The Crusade begins......I have been very hesitant about writing this story, as I really do not think I can do it justice. I wish that I had followed my earlier idea of taking a camcorder because still pictures and words really do not give the feelings and emotions that were felt on this trip. Right from leaving the house I had this nervous, sick to my stomach feeling that I have never experienced before. The feeling that I was embarking on this crusade, that lives were at stake and Celtic's destiny depended on me, along with the estimated 70,000 Tims to go and save the day and help our bhoys along to glory (as well as putting a serious dent in Spain’s beer reserve!!.) To anyone other than a football supporter, it probably looked more like the biggest pub-crawl known to man and they probably would not be far off.
 First stop was the Kildare House to meet with Colum and Dan, who had their better halves and a few friends there to see us off and have the first of many, many pints. I arrived to them all joking and telling stories of trips gone past and sat quietly just agreeing with them all, my mind just itching to be in Seville. It was not long before Colum picked up on it and asked what was up. Saying this trip is up there with getting married as one of the biggest things he had done. I quickly barked back, your wedding!! I am absolutely shitting myself here, minds going crazy thinking of every scenario that could go wrong preventing us from reaching the Estadio Olympica. I always felt my wedding was a certainty, never a doubt. But this, customs, automobile, planes, trains, muggers, people without tickets, Spanish food, mixed with alcohol makes for quite a lot of scenarios for disaster. And believe me, I had gone over every possible hurdle we could face in my mind.
  Windsor Celt, Adrian Connelly had come down to see us off and wish us luck. This however began to get really worrying as he began pulling all these pictures and pendants of saints out his wallet and pockets. He starts off telling us to take this, he'll be good for you he's the patriot saint of travellers, then we have the patriot saint of alcoholics, patriot saint of hopeless cases. Next thing we know we have about six saints coming with us for luck. Adrian has probably no been to mass for about twenty years and left us all scratching our heads as to where these had come from, but we quite happily took them, every little bit helps. Even if it did have us nervously wondering would we need all this and how is he going to get on without them while we are gone.
  I could handle the Kildare no more and it was time to embark on our crusade and the three amigo's left for the U.S. border, our first hurdle. Hoops and sombreros on and plenty of euros to keep the lips quenched during our travels.
  Our first hurdle was no problem, we flew over the bridge to Detroit, next stop the Airport. However this was were I made my first mistake. We had decided before hand we would buy a portable cd player for the trip between us to play the tunes in the airport, train and hotel. Wanting to buy it in Windsor before we left, a certain Irish Amigo told me that we would be better getting it in Detroit and he knew of a place to stop on the way to the airport. This should have rang an alarm bell, as I think I have been to Ibrox more than Colum's been to Detroit. Par for the course with Colum's directions, after an hour of driving in circles we abandoned the idea of a cd player and checked the car in, we would be singing solo on this trip. We started to check in for the flight and quickly met up with the fourth Amigo, Davie Grace. Second hurdle down now onto security check in. We felt quite aggrieved at the time but I guess we should not have been surprised that four amigo's wearing green and white hoops, sombreros and grins from ear to ear were pulled in for a security check. Off with the shoes, everything out our pockets and bags thoroughly searched. With the heightened terrorism threats we live with today, we were not to fazed. Only thinking this is going to interfere with our time at the bar. But at $5us a beer we soon wished they had kept us there longer. However it makes you wonder what their idea of a possible security risk is? In an airport probably 85% Black or Arab, I guess four white guys dressed in hoops, sombreros and a kilt did look a bit out of place, but the only security risk we would have been, was to the duty free shop.
  We soon left Detroit and next stop was Chicago to change flights but we had a few hours wait. We headed to the bar and soon meet up with some other recruits to join in our crusade, 3 from Chicago, 1 from Wildwood and 2 originally from Aussie but now living in Atlanta. First question I think from everyone's lips were "you got a ticket?". Beers started to flow and was not long before we introduced the rest of the airport to a few Celtic songs. Stories started to be exchanged and the bhoy from Wildwood said how there was 12 going from his Club and not two were going the same way and none had tickets. As for the three from Chicago, maybe they had one between them but not definitely. It turned out that the fella from Australia was with his American girl friend who had surprised him and bought two tickets form a agency for $500 us each. It was not long before a few of the ticketless were telling her no matter how BIG or how good he was in bed, they were better!! I saw the size of his hands and they were all lying!! Last call for Madrid was called over the speaker and we grabbed the bags and we were on our way. On the way to the plane this fella walking towards me, grabs my hand and in this thick scouse accent said "Best of luck mate, hope you stuff them". The accent hit me so much by surprise. It was not until I was on the plane I figured out what he said and meant and checked I still had my wallet!! You have to watch those Scousers.  a nice gesture none the less. In what's becoming usual Windsor CSC fashion we got cut off from the bar on the plane. We lasted four hours with free booze, so not a bad feat really. Nothing bad, just all these Spaniards wanting to sleep and us wanting to sing and after four hours I guess they had enough of it!! As you can tell by now the drink was flowing big time, but still there's that thought going on in my head on what could go wrong and what hurdle's lay ahead on our crusade to that Promised Land in Seville. On entering the plane they had Spanish newspapers if you wanted. Lifting one thinking there might be an article or picture about the coming final I would keep as a souvenir. You'll never believe what the headline in the sports section was? I will not try to spell it in Spanish, but the translation read "The Catholic Parade" not something you often see in the Daily Record but there it was with a picture of some fans in Seville. Strange how that follows us all the way to Spain, but there you go. After they shut the bar I managed to re-charge the batteries a little, in between Senior Davie trying out his high school Spanish, with anyone who would listen. After listening to him for a while and being quite impressed with his fluency in speaking the lingo. I later found out what he was repeating "no ,no, don't put too much sugar in your tea. Its bad for your teeth." This would explain the strange looks and the stewardess deciding we had, had enough to drink. Apparently its was all Davie could remember of his high school Spanish lessons.

