Napoli v Manchester City

This Is How It Feels

Napoli 2-1 Manchester City (22:11:11)

What's it like, as an away fan, to visit one of the most famous grounds in world football. One that houses fans so passionate and vociferous that the noise from a goal causes a seismic shift in the city? Lifelong Manchester City fan, David Mayor, reveals all...

Due to the effects of the on-going global financial crisis I hadn’t expected to go to any of Manchester City’s away games in the group stages of the Champions League with the draw approaching. But having rushed from work to a City Centre pub to watch it, there was a certain inevitability that I’d at least look into possible routes of getting to them once the draw had thrown up Bayern, Villareal and, most excitedly for me, Napoli.

Around an hour after getting home that evening I’d seen suitable flights from Manchester to Rome for less than £50. At this point I considered the factors that would decide if I’d purchase these or not. These were the state of my bank balance, my potential danger/safety and the fact that we were playing away in arguably the most atmospheric stadium in Europe. Being the responsible adult that I am, and after deliberating for somewhere in the region of 30 seconds, the latter of those factors won this particular round-robin of clashes with a more than healthy goal-difference.

Fast-forward about three-months and you’d have found myself, Big Chris and Ant in the departures lounge of Manchester Airport at 5.50 on a Monday morning. As you all know, two of the possible explanations for drinking at that time include being in an airport or going to an away game. Fortunately they don’t cancel each other out so we managed a quick pint before boarding the flight which was your usual mix of lads drinking extortionately priced half-cans of Magners and well-dressed Italian businessmen. Personally I took-up a kind-of middle ground here by wearing an Adidas trackie-top whilst catching-up with world affairs by reading The Times. The two hour-flight passed while I pondered such issues as ‘will the incoming Conservative government address Spain’s catastrophic unemployment rate,‘ ‘can sex addiction be considered an illness’ and ‘aren’t Bury doing well.’

As, it seemed most of our fellow Blues on board had planned, I’d decided we’d stay in Rome on the Monday night. I was a little ashamed about this as I’d been to Rome before and felt I was guilty of “believing the hype” regarding Naples reputation for safety by thinking we’d enjoy a more relaxing day drinking exploring the capital’s cultural riches.

So with bags dropped at the hotel and pasta and wine consumed we walked to the nearby Coliseum. Now for all the history associated with the place, one barely mentioned, yet significant, moment was the major huff I had with a tour-guide there in 2004. While hanging around waiting for the tour to begin, she asked us the reason for us being in the Eternal City and I excitedly told her that were going to watch Lazio v Roma the following evening. She proceeded to scoff at the idea that people would travel to Rome with the primary intention of watching a football match.

Deeply embittered by this seven years on, and the fact I don’t get a great deal out of the most recognisable historical landmarks, I decided having a pint in view of the Coliseum was a better use of my time and money than paying €10 to go in there again. With Ant joining me we were soon rewarded for this decision when, on receiving a second beer, we were given the most elaborate-looking cheese and ham toasty. History 0 Mayor 1.

The rest of Monday consisted of a bit of a stroll followed by, at regular intervals, the all-too familiar exchange:

“Shall we go in there for one?”
“Let’s have a walk around, looks nothing special in there”

Ten minutes later

“There?”
“No let’s see what’s up here”

Five minutes later

“Can we just effin go in there?”

Fortunately (I’d hate to give away which one was me in that exchange) it wasn’t long before we were enjoying many ‘one’s’ in various places and talk inevitably turned to tomorrow and what we were to expect in Naples. The general consensus was things wouldn’t be as bad as they were being made out but we just had to have our sensible heads on and adhere to the safety advice the club had provided. In addition, EFWs good leader, Danny Last, had provided a specially commissioned Napoli/City friendship logo (the shade of blue caused concern he’d actually given us a Real Oviedo/Everton friendship logo by mistake but he deserves the benefit of the doubt here) which would surely diffuse any volatile situation.

With some heavy heads we made our way to Roma Termini station for the 10.49 to Napoli Centrale the following morning and being honest, the regularly asked, hilarious question of ‘are you packing steel underpants,’ was now beginning to haunt us. The area around Termini isn’t the best to settle a few nerves and even the most joyous of activities that is buying cans before boarding a train to a football match felt a little subdued.

