A sense of bewilderment, amazement, awe and wonder came over me as I
witnessed the most extraordinary event in my
life. The birth of a new daughter is something that is hard to translate
to text. However the 12,000 euphoric Tims
in Stuttgart will be able to relate to these feelings. Well nearly. My
daughter was born on the same day that
millions marched the streets of London in the anti-war demonstration. As
I packed my bag and kissed her goodbye
the look on her angelic face could have brought peace to the world on
it's own. She was probably content since her belly
was full of milk and her eyes were heavy. A few days later and her
father would be in a similar shape. Substituting the
milk for beer. So off I went with the orders to bring back a German
teddy bear. "You want me to bring back a hun-hun?" I
enquired. My mother inlaw looked at me confused. "German - hun, Teddy
Bear - hun. Therefore a hun-hun" I explained. I dodged her
arm as I made for the door. "Auf Weidersein Pet"

Now normally I'll make the Euro trips on the bus but with being in
London now it's so much easier with the cheap flights. Also
it means you are not mixing with the peasants of the support. Still
arrangements had been made to meet up with the bus riff-raff in
Stuttgart.
First it was Trains Planes Trains and automobiles. Then more trains.  I
arrive in Stanstead about 10am and the place is heaving with
Celtic supporters. The bars are chocca. Since I'm on my tod I decide to
take things easy and head to the departure lounge. This too is
mobbed with Tims flying out on earlier flights. Think of every
combination and permutation of a flight to Germany and Tims are onto it.
In the lounge there are a few lads playing football, another couple are
chatting up the air hostesses while others are getting tanked
into the vodka. Me I'm just watching the plane having a bud. I join the
queue near the front and get ready for the stampede to the
cheap seats. Fortunately I know where I am heading and grab the seats at
the wing with all the leg room. Result. Surprisingly
the plane is rather quiet on the way out considering it is effectively a
Celtic flight. Perhaps the reason is the air stewardess
telling us that there is no beer left before we have taken off. I take
it there was a message from the flight control room prior to
us boarding. Something along the lines of "Flight control to Flight Fr
768 - codeword Cardiff 6" I therefore take the opportunity to
catch 40 winks. Not long after and we are coming in to Frankfurt-Hahn. I
look out the window as the plane banks to the left and I see
endless miles of countryside open out in front of me. As the contours of
the land peak and trough I make out the massive turbines
that generate the power for the area. Their size only serves to enhance
their grace.
As I take in the detail of the contours of the blades I wonder
how something so simple can produce so much power. As they windmill,
transferring energy from one format into another, it occurs
to me that if Celtic can get a result in Stuggart then this team will
resemble a turbine. If the winds blow favourably for us then
we will generate enough power to light up the city of Seville for a week
come May. However before Seville we have to reach Stuttgart.
Infact forget Stuttgart lets reach Frankfurt.

The plane lands in Frankfurt Hahn. Well the cowboys at Ryanair call it
Frankfurt -
though Frankfurt must be some fcking size as it takes a further 1 hour
30 minutes to hit the real Frankfurt.
No worries as I am using Frankfurt main as my base. There are however
worries for the Bhoys that had booked their train to Stuttgart that
night. The train is due to leave for Stuggart just as we are scheduled
to arrive in Frankfurt. We pile on the bus and find that the driver
is a dead ringer for Ned Flanders out the Simpsons. His patter is
Flanders style as well. His English is not bad though his first words
are "Nien Nien no beer on the bus. NO BEER ON THE BUS"  Half way into
the journey the bhoys that have smuggled their cargo onto the
bus realise why he said this. One of them tries the toilet to find it
locked. He shouts down to the driver who lets out a laugh and says
"I told you no beer - toilet is broken. You wait another hour" As the
lad tiptoes back to his seat like a ballerina trying to hold
in his pish the bus breaks into a "psssssshhhhh" sound. A few minutes
later and the Bhoy is back with a pen knife and trying to
break open the lock. His face is red and I think one of his kidneys is
showing the first signs of being poisoned. Flanders looks up
and realises he must stop soon. "Ok Ok we stop in 1 minute at service
area". As he pulls in he then says "Forget toilets in service
area - you do pishes in bushes". The bus has pulled up beside a lorry
that has obviously pulled off the road so the driver can get some
kip. Suddenly the driver is peering out his cab. The look on his face
would suggest he thinks his cargo is about to be robbed
by Thugs and Thieves (copywrite Daily Record). In actual fact there are
20 guys standing at one side doing a pish into the bushes.
Everyone piles onto the bus again and the Flanders the driver says
"Everyone enjoy - now lets see the sights" He takes us through Frankfurt
and points out places of interest. "Heres on ze left is ground of
Eintrecht Frankfurt, Here's on ze right is building of....."
"Never mind that put the foot down and show us the station" shouts one
of the lads catching the train. As fate would have it we pull into the
train station just as the train is due to depart. The lads are no too
happy but our driver Flanders is having his moment
"Zi tolds you no beers on ze bus. If you have not drink ze beers you
would not do the pisses and not miss the train. Now you
know why no beers on the bus"