 Day two: Madrid and beyond.

I have had this sitting in my computer for over a week now. But after later reading over the first part, what I am saying does not have the feeling the trip left me with. To quote something ex Windsor Celt Jim Hannaway said. " There are so many areas of sight, sounds, emotions and events to cover and I was only there for one day, that to write it down incorrectly seems to devalue it." This kind of sums up what I am thinking and feeling. I am finding it hard to write this account properly. But I have had so many requests about how the trip went and I am also desperate share the events of this trip with you all. So here it is as best I can.
   Arrived in Madrid airport Tuesday morning one more hurdle down as we carried on our crusade and quickly found ourselves a taxi to make the cross city journey to the Train Station. Once we arrived at the airport we began to see the legions of bhoys beginning to assemble as we passed through the airport on our way to the promised land. First impressions of Madrid were not too good at all and we could not see what all the fuss about this city was. The Taxi must have taken the city bypass around the city, because all we could see the whole journey were these red flats and high rises with washing lines hanging out the windows. Reminded me a little of Easterhouse when you pass it on the motorway. The driver pointed out Athletico's stadium and told us that was his team. However they were not part of our crusade and we quickly telt him, "very good pal, but get your arse to the train Station."
Arriving at the train station even as early as 11 in the morning it was just green and white everywhere and I spotted my first Celtic calling card. Yes an empty bottle of Buckfast, good Tims just don't leave home without it !!
Next followed one of the strangest stories of the trip. On the agenda was to get the carry out for the train and after wandering around for half an hour with the bags. I decided enough was enough and two of us should stay in the station with the bags and the other two would go and get the essentials for the train. So after splitting up for about two minutes and heading back to the station. I hear this frantic shouting of my name and looking over this balcony I see Colum shouting. "I have just met your uncle from Australia." In my usual "I RIGHT" suspicious mode. I shouts back , "what do you mean you met my uncle, you don't know my uncle." Colum replys," he told me he was your uncle." Story gets even stranger and I shout back are you telling me this fella just came up to you and told you he was my uncle. Colum "yes". Shaking my head I follow him to this bar and sure enough my uncle Jim and cousin Jamie are standing there. First of many unbelievable coincidences to happen. Apparently my uncle Jim was standing outside the pub and saw Colum coming with the kilt on and shouts to him just by chance. I'm from Perth Australia. Colum not thinking twice about it, reply's . "Very good pal, I'm from Windsor, Canada". My bold Uncle Jim say, "I have a nephew from Windsor." This automatically rings a bell with Colum and he say's, " its no Stephen McManus." To which Uncle Jimbo reply's "yes , do you know him?" Know him, I just left him across the street." After swigging a few back in the bar we head out to the patio and sit down next to these other Tims and the story gets even stranger. After exchanging a few pleasantries, one of the boys asks where were from. My cousin says Australia and Canada , but originally from Grangemouth. This fella asks do you know a Joe Connor from Grangemouth. I couldn't believe my ears, "know him he married my sister!" Turns out, this is a cousin of my brother in-law who lives in Jersey. Before long the rest of the family arrives and its about time we were heading for the train. Still without a carry-out, my cousin and I make a dash for the nearest supermarket, then off for the train. What a train journey this was, high speed train that rode as smooth as silk ,it hardly felt like it was moving.
Having some bhoys from Windsor, a bunch of my family and a train full of Tims was one of the parts of the journey I was looking forward to the most and was not let down. After settling down on the train it was time to head up to the buffet compartment which had turned into the Spanish version of Bairds bar. It was just packed with people all around these tall table everyone singing and dancing. I swear there was a point where you could feel the train bouncing on the tracks, we were having such a carry on. I don't think the train was half an hour out of Madrid and the unthinkable happened - the train was out of beer!! Never mind, cousin Jamie and I were to the rescue with the carry out. For 20euros' around $20U.S. we got 20 litres of wine and a case of beer , bargain of the century. Wine was not the most palatable I have tasted, but a glass of this and you were instantly singing and by the time we arrived in Madrid we were all nearly falling off the train from it. With all the comradery and fun on the train there was almost a sense of disappointment when we arrived in Seville. Cry's of, "We’re here already!!" "Take us around again!"