Once on the train a couple of other City fans came and sat in the carriage and it was re-assuring that they didn’t look the types to turn the journey into a two-hour banging on windows sing-song but just wanted a chat and a laugh discussing David White, the journey to FC Midtjylland and that kids who watch City now will grow up never having known any different. Bloody kids being young when we’re good!

Upon departing the train in Naples the dreaded ‘welcome party’ didn’t materialise, but a more welcome, welcome party did in the form of the local Carabinieri and my great mate Isra. The Carabinieri met us with smiles and simply wanted to know where we were staying and if we knew how to get there, which was another in the tick column for those of a more nervous disposition, while Isra raised the bar with a handshake and enthusiastic man-hug.

David and Isra with the specially commissioned Napoli/City friendship logo. (Note to self: sort out ink on printer) 

Isra, by the way, is someone who I’m surprised hasn’t made the pages of EFW before as he is, amazingly enough, a big fan of the game we call football who lives in and travels around Europe watching it. An Atletico Madrid fan who now lives in Italy, he was a more than welcome addition to our party mainly because he’s a grade A chap. Additionally he also speaks Italian and had been to Napoli before so his experience and language skills were appreciated.

Having chosen to stay across the road from the station we were surprised at how quiet the area was as it had been categorised by all and sundry as no-go. The hotel also had a bar, which was welcome, but after a quick one we got the taxi down to the Port area Stazione Marittima, as advised, from where we would later be shuttled to the stadium. We were in good spirits at this point. We were now “four-handed” the station area and hotel had been fine and we were about to go to the safe area of the port.

Once at the port we weighed up our options and took the unpredictable decision of going to the first bar we came to. It contained around 20 other Blues and included the bloke who ran the supporters club I went to games with from the mid-nineties to the early-noughties. There was something quite brilliant in sharing a beer and a laugh with someone on route to the Stadio San Paolo in a way that’s no different than when you did it before Upton Park, Filbert Street, Bescot Stadium etc I sensed his satisfaction that he wouldn’t have to add to the couple of hundred thousand times he’d said ‘no cans on the bus please lads’ on this particular away trip as well.

We then headed directly towards the area where we would be transported to the stadium which was a weird sort of tunnel that, again, thankfully had three (that’s three rather than free unfortunately) bars. I could tell this place was going to have quite a relaxed feel as you could hear that our fans were now happy to engage in a song or two. For a couple of hours ditties celebrating heroes of years gone by were intertwined with those about our current range of world-superstars which included the questionable allegation that David Silva gets pissed up on San Miguel.

With everyone in good spirits, we moved onto the heavily guarded buses around two hours before kick-off and were on our way. The singing continued although to my great disappointment no-one seemed to want to join in the praise of Tricky Tricky Ricky Ricky Holden, preferring instead to concentrate on our mercurial little Spanish playmakers (alleged) drinking habits.

I knew the journey to the stadium wasn’t exactly spitting distance but I didn’t expect it to take over an hour and myself and Isra believed they were deliberately delaying our arrival at the stadium. We weren’t complaining though and with just under an hour or so to kick-off we were obviously in the vicinity as you could see various Napoli fans having a pre-match drink of their own. In this way it was very similar to going to a British game as an away fan on the coach. Lots of locals looked at us and there was the occasional exchange of hand-gestures but nothing to write on EFW about.

We all got off the buses and made a short walk to the stadium along a cordoned off street. Up a small, fantastically graffitied, ramp type thing, tickets checked and there it was. Through one of the gang-ways I could make out the stand (opposite the camera on TV) and could see a packed crowd and the NAPOLI CLUB and BLUE TIGRE banners that I have seen on TV and in pictures a hundred times. If 2004 German Tour guide woman could’ve seen me at this point it may have given her some insight into why someone might travel from England to Italy go to a football match.

Blue Moon...

....Now I'm we're no longer alone. (bobble hats off to David for *that* bit of headgear - Ed.)

Once in view of the pitch I was completely awestruck. The players were out warming up but the crowd, as it has at matches for 25 years, fascinated me. Directly to our right was Curva A with Curva B far away in the distance to our left. We had about half an hour to kick-off at this point and there were different things catching my eye every couple of seconds although nothing could prepare for the teams entrance on the pitch.

