So much for getting the easy draw then! Bayer looked to be the easiest game on paper, but it didn't turn out that way as they unceremoniously dumped us out of a tournament that many of us had started to believe we'd win. After the 1-0 victory at Anfield, it never even entered my head that we'd be eliminated in Germany, and judging from the performance you'd have to say that the players, and even the management were probably thinking the same. We became complacent, and paid the price as we were put to the sword by a rampant, and extremely impressive Bayer Leverkusen side.
Last months trip to Spain was so good that it was always going to be a hard act for follow, and given the fact that we only stayed the one night, this wasn't anywhere near as eventful as our little Spanish sojourn, so this report won't be as entertaining I'm afraid. Of course, losing the game hasn't exactly helped either! Despite the disappointment of it all, I'm still glad we made the trip and it's an experience which I will look back on with some fondness. That may sound strange, but this game was probably the greatest night in Leverkusen's history, and in a way it was a pleasure to be a part of it. It was their 'St Ettienne' if you like. Of course it was gut wrenching seeing us torn apart so easily, but you can't win them all, and the way the travelling reds accepted the defeat and acknowledged the victors made it a very special occasion.
There were two changes to the line-up which made the trip to Spain, as Steve Horton replaced Graham Suppiah and my cousin Alan couldn't get the time off work and had to miss out. So it was me, my old man, Smithy and Steve that set off for Stansted airport at 5o'clock on the morning of the game. Steve had worked out all the travel arrangements a few weeks before, and all we'd been sweating on was confirmation of our match tickets, which came on the friday afternoon. Easyjet flights from Liverpool to Amsterdam had gone up to £200 return, so Stansted to Eindhoven at £43 return was a much more inviting proposition Steve did the driving, with my old man in the passenger seat and me and Smithy asleep in the back.
About four hours later we arrived at Stansted, only to discover that our flight had been delayed an hour. We had been due to take off during the Queen Mother's funeral, and we reckon that was the reason for the delay. I won't say too much on that, other than we were not impressed, particularly as we were due to catch a train from Eindhoven to Cologne, and this delay would mean we'd be cutting it pretty fine getting there in enough time to have a look around the stadium before kick off. As it turned out, the delay was only half an hour, and we arrived in Eindhoven with plenty of time to spare.
As we made the cab journey from the airport to the train station, the first thing I noticed about Holland was there were bikes everywhere. Outside the train station there must have been over a thousand bikes. Whereas most places have car parks, these had 'bike parks.' There are cycle paths alongside every road, and there's definitely more bikes than cars. This could also explain why there were no fat people in Eindhoven! The train journey to Cologne was about two hours, and cost us £30 return. Not bad. Considering that our hotel in Cologne was only costing £20 each, and our match tickets were £30, the total cost of the whole trip (excluding spends of course) was only £120 + the petrol money we were giving Steve. Less than half the cost of Lonsdale's Day Trip.
The journey was fairly mundane, except for one rather surreal moment when the German Border Police boarded the train. In our carriage there was only the four of us and a rather bizarrely attired black guy who was wearing two hats, one on top of the other! Anyway, the border police walked straight past us without batting an eyelid, but stopped to ask this guy for his passport. They gave him quite a hard time, asking questions about the purpose of his visit and how long he would be staying etc. It was blatant racism, and not something which I'd really experienced so close up before. When we got to the stadium later that night however, it was us who would be treated like shit, but I'll get to that shortly.
Our hotel was just up the road from Cologne station, and it was very nice too. Well worth £20 that's for sure. A quick change and we were back at the station to get the train to Leverkusen, which was just a 15 minute journey. Leverkusen is a beautiful place, very picturesque and so clean. It's also tiny, and it's remarkable to think that it is home to the best team in Germany right now. It's the equivalent of Formby Town leading the Premiership I suppose.
The first port of call was to be the club shop, except the German police decided that we weren't allowed past their roadblock. We explained that we wanted to go to the shop, but they were having none of it. Germans were allowed through, but no English. It was ridiculous considering there were hundreds of scousers already on the other side of their roadblock as they'd arrived at the ground from that side, but they were adamant we weren't getting past. I was well pissed off as picking up souvenirs is an important part of any away trip for me (I'd even go as far as to say that it's THE most important part), but luckily Smithy had a plan.
He went to the end of the roadblock where two junior looking German coppers were stood, not looking very sure of themselves, and they let us past without any problems. The club shop was heaving with reds. Bayer must have made a fortune out of us, as everyone in there was buying up replica shirts, scarfs and other memorabilia. Amazingly though, they didn't have any home shirts on sale, so we had to settle for the blue away shirt. They were also giving away copies of the match programme, which was a nice gesture on their part. I don't know if programmes are always free, or if it was just because it was a champions league game, or whether it was just for those who bought something in the club shop, but whatever, it was a nice touch. We left the shop having spent a fortune in there, but even when added to the cost of the trip we were still paying less than those who had taken the Lonsdale option.