Anyway off we get and its time to split up and go to our various hotels, and for me to complete one of the final hurdles of the crusade. I had to get my ticket off my cousin, just in case. What ever happened tonight I wanted to be in charge of my own destiny. He opened his bag and I was nearly blinded by the glow coming off the tickets, like something from the Holy Grail. The joy only lasted a few minutes, because then I had the panic attacks of how I was going to look after it. Put it in my pocket, leave it in the hotel safe, hide it in the room, decision, decisions, what a dilemma. Decided in the end to keep it on me and put in this small pocket in my shorts that had a zip and was a bugger to get in and out of. However thinking back if any pick pockets were watching they must have been laughing as I had my hand on that pocket every thirty seconds checking it was still there.
 Our hotel was a few miles outside the city, which was a bit of pain, but for all the time we were in it, who really cared? Dumped the bags off and it was time to see Seville. Like the great travellers we are, and the connoisseurs for foreign culture, saw us typically head up two streets, in three pubs and ended up in a Irish pub all night, The Merchant. Place was just heaving with Celtic supporters and we met a few different people inside and shared a few stories. Everyone you met had this big grin on their faces and a glow that’s hard to explain. Not the usual drunken look, well that too. But also something very different, everyone knowing and thinking we are shortly going to be a part in the history of this amazing team we follow.

After a while we headed out to the patio. By this time the two days of drinking, travelling and pretty much no sleep was starting to kick in. All I remember of the rest of the night is getting a round of drinks in and coming back outside with them and seeing all of Colum's cloths on the ground. Even in my drunken stupor I realised this was not a good sign. Then next thing I know, I see these two naked men running past me down the street. I guess when I was in at the bar, someone had challenged Colum to a race and Colum would only race him if it was in the nude. Rest of the nights a blur and you'll have to ask the others. Apparently I fell asleep on the patio to be shortly followed by Colum and Davie. Never mind coastguard Dan was to the rescue and had the sense to go get a taxi and shove us all in it. I have to tell you though, all night even in this drunken exhausted sleep I was still wakening every hour to check I still had my ticket. Not quite sure where I was or how I got there, but I had my golden ticket for the chocolate factory and could deal with anything else later.