As I have a wee chuckle I pull out the scrap of paper with the hotel
name on in that I'm due to meet the boys. I pass the Savoy
and despite it's extravagances I notice the balconies are bedecked with
Celtic tops and banners. I make my way through the back
streets looking for my hotel that sounds like something from a German
Porn Movie. The Hotel Crystal. Despite it's name it is actually
a fairly decent hotel. It turns out I am last to arrive and the other
lads have already gone out to sample the local boozers. I go
out and try to find them. Knowing the lads they will have headed for the
dingiest wee boozers available. All for the sake of a cheap
vodka. So instead of heading for the main street I duck and dive in the
back streets amongst the pick pockets of society. I creep
from pub to pub in my search for them. As I come out the third boozer I
notice my shadow has a shadow. Two turkish looking guys have
latched onto me and are tailing me. From my experience of Paisley Road
West on match days I know what their game is. Well this Bhoy
ain't playing their game. I take a right turn and they have followed. In
front of me I can hear the main street but I am blocked from it
by a row of houses and shops. I have not yet had a drink and know that
if I take the next right
and a find a left I can maybe find the road that leads to the main road.
If I don't then it will be World War 3. As I turn the corner
my prayers are answered and I see the passage I had hoped for. Now if
the Stuttgart defenders are wondering where Agathe
got to for the second goal then spare a thought for the two Turks still
standing at the corner trying to work out where yours
trully had whizzed to.

The speed with which I moved was similar to the way the Bhoys I was
travelling with put away vodka. Talking of whom I eventually
caught up with them back at the hotel. They were already the worse for
wear and it was only 4.00pm. Mick, Paddy, The Doc, Big Dave,
Owen and  were at the bar hitting the vcs. Turns out that they had been
in one of the dodgy pubs I was tailed from. They were approached
and practically ordered to buy cigarettes for the locals. The local had
said "Cigarettes - you buy" before gesturing that Mick
should buy a packet for him. Mick played the dafty and said "You sell
cigarettes? I will take a carton of 200 then". As I took my first
drink of the trip Mick and the Doc retired to their rooms for some kip.
The rest of us decided to buy our train tickets for the next
day. We found a German lassie who could speak English better than us.
One of the lads commented that she was nice and tall and the right
height for him. It was then pointed out that she was serving on a
platform about 2 foot higher than us. However the lassie was polite
throughout and when one of the lads asked if she wanted to come for some
vodka she raised her head and fluttered her eyebrows like
the bunny out the Cadburies Caramel adverts. She then turned to her
friend at her side and said something in German before giggling.
Her friend turned and smiled too. However this one was one you didn't
want to joke around with. She was like the Goon out of Popeye.
The lads quickly realised they'd be out of pocket if they invited her
for vodka as well. We checked that the tickets we had booked
were for the fast train. This would take 1 hour 30 minutes rather than
the 4 hours the slow train took. As we picked up our
tickets Big Bertha smiled over again. We don't know why. Perhaps she was
the one pulling the fast train.

With the hard work done we nipped into the International Hotel and
settled at the bar. The bar man was German and the type
that was happy to talk all night long. He thought we were here for a
business conference - though many people could mistake
us for this since we are clean cut and polite. However our cover was
blown as soon as Mick and The Doc appeared. For some reason
they seemed to be drunker after their sleep. We ordered the Doc his
vodka and the first thing he does is complain about too
much coke in it before throwing his stirrer behind the bar. Fck sake we
had just spent an hour making a good name for
ourselves and the wee man wastes it in 2 seconds. We apologise and the
bar man is cool about it. Though this was no doubt
helped by the fact that we were shouting him a drink for himself with
every round. I was sampling my way through the German
beer served in magnificent glasses. 0.5l jugs. The lads on the vodka
were worried I would drown before I was drunk. I told
the barman that the glasses were crackers and would he mind if I took
one as a souvenier. "As long as I don't see you" he said
with a nudge and a wink. This continued after I finished each round. The
bar man even went down the stairs and brought me
up a few smashing cocktail type glasses as well. By the time we were
leaving I had a fine display of German glasses. Taking them
back to the hotel was similar to giving John Hartson a piggy back, I'd
say.

