Read part 2 here: http://shotsfromdistance.blogspot.ie/2016/03/5-days-in-september-part-2.html
DAY 3: Saturday
The
night rolls on.
I’ve found the two brothers who I met on the flight over outside a small bar,
located in secluded backdrop in the city. We’ve chatted previously about our early
morning flight predicament on the way over and now the three of us are in Faro
with time to kill. Least now we don’t have to worry about getting a Taxi by
ourselves.
The two bars at the top of the alleyway were packed with Irish fans. There was
no chance of a seat so after some time I moved to the place across from it
which seemed to be a mix between a Café, a Restaurant and a Bar. I say Café
because there was a selection of books to choose from. And I say Bar/Restaurant
cause they were still serving even at this late hour. I took a seat close to a
socket so I could charge my phone and searched for a book written in English.
Eventually I settled for a fictional book with the premise of a 2nd
Cuban Missile Crisis in the late 1980’s. Enjoyable and engaging, it was
certainly a novel way to spend the night! Sadly, I never took the name of the
book and have failed to find it ever since.
Despite the gripping tale of a Soviet return to the shores of a Havana, I had
no intention of spending the night reading a book. I linked back up with the
two brothers who were chatting with more lads from the YBIG.ie forum. One of
them, a Clare man, immediately turned the topic of the conversation to the
Hurling final. This was probably the first proper chat I had about Galway’s
prospects since they had beaten Tipperary. I expressed a natural reservation
given our last couple of finals but the usual sense of hope that this year
could be different. I still sighed with great contentment of the conclusion of
the semi-final and relayed my tales of that day to the group. Of the fights
that took place when Tipp fans throw their toys out of the pram. Everyone at
the table was in full agreement that Tipp hurling fans were the greatest shower
of bastards going!
We also spoke of the great Joe Canning, the man carrying the weight of Galway on his talented shoulders (I'm assuming they are talented, come on its Joe Canning FFS!). What we also spoke of was of a different pressure bearing on the man, the rumours of his mother being quite sick and that Canning was going all out to win it for her. Everyone has their own motivations in sport, but everyone has a personal life as well that will remain long after the game is over. Life can give us painful reminders sometimes of what truly matters. I hoped for Joes sake he could win it for himself. It's a joy alone to watch him hurl in the first place
As some lads retired to their accommodation, the three all-nighter amigos moved
back up to the two bars in search of drink and more craic. We soon found more
people on our flight also enduring the late hours. I ended up having a great
conversation with a club official from Achill Island FC and the development of
their club. An active member in my own
football club in Tuam and with a new pitch being developed, I was keen to tap
into his knowledge and the challenges a small Junior club can face. The
conversations I was having that night mixed from the serious of a Hurling
finals and Prison officers to the light hearted tales of Irish fans in
Albufeira. The night took another weird turn when after 5am in a small pub, the
individual from Clare started to sing. It wasn’t a football song, nor was it a
Rebel song, it was “Here I Am, Lord” I would later hear this song rolled out in
future away trips but for shock and silly factor, the Faro version tops it as
we all joined in with the hymn, much to the amusement of the Portugese bar
staff!
Spirits were as high as the alcohol level in our blood. Both the brothers &
myself decided at 5:30am that it was time to make our way to the airport. We
joked with our Taxi driver about the difference between “evil” English football
fans and the “Boys In Green”. He got us there in good time and we made our way
through security. I was the last one to get through the scanner and collect my
bag, only for one of the lads utters loud enough for security to hear “HOW HAS THAT LAD GOT HIS BAG THROUGH?”.
Rather than panic, all three of us descended into four minutes of incoherent
laughter. Security didn’t give me a second look thankfully. After a while we
soon forgot what we were laughing about but kept on laughing anyways. To think, I
thought the early flight was going to be a nightmare!