Having had quite a fascination with Ultras over a number of years I consider myself pretty clued up on all things tifo but no-one could have failed to be impressed by this. The two curva’s produced immense displays but seemingly the whole stadium had something going on. It was everywhere, huge surfer flags, flares, card displays, message banners, sparklers (see http://www.ultras-tifo.net/photo-news/616-napoli-manchester-city-22112011.html) and while I’d seen whole stadiums immersed in colour and flags before, the chaotic nature of this really was on another level.

You shouldn’t be surprised to read it was also the loudest stadium I‘d ever experienced and again it seemed every single Parteponi was getting involved. It was a tough task for the 800 or so of us to make ourselves heard and every time there seemed to be a break in the noise and the first strains of ‘Blue Moon’ or ‘It should’ve been ten’ were belted out, it was soon drowned out by, what sounded like, the whole of the city of Naples whistling.

Now I can’t do justice to, or begin to include, everything that was noteworthy that happened in the stadium. It was an absolute cauldron of noise, colour, smoke etc and for two hours I was in football watching heaven. It was everything I’d ever wanted to get from the experience of going to a match and I was watching the club that I love. Of course we got beat and I felt that anxious urge of wanting us to get that equaliser as I would at any match but while we sat, kept in the stadium after the match, I still felt a strange sense of elation.

Curva A in the distance, just beyond the Bob the Builder stewards in the foreground. 

Napoli fans in the Curva A with their version of the EFW Napoli/City friendship offering. Pretty, pretty good. 

As we watched it slowly empty (and the local fans nick the Champions League banners that cover the perimeters of the stands) I could hear conversations of the “Mancini got it wrong with the full-backs” and “De-jong’s lost it” nature going on behind me. I’ve never been one for this kind of post-match analysis but I found it especially unappealing at this time. Everyone’s different, and I had on this very trip been described as being a ‘bit too much of a glass half-full Blue’ but having just watched Manchester City play at Napoli, sitting five points clear at the top of the league after winning the FA Cup a few months earlier I didn’t think I, or they, had too much to be complaining about.

The bus journey back to the port was understandably more subdued. Well that’s except for the hundreds of local cars that passed us beeping horns and waving their flags and scarfs out of the window. But for us on board, there did seem a bit of relief that things had passed without any major problems and most were looking forward to getting back to their hotel for a night-cap or two.

This was where our only major issue arose. Once dropped off at the port we were left to our own devices to find our way to the hotel. I’m still unsure as to why the Police hadn’t arranged for taxi’s to be on hand as they’d seemed to have everything else tied up in this regard. Anyway, walking in search of a cab around midnight, with no idea where we were going wasn’t ideal and the situation was intimidating as cars would drive past with drivers and passengers glaring at us. Thankfully after 10 minutes we managed to flag one down and were relieved to be on our way to the hotel.

As we entered the hotel bar I was just thinking how well the trip had passed when another City fan came in who looked petrified. Shaking, he ordered a drink and told us how the group he’d been with had just been attacked and one of them stabbed. He said the Police had been on the scene immediately and the victim seemed ok and had gone to hospital. Obviously that situation could have been worse but it was an extremely sobering moment listening to him describe what had happened.

We stayed up for a couple of hours and chatted to our barman who was, naturally, a Napoli fan and a sound bloke. He expressed concern about what had just happened, told us stories of games he’d been to over the years and asked if it was true that everyone in Manchester supports City which, being nothing if not honest, we all nodded vigorously at.

It was an early start in the morning to get the return train/flight, all of which again went smoothly. Personally, I’d had an amazing time. It was certainly different than those who went to Bayern or Villareal would have had but I knew this when booking. The other trips I’ve had abroad to watch a game are as much about the laugh you have with your mates/meeting opposition fans etc as the game you’re going to. This one was always going to be different. It was always going to be about the moment I could see the Stadio San Paolo and the few hours that followed and that, my fellow European Football enthusiasts, was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life.

You can follow David Mayor and European Football Weekends on Twitter

Marseille v Arsenal

Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum

Marseille 0-1 Arsenal (19:10:11)

Dave Macnamara travels over land and sea to watch his beloved Arsenal in the Champions League...