Back at the hotel the lads freshened up and we headed out to an Irish
bar. By this time I was nearly out the game so decided to go
for some scran while the others carried on drinking. We saw a wee
chinese and three lads came out of it. They were from the Gorbals
and informed us it was cracking nosh. Me and Owen then went into the
restaurant and met the last member of the Gorbals party coming
out. He was shouting to his mates to wait up before running across the
road after them and heading to the places were ladies could
be found. As we went into the restaurant we were met by a wee chinese
fella. He looked rather grumpy and showed us to a table down the
bottom of the restaurant. We thought about ordering a taxi to get to our
table it was so far away. We then picked out our meal and
were presented with the bill. We were quite drunk and paid for it before
we had even eaten. The meal came and to be honest was fcking
hoaching. All fcking sticky. We ate it all the same before meeting up
with the others for more drink. It was then we found out why
our table was miles away from the exit and why we had to pay first.
Turns out the Gorbals squad had done the oldest trick in the book.
The other 3 had left while one went to the toilet and would pick up the
bill and give the waiter a tip. Of course
the only tip he gave was "make sure you get the money before people eat"
as he skelped it out the door. Now we were beginning to
feel a bit worse for wear wondering what sort of Chinese delights had
been sprayed all over our dinner. No doubt we were served a
69 but with the chinese fella saving his jism for us.

It was getting late and eventually there was only two of us left. For
one last drink we headed into a wee hole of a place not far
from the hotel. Before going in we asked the price of a beer. 5 Euro Big
Dave was told. As I sipped my beer Big Dave is shoutin and
ballin. Turns out that the vodka he was drinking was 30 Euro. "You told
me 5 Euro for a beer ya fly cnt" he is shouting. "Yes but
30 Euro for a vodka and coke". It's then we realise that we are in some
sort of place that the ladies of the night frequent. No doubt
the 30 Euro was some sort of deposit for one of them. Dave is still
arguing since vodka is more important than woman. It's then
the bouncers come in and stand beside us. We decide it's better that we
leave and head back to the hotel. We meet up with the mob
from Drumchapel who are sharing the hotel with us. They are eagerly
telling us their stories of the ladies of the night. Some
have a more impressive scoring record than Hartson Sutton and Larsson
put together. Big Dave is still upset about his hit
for the vodka and orders up some from the hotel bar. The bar man asks
the room number and he gives him Paddy's room. I hit
the sack after 1 drink while Dave continues into the early hours  - all
on Paddy's account remember.

Surprisingly I am rather fresh the next morning and sit down to one of
those continental breakfasts. You know the type. Glass of orange,
slice of toast and a croissant. One of the Drum lads come in with a
splendid jersey. It is the Brazil top with the name
Larssinio on the back. The fella who owns the B&B enquires who is this
Brazilian as he has never heard of him. "If Larsson was Brazilian
then he play in Brazil's first team" comes the reply. The Doc comes down
and is almost in tears about how he has lost his passport
but more importantly his match ticket. Ah the demons of drink. Turns out
Mick had taken them. So when we go up the stair Mick bets
him that he gave them to the woman he was with last night. "What fcking
woman" asks the Doc. Of course there was no woman but
Doc goes into his bag and finds a Bra has been planted and inside it is
his match ticket and passport. This confuses him for
the rest of the day. Gradually The rest of the gang start to assemble.
It's about 10am and
we manage to find a wee hovel to drink in. But the other drinkers. Dear
oh fcking dear. This is One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest
material. One of the locals has one eye. Another has two eyes but I'm
not sure either of them work. The bar maid, if maid is the word,
is a fcking monster with a scar down her cheek as wide as the San
Andreas fault in California. So it feels like drinking back in
Scotland. The Doc is still thinking about the Bra but is now upset about
one of the locals being in his face. This is the same doc
throwing his stirrer about the night before. The local is quite
agressive and is singing right in his face and shouting something.
We ask the Doc if he pulled a transvestite and this was the guy whose
bra he now had. Doc is none too pleased and tells the German
guy to "Get out my fcking face ya daft cnt" This upsets him even more -
so much so that Helga the bar maid has to ask him to calm down.
After our drink we decide to leave this half way house for something a
bit more up market. Two doors down and we enter another pub.
We soon realise this pub is even worse. The loonies that got a knock
back from the first one obviously come here. One guy is about
7 foot tall and just as wide. He is singing to the music in the
background but injecting "Yeeeehaaaaa You Dragon" into the tune.
These are the only words he knows apart from "Hello I am Harry -
Yeeeehaaa you Dragon" Fcking right weird one this. Still given his
size not one to be messed with. We take a seat and he decides to sit and
sing "Yeehaaa you Dragon" us. We decide to find another
location in the bar. There is a dodgy looking woman sitting at a table
playing with a swiss army knife - she has a rottweiler at her
feet which is as big as "Yehhhaaa you Dragon" man. We decide not to sit
beside this fine lady. We move close to the door in case
we need to exit quickly. Unfortunately the Doc is left at the table with
Dragon man. "Ya fcking cuuuuuunnts - leaving me with this looney"
Dragon man has wedged the Doc into his seat and the Doc has to have a
drink with him. Eventually he escapes and joins us only
to be followed by Dragon man. "Maybe it's his bra you have from last
night" one of the lads says. "Look fcking gies peace ya fcking cnts
- it's bad enough trying to stay away from this looney". The Doc is now
beside me with Dragon man behind us. I reach my hand down and feel
the Docs arse. He coughs up half his vodka before yelping "For fck sake
don't fcking do that or I'll have you" to the Dragon man.
He genuinely believes Dragon man to be responsible. We are all laughing
and Dragon man cottons on. He puts one arm around the Doc and
gropes his arse. The Doc looks like a baby in comparison and we tell him
he is in for a lotta lovin. However the Dragon man then decides
he is loving the doc and leaving. He picks up the Docs full vodka and
guzzles it down. "Fcking stop that cnt" shouts the Doc. Aye no
bother - a cnt bigger than Balde and you want us to stop him. "Give me a
step ladder and an ash tray and I'll show you" says the Doc.
However we think he is just upset that Dragon man was just using him for
a drink rather than a good seeing to.

