Two weeks earlier my body and bank balance was battered and bruised and in need of a breather, BUT, time is a great healer. I’d had an incredibly underwhelming experience watching us beat Switzerland on penalties at a beer festival amongst a largely disinterested crowd, it just didn’t feel right.
The body had recovered but the pockets less so, however I did go in search of Semi-Final tickets. Right up until the night before I was refreshing the UEFA site but to no avail. Spain vs France had plenty of tickets but England vs Netherlands had ridiculous demand due to the proximity of Dortmund to the Dutch border and well, England being England and we’ll go anywhere for a big game.
Watching with the family
Alas, it wasn’t meant to be, nothing popped up so I was destined to enjoy back in Manchester. Kick off was 8pm in England and at 5 O’Clock I was still sat at my desk at work, again this simply didn’t feel right. This was a major tournament Semi-Final, I should be there!! I plumped for spending the evening with my family which brought a nice alternative way of watching.
Only 7 minutes in, one of the breakout players of the tournament Xavi Simons put the Dutch ahead with a wonder strike from 20 yards.
Aside from the goal England had actually been playing their best football of the tournament and going behind didn’t hinder this. We kept up the pressure and as Harry Kane took a shot at goal his follow through collided with Denzel Dumfries, it wasn’t one of those where you immediately appeal for a penalty, but VAR decided it was meant to be and understandably the Dutch fans felt aggrieved. Certainly you’d feel hard done by if given against you.
After our perfect shoot out against Switzerland there was a split second thinking who would step up to take it. But of course, our captain and leader had never shied away from the pressure and swept a perfect penalty into the bottom left corner. Come on…1-1.
Back in it
A few enforced changes for the Netherlands stifled England’s attacking play and the game began to drift as the second half progressed. Again the inevitable calls for changes from the fans, and the inevitable stubbornness from Southgate. On 80 minutes the desired changes came about, Olly Watkins and Cole Palmer came on to test the Dutch defence.
And once again, with the game approaching the death, a perfectly timed through ball by Palmer found Watkins running in behind. He pulled out an unbelievable finish before Verbruggen could set himself and it flew past him into the bottom corner. We all went crazy and by the time everything settled down we were already deep into injury time and that was that.
Everything changed in the blink of an eye and we’d done it. Another major final, a wonderful achievement for Gareth and his boys. As enjoyable as it was to watch with my family, the scenes in Dortmund looked unbelievable and I certainly felt like I’d missed out.
Can I?
Can I get to the final? Prices are going up by the minute, all direct flights to Germany are through the roof, getting back for work was near impossible, and above all, I don’t have any money, least of all a bloody ticket.
Thursday passed by and my heart was saying to go, unfortunately several beers left me hungover on Friday so my desire to move was greatly reduced, big mistake. I accepted my fate that I was destined to watch here in Manchester and set about making plans. My friends had muddled together a last minute plan to watch at an Indoor Virtual Golf place given that all the best options had long gone. This place’s only recommendation was from a mates Mum saying they did a nice Brunch. How has my life come to this?
Sod it, if England win a major tournament after 58 years and I’m watching it here I couldn’t live with myself. After Arthur and Thiago had rightly advised that ‘You have to come’, my decision was made. Even just the decision to try lifted a whole load of stress, I knew at the very least I was in for a bit of an adventure.
Now how the hell am I getting to Berlin?
I’d already been flicking around Skyscanner and there was literally nothing to Berlin, everything was sold out, but there are plenty of other airports in Germany. How about Dusseldorf….via Ibiza, why the hell not eh? So the first couple of legs were booked, my taxi would be waiting for me at 4 in the morning and a bag full of homemade sandwiches were prepped, I’ll need to save money some way I guess.
I was praying for a delay free day given the nightmare that other England fans were experiencing, cancelled flights left right and centre by Eurowings had put a spanner in many fans plans. My mates Lee and Woz had their Friday night flight to Stuttgart cancelled, thus missing their cross country train. A panicked flight booking to Paris was the next option followed by hiring a car for the 1000km journey through the night, an epic and costly effort but these are things people are prepared to do for these opportunities.
