What the flag did next

                           



As I touched upon in the last blog,a number of people had got in touch with us via twitter & Facebook from all over the world,offering to take the flag with them, not only to football matches,but other sporting events, including a Philadelphia Eagles fan. Oscar's story gained massive support out there as he was taken to Philadelphia in October for treatment,but suffered a setback which saw him in ICU for 3 weeks. The people of Philadelphia rallied round & have continued fundraising ever since,so it would be great to get it out there in the future,but, unfortunately, due to the timing of their season ending,it wasn't possible straight away.


Closer to home, a good friend of all of ours, Andy "Jock" Fairweather, was about to embark on a trip of his own for his dream cup tie. Jock's fae Arbroath & is a big Celtic fan, so when Arbroath scored a last-minute free kick at Parkhead to earn themselves a replay at their place, Jock travelled up from St Albans to see the game he's been dreaming off for years. We were still on the continent when he was in touch, asking to take it with him, but it went down to St Albans with Jamie & Dean & headed North of the border with Jock. This was a big part of it for us, as the flag is only green & white because of Oscar's allegiance to Celtic & the fact that the club & It's fans have been so supportive of the Appeal.



We'd only half-discussed what would happen with the flag once we returned. After the UTV mention, it escalated for a night,& we talked about auctioning the flag to raise a couple more pounds for the Appeal, but when we set up the JustGiving page,we undertook a commitment to raise as much money as possible for the Oscar Knox Appeal. We weren't yet finished with the flag,& Jock's journey to Arbroath inspired us to come up with something else upon our return.

9 games in 9 days soon became 10 in 12 days,thanks to Jock,&, although we didn't have the free time (or the money) to continue at that rate,we decided to take people up on their offers & start distributing the flag around various grounds. Our new target was to get the flag on TV as often as possible, at the best spot possible, at the biggest games possible. 50 games by the end of the season, including every Premier League ground was mooted but alas,seems to be proving to be too ambitious.



We adopted a multi-pronged approach as to what would be the next step.

1) "Take each game as they come"

One of the greatest cliche's in football has become our mantra. After being frustrated at no fewer than 3 televised games over the Christmas period, we decided we would continue to get the flag televised at as many football grounds as possible, but looking at it at the beginning of each week & working out a different strategy for each game.
Whilst the flag pricked people's interest at every ground of the tour, our biggest successes were unquestionably at Newcastle & Everton, simply because you could stand & talk to people about it at English grounds & most of them could see the common goal amongst football fans,& people in general. Oscar's situation could happen to anyone with kids & the tremendous fight & character that he's shown should never be allowed to be let down simply by money. Rather than say we will fly the flag at 'x amount of games, we will just aim for as many as possible & will be using Sky games & Match of the Day for one big game of 'spot the flag'

                             

2) To use the story of the 7ma7ches7coun7ries7days tour to further promote the Oscar Knox Appeal. We've been appearing in local media, & once everything's moving again, will be using a Twitter & Facebook account to gather a bit more momentum. This blog will be circulated around football forums/blog sites to help get the message out more & I was approached to write a book about our exploits. Those of you who've been following this blog regularly will be able to attest to the fact that I'm hardly the best writer,& I have no real idea as to how to write a book or the ins & outs of publishing, but if someone believes that it will even raise a further £100 for the Oscar Knox Appeal,then it's something that I have to do.



3) We have extended our JustGiving deadline until the end of the year, so fundraising is now a massive part of what we're doing. We are talking with various venues about setting up a base for the Oscar Knox Appeal, in Manchester & will use it to host fundraising events,hopefully culminating with a gala event at the end of the season,with various items being auctioned off, possibly including the flag itself, if it has achieved it's goal. Our target was initially an ambitious £1500 but with events like this we aim to smash through that barrier & then, the sky's the limit.



4) we are looking into the possibility of one last epic football-related journey for the flag, but it's difficult to commit to anything concrete just yet, so soon after the 7 countries tour. These things take a lot of planning & a lot of money,but if we can come up with one that's feasible before May, we will do so





Since those 10 games in 12 days,the flag has been on to a few games, including Wigan v Arsenal, with me. I have to mention this game in particular because of one head steward in particular. Unfortunately, I haven't got his name but he went above & beyond to ensure the flag was spotted on Sky & MOTD.



