MonTheHoops Weekly Alternative View - Seville

Is it really four years since Celtic lost a Cup but won the world?

When the globe looked on and scratched its head, they marvelled and felt the joy even though they had no connection to us before that week?

To those around the world that were part of our club, as they looked on with pride, as the hairs on the back of their necks stood up, as mine are now writing this at the spectacle, at the colour, at the carnival that was us, all of us. I wonder how many sat and cursed that they had not sold everything, told their bosses where to go and just went? I know there are countless legions in that category, my own friend left his house after a lunchtime news bulletin and walked to his nearest Travel Agent only to find eight other guys on the same mission, sitting biting nails as the staff tried everything to get them there. For him it was too late and he has never quite got over it if truth be told.

Our journey had started in Stuttgart, after that game we went online with UEFA and applied for tickets for the final even though it was so far away from the final, we had a feeling, and that feeling was proved right. Six tickets were all paid for in advance, no bets were hedged, not a chance. I am the one who organises the trips abroad and I have to say this one was done with a precision that would have had Julius Ceasar, Alexander the Great and Rommel going "Aye, the boys no to bad ataw". I had colleagues in Spain who arranged the hotel just behind the Cathederal, I used American Express to book flights on BA, but not buy, until after the Boavista game, £136. It worked like a dream, we had two tickets to get and a letter to my brother and myself held the news that would eclipse anything Willy Wonka could ever put inside a bar of Chocolate. We had all the tickets, the flights were booked, the hotel bar was awaiting us with an open till, we were on our way.

As we mingled in the departure lounge at Glasgow Airport, the chartered flight problems started, delay after delay, we were flying BA so we were off without a hitch, booze on the plane and a song in our excited hearts. We all knew it would be tough, we all knew in our hearts that they were a better team technically, but we didn't give a toss, we were going and they would know they had met a club and its people the likes of which they would never see again.

When we arrived the day before the game the city was already bedecked in Celtic fans, everywhere you looked they were there. We walked and talked, hugged people we met there we knew, drank beer and sang in a joyous peaceful atmosphere, no trouble, no hate, no suncream! Our hotel was situated in the medieval part of town and the lovely little streets were a joy to behold. We had three rooms, two of the rooms were downstairs shared by my brother and the rest of our mob and one was upstairs that my other brother and friend shared. All was well with the world and as the sun shone we turned into lobsters in Celtic tops, the people of Seville were amazed, they stopped and shook our hands, old ladies hugged us and the younger ones smiled through beautiful hazel eyes that made the fillings in your teeth rattle.

As we drank on, we ended up in a small bar where a local band was playing, within ten minutes I had the guitar and was playing Twist and Shout and a few others as everybody joined in, so much so that the guy who owned the guitar took it off me after half an hour. I was on a roll. Later I could see that one of our crew was , well, er, how can I put this? Rat-assed I think the latin term for it is. So, not wanting to waste the whole day of the game, I offered to take him quickly back to the hotel, but those winding, little medieval streets all had a similar layout and look. Three hours later I still hadn't found the hotel, it was only a walk of half a mile, but could I find it? We kept passing a young guy lying in a doorway in a Celtic strip, eventually I had to prop up my friend and go and check he was alright.

"You alright pal?"

"Aye"

"Where are you staying?"

He named the place, the same place we were lookin for.

"So are we, do you know where it is?"

"Aye, right there" pointing at the door in front of me.

"Why arent you going in?"

"A canny get up!"

We had walked by the place a hundred times, so I had to prop up the boozebag that was with me, pick up another one and get the two of them inside. What a night, the rest of my group had the same trouble with one getting in at six in the morning after having to get a taxi from the outskirts of town he had walked that far.

The day of the game will live with sll who were there, it was simply a magical experience, a day that is up there with the greatest in all our glorious history. We were interviewed for Danish radio, who had sent a crew to do a programme, they estimated that over 100,000 were there and we talked to the Danish people, and didn't mention bacon once!

We got to the ground early and my pal offered local young beer sellers a deal. He would sell his beer to his fellow tims and for that he would give us free beer. My brother and I sat drinking free beer as Eddie sold like a demon, some of you who were there might remember the guy with the bandana selling beer, everyone's a winner.

The game, the stadium, the fans, the fight and the pride, these are my memories of that game. We fought like lions, we sang, we were beaten but we were not defeated, we had won the world. I will never forget it, the next day as we returned to the small bar we had been in the day before, it was empty apart from a few locals, the owner set us up a beer on the house. Three old ladies passing hugged us and in Spanish thanked us, just for being there, being great ambassadors, the taxi driver refused a tip, we forced him, he hugged us all, and told us Sevilla would never forget us, and we will never forget it. If you want to see what I look like, go into the Celtic Shop in Sauchiehall Street, on the wall is a picture of the stadium inside, I am there with my brothers, all 40,000 of us.

Hail Hail