Istanbul 2005: Through the eyes of the supporters - Chris Maguire

“Shall we just get off the plane and watch it in town?” I said to Nevin.

“What? Are you mad? We’re going to the European Cup final, against AC Milan, in Istanbul,” he said.

Me and Mike and the rest of our match-going crew had been sitting on the plane for about four hours now with no sign of any movement to the runway.

The pilot had already informed us about half-a-dozen times that we had missed our take-off slot and would be looking for another one as soon as possible.

The flight was supposed to take off at 7am and land about 1pm local time taking into account the time difference, but we were getting on to a four-hour delay now and I was weighing up the pros and cons of actually getting off the plane and watching it in town, thinking that any bother getting to the ground when we finally land could see us actually miss the game in Istanbul.

Needless to say I came to my senses; we finally took off about 11am and landed around 5pm local time. What this meant was that we had no chance of getting to Taksim Square, first of all, and were advised by the travel rep to go straight to the ground on one of the coaches provided for the transfer.

“It’s OK,” he said. “You can all get a drink at the ground.”

“That’ll do us then,” we said and off we went to the ground, all in good spirits in anticipation of seeing the Reds in their first European Cup final for 20 years.

This is what it was all about, the final coach journey to the ground that little did we know at the time, would go down in history as hosting the most amazing European Cup final ever seen.

Thoughts came flooding back of how we had blown away Bayer Leverkusen, stubbornly resisted Juventus, and tactically squeezed past Chelsea on a night when I felt the floor of the Kop truly shake for the first and only time in my life. Benitez’s team of superstars, youngsters and workhorses had finally taken us to another European Cup final, which we felt was a natural progression after announcing ourselves back on the European scene in 2001.

The journey to the Ataturk was pleasant enough and took us past the beautiful sights of Istanbul with a lovely view of the Bosphorus River which divides the great city in two.

The 30-mile transfer took us to what appeared to be some sort of lunar landscape from another planet and we eventually spotted the Ataturk Olympic stadium, which I remember thinking resembled some sort of spaceship, in the distance.

As our coach driver negotiated his way through three lanes of backed up taxis and other coaches we could see hundreds of people marching over rubble-strewn fields of nothingness with crates of lager on their heads walking towards the ground, which looked to be a few hundred yards away but was probably the best part of a mile in all reality.

This wasn’t a good sign and thoughts drifted back to the travel rep and his words advising we could get a drink by the ground.

“Why were people bringing their own from miles away if there’s ale on sale by the ground?” I thought. Little did we know it was soft drinks and alcohol-free lager only on sale at the ground.

What wasn’t up for debate, however, was that we had definitely made the correct decision in making our way to the ground as there were only about five hours until kick-off and the traffic was already crawling.

We got off the coach, took some photos of each other with the Millennium Falcon-shaped ground behind us and made our way over to the fan park behind our designated end.

It must be said that the authorities had done a brilliant job in setting things up for Liverpool fans outside the ground. The massive stage, which hosted various musicians including the legendary Scouse troubadour Pete Wylie, kept us entertained during the hours before kick-off. Wylie poignantly substituting the words to his classic ‘Story Of The Blues’ to the ‘Story of Emlyn Hughes’ in tribute to our recently deceased European Cup-winning captain.

The atmosphere outside the ground was absolutely brilliant with plenty of space for people to proudly display their banners and flags, chat to friends and strangers alike and generally have a bit of a laugh.

We eventually entered the ground for the 9.45pm kick-off and night had already descended upon us. Our gang were dotted around different parts of the ground and I was sitting in a seat above the corner flag facing the Main Stand.

What we already know about the match needn’t really be repeated but for me personally the first half was a very sobering affair given what had gone on for four hours before as I watched the brilliance of Kaka, Crespo and co dismantle a shell-shocked Liverpool and rush into a three-nil lead.