I slept on the return flight and we arrived back in Ireland just after 12. The
two brothers and I went our separate ways. While waiting for the bus, I helped myself to a packet of crisps and a free copy of the MayoNews. It has a clear focus on the football replay, whereas at that moment I was struggling to focus full-stop. Thankfully the clear air and blue skies of a fresh day helped me shake off the cobwebs, to the degree I was able to step up onto the bus. While waiting for it to arrive, I saw other people waiting at the stop with a pint glass of Guinness. Where they got it, I didn't know. Why they were drinking it, I also didn't know. However, it looked damn tasty. I wasn't a lost cause just yet with the drink!
It was the shortest away trip I’ve ever been on. Upon arriving home, my body hadn’t quite adjusted
to my all nighter and lack of sleep. I stroll around the house in a bit of daze. To pass the time, I’m still editing that promo video for Galway hurling ahead of their own game.
You remember? The one I decided to make the day before I left for Portugal. The
video I stayed up until 1am trying to finish! The video that distracted me
enough to bring only one pair of socks to the heat of Faro! Well I couldn’t upload
it while I was in Portugal, and only on returning home did I realise it needed
more editing. A good promo video needs a couple of weeks before the main event
to take off. Now I had less 24 hours and was resigned to the fact it would not
be going viral. I still kept working on it however in my zombie like state. It was a lost cause.
Croke Park, meanwhile, is looking beautiful before a packed house. Dublin vs. Mayo
is on. The game was a replay of the previous weeks drawn encounter. The draw
forced one Mayo supporter over in Faro to fork out 200 euro for a direct flight home in time for the replay. A staunch Mayo fan, bordering on the lunatic fringes, I kept a dignified silence as he told his story. I’m not a fan
of Mayo football, not in the slightest. It was something I explained in an
article last summer for Club 51, the Mayo GAA fans site. http://mayoclub51.com/way-tuam/. It was well received thankfully but my feelings remained the same. I wanted them
to lose. The first half was extremely enjoyable as both sides traded scores and
went in at half-time 10 points apiece. Early in the 2nd half,
Cillian O’Connor struck a panic and fear in my heart when he put Mayo up by
three with a dubious goal. In true Mayo fashion however, they failed to kick on
and make the advantage count and Dublin turned the screw with three goals of
their own to win the game and secure passage to the Al-Ireland Final.
My prayers are answered and the miserable Green and Red brigade are sent
packing once more. This doesn’t delight me as much as it has had in the past.
I’m relieved yes but the cynic is no more in me. I am getting soft, more passive? I'm not sure. Then again, I have only got 3
hours sleep in the last 32 hours! And much to my surprise, and my stupidity, I
didn’t go to sleep during that day or even early that night. Once again, it was
1am by the time I nodded off. The video was finished, uploaded, and getting a
few views. I tried to get to bed early but for some bloody reason, I couldn’t
sleep. And sometime during the night I woke up to a muscle spasm in my right
calf. http://www.webmd.com/hw-popup/nighttime-leg-cramps
Already, I’m a fitness doubt for the hurling final!
Part 4:
https://shotsfromdistance.blogspot.ie/2016/08/5-days-in-september-part-4.html
Read Part 1 here: http://shotsfromdistance.blogspot.ie/2016/03/5-days-in-september-part-1.html
DAY 2 – Friday
I’ve awoken at 12pm alone with a hangover. It’s too warm to be hungover
indoors.
I make myself look respectable and see if there’s anyone else lounging around.
A few lads are awake and relaxing. I order my traditional away match morning
drink of a cold can of Coca-Cola and joined the lads for discussion. None of us
had much idea when we’d be heading to Erin’s Isle (for the pre-match meet up) and few of us had the energy to discuss
it. A range of other topics were discussed. The match, the night before, the
karaoke bar, that awful man demanding more Irish pride abroad, supporter clubs & YBIG and the match-day
ahead. Our prospects weren’t great. We were hoping for a positive result in the
early game between Georgia and Scotland to give us hope. The occasion in Faro
needed it.