France has been a happy hunting ground for Arsenal in recent times; with the exception of two European finals, the Gunners have never lost in France, so there was a degree of confidence amongst my lot as we boarded the train from Kings Cross to the Cote d'Azur, the day before the game.

Via a change in Lille, we arrived in Frances second biggest city in the afternoon. Our hotel was conveniently situated right across the road from the station. The Holiday Inn Express may be a notch above the Travelodge, but at £45 a head, for two people sharing, it was pretty ideal. For a city with that many inhabitants, it's fairly compact. From to  the hotel to the port, where the city really seemed to come to life, was about a ten minute walk. The main square adjacent to the port had a decent selection of restaurants, though they weren't too wallet-friendly. We ended up eating in a part of town known as Cours Julien, in a wonderful Caribbean rum bar called, imaginatively, La Rhumberie. Many of it's delicious homemade rums were consumed, the most mind-blowing being the house special chili variety. I've never tasted anything hotter. After rums, it was on to a bar for a gig.....well it's a bit of a bus mans holiday for me, and I will admit a girl may have been involved.

The next morning, it was back down to the port, where the number of Arsenal jerseys had increased tenfold, as one would expect. Drinks by the marina, and songs calling into question Harry Redknapps mothers working status meant by the time we were due to head for the stadium, spirits were high, if a little chilled. Four stops on the Metro and you're there.

I'm not sure if it's especially for European nights, but the processing of away fans at the Velodrome is an odd one. You are requested to arrive two hours before kick off, and greeted to a thorough search, then left to hang around what can only be described as an empty hangar for thirty minutes before entering the stadium. The Velodrome is currently under-going something of a makeover, with 2016 on the horizon, the entire Tribune Ganay stand is now merely an empty concrete block, with some makeshift seats and nothing in the way of facilities.

The home fans were there early too, and I have to say in full voice. There's an old chant they used sing at Highbury, opposing ends when sing it back and forth '"We're the North Bank, we're the North Bank, we're the North Bank Highbury.""We're the Clock End, we're the Clock End, we're the Clock End Highbury!" Sadly since the move to the Grove, and despite the club renaming the stands, it doesn't really work since neither side can really hear the other. Marseille don't have this problem, with the Ultras of  the Virage Sud Chevalier Roze giving as good as their North Bank equivalents (see picture for Virage Nord De Peretti Ultras, just before kick-off). Quite why they had a banner in West Ham colours, reading Come On The Irons hasn't been made clear, any Hammers fans care to enlighten me?

The game kicked off, and Arsenal fielding a team generally considered by those around me as being stronger than expected, settled in well from a defensive point of view. BFG Per Mertesacker and Koschielny dealing with what ever Marseille send their way, with the expectation of two occasions, when our full-backs were shown up I can't really think of any particularly dangerous moment. Offensively Arsenal were pretty poor though, Arteta playing a slightly more withdrawn role, while Walcott and Arshavin tried, but didn't really do much. On the one occasion when Walcott did leave his opposing number for dead, his delivery  was as good as you'd expect from a player who can barely cross his legs! How much longer this supposed central striker can be accommodated on the wing, is anyone's guess?

Second half and Marseille, bouyed by playing into their expectant fans had the better of the early possession, without really testing SZCZ. The withdrawal of the supposedly good Loic Remi, for the supposedly good André-Pierre Gignac was met with a giant French meh, while the removal of Lucho González brought a chorus of boos. Deschamps is clearly on borrowed time, which considering they won the league last year, seems absurd.

As the game drew to a close, it became clear that a point would do Arsenal, however we were experiencing some joy down their flanks, which the introduction of the newborn horse that is Gervinhio looked to make the most off. With decent chances falling to both the tireless Van Persie and the tiresome Walcott, the feeling amongst the visiting fans was one of ".....fuck it's cold, can we get back to the pub?  But as the clock ticked towards the 93rd minute, a cross from it might have been Djourou, would be missed by The Forehead, before being smashed home by the recently introduced Aaron Ramsey. A smash and grab if ever I saw one, however the joy, and relief that you could sense was being felt by the players, was clear to see. Moments later Damir Skomina blew his whistle and the job had been done. Of course the compulsory hour long wait, standing in the rain, meant that by the time we made it back to La Rhumerie, just after eleven, thirsts needed quenching. Many rums later, and a detour back down to the port, and it was back to the hotel.