With the Doc a bit upset we decide to cheer him up and buy the cargo for
the train. Few bottles of Vodka and we hit the station and find
our carriage. Fortunately it's rather empty. We are well into the drink
when we notice two student looking folk have edged up the train
and are a few seats away. "Woooould youu like to join us for a littttle
drink" says Mick with his German accent. They happily agree
and soon we are talking away. We are all speaking to them in German
accents and verrrry slowllly like they are lip reading until
we eventually work out they are infact American and not German! They
seem able to pick up some words. Mostly it is the Dave and Doc
show with Dave slagging Doc. "Why are you so fcking ugly ya cnt? Bet you
paid for your trip by Hauntin hooses at the weekend" says
Dave. The Doc replies "I might be ugly but it didnae stop you trying to
shag me last time when you were desperate" The Americans are
confused and ask me to translate. They then ask why we are so nasty to
each other. I guess it's right about them not
understanding our humour. By the end of the trip though they were
sounding like us. Though this was due to the vodka they had
managed to put away. They were off to Salburg skiing though I dread to
think of them on the slopes. We said our goodbyes and jumped off the
train in Stuttgart central.

The sight in the station was quite incredible. There were Tims
everywhere. If the signs were not in German I could have sworn it
was Central station in Glasgow. We came out the stadium and followed the
large street that would eventually lead to the main square.
You would have thought this was the walk up the Gallowgate on match days
such was the number of Celtic jerseys on displays. Just on
the horizon we could make out the main square and a mass of bodies. The
sun was beating down and we went into the super market to
buy some vodka and plastic cups. Not surprisingly they were out of beer.
Not a crate in sight. Since I had the kitty I was left to
find the beer. After much searching with no result I decided to go into
a cafe for an ice cream. In their fridge I notice some
beer. Result! I ask them if they have a crate of the stuff. They have
one through the back and bring it through. The price
is quite dear but it's worth it. I then have to make the long walk to
the square. Whereas previously it was stroll now it was like the
walk up the gallowgate on a pishing wednesday night such was the weight
of the cargo. Eventually I reach the square. The square is absolutely
massive. Which is just as well as the good part of 10,000 people are in
it. It's the only place I have been to where the locals have
the video cameras and are filming the tourists rather than the other way
around. We were the star attraction. There are banners draped
from every available wall and column.
They informed us they came from Dublin, Ayr, Aberdeen, Brussels, France
and Glasgow to name just a few.  I noticed a few bhoys
with their scarves snipped and others wearing ties that were also
snipped. Apparently it was also "Dirty Thursday" in Stuttgart. This
is a day when the local girls can do anything to the boys and to show
that they want the boy they snip off his tie or scarf. So their
were plenty of German girls walking about with scissors. Not much
difference from Glasgow and the local lassies with blades then. The
atmosphere is second to none. The police are keeping their distance and
are happy they do not have to do anything. It's very much a
carnival atmosphere. Very similar to a pop festival. One lad commented
it was like Bellahouston Park when the Pope came but
without the beer. Surprisingly I bump into my mates from Govan who have
taken the bus. As I am talking away I see one of the regulars
on the Euro trips. "Fck sake Freddie you look fresh considering the bus
journey you had" I say. A smile flashes across his face "Aye
a cnt of a bus journey that - no booze on the bus and not one bit of
singing" I'm thinking they lads have been unlucky and copped
a hun for the Euro trip but then Freddie breaks into a laugh. "No wonder
I'm so fresh - only won the Evening Times competition to
travel out with the first team!!" Jammy bastard. Him and his auld man
had flown out with the team and were staying in the team hotel.
Trust one of the Govan crew to win this prize. He tells me the rest of
them are watching Charlie and the Bhoys just off the square.
I head up here and find the place is heaving. Some of the lads meet me
at the door but decide to head to a wee bar off the street
with some of the Stuttgart fans. It's only us and the Stuttgart
supporters until a few other Tims appear. John Higgins the snooker
player
is among them. Fck knows how he can hold a snooker cue given the amount
of bevvy he was putting away.