Upon arrival, there was nowhere to hang the flag that didn't obstruct advertising hoardings & I was also sat in the stand behind the cameras. Having explained to this particular steward what the flag was about, he had me marched across to the far corner to have the flag displayed across some empty seats by their own 'Latics' advertising banner. Unfortunately,as has happened so often, the game was a bit of a stinker & didn't lead to much action in front of the flag,or a lot of highlights on MOTD. Huge thanks to Wigan for all of their help though, for that & also for their help in getting a ticket for a game that was only on sale to Wigan fans with a purchase history. Their fans were also brilliant in sending their support to Oscar & all involved with his ongoing battle.



The flag has been taken by others to 3 games since that Wigan game & unfortunately has been met with the same result I encountered at Man City at each one. It's extremely difficult to do this alone & there are a lot of factors that need to be considered, such as where you sit in relation to the cameras, or where you can easily hang it without obstructing advertising boards,etc. We have been contacting each club in advance to make them aware of what we're doing & let's just say some have been more responsive than others, without naming names. Some have been back in contact,asking for another crack at it & we will try again but our aim is to gather some momentum, so I have targeted doing at least half of the Premiership grounds myself, as, after 11 goes at this (I did in fact bring it back to Goodison for the televised visit of Chelsea,also), I feel like I know where the main obstacles lie. Little bit of control freak behaviour on my part there, but I really want to kick on with this, so it will be doing the rounds

For anyone who hasn't read this blog before, we took a flag to 7 football games in 7 days in 7 different countries, to raise awareness,& money, for the Oscar Knox Appeal. Oscar is a young boy from Northern Ireland who has severe Neuroblastoma & desperately needs money to help him,& other children with this disease. Please read oscar's blog here

http://oscarknox.blogspot.co.uk/?m=1

You can donate to our JustGiving page here

https://www.justgiving.com/7ma7ches7coun7ries7days/

Follow us on Twitter here

https://twitter.com/oscarsflag


We are funding this entire project ourselves & 100% of what you donate will go to Oscar's Appeal
Although we were initially hesitant to be raising money whilst having a glorified holiday &/or watching football, so many good people have come forward to us, that we can't refuse it

Thanks for your support

Team Oscar

There's no place like home (9)

I'm lying on a cold stone floor,one of literally hundreds of people, at 'Brussels' Charleroi airport, listening to Hoppipolla by Sigur Ros. It's now 2am Sunday morning,& I haven't been in a bed since Thursday morning, when I woke up in Barcelona. The reason Sigur Ros is blaring right now is to drown out the collective snoring of my fellow travel-weary passengers.


I mentioned in the last blog that there were a few others with the same distrust in Ryanair as we had. Turned out, there were hundreds of people at the airport when we got here at 10pm, despite the next flight being at 6 am. Don't know what that says about Charleroi as a town, when everyone would rather sleep at the airport than spend any longer there.

I had argued with the lads that the job was complete & we were no longer under the restrictions of our budget, therefore it wasn't cheating to get a hotel for the night, but as there were none within miles of the airport, I was talked round. I'd earlier managed to put a €4 dent in the budget's last €20 anyway by losing my train ticket to the airport somewhere between boarding the train & sitting down, in the first seat by the doors. I was too tired to even look for it,so just paid the money. Dean & Jamie were none too impressed.



We arrived at the airport & headed straight for the bar. Spending the night in there would've seen it pass by quicker. We queue up, get a Stella each & they pull the shutters down straight away. Bang on 10pm. Everything in the airport is now closed,& we've a Stella each & a manky club sandwich. That's our lot for the night,so we try to bed down amongst the stragglers at the check-in desk. Using bags for pillows,it's really not working for me. I'm obviously on my own in that one,as Jamie is leading the choir in that collective snoring I touched upon earlier & Dean's not far behind him. I grab my bag & head off to the toilets,plugging my phone into a socket there,whilst I have a shave & a bit of a wash. Yes, in the public toilets of an airport,but needs must.



I finally get a bit of shuteye around 3.30 & at approximately 3:34 some big Belgian security guard is kicking my feet,telling me we have to get up as they're about to open the check-in desk were sleeping on. Magic. I'm broken at this stage & just need to sleep somewhere, anywhere. Parked up between Jamie & Dean, it's my turn to snore the airport down.

We eventually board the flight around 9am,after our 11 hour mini- recreation of Tom Hanks' The Terminal, & there's a gentleman boarding with the Ryanair staff making a right fuss over him. I'm still in a dreamlike state at this point but Dean is adamant that its Roberto Di Matteo. The pros being that he does look a bit like him & is flying "first class". First class with f**king Ryanair. Unbelievable. The cons being that the guy is clearly Belgian & is flying into Manchester,on derby day,wearing a City scarf. I'm not sure auld Robbie would pin his colours to the City mast so soon,but I suppose he is after a job.

