Seven European Cup finals. Seven fans. Seven amazing adventures following the team they love. This book celebrates the achievements of Liverpool FC in Europe, and in particular a love affair with Old Big Ears – the European Cup. It's an ongoing affair that began with the legendary and, in those days, unprecedented exodus of 30,000 Liverpool fans to Rome in 1977, has taken in the glories of Paris and Istanbul, endured the horror of Brussels, and still burns as brightly today with Athens 2007, just the latest staging post of Liverpool's trans-European express. Above all, Here We Go Gathering Cups In May tells of the bond between a club and its fans: the lengths those fans will go to in order to be there at the final to cheer on their team, vivid accounts of what happened along the way, their escapades in some of Europe’s iconic capitals, and their recollections of those historic nights – nights of glory and, sometimes, nights of tragedy.
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Nicky Allt. Here We Go Gathering Cups In May
HERE WE GO GATHERING CUPS IN MAY
CONTENTS
FOREWORD
INTRODUCTION
Rome, 1977
Spring 2007
Money Troubles and Trebles
United in Grief
The Leaving of Liverpool
Train and Boats and Pains
The Siege of Rome
Arrivederci, Roma
London, 1978
Terrace Turning Point
Clocking Kenny Instead of Clocking On
Medals, Gear And Laughs … Every Time
Twin Crowns, Twin Towers, to Win Cups
Paris, 1981
Background
The Early Rounds
Transalpino
Lime Street Getaway
The Invasion of France
Gay Paree!
Setting up HQ
The Moulin Rouge
The Adidas Centre
Culture Vultures
Uncommon Kindness
Went Up the Eiffel Tower but Only for Half an Hour!
The Evertonian
Margaret Thatcher and the Donkey
The Street-Corner Sketch
The Day of the Match
The Ring of Steel
The Immortals
Rome, 1984
Brussels, 1985
Roll Call
Istanbul, 2005
Athens, 2007
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Copyright
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Liverpool in Europe – the Fans’ Story
Nicky Allt, Tony Barrett, Jegsy Dodd, Peter Hooton, Dave Kirby,
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The singing inside the station had a Pied Piper effect. I followed it to the side of platform nine, where hundreds were queuing up. I bumped into Vinnie. He told me that our kid and the others thought I’d jumped on a train, so they’d done the same. ‘Your Mick said if I see yer, to tell yer they’ll see yer at Folkestone.’
Vinnie’s platform-ticket plan had gone pear-shaped. Platform tickets were just tuppence each and were for waving goodbye only. He said there were about twenty-five Scousers trying the same thing. They were all smiling and waving to strangers on the London train as it pulled away. ‘They must’ve thought we were all on a day out from the fuckin’ loony bin,’ he said. Bizzies and train guards were well onto it and moved in. There were still a few specials due to leave, but the odds of him bunking on one looked impossible. ‘I’m gonna try the ladder,’ he said, meaning coming in via a fixed metal fire-escape ladder that led into the station from Skelhorne Street – a known bunker’s route that brought you out further down platform nine. His parting words were ‘God loves a trier’, then he passed me his sarnie bag. I watched him go, knowing deep down that he had no chance.
