4 Lads, 3 Countries, 2 Teams, 1 Band

Sion versus Liverpool in the last group game of the Europa League when we have already qualified with a game to spare probably isn’t something that would be high up in most people’s “Things To Do 2 Weeks Before Xmas” lists, but it was agreed when the draw was made that this would be the Euro Away we take in for the 1st half of the season and by jove we stuck with it.
The main selling point when I pitched this trip to the lads was the journey itself. None of that “straight in, straight out” for us. If there’s one thing we always pride ourselves on its the dedication to the journey and the various stopovers we take in along the way. From partying on a ferry to Italy with the Milan fans after Athens to getting on the ale with Schalke in Lisbon on our way home from Madrid, we’ve always gone the long way round (we had planned to go to the Champions League Final in Moscow in 2008 via rail solely for the fact it stopped over in Luxembourg but a Riise own goal in the 1st leg of the semi-final put that idea to bed. Never forgiven him for that.)
So this was a 3 day trip taking in the sights and sounds of Dublin, Milan, and of course Sion.
The plan was to finish work at 5pm on the Wednesday, taxi straight to Speke for the short flight over the Irish Sea for a night in Dublin before catching an early flight to Milan to catch the train to Switzerland. An overnight stay in the Swiss Alps after (hopefully) witnessing Kloppo’s Young Reds score a shed load of goals, then jumping the morning train to Milan for an afternoon tour of the San Siro, and finally flying back to Manchester, arriving back home in L3 just in time to catch our very own Echo and The Bunnymen in the O2 that same evening. A meticulously planned, almost military-like operation I’m sure you’ll agree.
The fact we were only allocated 600 tickets for this game meant the chances of us getting one were virtually non-existent, but that didn’t dampen our enthusiasm. Nor the fact the only one we had been offered so far was gonna cost upwards of £275. Anyway, here’s what happened….

Day One:

All At Sea Again

Trip gets off to flyer. Literally 5 mins out of work and a phone call off one of the lads confirms we’ve got a pair of tickets. Only problem is he is on Scotty Road and we are in Childwall waiting for a cab to JLA. Cab gets cancelled. Manage to persuade the lad to collect our tickets, bring them to us AND take us to the airport. Result! Great start to the evening(for me & Jon anyway).
The flight to Dublin has to go down as the worst I’ve ever endured. Plane getting blown everywhere as we take off. Honestly thought we would be getting fished out of the Mersey. Less said about that the better. Although our flight wasn’t as bad as it was for the fella sitting in front of Scott. As he wrote his “Separation Letter To Fiancée(Draft One)” through teary eyes on his iPad. Hope that went well for him.

The taxi ride to our hotel was a bit of a mad one. The friendly female driver, as it turned out, wanted to get us as far away from the airport as quickly as possible so she could shoot back to the front of the rank. Which meant dropping us off at the nearest hotel she came to. In the opposite direction to where we needed to be. A well known scam according to the fella at the desk.

“Where’s ya of to?”
“Travel Lodge South”
“We don’t call it it South down here its called Swords. That’s were yas are off to” (she was lying)
“No it’s definitely South ya know. Travel Lodge South.”
“Jaysus will ya stop saying South it’s pronounced Swords. Travel Lodge Swords!!!”
“Erm….go ed love sound.”

Long story short the fella in the Swords Travel Lodge rang the South one and managed to swap our bookings. Good lad him. We even persuaded him to drop us off at the nearest pub in his own car, which wasn’t the Wetherspoons our lovely taxi driver had told us was 3 mins away. Yeah that’s still being built apparently.
We all climbed in his Golf and as it struggled to make it past the first bend without making some terrifying noises we were informed it had just failed it’s MOT 3 days earlier.
“That’s it we’re gonna die.”
He managed to get us to the pub in one piece and we ended the night supping proper Guinness in a proper Irish boozer. Falling off the wagon has never tasted sweeter. All went a bit hazy then.

Day Two:

All Hands On Deck At Dawn…

3 hours sleep meant a 4am start to catch our connecting flight to Milan at 6.25am. A perfectly executed plan seen us make the train to Switzerland with time to spare. 2 hours of quite civilised drinking(can’t beat a nice cold can of Feldschlösson) and we finally arrived at our hotel in the gloriously picturesque town of Brig, just outside Sion.