What I needed was take in more sun and more importantly get a proper feed in so
I went for a short walk down the strip. I didn’t indulge in any local cuisine
when opting for a Pizza from a nearby restaurant. It was grand! This was preceded
by a short search for a present for my girlfriend. Never had I been compelled
to buy something for someone back home before but such was the effect this
woman has on me, coupled with the teasing demands for me to get her something,
I was obliged to deliver. It is a new tradition I’ll have to incorporate for
future away games.
While I relaxed and took things easy, my mind was in fierce debate. Quick to
eliminate any remnants of the hangover, it was debating the merits of staying
in Faro after the game. With a 6:45am flight back the following morning, it
became apparent to me that travelling back to Albufeira after the match was
hardly worth my time. Or money, as it would require forking out big money for a
Taxi at an ungodly hour that would only set me back. I didn’t have money to
burn, I barely had money to spend. I came to the conclusion that I would have
leave my apartment when I was leaving for the game, bag and all. What stadium
security would think of it remained to be seen.
It was around 4pm when I made my way to Erins Isle. Much like the Strip, it had
the appearance of a typical tacky Irish bar that was trying too hard to be
authentic. It was an open air venue and held a good crowd of Irish fans waiting
for buses to the game. It was also serving three bottles of lager for a tenner
so I couldn’t complain. A large crowd from YBIG.ie had converged here. Faces I
knew and others I met for the first time. There was a laid back atmosphere as
seats were at a premium and bottles, full & empty, commandeered the tables.
We also had the added novelty of watching the first half of the
Georgia-Scotland encounter. Although we would likely miss the second half, we
sat back and looked on with great interest in the hope Georgia could do us a
favour. The game was on in Tbilisi, a venue where it took a moment of sheer
brilliance from Aiden McGeady to give us three points on that occasion. Other
teams had struggled there too, so we were hopeful of a draw to give us a small
chance of getting back in contention. The other added bonus was that the sound
system gave way to commentary from the game. This put an end to the terrible
music playlist that was threatening Ireland's Call on its list. That would have
received a very strong negative reaction from the people in the venue.
I didn’t take much interest in the game as I couldn’t find a decent spot to
watch it. I spent my time chatting with old acquaintances and getting some much
needed refreshments. When you have large crowds, you have large queues for the
bathroom. With the buses not expected to stop enroute to Faro, it was
imperative I timed my trip to the bathroom as late as possible. Unfortunately,
I got timing wrong. No, it’s not what you are thinking. The bathrooms were
located downstairs in the pub and down a longish enough corridor. As I made my
way to the bathroom to join such a queue, I heard a roar. Not just any roar. It
was a roar born from an unexpected moment of happiness laced with utter
disbelief. And an extremely strong undercurrent of renewed hope. Not wanting to
get ahead of myself and believe what such a roar could mean, I rushed back
upstairs to see what the commotion was about.
Georgia had scored. Suddenly this game, this campaign, this entire trip had a
shot of adrenaline and flowed with new meaning.
The mood had been upgraded from jovial to jubilant. There was a long long long
way to go before we could even think about qualifying but many of us had been
despondent ever since the home game against Scotland in June previous. On that
day, in perfect summer conditions, we had transpired to turn the occasion into
a steaming pile of shit that the large contingent of Scottish fans in the Aviva
only threw back in our faces with their celebrations. All of a sudden, hope was
rekindled, our dreams became dreams once more. And a glorious new song I heard
the previous day, could now be echoed throughout all of Albufeira with true
meaning.
So Fuck Off Tartan Army,
Ireland’s having a Party!
We’re Gonna Qualify!
We’re Gonna Qualify!
We stood on tables and sung to our hearts content. Now it felt like a true away
trip and everyone was in full voice. As we filtered out of the pub to our
assigned buses, you might have guessed Georiga
had just beaten Scotland as opposed to going into half-tie a goal up. We didn’t
care however, we were happy. We were also quite confused given the sheer
number of buses and people to get on them. This led to a friend of mine, who
organised three buses himself, not even getting a seat on one of them. He was
forced to hail a Taxi to the game and insisted upon the bar paying for the fee.