The half-time regrouping came about for me as well as the team as I decided to leave my ‘unlucky’ spec for another with my mate Nick who had been standing with his brothers at the back of the stand.

It was at this point that the legendary - and possibly second best - rendition of YNWA of the day came to pass. (I don’t think Wylie was involved this time around).

I don’t really think it can be underestimated how much this rendition of YNWA helped galvanise the support as well as the team on the pitch. The players are on record as saying they heard it, and I’m sure they did, but more importantly it made the fans believe that all was not lost.

We’d seen a few fans leave early as we came back from the toilets at half-time, presumably they couldn’t bear to watch any more for fear of seeing Liverpool truly embarrassed in the second half.

That was never on the agenda for us: for one we had nowhere to go as we would be getting picked up by our coach after the game anyway and, secondly, this ground wasn’t exactly surrounded by pubs where we could go and drown our sorrows.

Thirdly, there was a European Cup to be won here.

Song after song bellowed from the Liverpool fans behind the goal and the players responded in miraculous fashion. The six minutes which it took for Liverpool to draw level seemed to pass in a blur, with only Dida’s save from Alonso’s penalty stunting the euphoria for a split-second until the rebound went in. That celebration for the equaliser was bonkers.

The aftermath seemed to last an eternity as Liverpool held on to their draw with Carragher and Gerrard particularly excelling.

I must admit I can’t remember much of the extra-time apart from Dudek’s incredible save from Shevchenko. I can still see that save now in my mind’s eye. It simply took the breath away in real time. People were looking at each other to check if it had really happened.

20,000 Redmen said ‘did you see that?’ in unison.

The penalties were great, weren’t they? We were never in any great deal of danger once Dudek started doing his mad wobbly legs under instruction from Carragher. I don’t think even Jerzy understood what it meant to do a ‘Brucie’ but he made a good go of it, putting two or three of the Milan players off and winning the cup for Liverpool in the process.

To win a battle of wits against one of the best strikers in the world at the time in Andriy Shevchenko is no mean feat and for that alone the ‘keeper should be applauded. I think maybe poor Andriy was still sulking after the save in extra-time...

It’s hard to describe the scenes and feelings following that final save from Dudek as you just don’t really know what to do in those circumstances other than go absolutely crazy in celebration.

Winning cups on a penalty shootout is different than doing it on the final whistle. You’re prepared for the celebrations but at the same time you lose that nervous relief that only the ref’s whistle can bring, but let’s not kid ourselves it was one of the best if not the best ‘let offs’ in our great history.        

Watching Carragher do his own personal laps of honour around the ground was great.

The man had been down with cramp on more than one occasion during the game but here he was doing his own personal ‘warm down’ at breakneck speed, stopping at various intervals to jump in with the fans around the ground. Tremendous scenes as we waited for the trophy presentation.

Allegiances were made outside the ground and lots of dancing was done before we found our coaches for the return to the airport, not for us a night in Taksim Square alas but at least we would be home for the homecoming the next day. 

We made our way back to the airport and lay down on the grass outside, shattered as we awaited our boarding call from the tannoy outside the departure gates. A terribly dry kebab and an ice pop from the food stalls outside to alleviate our hunger pangs and quench our thirsts.

We touched down about 9am local time in Liverpool after another four-hour delay in taking off in Istanbul, but this gave us some precious time to catch some sleep back home for a few hours before congregating in town at about 3pm for the homecoming.

I don’t think anyone could have predicted the numbers that greeted Rafa Benitez’s team in the city centre that day. It was absolutely ridiculous, so much so that we all decided to get off before the team bus arrived at St George’s Hall, such was the delay in it getting there.

People had kids with them that had to be home and put to bed in time for school the next day.

So we ended up leaving and actually watching the rest of it on the telly in the local pub back home.

I’m just glad I never chose that option the previous morning when I was considering getting off the flight at John Lennon Airport… 

For more from John, Gareth, Phil and Chris, visit the Anfield Wrap.