Hours before I left the house for my trip to Bosnia last Wednesday, I wrote a piece for this blog and wondered of the chances of another historic Irish football occasion. When I returned home 7 days later, I didn’t know where to start, or what to say. It’s taken me another week before I settled down to write this piece and I’ll start from the beginning.
(it took me another 3 months to post the damn thing in the end. Maybe I’m just indecisive)
The difference between Insanity and Genius, is measured only by success. In booking my flights to Bosnia last month, my itinerary included 5 flights, across 8 different airports, 4 buses between these airports hours that would be lost to waiting lounges. In my defence, the total cost of this came to around €200, half of what some Irish fans paid to get to the first leg of the playoff encounter between Bosnia & Herzegovina and the Republic of Ireland. A total of 880 match tickets were made available to Irish fans but by and large everyone got sorted in the end. Had we drawn Hungary or Ukraine, it was quite likely we would have witnessed another ticket debacle like Scotland in November 2014. However, the mood going into this trip was as far removed from the Glasgow experience was previously.
Going into this play-off, we were hopeful of doing the necessary to get across the line. We had a big advantage with the 2nd leg to be played at Dublin but we’re also missing key players for the first leg. Reservations were expressed about our opponents, the daunting prospect of Edin Džeko and Miralem Pjanić. In saying that, personally I felt a confidence about this Irish team, something that continued to emanate from our amazing victory against Germany in October. With the odds stacked against us, we had pulled off a victory that could define a new era. That new era would only be confirmed only if we qualified for Euro 2016. It would count for nothing if we didn’t qualify.
Getting a few hours’ sleep in Galway city that Wednesday night, I left on a Citylink bus direct to Dublin Airport at 3am. It would be another 15 hours before I would reach Sarajevo. Reading a complimentary copy of the Irish Times waiting for my first flight, I would learn of another injury blow as Shane Long would not travel. Indeed reading the article, five players I name-checked in my previous ‘Shots from Distance’ entry were ruled out. If I had a better phone other than my Sony Xperia J, careful revisions would have been made to my article. As it was, I spent some time on my flight to Frankfurt wondering if the blog’s reputation was now in tatters.
Arriving in Frankfurt, a group of us jumped onto a bus to our next airport. The beauty of going on so many Ireland trips is that I now knew plenty of people that I only see at Ireland games. The group I was travelling with were all due to meet each other in Frankfurt Hahn at around midday. Things can be lonely if you have no one to talk to in transit. However, you can always strike up a conversation with an Irish fan, whether you know them or not, enroute to an away game. I have probably have more friends across the country and abroad than those I know at home! The weather in the Frankfurt area was very warm, too warm for an Irish man in November. I would be forced into a quick change of tops to adjust to this new heatwave. Added to this, reports were coming in from Sarajevo that the weather was equally as fantastic. I thought I had my Sun holiday when I went to the Algarve back in September.
It was 12pm when I arrived in Frankfurt Hahn, and much to our dismay, there was only two bars open in the Airport. For the small number of Irish that were already there, this was nothing to worry about. However, a flight from Dublin was due to arrive at 1pm, with the large majority of people on that flight also travelling to the game. We joked with a sense a trepidation that the two bar staff behind the small café, serving Kirner Pils and Bitburger Lager, did not know what was in store from them. When the flight did arrive, we had the sense to disperse ourselves across the Airport, getting food and drink where possible. Going through security, the single bar/café and the sole woman at the till was coping admirably before those of us there treated her and the airport staff to a fine rendition of “The Auld Triangle”.
The sing-song was the first eruption of noise from the converging fans. It wouldn’t be until our plane landed in Tuzla, Bosnia before we got going again with the familiar chants of “Just Can’t Get Enough” and “Come On You Boys In Green”. Arriving in Tuzla International Airport, (an International Airport that only had two bathrooms) the currency exchange was my first port of call. The Bosnian KM is a locked in currency and can only be obtained in Bosnia itself. This would be a problem later on in the trip as many places, be it pubs or exchange offices, in Sarajevo would refuse to take a 100 mark note. Receiving three 100 mark notes in exchange for my euros, it would take some waiting before I would receive change for breaking these notes, much to the consternation of some bar staff. I can’t blame them, they were serving Irish fans non-stop!
It was half eight when my group finally arrived in Sarajevo, a two and a half hour Taxi journey with more Twists and Turns than a confused right winger on the edge of the box. Our accommodation was immediately christened H-Block, for the front door was enclosed inside a cage! Inside, our downstairs apartment was adjacent to a community centre that was in the midst of hosting a Karate session upon our arrival. To be fair to our host, our rooms were immaculately clean and gave reason to drop the H-Block moniker. For 20 euro in total between 3 of us sharing one room, I couldn’t complain, it just took some time adjusting given the fact I stayed in the Five Star Sheraton Hotel in Warsaw when I went to Poland last month.