Game day and off:

This trip was in one way, was like many other Celtic trips I have been on, that when you're away from home you get these super human drinking powers. You get in at the early hours of the morning, absolutely hammered and wake at the crack of dawn, fresh and ready to go again. Think we must have got in around 4am after being up, for pretty much two days straight. At 9am I'm wide-awake and bursting to go again. If I had been at home I would have spent the day on the couch suffering all day. Get a shower and head down stairs to find something to eat. Low and behold our Dublin man has beaten me and was up earlier and already having a beer!! Not for me, I say. Taking it easy today, well easier than yesterday anyway. It was the big day and I wanted to make sure I was ready to savour every last minute of it. Not a great deal on the menu in this place. I guess the local delicacy in the Seville area was this leg of pork- hoof and all, that all the bars had hanging in their windows. So I asked the Amigo, "gie us some of that thingy on a bun and a big glass of water" in my best Spanish accent.( Which sounded pretty much as it reads!!) Anyway if you ever go to Seville, don't have this, as it's absolutely boggin!! It put a coating on my mouth that was still there two days later. It was not long until the other two Windsor Amigo's had arisen from their slumber and I told them to try one of the delicious ham sandwich's they make in here!!

We then decided to head into Seville for the day and went looking for the bus into town, as we thought we had given enough to the local taxi economy and by the ever increasing prices we might have to give our first born as well as the fare to get into town this time. We arrived into the bus station to find a sea of bodies just crashed out everywhere you looked and we headed towards the Cathedral. The city was just green and white everywhere. Every landmark, monument, watering hole and there were plenty, were just packed with Tims singing and jumping about and it was only 11 in the morning. I doubt there could have been a better place for this event, the stadium could have been bigger but the city was perfect. Every second building seemed to be a pub; the city was full of landmarks the fans could show off in or on top of, weather was great and the people friendly.
Most of the pubs there were those little bistro type places, meant to hold maybe fifty- tops. By lunch time there was not a spare inch in any of them and they were filled to at least two, three times their capacity. Walking up to the Cathedral the sights were just amazing and getting crazier and crazier. Banners hanging from every roof top, singing coming from all directions, everyone in some form of green, white and gold. From the new hoops, old hoops, t-shirts with nifty slogans, kilts and sombreros. I even saw three guys in green flamingo dresses, some with big fancy hats, hair dyed, guys playing bagpipes, the tin whistle and accordions. In my past experiences following Celtic in Europe, it was always mostly young guys that went. But here it was young boys, men and a lot of older men who had probably been to Lisbon or who were making sure they were not going to miss such a big event again. Also a lot of woman and children had become part of the crusade.

As we made our way up one of the many narrow streets to the Cathedral, Colum stopped to speak to one bhoy playing this full size accordion, it was nearly the size of him. Next thing in the middle of the street Colum starts singing the Soldier Song in Gaelic and the bhoy starts playing with him, like a couple of buskers on Sauchihall Street. If this is not funny enough, all of a sudden this Spanish bloke pops up from nowhere, puts Colums foot on a wooden box and starts polishing his boots. You had to be there to see it, Colum in the Kilt, and Docs on, in the middle of the street singing with this wee guy and a massive accordion, getting his boots polished - mental! The biggest laugh was yet to come, as when he had finished the amigo put his hand out and asked for 40 euros for the polish!! After a bit of bartering, Colum through some change at him and made a quick exit.
As we drew even closer to the Cathedral the crowd got bigger and bigger to the extent that you would have thought we were in the jungle. We kept losing each other in crowds until we were eventually split up for the day- Colum and I went one way and Davie and Dan another. The sights at the Cathedral were something else; by the looks of a lot of them, they had been there all night and were looking the worse for wear. This was around noon and I find it hard to believe most managed to keep going to the game at 8pm. All these huge crowds and unbelievable amounts of drink everywhere and I honestly never saw anyone out of order or a bit of trouble.
As we made our way past the Cathedral I saw numerous faces from back home and Vegas conventions. Everyone soaking up the sites and the incredible atmosphere. We headed to a wee pub just past the Cathedral next to some big fountain. Needless to say, the fountain was full of Celtic supporters jumping in the water. We meet up with a bunch of my family and based ourselves there for the afternoon. The wee pub was packed the whole day and the owners had smiles from ear to ear. They really must have thought the lottery had come in. They couldn't pour the beer fast enough all day. Songs were sung all afternoon as we basked in the sun. A wee Spanish boy comes round with his accordion and starts playing some tunes. After a few requests that he does not know (including Viva Espana!!), people start taking shots of his accordion, singing different Celtic songs and Rebel songs and the cheeky wee sod is going round with the hat for himself after every song we sing!!