A 12 o'clock train, with a brief sojourn in Paris, got us back to St Pancras by 6:30. By the end, it had been an enjoyable experience, made all the sweeter by the late winner. As a city to visit, Marseille is a bit on the pricey side, though one to at least tick off the list, without ever really feeling the need to return. Ticket, travel and board came in at about £240, with another £100 on food and booze. After the run we've been on lately, I'd have paid that any day.

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If you fancy a giggle, Dave twisted the arm of Ray Wilkins to record this shout out for the readers of European Football Weekends:

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Dave is the Editor of the music blog ... And Everyone's a DJ 

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Bangor City v HJK Helsinki - Champions League

Day Trip To Bangor Rhyl

Bangor City 0-3 HJK Helsinki (13-07-11) 

Champions League Qualifier

"Oh my God, I've married a nutter" said my wife as I diverted the car towards Farrar Road, home to Welsh Champions, Bangor City FC. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to have a cheeky look around,  even though, granted, it was 24 hours before the match - which was being played.......35 miles away. In Rhyl. 

We were in North Wales for a weeks holiday. A chance to unwind in the glorious countryside; to soak up that magnificent and varied scenery by day, before popping on my Real Betis slippers ('tour treasures' from a recent EFW), and fully recharge the AA Alkaline's by night. Pah! Who am I kidding?

A few weeks prior to this trip, I had dispatched a warms set of balls to UEFA for them to use in their forthcoming Champions League qualifying draw. Incidentally, these are the same set used by the Scottish FA to keep Rangers and Celtic apart in cup draws. I sat and watched the draw unfold, mopping my brow as the men in suits pulled out.....a home tie for Bangor City, the nearest team to my little holiday cottage in Pont-y-pant. A success. My wife for one couldn't have rolled her eyes any further into her sockets as I broke the tremendous news. We were off to our first ever Champions League game, together. Who said romance is dead? I did a little dance before sliding across the kitchen floor on my knees. I'm 39. 

The game had been moved to the Belle Vue - home to The Citizens arch rivals Rhyl - because Bangor's current stadium doesn't have enough seats to cope with demand for a match of this magnitude. I've always dreamed of working for UEFA in the role of grading stadiums, so, as part of my application form for that job, I did, as I say, pop in to have a nose around at their current set up. With it's excellent transport links - right next door to the station, no less - and for having bags full of character, I'd have given it 5 stars any day of the week. As I type, however, I've yet to receive a reply back from Nyon regarding my new job. Tsk.

Farrar Road. Unfit for Champions League football according to UEFA suits.

Not even a neat bit of paintwork and a yellow hose could make them change their minds. 

I've heard bits and bobs about this Champions League lark, and so to drink in every aspect of this magical occasion, we arrived in town six hours early. I'd been tipped off that the Bangor City 'Fan Zone' was already in full swing in the Vegas Bar near to Argos on Bodfor Street. But in an attempt to secure a few wife-pleasing-points in the calm before the storm, we opted first to go for a walk up the River Clwyd for a shag or two. It was great to see them spreading their wings as they dried off the water after a long flight. 

A pre-match shag along the River Clwyd. Recommended.

The Champions League was just another notch on every conceivable type of entertainment you can enjoy in this popular holiday resort on the North Wales coast. It's got a fine sandy beach, an indoor (indoor!) Sun Centre, and if static caravans are your thing, then you've hit the bloody jackpot here in the Welsh equivalent of Las Vegas.

Arriving at the ground we asked around for the clubhouse. "I don't work here" said one steward, "This is my first day" said another, shrugging his shoulders. And finally "They haven't got a bar mate, they're in the process of building one," said a friendly local bobby. So up the road we trooped to the local alehouse. Once we'd swung through the doors I immediately doffed my Stone Roses 'Reni' sunhat to the 20 or so HJK fans present. They'd flown into Manchester from Helsinki, hired a mini bus to take them to Wales, and were now sinking pints and bottles of wine at great speed. Overhead clapping to you chaps, you did your team proud.