As we talk to the Stuttgart fans they tell us that tonight will be
different as it is their home tie. We let out a laugh. "Home tie indeed"
They really had no idea of the numbers we had brought. After many beers
they tell us they will take us to the stadium. We insist on showing
them the square as they had not seen it. Of course by this time it is
empty. The Celtic supporters are like a swarm of locusts and have left
only empty drink bottles. The Stuttgart fans are still not convinced.
However as we reach the underground they suddenly realise what
to expect. Once they are wedged into the tram they tell us they have
never seen anything like this. Think of the old Jungle on Old Firm
day. Now imagine they had let the Celtic end squeeze in as well. That's
what these trams were like with Celtic supporters. Every now
and then you would catch a glimpse of the trams infront or those behind.
From the sky it must have looked like an army of ants returning
to their nest. However in this instance the only treasure each carefully
carried was their match ticket. As we joined the supercolony
heading for the stadium in the distance we met many Tims foraging like
worker ants for spare tickets. There were fakes on sale and these
were actually clearer than the originals for some bizarre reason. It was
no surprise to find that the stadium was packed to the rafters.
From originally only having an allocation of 5000 tickets Celtic now
took over an entire end - filling the best part of 12,000. I was
supposed to meet the bhoys I would return to Stuttgart with but there
was no chance. It took me back to the visit of the Pope to Glasgow
and my younger sister getting lost that day. It was pandemonium trying
to find her. Well this was similar but unlike Bellahouston they
sold beer in the stadium.

The Gottlieb Daimler stadium itself was quite magnificent. It is said
that the Olympics might be held in this very stadium in
2012 and there can be no place more deserving. Even as we approached it
the stadium gave off a misty aurora high above the floodlights.
It is trully an arena built for heroes capable of Herculean tasks.
Talking of such the noise when the Celtic team
entered the park was quite astonishing. It was then the Germans would
have realised that they were playing away. Many will have
explained the goals and match better than I could have. The best
comparison I can think of is the 6-2 game and the first 12 minutes.
The two quick Celtic goals in Stuttgart were comparable to those 3
goals. However it is indicative of how far we have come for what
we now need to see from this team to get a similar high to Martin
O'Neills first Old Firm derby. This Celtic team keep raising the
bar and surpassing their own high limits.

Douglas, Valgaeren, Balde, Laursen, Agathe, Lennon, Lambert, Petrov,
Thompson, Sutton, Hartson, Maloney, and McNamara done us proud.
It is difficult to pick out one player as Man of the Match so it is only
fair to give it to the one who kicked every ball and went
into every tackle. The one who put the fear into the Stuttgart players.
He wasn't on the park but Stuttgart manager Felix
Magath referred to them as the 12th man. I give you the Celtic support.
They were absolutely magnificent. So much so that in the station
afterwards there were Stuttgart fans coming up wanting to swap their
strips for ours. I saw one Stuttgart fan with only a tricolour wrapped
round his waist and another around his shoulders. One can only assume he
had swapped his trousers and top for this honour. He approached me
and asked for my top. I explained that I had worn it to every game so
far in Europe and that I now saw it as a lucky charm. He looked a bit
down until I asked for his address. I told him that I will wear it until
we get to Seville. After Seville I will post it on to him.
He looked up and said. After tonight and seeing your team and your
support I hope that the Famous Celtic win in Seville. I already have
his evelope prepared. It will be posted at the day I return from the
UEFA Cup Final.