By mid-morning Jet 2 had done their bit and had me in Ibiza on time, I’d never had the pleasure of this famous party island so I made the most of the 4 hour layover to pop in to the old town. Warm but cloudy, I had a little stroll around the docks admiring the yachts and before long I was relaxing with a nice Sangria, when in Rome eh. A couple of beers later I was back on my way to the airport.
Nightmare
Aaand the dreaded delay…I had an hour in Dusseldorf for the 20 minute journey from the airport to the centre for the nights last train to Berlin. And the plane was delayed 50 minutes. I’d resigned myself to defeat and was checking back up options. Seemed like 5 hours at the station until an overnight train that would get me to Berlin for 6am on matchday, absolute nightmare.
So after a frustrated flight but a smooth airport exit I had to give it a go, I sprinted, using the term loosely, from plane to the front of the Taxi queue. I was glad to see the driver was Turkish as previous experiences taught me they didn’t mind a race through the city. ‘Hauptbahnhof bitte’. His face said ‘no chance’, his driving said ‘maybe’. He did everything he could barring skipping red lights, a few risky takeovers but he was giving me hope as the minutes ticked off the satnav arrival time.
I chucked him his 30 Euros, wriggled through the Free Palestine protest and continued the sprint. A huge screen made it instantly clear which platform I needed so I didn’t even have to stop, running up the stairs I could hear the train rumbling, not knowing if it was arriving, leaving or what. I got to the top, the doors opened and I was on. Rarely had I ever felt such achievement and relief. Covered in sweat after my first run in weeks in the humid conditions, but who cares, I’d made it. Might even get a night out in Berlin at this rate.
You Plonker!
As I prepared my next round of sandwiches we pulled up to the first station……Dusseldorf Airport….
You 48 carat plonker!!!!
4 hours to relax on the train to Berlin and my first job was making my little sign, the reality of the situation hit home. I grabbed myself a beer from the food carriage and bumped into another 4 England fans who had been bounced around Europe and still in search of tickets.
I put messages out on Instagram and scoured twitter but nothing was going, some very expensive options and frustratingly dozens of scumbag scammers. My budget of £500 which I already couldn’t afford wasn’t anywhere near what was needed but I had faith in the universe and that something would fall into place. Anyway, I was arriving in Berlin so I think we can call the day a success.
On arrival at my hostel I found someone in my dorm bed, this happened twice before they put me in a private room, a winner in the end but the wasted time and logistics meant a night out wasn’t an option, to be fair this wasn’t the worst idea, feeling fresh in the morning would set me up nicely for the day.
Heavy night out
Not something I could say for Lee and Woz, they had powered through the drive, and gone straight to join the thousands of England fans making the most of the moment around Berlin. By the time I reached them after a little wander around the Reichstag they certainly looked like they’d been in better states. They were surviving on a couple of hours sleep but on hearing the stories of the atmosphere I couldn’t help but feel I’d really cocked up by not being here a day earlier. They were tired but had memories that’ll live with them forever.
On the other hand, I was feeling good and ready for a ticket hunt. My great pal Aidan, another TUFC legend was out there so we joined him up near Brandenburg Gate for the afternoon. I managed to resist the offer of a huge boot of beer but the first pint tasted wonderful. One beer in and an almighty downpour sent everyone running in different directions, by the time we’d found shelter the group had split so we went in search of food.
Given I was only back in Germany for the day there was no debating, one more lovely Durum washed down with a couple of beers. Lee took this opportunity to catch up on some sleep as Woz and I watched the world go by. Admittedly it didn’t quite feel like it was final vibes as we were now away from the England fans and the ticket search hadn’t quite got going.
Another big catch up
Another two great buddies has been working for the whole tournament as journalists, Arthur as a freelancer and Jesper as one of the main reporters for the Dutch team. After frustratingly not crossing paths during the group stage it was a pleasure to catch up with them, especially Jesper after our last meeting was 5 years earlier at a Lucha Libre night in Mexico City. By this point everyone was starting to worry for me with only a few hours before kick-off so we headed to the U-Bahn and out came the sign.
Literally the first person I saw on the tram open with “He’s selling”. The bloke to whom he referred was slightly worse for wear but he seemed genuine, although his opening offer was £1,800. Holy toast!! He dropped down to £1,600 but that wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I had accepted in my head that my £500 budget wasn’t even going to be close at this stage but was still hoping for a bit of luck so I took his number and moved on.