Our group based ourselves in the Old Town, specifically in an area where we had our choice of Murphy’s Irish Bar or Cheers Bar/Restaurant. Cheers immediately found favour with me with their price of a large pizza amounting to the equivalent of five euro. My lust for a fine pizza is almost as great as my devotion to following the Irish team itself so it was foolish not to take advantage of this value. Indeed, 4 large pizzas and 3 pints cost the equivalent of €26 between the four of us. Pints of the local lager never amounted to more than €2.50. The most noticeable thing about the Pubs was the ability to smoke inside. With some people ordering bottles of Vodka, it was throwback to Ireland in the 80’s and 90’s. A great nights craic was had that Thursday, and the following morning the hangover was manageable!
After shaking off the excesses of the night before, it was time to get ready! On my previous away trip in Warsaw, my YBIG scarf was stolen; presumably by an Irish fan. My efforts to obtain a new one were fruitless in the intervening time and so I made a gutsy decision to bring my Paul McGrath scarf. This scarf has unbelievable sentimental value to me. Seventeen years ago, I attended my first ever Ireland game. It happened to be a testimonial for the legendary No.5 and my father purchased that scarf for me. To this day it is still in fine condition and although I was wary of the risks of bringing something like it on an away trip, it was the best scarf for the job! I did tweet that morning to Paul himself that I had it in Sarajevo for the game but he might have missed it. Between that and my player issue Ireland home jersey, I was content with my attire for the 1st leg and the drinking that would go before it.
The main meet up point was Tito’s Café and Bar, where all the buses were to leave for Zenica. It was at this point I met the usual crew from YBIG.ie and got chatting to them ahead of the game. Not long after that, the buses arranged by the Supporter Clubs arrived. Tensions between some independent fans on YBIG and Supporter Club members have been testy over the last 12 months but thankfully we all saw sense than to kick up a fuss now. There was bigger things at hand. And when the speakers played “Put Em’ Under Pressure” the entire place was soon rocking! Our original departure time of 5pm was put back to 6pm but once we got going, we travelled in style. Several 50 seater buses made their way in a convoy towards Zenica, led by a Police Escort.
It was a journey of an hour and a half, but it simply flew by! At tolls, the Irish fans on my bus saw fit to wave like lunatics at the locals in their cars. God knows what they thought of the Irish going crazy on a bus waiting at the toll. Little did they know that on YBIG Bus No.1, we were celebrating Christmas early with renditions of many festive classics! Such to the extent the jovial abuse that went towards one lad who skipped a verse of “Fairytale of New York” ahead of everyone else was priceless. I’ve lost count of the amount of bus journeys I’ve been on in this lifetime but nothing will ever top the YBIG Bus No.1 experience enroute to Zenica that Friday night.
Upon arrival at Bilono Polje Stadium, you could immediately understand why the Bosnian FA decided to schedule the match here. A small and, somewhat ancient, venue in comparison to today’s modern stadia only served to increase the intimidation factor. This was the mecca of Bosnian football. Take us on at your peril! Limiting the presence of Irish fans to a mere 800 would be a shrewd move, the Bosnians must have thought, against 13’000 passionate home supporters. However, the stadium and large police presence didn’t deter our spirits. Most of us immediately made for the adjacent hotel for more pre-match drinks, with an hour still to go before kick-off. I took this time to listen to my composition of Hans Zimmer and Irish Football nostalgia. Any last remaining pulse in my body needing to be pumped before an Irish match is given a boost of CPR proportions listening to it. https://soundcloud.com/ilfranco91/its-time-irish-football-symphony-june-15-edit. Before long I was in the stadium and settled into a spot for the game. We all sang the anthem with pride and gusto, and looked on at the Bosnians display during their own anthem. The occasion was everything I wanted it to be up to that point. Now I could only stand and watch.
The game kicked off with Bosnia attacking the goal in front of us. It was a cagey frustrating first half from an Irish point of view. Bosnia enjoyed the majority of possession and were getting great joy attacking Stephen Ward at left back. A number of times he was caught out by Senad Lulić for pace and fortunately his crosses to the centre rarely found their intended target or outcome. Yet, it was when Ireland had the ball that irritated me before long. There was clearly no game plan going forward other than lump the ball at Daryl Murphy. Now, I don’t mind a long ball approach but it was startling to see no support runners anticipating the knock downs if they came. It was all about clearing our lines and containing the Bosnian threat. With Lulić providing the spark for the hosts, it was only a matter of time before their other key players grew into the game and tested Randolph seriously! The warning signs were there. If the game continued like this, then Ireland would be doing well to go home without conceding.
And then, something strange happened. As we all relaxed for a brief moment during half-time, a mist descended upon the field of play. Not just any mist, a thick fog had enveloped the pitch to the point we couldn’t see field markings past the 18 yard box. You could barely make out the players, the Irish being more difficult to differentiate given their white shirts. It was surreal. How many times have any of us witnessed something like this in football? We had travelled across Europe to squint our eyes as the play unfolded. Yet we wouldn’t let fog dampen our spirits
Where’s The Ball? Where’s The Ball? Where’s The Ball?
Turn off the Smoke Machine will ye!
You’ll Never See The Irish!
