it.

When Vladi scored, i just looked around an everybody you looked at just got the sence...."fuck this. were gonna do it!!"

and the rest....is history :)
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Offline AdamS

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #18 on: August 1, 2005, 07:26:22 pm »
That's almost as stirringly passionate as one of my reserve match reports.



Seriously an excellent article about an excellent night. Well done :wave
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Offline HARSH

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #19 on: August 1, 2005, 07:26:28 pm »
every time i read an account of that night it sends a shiver up my spine

i cant help re living it over and over.

as you say the finest night of football any of us are likely to experience.

and it was us...we were there and we were an integral part of the most amazing comeback in history.

makes you rather proud to be a red doesnt it?
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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #20 on: August 1, 2005, 09:12:45 pm »
That's a fantastic read Michael.

But can't help wondering how you managed to go from 20,000-45,000 travelling Reds?  ;)  ;D
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Offline denisovich

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #21 on: August 1, 2005, 10:00:37 pm »
I was there!  Took me back, nice one, cheers!

Our taxi driver was a loon, kept sayin fakky fakky as we passed women, no idea what he meant.

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #22 on: August 1, 2005, 10:08:21 pm »
I was there!  Took me back, nice one, cheers!

Our taxi driver was a loon, kept sayin fakky fakky as we passed women, no idea what he meant.
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Offline MichaelA

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #23 on: August 2, 2005, 08:41:39 am »
That's a fantastic read Michael.

But can't help wondering how you managed to go from 20,000-45,000 travelling Reds?  ;)  ;D

 :P  ;)

Thanks, one and all for your kind comments; although lets face it, I would have deleted anything slagging me off.  :D

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #24 on: August 2, 2005, 09:37:51 am »
well in mate, top read.

you should write more ;)
Yep.

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #25 on: August 2, 2005, 10:07:30 am »
I will never tire of reading these accounts. Every one brings back memories and in some way correlates to my own experience.

"I remember hugging my brother before kick off. We had come a long way together from that couch in the front room back in 1977. "

Loved this bit. Something similar for me. Drunkenly ranting at my brother in Taksim Square on the Tuesday night about us watching the '81 Final in a small room in Dublin, and now look at us. The culmination of a dream.


A brilliant read.
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Offline MichaelA

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #26 on: August 2, 2005, 12:31:05 pm »
Something similar for me. Drunkenly ranting at my brother in Taksim Square on the Tuesday night about us watching the '81 Final in a small room in Dublin, and now look at us. The culmination of a dream.

It really was a dream come true.

I should point out for the record that I have another younger brother who didn't travel with us; and is now sending me sniffy emails pointing out that I do have two brothers. But Neil was about six months old when we won the cup in 1977...


Offline TheWalrus

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #27 on: August 3, 2005, 09:45:46 pm »
Brilliant read. Relived my own experience with every word. Sat here grinning and shaking my head.

Offline Aidan_B

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #28 on: August 3, 2005, 10:28:46 pm »
Thanks for another reminder of the best day and night of my life.  Still struggling to keep everything together still, crying far far too much nowadays.


Offline Taksim Square

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #29 on: August 3, 2005, 11:08:37 pm »
Does anyone know (with any degree of certainty) how many of us were actually in there?

Excellent read, btw
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Offline MichaelA

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #30 on: August 3, 2005, 11:16:52 pm »
Does anyone know (with any degree of certainty) how many of us were actually in there?

Excellent read, btw

Cheers!  :wave

There were between 20,000 and 50,000 of us.  ;)

Still struggling to keep everything together still, crying far far too much nowadays.

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Offline Farman

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #31 on: August 6, 2005, 11:42:29 am »
Thats a really beautifully-written piece Michael. As you said, no mere words can ever really do it full justice, but its fun trying!
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Offline mzungu

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #32 on: August 17, 2005, 05:44:01 pm »
fantastic read big aptro.

(They obviously didn't share eloquence out equally amongst you three then!)

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #33 on: September 29, 2005, 02:03:52 pm »
Top read and brought it all back to me my only regret that night was getting collared inside the press/excecutive lounge in the main stand. I wonder how they got on to me? May have been something to do with me wearing shorts and hardly able to stand up!     :hally

Also brought back a lot of feelings to that read. I've never felt the way I did when Smicer score and still cant explain to this day.     :odd


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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #34 on: May 25, 2006, 09:22:56 am »
Never forget where you've come here from, never pretend that it's all real.

Someday soon this will be someone else's dream. ;)

Offline davidg

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #35 on: May 25, 2006, 10:46:49 am »
Never forget where you've come here from, never pretend that it's all real.

Someday soon this will be someone else's dream. ;)

Not sure about fucking take that like!

Brilliant read, nice one..
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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #36 on: May 25, 2006, 01:03:40 pm »
Just read this again. Dont think I picked up on this little bit last time round...


The idea of 20,000 travelling Reds in departure lounges across Europe merely heightened this sense of anticipation

Quote
Set against a barren and dusty landscape, the exodus of 25,000 Liverpool fans from the city took on a biblical feel.


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30,000 Reds on their feet, scarves swaying, I was confident again.

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in amongst 35,000 Reds at a European Cup Final.

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40,000 Victor Meldrews uttered four little words over and over again.

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it looked as if we had 40,000 fans in there.


Quote
the stadium echoed to the sound of 45,000 Red men

Quote
Once they saw the look in the eyes of the Redmen on the pitch, and heard the noise of 50,000 travelling Kopites surrounding it, they were lost.

Brilliant :lmao

Offline Mal

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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #37 on: May 26, 2006, 05:15:14 pm »
Fucking magic.

Tears again you bastard.
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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #38 on: May 26, 2006, 08:59:28 pm »
what school did you go to ....i thought it was 60,000 reds but sounded like 70,000!..:)
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Re: Taxi To Ataturk!
« Reply #39 on: May 26, 2006, 08:59:54 pm »
Ahhh brings back all those great memories.  I remember getting a taxi from the airport, and thinking this bloke was going to rob me blind.  He kept telling me he would stop if I didn't give him an extra €10.

But, it made the experience that much better.  The psycho taxi driver makes the story better as well ;D