There was no such hassle for me. I met a couple I know from Galway, one of whom
was a big hurling fan devastated he wouldn’t be making the Hurling final on
Sunday. I expressed my condolences and teasingly berated his wife alongside him
that she should have never have booked the weekend away as well!
The bus journey to the ground was good craic. I made for the back of the bus
and met another lad from the forum and had a great chat with him enroute. My
friend from Galway is a native from Scotland originally. As she made her way
down the aisle with her camera, her accent was the source of great amusement
and jokes from the Irish fans.
“You’re supposed to,
You’re supposed to,
You’re supposed to be in Georgia!!
You’re supposed to be in Georgia!!”
She took it in good spirits, especially seeing as her adopted country were
suddenly back in with a shout. Another person at the back of the bus had mobile
data that could access updates from Tbilisi. I proceeded to roar down the bus
how it was going. The score remained the same, as the minutes ticked on.
Moments where the connection was lost was followed by nail biting that wouldn’t
take place that evening against Gibraltar. Only when we touched down outside
the stadium in Faro was it confirmed that Georgia had beaten Scotland 1-0.
The. Dream. Was. Back. On.
And the nightmare of waiting 20 minutes in a queue for a piss was just about to
begin!
A good crowd of Irish fans had scattered outside the stadium and I found another
large crew from Galway I knew from travelling to home games. A grand total of
SIXTEEN of them had rented a Villa outside Albufeira for the week and were in
fine spirits for the game. We all made our way into the ground and
unsurprisingly, myself and my packed bag was stopped for inspection. One item
in particular was isolated, my gift wrapped present for my girlfriend. The
security guard was obliged to open it and even doing so, he apologised. Once
discovering its contents, he calmly ushered me into the ground. I had nothing
to worry about other than re-wrapping my present.
Ireland themselves had nothing to worry about, on paper at least. The reverse
fixture had ended 7-0 in our favour. The goodwill factor generated by
Scotland’s mishap led us to believe we’d see a glorious goal-fest that would
announce our re-entry in the qualification battle. What the 4’000 or so in the
stadium were treated to was a woeful first half were the only moment of note
was Cyrus Christie's quick one-two that allowed direct the ball across the
keeper and into the side netting for his first International goal. It was a
strike that awoke most of us from a stupor. I had never felt a 45 minutes drag
on as much before. Maybe the long day was catching up on me, hauling my bag
around had worn me out but it was such a dire half of football I sat back slumped
on my chair. Only a renewed sense of hunger got me up and in search of food. My
reward was an overpriced bag of crisps.
The second half began much better as two quick goals for Captain Fantastic had
put a more acceptable look on the score-line. Robbie Keane’s importance to the
Irish team should never be underestimated even if his pace and influence up top
is waning. We will never see his like again in an Irish shirt and I shudder to
think of the day when he does retire. For now, I took great joy with his two
goal salvo, the second of which was a penalty.
The game reverted back to its first half excitement levels before Shane Long
added a 4th late on with a well taken header. 4-0 was the way it
ended and three points in the Algarve were ours. More importantly, events in
Tiblisi had given our qualification hopes a real shot in the arm! The
conclusion of the game meant bidding farewell to the Galway crew and left me on
my own and in search of transportation to the City of Faro. I slowly walked out
of the stadium and tried to find a taxi or a bus. My efforts seemed to be in
vain as one by one buses left the ground and Taxis were secured by larger
groups. I stood waiting on the side of the road before joining a group of
people beside a bus stop. Thankfully a bus did show up and for four euro I was
heading into the City of Faro. Upon arrival I treated myself to some Chicken
McNuggets at a nearby McDonalds. It’s coming close to midnight and I have seven
hours to kill before my flight home.