As the day wore on the crowds just got busier and busier. Bus loads coming in from all roads to the point the city centre was closed to traffic and even the big main streets were just packed with Celtic supporters. Imagine the whole city like Sauchihall Street on a Saturday afternoon - and your close. But just green and white everywhere you looked, with the odd blue and white Porto shirt popping up, here and there.
By mid afternoon the temperature was well into the 90's, a real dry heat. Quite pleasant compared to what 90-degrees feels like in Windsor, never the less not really a day for playing football in. At about 5pm we decide to start to make the final push of our crusade towards the stadium. If you had being flying overhead it must have looked like a colony of ants heading to the stadium. They were pouring down every street, over the bridges that joined the city from the rivers that flowed through, as everyone headed to the stadium from every direction. This again could not have been planned better as the route was just lined with these little boozers, which were well used and appreciated in the soaring heat. A journey that should have taken about an hour tops,
took us about two and half with all the carry on and pit stops. Although newspaper reports said there were no arrests, it was not for the want of trying by some people in our group. Between Colums streaking through the streets of Seville and the McManus Clan's walking Patio set, if it had been in Glasgow we would have all been in the nick. Due to all the bars being mobbed and never being able to get a table or seat, it was decided that we would start collecting our own and would take it with us from bar to bar. First a table, then a few chairs, then an umbrella, then a fan. It really was a mental site now I think back, and must have looked like a travelling circus to the locals hanging out their windows, watching the procession go by. There was no badness in it, just a carry on that in any other city would probably have gotten you in a bit of trouble. It was all left at the last pub and on our return it had all disappeared so I guess the rightful owners came along and collected it during the game when the crowds had died down.

Passed the big park where a lot of the ticket less had congregated to watch the game on big screens, but we never went in. Well, we actually couldn't get in if we had wanted, it was just overflowing with people. Some bright spark had an idea to send a Daily Record double-decker to the park, they were there giving away all kinds of free stuff and they were still getting dogs abuse from everyone that past. It wouldn't have been any more out of place if it had been painted Red, white and Blue.
Anyway this was it, the moment we had all been waiting for was about to happen, we were approaching the stadium, the promised land was coming into sight. We were finally going to reach our destination and fulfil our crusade. The butterflies were starting in the stomach and was about to have the first of what was going to be a few heart-stopping moments in the next few hours. Starting to notice a few despondent Tims heading back towards us, I could only imagine they were the ones with forged tickets or ones trying to chance their arms at the gates. We then came on to what looked like the first entrance to the stadium and started to queue up to get in. Once getting a bit closer to the turnstiles I hear the guy shouting," no more we’re full up, no more." Heart stops, I begin to panic a little and push myself right up to the front, beginning to think that the stadium is full, it must be the people with fakes that have got in and its now full up and they won’t let anymore people in. I show the guy my ticket and he says no you can't get in. Right away I am down his throat. "What do you mean, this is a genuine ticket don't give that crap mate, come on". At the same time almost shitting myself at the thought of being turned back. The guy stands back crosses his hands and signals no more getting in. I calm down a bit and call him over and say. "Are you telling me that I have a real ticket and your not letting me in the stadium", tears starting to fill my eyes by this point. The Spanish guy jumps back at me," no no, senoir this not the stadium entrance this is hospitality area, you go up the street." I can't remember ever being so relieved and off we went thanking him graciously, while trying to get the heart back into its regular beat. Got up to the real entrance and found we were on the wrong side of the stadium. Time was beginning to get tight and started running. Finally found the right gate and they had turnstiles that were bar code readers. The Amigo took your ticket put under the reader if it went green you got in and if red it was a fake and they turned you back. I had seen quite a number getting turned back. While I felt sorry for them, I was to worried for myself and while I knew mine was a good one, I had all these, what, ifs and buts going through my head. It seemed like an eternity before it was finally my turn to go through? Gave the boy my ticket and held my breath, fingers crossed, one eye shut the other on the reader. It took three bloody attempts, I had nearly turned green before the light went green, the guy kept straightening out the ticket I had being holding so tightly in my hand while queuing up. I swear if it had been knocked back, I would have just broke down bubbling, I was so wound up by this point. The turn style clicked and I was in. Made it!. I was finally here.