When we reached the away end, it was clear something was amiss. There was a crowd building up outside the gate, and not many were getting in. The way the stadium is laid out means that you have to go through a perimeter gate before you reach the turnstile, and there was only one gate open, meaning it was getting quite congested. We arrived there about 45 minutes before kick off, and just about managed to get in to the ground in time for the start. It was a nightmare, and could have been very serious. The problem came about because of poor organisation on their part, and because of the amount of scumbags without tickets who were pushing and shoving trying to get in.
There were a number of forged tickets doing the rounds as well, which meant the police and stewards were checking each ticket very thoroughly, thus adding to the amount of time it took to admit one person. There were about six or seven policemen around the gate, and they had formed a circle around the gate and were trying to stop people pushing their way through. They handled the situation pretty well all things considered, particularly under the severe provocation that came from some of the scumbags without tickets. When a chorus of "who do you think you are kidding Mr Hitler" went up, the policemen were actually laughing. People were getting pissed off, understandably so, but pushing forward wasn't going to get us in any quicker, and could have caused a serious situation.
Steve had given the club shop a miss, and was in the ground before all the commotion started, so it was just me, Smithy and my dad who were caught up in the crush. They got in first, but I got pinned against the fence, where I was desperately trying not to squash a poor woman who was obviously terrified by the whole ordeal. Luckily, we managed to get her through and out of harms way, and eventually I managed to get to the gate where my ticket was examined by a steward and I was allowed in. At least, so I thought. A pissed up scumbag had forced his way through in front of me, and when asked to produce his ticket the cheeky fucker said that I had it. I got stopped and asked to produce HIS ticket, and in the meantime he tried to do a runner towards the stadium. Even if he had gotten away with that, there was no way he was getting into the ground without a ticket, as the security on the turnstiles was even tighter. I told them I didn't have his ticket, and was allowed through to the next gate. It was a frightening experience, and to be honest I was fucking furious. Not with the German police, but with the scum without tickets who had placed everyone else in danger, and shown a complete disregard for anyone other than themselves.
Anyway, we reached the turnstile, where we were given the most thorough search I've ever been subjected to. My dad was searched twice within the space of about five yards, much to his displeasure. As he pointed out to the steward, their fans weren't subjected to such treatment when they came to Anfield. As pissed off as I was at our treatment, the fact is that considering some of the scum that had made the trip it's little wonder the rest of us are treated like shit. It's embarrassing to be associated with such reprehensible people, but sadly it seems that plenty of them had made the trip to Germany.
Once that particular ordeal was over, it was into the stadium. Considering it only holds 20,000 it's very impressive, and looks a lot bigger. We arrived just in time to see the teams coming out, and the atmosphere was already crackling. There were still loads of reds stuck outside, but those in the stadium were making themselves heard. The Bayer fans were loud too, and despite the limited capacity, I'd say they were the loudest fans I've heard all season. Our seats were as good as we could have hoped for (not that we were sat down of course), right in the corner at the back, with a great view of the whole stadium.
As for the game, it was simply unbelievable. Ballack's first was a cracker, although Stevie G did sell himself far too easily on the edge of the box. We were under the cosh a bit at that point, but Abel's goal seemed to settle things down and I'm sure everyone thought then that it was game over. The way we started the second half I couldn't see anything other than a comfortable win for us. Michael was getting plenty of space as they pushed forward, and we were getting countless opportunities to hit them on the break. When Michael hit the post, I wasn't concerned as I was convinced he'd get more chances. In fact, about a minute before they made it 2-1 through another brilliant Ballack goal, I remember thinking that I didn't want to settle for a 1-1 draw, I wanted us to win the game and qualify in style (unfortunately it seems that GH had the same idea, hence his astonishing decision to take off Hamann).
Still, 2-1 would still see us through. If we could hold onto it that was, but the way they were flying forward that was going to be easier said than done. A scramble in the box sees Steph produce a brilliant block on the line (they actually appealed for handball, obviously unaware that Steph is exempt from that particular rule), only for the ball to fall straight at the feet of their substitute who gleefully rammed it home to spark off delirious celebrations in the home section.
After being so relaxed in the build up to the game, and even during the first half when we were a goal down, now it was time to panic. We needed a goal or we were out, and chasing a game isn't our strong point. We needed a hero. Step forward Jari. A wonderful goal from a wonderful player, and the only thing I can liken it to was Fowler's goal against Alaves. Not just in terms of the manner of the finish, but also the wild celebrations it sparked. As delighted as I was, I managed to keep my composure enough to try and get a picture of Jari's goal celebrations (he is a hero to me after all and it would have been one hell of a photo) but that plan was foiled by Smithy jumping all over me. The celebrations went on for a good couple of minutes, and the atmosphere had now reached another level entirely.
