IT WAS not until the train pulled out of Waverley Station that it finally sank in for most of the people on board that we really were going to Manchester. Not only had our team defied most predictions in their own journey to reach the final of the Uefa Cup, but we – and 100,000 or so others – had overcome barriers of work, finance and ticket availability to be part of this. It was to be for me a first-in-a-lifetime and for older fans very possibly a last-in-a-lifetime experience.
Camaraderie, nosiness, envy and voluble excitement meant everyone on the train quickly knew who had tickets – including the man who had paid £1,000 for two for him and his young son – and who hadn't: such as the four men opposite me who waited ti
ll the train departed before phoning various wives and parents to confess that instead of travelling to Glasgow to watch the match at Ibrox as planned, they had decided to take the train to Manchester.
Who knows what trouble they faced when they got home, but their last-minute decision to head south pretty much summed up the spirit that was sweeping the Rangers support on Wednesday morning. Realistic about the merits and otherwise of the current team, getting to this stage had been a bit of a dream really. Suddenly it seemed that if the dream could take the team this far, it might just take them all the way to European glory.
The enthusiasm expanded with every mile we got closer to Manchester.
At Preston, two wide-eyed local women in their fifties heading to Manchester airport for a holiday in Malta, looked apprehensive at the heaving swell of blue waiting to make the connection on to our train and asked me to move into the empty seat beside them. They needn't have worried. The crowd was excited but well behaved and no one troubled them.
From the outskirts of Manchester looking out the train windows revealed an astounding number of Rangers supporters. Like some bizarre Impressionist painting, the cityscape had become blurred with patches of blue, red and white as fans basked in the sun and imagined glories to come. But whatever energy I'd felt on the train was nothing compared to what we found at Piccadilly station. Moving walkways carried the crowd along, banners, flags and scarves heralding the arrival of even more fans amid nerve-shattering horn blasts.
Close to the stadium, having ventured into one of the few bars in the area, I shall never forget the face of the poor, exhausted landlady who had unexpectedly found herself dealing with a pub crammed tight with more Rangers fans than even the most experienced bar staff of various venues on Paisley Road West have probably ever had to serve in a single afternoon.
As I struggled out into the sunshine and fresh air, the time it had taken to get served had brought tens of thousands of blue, red and white bedecked fans to the road, all surging towards the ground.
Then suddenly we had all reached our goal. The stadium, the crowd, the Uefa Cup brought out by Denis Law and displayed within tantalising reach before being taken inside again. The Russian fans may have made their presence felt, but the stands were awash with Rangers colours and banners representing fans from Canada to Australia. It may not have been Rangers' ground, but for 72 minutes it felt very much like home. And then, suddenly, it felt very far away from home indeed.
Back in the beer-sticky, can-strewn city centre, the drinking continued but the party was over, and the vast majority of fans saw nothing of the trouble that dominated news bulletins yesterday. And yes, it was a mighty quiet journey back north.
The full article contains 658 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