Part 3:
https://shotsfromdistance.blogspot.ie/2016/03/5-days-in-september-part-3.html
Read the Prelude to this Series here: http://shotsfromdistance.blogspot.ie/2015/09/5-days-in-september-part-i.html
DAY 1: Thursday
Four
hours later I was awake, still more focused on finishing the video than
packing. Eventually both were finished just before 6am; the video finally saved into a WMV file which I loaded onto my memory stick after which I set about packing my bag. With half an hour to
spare, I strolled through the darkness of Tuam with the glowing orange street lights for company. “Go”
by The Chemical Brothers was playing, and I was bouncing my way to bus stop. A
monumental five days was ahead of me.
I had a 10am flight to Faro. Upon arrival at Knock Airport, I had a lonely wait for about an hour or so in the
airport before more Irish fans started to turn up. My consolation was paying
nearly €10 for a very limited Irish breakfast. In a weekend where every saving
counted, this was the first of many blows. As I finished my breakfast, 3 lads I knew had arrived and naturally we started on the
pints. They, too, would be the first of many. News was coming from those
already over in Albufeira of the heavy handed approach the local police were
taking at night. They were charging and attacking Irish fans for no apparent
reason. This is something I never witnessed or indeed heard of an away trip given
our great reputation as football fans. The four of us joked that we were the
reinforcements on our way to back the lads up.
A three hour flight flew by thanks to some much needed sleep. We arrived in
Faro at around 1pm. After sharing a Taxi with two of the lads to their accommodation,
I got another to mine and checked in. Upon arrival in my accommodation, the
pleasant Solar De Joao complex, I opened my bag to find no extra pairs of
socks. The first setback of my trip had been confirmed. I was to survive forty-eight
hours in the heat of Algarve with one fucking pair of socks. I wouldn’t mind
but I had laid out spare pairs when packing my bag that morning! I already
needed to change my top given the heat, what would I be like with socks!
A number of lads from the YBIG.ie forum I knew of were also staying in the same
spot. Most of them were heading along to a 5 a side competition arranged by others
from the forum. I decided long ago, when it was first mooted, that I wouldn’t be
taking part but was happy to go along and watch. And despite my predicament of
a single pair of socks and the immense heat on show that day, it wasn’t long
before I wanted to take part. Chalk that down to the competitive nature within
me. I eventually did get to take part to relieve one lad who was close to
suffering from heat stroke from all the running. My fresh nature immediately
prompted alarm from an opponent “would you stop running around”. Even a 5
minute half left me sweating buckets and needing refreshment and another change
of clothes back at the apartment.
A few hours chilling was necessary before heading out to take in the nightlife
in the area. I had an ingenious, if slightly disturbing, method of handling my sock problem by
leaving them cooling in a fridge I wasn’t going to use in my studio apartment. (Bear Grylls has nothing on me!). With my socks and body refreshed, it was time to take in the nightlife. Naturally things were hectic, given the time of year! The strip
was located just down the road from our accommodation however, it came across
to me as unbelievably tacky. I wasn't going to be spending much time here I thought. Thankfully
another group shared the same sentiment and we made our way to the Old Town.
This was a much more respectable area and we made a night of it. There was a
good karaoke set-up in the first spot we went to and one of the lads gave a fine rendition of
“We Can Boogie”, the new adopted
anthem of Irish fans abroad! This was followed by a strange man from the North of
Ireland lecturing us on how proud we should be representing Ireland on the continent. He followed this up by butchering a rebel classic. It was a cue to leave and find a new spot. We
were spoilt for choice in the town centre moved around to a couple of bars in the area. I later
broke away from the main group later on to find a friend of mine who had my
ticket for the Georgia game on Monday. It was impossible to make conversation as the music was blaring. 48 hours wasn't enough time to take in all of what Albufeira offered, I had to take in what I could.
The pints were flowing and Mondays game was a long way from my mind at that
time. It was around 3am the alcohol began to take a seedy side effect and I
knew it was time to head home. I somehow stumbled my way to the Taxi rank and
handed the driver a business card from my accommodation. After a bit of hassle
with the door of my apartment I fell on the bed. I had survived the first day.
Only four more of these to go.
Part 2:
https://shotsfromdistance.blogspot.ie/2016/03/5-days-in-september-part-2.html