Jari's goal wasn’t the only similarity with that night in Dortmund last May. The stadium was similar, as were the noise levels and Ballack's second goal was like Alaves' second. The biggest similarity though had to be the topsy turvy nature of the game. There were so many ups and downs, but unlike that great night in Dortmund, this time there would be no happy ending for us, as impressive centre half Lucio strode through our rearguard and finished through Jerzy's legs to send the Germans into dreamland. It was a sickening blow, and one which you knew that this time we wouldn't recover from. Yet, as gutted as I was that we were going out, I was more upset for Jari than anything else. This was his moment, his chance to finally establish himself as more than just a talented player who would get the odd cameo role. He would have been the hero, and who knows what effect that would have had on the rest of his Anfield career. It would have been hard leaving him out after his goal had taken us through to the semi's, but as I write this report a few days after the event, his goal has already been largely forgotten because we lost. It could have been Jari's big break, but in a way it sums up his Liverpool career to date really.
The feeling at the final whistle was one of despair. We'd been totally outplayed, and could have no complaints, but had Michael's shot gone the other side of the post we would have gone through. Last season we got those breaks, this time we didn't. Good luck to Bayer, I thought they were absolutely fantastic on the night, and some of their football was awesome. We couldn't cope with them, and over the two games they were the better side and deserved to go through. It wasn't pleasant seeing the Bayer players celebrating, and I felt sick to my stomach when they played "Three Lions" at the end. I don't know why that bothered me so much, as it's not as though give as shit about England. I was feeling pretty low at this point, but then YNWA came on, and just listening to the words puts things into perspective. I can honestly say I was fine after that, although Smithy looked like he was going to cry, and my dad was pretty choked too. Steve wasn't sitting with us, but made his way over at the end, and we just sat around waiting to be let out. As usual, the travelling reds demonstrated that we are a class above by chanting "Bayer" and applauding their players off the field. Then all that was left was to sit around waiting to be let out.
The worst part of this was that I knew ITV would make a point of picking out individuals in the crowd who looked devastated. I made a point of keeping my head held high, so if they did put the camera on me at least I wouldn't be sat there looking all sad. Unfortunately, my old man was sat with his head in his hands (more to do with being bored at waiting around than anything else), and they picked him out and showed him on TV. One of his mates gave him a bit of a ribbing about it when he got back to work, but we didn't get it taped so haven't seen it ourselves.
Germany is a great country to watch football. I've been to Leverkusen and Dortmund now, and both are quality stadiums with great atmosphere's. As picturesque as the Nou Camp is, the atmosphere is shit. The same with the Bernabeu (although to be fair we were only there for a meaningless CL group game in a half full stadium). German fans are loud, and I hope we get another of their teams in next years competition. As we left the stadium, the tannoy announcer thanked us for our sportsmanship, and their stewards applauded us on our way out. Unfortunately that doesn't make for a good story in the national press, so don't expect any of them to mention it. We'll probably get another award from UEFA though.
So it was back to Cologne on the train, and a highly embarrassing moment for yours truly. As we got off the train and came out into the station, all hell broke loose and there were hundreds of people running. We had no idea who was running, or who was chasing them, and in that situation my philosophy is run first and ask questions later. For all we knew there could have been hundreds of Germans with bottles, knives, sten guns, fucking stick grenades and a couple of tanks! I had a quick look to see what the others were going to do, and all were shaping up to run, so off I went. I tell yer, Nicolas Anelka would have done well to keep pace with me! Out of the corner of my eye I saw Smithy veer off to the right (he hid behind a wall and let everyone run past him) and then I turned around to see where Steve and my old fella where. They were nowhere to be seen, but given the devastating burst of speed I'd displayed it wasn't that much of a surprise that I'd shown them a clean pair of heels. I got to the station exit and looked back, to see the three of them casually strolling through the station, and not a German in sight. Needless to say I took quite a bit of stick for my disappearing act!
From speaking to other reds later that night, it turns out that the trouble was due to local youths who call themsleves the "Cologne Ultra's" (highly original that) who had been waiting in the bars at the train station. They came out when the train arrived and kicked off. It was nothing to do with Leverkusen it should be stressed.
There was a little bar next to the hotel, so we popped in there for a few beers. We had a few in there, but the rather large German landlady was making it very clear that she wanted to close. She wasn't someone who you would fancy getting into an argument with, so we drank up and left. Mind you, she was the subject of a quality gag from my old man. Smithy was at the bar, which prompted my dad to say: "Smithy's getting the ale in, so you might have to sleep in our room tonight Steve!" Those of you who read the Spanish report in the last issue will know what he was referring to! So we left that bar, and set off looking for another watering hole. We wandered around for a while without any success, so it was back to the hotel via a quick stop at McDonalds.
The journey home was uneventful. We stopped at PSV's ground for a look around the club shop, before heading off to the airport to discover our flight had been delayed by two hours. We arrived home just in time to see the mancs seal their semi final spot against Bayer. Let's just hope the Germans still have something left in the tank after their exploits against us.
