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
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
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