I posted on Instagram again and nothing was going, a few mates rang me with options but all were similarly high prices. I let the lads go so they could get on their way and enjoy the game and I turned to full ticket scalping mode, no time for shame and embarrassment now. Walking around with the sign I had plenty of people intrigued and stopping me for a chat but not actually selling tickets, much as I love a bit of generic small talk this wasn’t the time.
Running out of options
I pretty much accepted this already but by now I knew I had to pay whatever it took, there was no way in the world I could turn back at this point and get the U-Bahn back into town looking for a bar to watch in, there was no back up plan. 45 minutes until kick off and I also wanted to enjoy the build-up so I had to act. I rang up the fella from the train and a bit of back and forth and we ended up on £1,400.
I know, I know, a crazy amount of money for a football match, but given the size of the game I had no choice. As I always say when it comes to money, that’s a problem for future Martino. In 1966, if a 38-year-old England fan decided they’d wait until the next time England got to a final then they’d have been 93 by the time another opportunity came around. There was no way I couldn’t go, whatever the price.
And there he was, my new best friend Zak. Looking slightly drunker than earlier but the deal was done, there was a look of alarm and panic when I showed him my account balance of £61 for comedy value, ‘Don’t worry mate, I’ve got an overdraft’.
Money sent, ticket sent. Bloody wonderful, such a great feeling of relief and euphoria knowing all the thinking, debating and consideration was done and dusted and I was finally there. In this moment I didn’t give two hoots about the money, they were just numbers on a screen, but this was pure emotion, the moments we live for. I had a ticket to the Final and that was all that mattered.
Let’s do this
And that Final was just 40 minutes from kicking off, Zak pulled out a pocket size Jaegermeister for me to celebrate, I guess that’s £2 knocked off the ticket price. £1,398 sounded way more palatable. We made our way in, lovely smooth process, I even skipped the beer queue to ensure I wasn’t going to miss any of the action. I immediately lost Zak but would find him at the seat.
Probably for the best, less faffing around and I was nicely placed in good time for the pre-match show and national anthems. I spotted the main bulk of England fans opposite and several dotted around me, there was an overwhelming sea of white around the stadium with a section of red in the corner.
As always, a great pleasure to be in the stadium to sing the anthems and do my bit to get behind the lads. The atmosphere was brilliant and heavily in favour of England. The game kicked off with Spain as clear favourites as they had been playing smooth cohesive football throughout the tournament and had clear momentum, compare that to England who had failed to live up to expectation over the last month but an improvement against Holland and a different style of opponent meant there was still hope for The Three Lions, especially without the tag of favourites.
Bloody neutrals
For the first few minutes I managed to remain standing while others around started to sit down, but it wasn’t long before standing up clearly felt like I was getting in the way. I gave in and sat down but others stayed strong, much to the disapproval of many neutrals, leading to arguments and anger. This was incredibly frustrating and took away from the atmosphere, by 25 minutes I was already planning how I could get away from this area so I had the freedom to stand, sing and support without feeling I was blocking someone’s view in the theatre.
A sad reality of such a spectacle, everyone has their right to watch as a neutral, God knows I’ve done it enough times but to sit and expect true fans to sit down at a match like this was a joke, I’m not sure what the solution is to that issue but I sure as hell wasn’t doing the same in the second half.
As for the football, the first half was tight without too many clear cut chances, as expected Spain kept possession but England looked comfortable and by no means out of place. 0-0 it remained as we headed to the break for a beer where I could rant with a few others about the lack of standing. In brighter news it had fed back to us that Rodri had been substituted. Arguably a potential Balon d’or winner this year, one of the most influential players in the world, what an absolute bonus for us, could be a game changer.
Here we go
Whilst returning from said beer break I heard a large cheer, the one we all fear and desire, but I knew it wasn’t loud enough for an England goal and turned to see a screen showing the Spaniards celebrating. Seems they’ll be just fine without Rodri.
Second half I found a spot in the aisle next to a few others in a similar situation and thankfully blocking no one’s view. Thank God for that, I can relax and enjoy the game and sing till my heart’s content. Despite being 1-0 down I wasn’t worried, I had faith in the Manager and the spirit of the team, especially given the experiences throughout the competition so far with three successive comebacks. And most of all, I knew the players believed they were capable.