On occasion, Ireland would break forward and we’d get to see the ball & an attack unfold. The introduction of James McClean saw Robbie Brady switch to the right, giving us strong options on either side. McClean was his industrious self and his presence on the field was something you couldn’t miss in the fog. I’m not sure if Bosnia created any chances or enjoyed the same control they had in the first half. And from what I’ve seen of the TV coverage since, neither could those watching at home. Texts were coming into Irish fans all around from those at home wondering could we see anything. We were told that the game might be stopped and resumed the next day, something that didn’t sit well with me even though I was not leaving til’ Sunday morning. The next best thing the fog managed to do apart from stifle any sort of a game unfolding was ease the tension Irish fans in the ground were feeling. How could we bite our nails or watch in agony when we couldn’t even see the bloody ball when Bosnia entered our half? For all we knew, Seamus Coleman could have being balancing the ball on his arse while reading Jimmy McGuinness’ autobiography!
It was an odd atmosphere, we sang songs and wondered what was going on until suddenly, out of the fog, Brady emerged with possession. For the first time in a while, we saw the ball. For the first time in the game, Ireland had a genuine opportunity from play. A few twists and a shot later, we saw the ball fly past Asmir Begovic into the back of the net. A mere five seconds of clarity in front of us turned celebrations that lasted significantly longer.
A mixture of sheer elation and surprise consumed us all. Even when the play restarted we were still jumping around and hugging each other. Suddenly, it dawned on me that we had scored an away goal. A priceless away goal. The passion that emanated from fans singing afterwards was immense. Immense until we heard the Bosnians roar as loud as us. Confusion reigned once more. For the next 30 seconds, the lads beside me and I did not know whether it was a goal, a penalty or whether it had been disallowed. You see (mind the pun!), we did not see what had happened. Not an inch of it. If were not for Bosnians celebrating, we wouldn’t have stopped singing. Roles reversed, we’d be relying on text messages to tell us Ireland had scored if they attacked the other goal. Anyways, Edin Dezko had equalised and cut short our delirious party. And that is how it would end. 1-1.
Sarajevo proved to be a fantastic spot for value overall and its beauty was transparent throughout. The only regret I have from my trip is that I didn’t do any sightseeing of sorts. Although I knew of the War that had taken place when I was only young, my knowledge of the city and the country was limited at best. However, I was immediately taken and impressed with the inherent beauty of the city and the warmth of its people. Not at one stage of my trip did I encounter any problems with the locals and the police I encountered were nothing but helpful. A few of them even posed for photos which is always a great sign. I remember travelling back from Poland in 2012, adamant that I would return someday (I eventually did last October). A similar sentiment is even stronger after visiting Sarajevo and I hope to visit it again in the future.
I woke up on Sunday morning with my headphones still on, now playing the intro of Macklemores latest hit “Downtown”. One glance at my phone and the time read 7:40am. It was nothing short of pure luck that I woke when I did. I rushed out of the apartment and tried to make contact with the lads I arranged a Taxi with the night previously. The phone failed to connect and so I was left to hail one of my own. In hindsight, I’m glad I did. The Taxi driver was a local man with very good English and he was a pleasure to talk to. He first asked me was I in a hurry to which I replied “No, I’’m not”. The journey took about 25 minutes. In amongst chatting about the game, our respective supporters, he spoke about Sarajevo and when I should visit. He also spoke about its past. Along the way, he drove past these apartments that still had bullet holes visible from the War. These were the apartments he grew up in, and sadly, where his parents were killed when he was only nine years old. He spoke admirably about something which would traumatise anyone. He loves Sarajevo but there is a lot of trauma that he and a lot of Bosnian people still deal with. Not one to dwell on a dark topic, he spoke of his ambitions to move with his family to Germany, when his wife finishes her medical studies.
After paying the fare, I got out and checked if I had everything with me. I noticed he had gone to the boot of his car. When he came round, he said he wanted to give me a memento to remember Bosnia by. Unfortunately for him, he had none. I simply replied, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll be coming back one day. We hugged each other and went our separate ways. It was a lovely way to end the trip and sums up one of the many amazing reasons I travel the continent to watch Ireland. You see wonderful countries, meet great people from home and abroad, have a great time, and sometimes, see your own country perform in the most competitive football continent in the World.
Seeing Sarajevo and its people, a mere 25 years after a vicious war was endearing. So endearing I felt the need to make a statement on Facebook. Moments after we got back on the bus after the game, word came through about the awful attacks in Paris. It was not until the next morning before I realised the full extent of what had happened. It was impossible not to think that if we were to be lucky enough to qualify the following Monday, the same thing can happen next summer to us. And while life continues to go on, despite the atrocities, there was reason for hope. Looking at Sarajevo today and the people going about their everyday lives, it just shows that no level of terrorism or hatred can ever destroy what is good about humanity. This city and this country was plunged into a vicious and brutal war that claimed the lives of many innocent people. And today it is a fantastic place to visit and spend time in. Paris will remain the same too. Sometimes we can wonder about the depths of humanity and what it can resort to. But over the next few days, weeks, and months, we will see the best of us. I truly believe that.
May those who lost their life rest in peace.