During the week, I'd inadvertently become the official Bangor correspondent for the Finnish Broadcasting Company YLE. No really, it's true. I took the opportunity to tap them up for information on the opposition in the process. So back off Wikipedia, here's the EFW guide to HJK: 

I) They normally goose up their European games against "weaker" opposition.

II) Their holding midfielder, Alexander Ring (18), is one of the best talents in Finland at the moment.

III) Striker Teemu Pukki (21), played well for the Sevilla B-team a couple of years ago and was another 'player to watch'.

IV) HJK played in the Champions League group stages in the 1998-99 season. The only time a Finnish team has ever done so.

V) I was under orders to abuse midfielder Aki Riihilahti who had previously become a legend among, spit, Crystal Palace fans.

VI) What's this? Only the greatest Finnish player of all-time, Jari 'Litters' Litmanin plays for HJK. But these days, only when he feels like it. And this wasn't to be one of those days, sadly.

Fully oiled refreshed after a pre-match with the Finns, we entered the ground past, Brian and his pal...Brian selling programmes, and made our way to the temporary Bangor City club shop. Yes of course replica shirts, yes, yes, souvenir Champions League T-shirts. But the third and only other item for sale on the night: boxer shorts (boxer shorts!). Not Bangor City boxers either. "It's the only time blokes ever go shopping for clothes" said my wife. A very good point well made. I purchased two pairs.

Replica shirts? No thanks, boxers shorts all-round. 

The two teams took to the pitch in glorious sunshine. Sadly, not to the tune of the Champions League anthem. They didn't have official Champions League balls, either. UEFA had sent a new flag to fly over one of the stands, but evidently their budget doesn't stretch to a CD and a couple of Adidas footballs. Another letter has gone out in the post to Nyon. This won't do.

UEFA had failed to send a shipment of CL balls, so we had to make do with the Macron, Super Brilliant 09. 

Erm......not quite.

"Singing aye, aye, Bangor, Bangor, aye...." sang the "home" faithful. "Helsingin Jalkapalloklubi – Helsingfors Fotbollsklubb, clap, clap, clap clap clap clap...." retorted my new friends from Finland. The bulk of the Bangor fans even changed ends at half time. The Champions League eh? A competition I'd previously thought was on the bones of its arse, during the groups stages, anyway. And here I was, in my new pants, loving every minute. 

Bangor certainly didn't disgrace themselves, far from it. In fact they were the better team for large periods of the match, and pretty much dominated the second half. The visitors - seasoned European campaigners, and confidence oozing off the back of a ten match winning streak - had three shots, and scored three goals. Two of them came from the prolific former Leeds United man, Berat Sadik making it 17 goals in 19 games for him this season. (£3 on the match programme well spent there - Ed.).

And it's LIVE! (on S4C)

In true CL-style, HJK keeper Ville Wallen rolls around on the floor. The home faithful are unimpressed. 

Still, Bangor fans left Rhyl with their heads held high. Despite the scoreline the whole night had been a success. It's ludicrous that a crowd of this size should rattle around at Wrexham's Racecourse Ground, which was the alternative venue mooted for this match. Here, at Rhyl, it felt like an occasion. Closer to home for those vocal and passionate City fans as well.

"Do you still think I'm a nutter?" I said to my wife after the match. "No, and furthermore, I thoroughly enjoyed it as well" she replied. Just as well, because I fancy going back to see Bangor City in their splendid Farrar Road ground next time. Young love eh?

Bangor City: Unity is Strength.

For loads more photos of this game and Bangor City's Farrar Road stadium CLICK ME

Further reading: EFW goes to Llanelli v Motherwell. And 'Should Welsh teams be banned from Europe' asks @ffwtbol. 

Follow European Football Weekends on Twitter and discuss this and more on the new EFW forum.

Bayern Munich tifo

Da da da da da da the Chaaaampions....

I thought you might like to see a few impressive photos from the Bayern Munich v Lyon Champions League Semi-Final, 1st Leg. Our pal Stephane Lievens was there supporting Lyon and he said it was a great trip and a shi...shocking game. Where have we heard that before? Anyway, I'll shut up now and let you enjoy them.

- Click on photos to enlarge image -

Prost!

- Feel Free to comment below -