No great surprise to see Spain continued to keep possession and creating the odd chance. Gareth triggered the changes much earlier than usual with Watkins replacing Kane on the hour and just 10 minutes later Cole Palmer took to the field.
Back in it
Within 3 minutes he was the man making all the difference, Bellingham awkwardly laid the off ball to him and as we’ve seen so many times this season, Palmer calmly and precisely sets the ball to the right of Unai Simon and into the bottom corner leading to absolute pandemonium in the stands. A wonderful moment and a newfound belief.
The next few minutes was all England and it looked like we could take advantage of the momentum and maybe snatch a winner. But Spain showed their class, kept their composure and expertly calmed the situation down. Regaining possession of the ball and gradually taking the sting out of England’s attack.
Minute by minute Spain began to take more and more control, Pickford saved smartly from Yamine Lamal but it was just delaying the inevitable. Sometimes in the stadium you can see the danger before the players and it was clear that there was too much space on our right hand side, Mikel Oyarzabal had the same idea as he played in Marc Cucurella who had all the time in the world to whip the ball back in to Oyarzabal who’d continued his run into the box. He announced himself as Spain’s latest hero by turning the ball past Pickford and putting La Roja in front.
With time running out England gave it one last go, Simon made a stunning save from a Declan Rice bullet header and the follow up from Marc Gueyi was cleared off the line by Dani Olmo who celebrated as if he’d just won the Euro’s, understandably so. That was the moment. There is always one opportunity and that was it. Moments later the whistle blew and it was done. Spain were the Champions of Europe for a historic 4th time. Felicidades.
Same old feeling
Once again football had failed to come home. We cheered our boys off and stayed behind and watched the celebrations, I always do to take in the emotions and accept the situation, take the punishment and let the healing begin.
Of course, we were disappointed, but the feelings were different from the 2021 Wembley defeat to Italy. This time it was hard to feel anything but the fact ‘the better team won’. It would have been a bit of a smash and grab had England taken the Henri Delaunie Trophy back home. Spain were deserved winners and the best team in the competition from the very start. At least we had given it a go, made them work for it and put up a strong fight. The fans, staff and players had all done what they could and that’s all you can ask for.
The journey back into town was full of disconsolate England fans looking glum and defeated, many had been out in Germany for the full month. So much anticipation and excitement and ultimately nothing to show for it and all energy was drained from their bodies. Realisation that this was another golden opportunity which had slipped through our hands. The wait goes on, by World Cup 2026 it’ll be 30 years of hurt since the phrase 30 years of hurt was coined, we go again.
Back at the lads’ hotel we got ourselves a couple of cans and a McDonalds to ease the pain, it was great to hear that Lee and Woz had found a lively spot amongst the England fans and said it was the best atmosphere they’ve ever experienced, just a shame they couldn’t get the result to make it the best night they’ve ever experienced. The beers aided the sleep on the floor and before long we were up and the lads were heading off home.
Now we’re talking
In order to get an affordable flight home I’d decided to stay a couple of days longer. I was all set for a day of walking and tourism until the lads messaged with news of a 6 hour plane delay. New plan, ‘meet us at the Hofbrau Haus Berlin’. Can’t say no to that.
We got stuck into the delights on offer, a few Steins and some gorgeous typical hearty German food. I wouldn’t be lying by saying this was the highlight of the trip so far. All the stresses and effort of the last few days was behind me and this was a simple case of enjoying some lovely beers and food in the sun with two great pals.
After an early night it was time for a day’s work. Quite the contrast but it was actually quite refreshing to set up my laptop in the hostel and enjoy the day. Evening brought one final beer and a catch up with Arthur, a perfect way to summarize the tournament with a great friend who had been here since day 1.
Home time. A walk to Friedrichschein station, U-Bahn to Berlin Bus station via the Centre, Bus to Szczecin in Poland, another bus to the airport, flight back to Liverpool, train to Urmston, 2 buses to Didsbury and then a light stroll home. Plenty of sober time on the way home to put the defeat behind me and plan my impending health kick.
On my return a few people asked me “Was it worth it?”
It’s never worth it, and it’s always worth it, one thing’s for sure, I’ll be back for the next adventure, Roll on World Cup 2026