I remember pausing thinking to myself, UEFA CUP FINAL, IN SEVILLE, IN SPAIN, WATCHING THE CELTIC. I had finally reached the promised land, the chocolate factory and was going to witness our day with destiny, the place that had been totally occupying me for the last month and was finding it hard to keep my emotions in control, I so happy. Quickly I made my way to my seat. Magic seats they were to, about 20 rows from the front on line with the penalty spot towards the Porto end of the stadium. But to be honest, I could have been in the furthest away corner, with a pillar in front of me and I would have still said they were magic seats I was so happy. Got in just in time to see the players coming out to warm up. Stadium was just sweltering and this wall of noise hit you as we came up from underneath the stand, just breathe taking. I won’t go on about the game, you all seen it I am sure. But I noticed that a few things were missed on TV when I watched the reply when I got home. All the fans were brilliant, non stop singing and cheering the players on, even the Porto fans, I have to give them credit, at the start of the match I thought they were actually out singing us. Which was some feat, as they were out numbered three to one. They also came out with one of the most impressive banners I have ever seen, with crests of all the teams they had beaten to get there, full size of their end of the stadium, it really was impressive.

I think a lot, including myself, of the Celtic supporters were in a bit of an awe, of the occasion to begin with. Everyone looking around thinking wow, we’re in a EUFA cup final, something for a lot of years we never seriously thought would happen. I really tried to savour every minute of it and tried not to let things pass me by, by getting too hyper. By the time kick off came, the bhoys were in full voice. I have no regrets about the game; I thought we played well, just not quite well enough. To me it was a fantastic game and I don't want to take anything away from Porto, because although I don't think we deserved to lose, neither did they. We just needed that bit of luck, that in the end was not with us. Although for the most part we chased the game. I really thought when we tied it at 2-2 we were going to win it. Henrik’s goals were fantastic, the jumping about and looks on people faces when he scored, was as good as anything I have seen. God knows what it would have been like if we took the lead. At 2-2 I was really beginning to think that this fairy tale was going to have the most unbelievable happy ending and Henrik would score a hatrick, he was just electric, not to be though.

The only sore point I have with the match, which was missed for the most part in the tape of the game I saw, was Porto's diving and celebrating after the goal. I felt the ref should have been stronger, I don't think he had a bad game, just not strict enough I felt. On TV you never saw half of it. When the TV was showing you replays of the incidents, they were still rolling round or running round the track. That little #11 Delrie was a little diving shit that you would have thought had been shot every time he went down. The ref waited every time until he was ready before starting again. Right from the start I noticed him and my blood was boiling with him all game. Also every goal they scored, the whole team not only left the field, but over the billboards into their fans. It took 5 minutes between every goal they scored to start the game. This might sound like sour grapes and maybe it is, but it’s something we are not used to in Scotland. It was definitely a ploy they were using to the up most every time they went ahead and was driving the Celtic fans up the wall.
Obviously when the final whistle went, there was a great sadness around the place. Guys greetin, heads in hands, looks of disbelief. Personally though, the sadness really only lasted a few minutes. I really felt very proud and lucky to be a part of it. I had just witnessed the best game of my life and loved every minute of it. A lot of it maybe had to do with not only this game but the whole campaign. We had beaten teams from the so called best leagues in the world to get here and I cant remember there ever being a more exciting season. I think, for most of the people there it did not linger too long either. I think everyone realized we had just witnessed a fantastic game. Our bhoys played well, just not well enough on the day and no way did we think we were outclassed, which the media had lead us to believe heading into the game.
Even though we were beaten, I don't think many left before the trophy was handed out. Sure it was hard to swallow, we had come to see our bhoys lift the cup and we had been beaten on the field. But we were not going to leave beaten in the terracing and sung and cheered to the end. On leaving the stadium, it was one the most worrying parts of the trip. They directed both the Porto and Celtic fans out the same way. All I could think of was of some Porto fan running up to a Celtic fan and saying "get it up ya" and all hell breaking loose. But it could not have been further from the truth. There were lots of hand shaking and exchanging of scarfs and shirts, but a lot like myself just kept their mouths shut and a distance until the potential trouble was by and let them enjoy their day.
It was one long walk back to the town; we had all used every last piece of energy back in the stadium and couldn't believe we had come so close. Passed by the big park and it had pretty much emptied out. All that was left was a sea of plastic cups and beer cans and a few bodies here and there passed out.
Once back in the town it was not long before the party began again and spirits were back up and the consensus was not that of great failure, which some what surprised me a bit. But more, we did well and we have had the most fantastic trip of a lifetime in the last nine months. It was getting into the early hours when we headed past the Cathedral and it was like something out of a war movie. The streets just littered with bodies. A lot of people and I mean a lot, did not have hotels and were just roughing it. All around the Cathedral was like a big open-air campsite. Men, woman and children all passed out on any spare piece of pavement available. Past a few who must have been sitting at the side of the road when they passed out, as they were half on the road , half on the pavement. One fella was sleeping on a ledge. You would have thought he was defying gravity, you really had to be there to see it.