Dodging the ice rink we managed to find a bar with Erdinger on draught which helped no end in the various high-brow discussions of the day – the pros and cons of Trident, the future of the Labour party and that time me arl fella robbed a wheelchair.

Bring On The New Messiah…

The day was going so well that we only just made the train to Sion, arriving there with half an hour to kick off. Managed to get a lift towards the stadium thanks to some ropey GCSE French – “Ou est le stade sil vous plait?”
Luckily the lads English was better than my French so the young Sion fan and his dad squeezed 4 of us in the back of their Renault, gave us a bottle of Super Bock each and were basically sound as a pound. Heavy traffic meant we had to walk the rest of the way and got talking to a mad pair of Sion fans, one of whom was in a wheelchair that the two of them were struggling to control.
“You guys are from Liverpool? You’ll Never Walk Alone!!!” CRASH, wheelchair nearly tips up.
“You guys travel all the way without tickets? You crazy bastards!” CRASH, wheelchair nearly tips up.
Left them to it as we finally reached the ground. Guess what, we all got in. And managed to find each other too. Which was nice.

Sion and Liverpool then tried to have a game of footy. Nothing more to add to that really. “Justice Pour Les 96” was appreciated by us. Great set of lads them Sion fans. And boss sausage butties in the ground. Our flag was on the telly too apparently. Is right.

Post match JDs back in our favourite bar in Brig. Heated, almost violent, always hilarious debates about Half and Half Scarves and – even worse – Half and Half Shirts. Oh the Half and Half Shirts. Tony really hates Half and Half Shirts. One for the road becomes two becomes three. A snowball fight and some spaghetti flavoured crisps before bed. Long day that.

Day Three:

Nothing Ever Lasts Forever…

A Continental Breakfast and a fond farewell to our lovely Swiss/German Hostess. Mad as a box of frogs and the ringer of Phil Spector. Blew her mind when we sang Silent Night to her. In German. Danke.
By 9.45am we were on the train back to Milan for the last leg of our journey. Travelling through Domodossola. Never get tired of saying the name of that place. Domodossola.

A surreal moment as we get to Milano Centrale as THE biggest, heaviest gang of security I’ve ever seen are walking through the station right in front of us. Tries to get a look at just who this entourage is protecting when Jon realises it’s none other than Floyd Mayweather! Desperate for a pic with him he then taps one of The Heavy Mob on the shoulder to ask about getting a snap with The Champ only to be told in no uncertain terms “Hey-yo can’t you see I’m on the phone???”
That went well.

Left Floyd to do his thang whilst we jumped a cab to the iconic San Siro Stadium for a tour of the ground. Found out the Italian fella on the gate used to live on Bold Street. I mean honestly, what are the chances?

Got our flag out on the pitch for some photos then had a little look around the vastness of it all. Nice moment that. Memories of watching the likes of Van Basten and Baggio as a kid all come flooding back. Channel 4. James Richardson. Sunday afternoons. And the Torres winner against Inter. What a time to be alive. Oh and Cameroon beat Argentina there in Italia 90. Sorry Diego.

A cab back to Milano Centrale was made a bit more pleasant by our drivers knowledge of ex-Liverpool players. Couldn’t speak a word of English but when you hear the words “Terryyyyy Maccderrrrmot” you know he’s a good lad.
Our time in Italy was over as we got the bus to Bergamo airport for our flight home to Manchester. Arrivaderci Milano.

Don’t Tell Me That My Ship Is Coming In….

The last box on the trip that needed to be ticked. Echo and The Bunnymen. Drop our bags off in L3 and bomb it over to the O2 for a night of McCullochs uber coolness watching the self – proclaimed “best singer in the world” effortlessly ease his way though a set list of absolute classics.

Arms aloft singing our heads off to songs that mean the world to us. And Mac gives a shout out to Jurgen Klopp. Love all that. Hugs all round as we end the trip on a high. What a trip. What a gig. What a laugh. Up The Reds. Domodossola.