The pubs that actually had beer left were still going strong and you would have thought we won the game. As it got into the early, early hours of the morning the pubs with anything left got fewer and fewer. It was really getting to a state of anything. No beer, no rum, no vodka, no whisky. It was really a case of going up to the bar and asking for four of anything you got Amigo!!

While exhausted I did not want the night to end, the next day or should I say that afternoon we were heading out of Seville and it was over. We eventually went looking for a taxi and I managed to talk the others to going in this last pub. I head in to get the drinks and do I not meet 6 friends I used to go to the games with from Falkirk. A couple of them I had been to Europe before with the watching games. Well it was like a bolt of energy and the singing started all over again and the stories of past trips were reminisced. It now was beginning to get into the late hours of the morning. We ended up getting the bus back to the hotel that morning. It was daylight again and full of people going to work. Again like the whole trip in bed and 10am this time, I'm up fresh and ready to go again. Our train was at 1pm. Picked up some Scottish papers in the train station. And began to read some of the unbelievable stories that had happened in Seville. Stories of Celtic drinking Seville dry, equivalent to a whole year’s beer consumption drank in three days. One pub saying it sold 33,000 pints. Story's of the heroics of the team, but mostly stories of the fantastic fans that mesmerised Seville. No one had ever seen anything like it and will probably be the biggest legend that we will leave from this trip. The 75,000 Celtic fans that came partied, had the times of their lives and no trouble. I can tell you all, it was all true. I don't think I will ever see a sight like it again, and if that’s losing, I really can't imagine what it would have been like if we won, because I swear it really could not have been any better.
On the train I met up with the family again and these mates of mine from Falkirk. I don't think I even sat down this time. Right up to the buffet compartment. Train hadn't left and it was in full voice. I think we managed to get half way this time before the train ran out of booze. To the rescue again we still had one jug of wine from the original carry out. It was like the stuff Jesus had at the last supper. We just couldn't finish it. Seemed the more people that drank from it the more there was. I found it hard to believe but the train journey going back I think was even better than going. We went through the whole Celtic song book at least four times, every rebel song anyone knew even a bit of, hymns from mass, then started the hokey cokey. If this was not mad enough, it was then on to the conga line through the train. Conductor just standing back shaking his head, never seen anything like it and never going to again.
The time we got to Madrid we were all the worst for wear and I barely remember saying goodbye to my family. Although we still had a night in Madrid to come. This was around four in the afternoon and I was beginning to think it was going to be an early night for me. Headed to a little pub across from some friends’ digs and the rounds were going rapid style and the craic was flying. Went to get a room across the road but all he had was one room left with a double bed. Thought to myself, that will do. The four of us would crash in there together. So we decide to avoid any bother with the desk, we would go in, in ones and twos. We all head up and to get our heads down for an hour. And in true superhuman holiday fashion, we were up an hour later raring to go, well going anyway. Must have been some kryptonite around as were kind of struggling to start with for the first time. Anyway, on the way out the manager has sussed us out and is roaring and raving about only two people in the room in broken English. In my best Manuel from Fawlty Towers , I give that confused look and answer "keh". Which sends him over board and he starts drawing pictures of stick men, drawing four then crossing two out. "See, see" I reply trying to keep him happy, assuring him there would only be two when we returned. Thinking we will be out to the early hours hopefully he will have left. Went out to sample some of Madrid's finest food, which we had not had much off in the last four days. Where did we end up? Burger King!! Real class lot us, where's Martin F. when you need him? After filling up, we had a little wander round part of Madrid and while we did not see that much, what I did see was very nice, I must say. Ended up down this Plaza de la Mayor. Turns out it was an old bullring which has now been converted into a square with a lot of bars and trendy restaurants. Very nice indeed and gave our singing a nice echo!! From there we headed down some little cobble stoned streets and ended up in this little pub for a while. Seemed a real touristy part of Madrid and the streets were just bustling even in these early hours of the morning. Colum, I guess having had enough to drink for the moment, decides he needs some exercise and starts challenging people to a race. Not many takers so we put up this big jug of beer as the prize and we soon have the bouncer up as a challenger, and in usual fashion all the kits off and they are heading up the street starkers to the starting line. We send a few up to hold the traffic up and clear the track of this narrow cobble stoned street. And they are off, our champion "The Dublin Streaker" leaves him standing as he storms over the finishing line. This went on for quite a while as I remember and think it took 6 challengers before he was finally beaten and it took a 19 year old to do it, so he did us proud, although his mother I am sure would be appalled.
Went into few different places and like most big European cities, it never sleeps and I think we turned in around 6am. Night porter on, so nae bother getting in. Although around 9A.M., there is a big bang on the door. I dive under the bed, Colum jumps in the shower and Dan answers the door to the manager ranting about two not four. Dan shows him the room and he only see's Davie crashed out and Dan, so off he goes quite happy. Well you should have seen the look on his face an hour later when all headed out. You could see him scratching his head and ranting in Spanish as we all smiled going past.
Well that was it, we were off home and heading for our gruelling 10 hour flight. I wont go into this, because it was murder, I'll tell you. Sitting there all jittery and so tired you can’t sleep, from coming down off such a high was very hard going. It really was the time of my life and haven’t had a better trip. If I could tell you one thing it would be , DO NOT MISS IT if it happens again. If you have to beg , steal or borrow, promise all sorts to the wife or work, just make sure you are there, because no matter how good you think this trip might of been, your not even close. As I read back over this I missed so much and really have not done it the justice it deserves. As I said earlier the memories I have of the emotions and atmosphere of the trip I can’t put into words, but I hope these accounts of our crusade stoke that little fire inside you all called Celtic and makes sure you’re there the next time, because it really was "the best days of our lives". I really have a lot of people to thank for this trip.
Most of all my wife Tracy, not only for letting me go. Well maybe not letting, but accepting I was going and not changing the locks and leaving me as first promised!!! But for putting up with the last nine months of this marvellous campaign, which saw me coming home in some states on a Thursday night.
To the other three Windsor Bhoys who came onboard last minute to share the trip with me. It would not have been the same without you.
All my family I met over there, now I look back it makes me really proud of the great family I have and wished we had longer and more had come.
All of my extended 75,000 family I really felt a part of over there, you did us proud. Thanks.
All the Windsor Bhoys and Ghirls who were at those magical Thursday games over the past season cheering the Tic on. I think we experienced something very special and we had a lot of laughs. Thanks.
Thank you Seville and all its people, you were marvellous hosts and I don’t think there could have been a better venue.
Also Thank you, Martin O’Neill, don’t ever leave.
A Thank you to all the Celtic players, you did your best and I can’t ask for more.
Thank you Celtic, to a year that will not be forgotten.
Fingers crossed we will be back again soon... Believe!!

Stephen McManus (WCSC President)