                                   


We land in Manchester & fair play to Ryanair. They were the key for me to this entire trip running to plan (or as near as possible) & they didn't let us down. My wife picks us up from the airport & it's great to see her again. We all head back to my apartment to have much needed showers & freshen up.

Paul, one of the original 'masterminds' behind the whole trip, who couldn't make it in the end,has driven up from Norfolk for the Everton v Spurs game & meets us at mine. I've been in contact with Everton before we set off on our journey, & I've arranged to meet Alan Bowen,the Head of Stadium Operations, at 1pm at the Park End,to find the best spot for making sure the flag is prominently displayed to be visible on Match of the Day that night. It's now 12 & we're still milling about at my place. That old familiar adrenaline kicks in again, as we've an hour to get to Goodison & Mr Bowen doesn't come across as the sort of man you want to keep waiting. I have to say, it's been like a drug all week. My body is completely exhausted,just wants to sleep,relax & unwind,yet as soon as the excitement of the possibilities of the next game kick in,it's completely reinvigorated & just buzzing
                                  


Paul drops me at the Park End Box Office,where I meet Robert Elstone, the Everton Chief Executive briefly,as he is then introduced to a Tottenham representative, I assume his counterpart. Mr Bowen comes down to take me through to the Park End itself,& he is almost exactly as he came across in his e-mails. Very pleasant,yet with a huge air of authority. He often interrupts my poor attempts at small talk to bark orders at those we pass,yet he's very respectful & knows every single employee we pass. I get to the wall behind the goal & unlike every other ground we've been to in the past 8 weeks, it's a completely flat surface, with nothing to tie the flag onto. Nightmare, as the tape in the bag is running low & the wind is kicking up horrendously. I stick it down as best I can &, as I'm doing so, a couple of the Everton players are filtering through to the changing rooms. First of them is Bryan Oviedo, our new Costa Rican summer signing,with his wife & young child. I say hello & try to muster a few words but after his 3rd hello, it becomes apparent that he doesn't speak much English, & was only being polite, so I leave him to it. Kevin Mirallas walks past & I barely recognise him, as he's just had a very severe haircut that Alan Bowen passes comment on, completely shaved, just leaving a little mohican style strip of hair on top. I ask him how the hamstring injury that has kept him out for a while is,& he looks puzzled. I try to explain a bit about the flag but the language barriers a problem yet again,& even trying to tell him that I was in his native Belgium this morning isn't getting across. The fact that I seemed to have developed a lisp overnight,thanks to my tongue hitting against my broken front tooth,makes the whole scenario all the more ludicrous.I ask if he's thtarting,as he hasn't in a while due to the injury,but Alan moves me along,explaining that he isn't but everyone has to report on matchday anyway.


                                                                    Kev Mirallas


With the flag relatively well hung,it's across to the Winslow Pub, opposite Goodison for a few celebratory drinks, a catch up with Paul & to watch a bit of the Manchester derby.
It's a celebratory mood,even if we are all shattered,as well as a bit dazed & confused. The beers are flowing & Jamie, who's never been to Goodison before, asks how the atmosphere will stack up against the places we've been this week. Paul & Dean,who've both been here several times, almost sneer when I explain to Jamie that we don't do scarves & flags (ironically). We don't sing for 90 mins,in fact rarely at all, at home, but you will never be to an angrier, more partisan, noisier place if the game goes a certain way. Bearing in mind, our week consisted of an Edinburgh derby, standing on the Gallowgate, a must win Champions League fixture, the fabled Nou Camp, the San Siro, the Ultras of Hamburg & Anderlecht,Goodison would need to be a bit special to compete with that,at least for the neutral.




We finish up our drinks & say our goodbyes as Paul & Dean make their way to the away end,whilst Jamie's sitting in the Lower Gwladys with me.
We take our seat & I'm amazed to see the flag,situated at the other end of the ground,has got an Irish tricolour & a Union Jack positioned right next to it. Bearing in mind all the nonsense that's going on at the time back in Northern Ireland about flags at City Hall,it's a pretty remarkable coincidence.

I'm even more amazed to see the Everton players warming up just before kick-off, as Kev Mirallas is in the starting line-up. Somewhat more bizarrely, he's shrunk about a foot & lost that bizarre haircut he had 2 hours ago. Yeah, it wasn't Mirallas I'd been talking to at all. Rather,it was our young Greek striker, Apostolis Vellios. No dodgy hamstring, no reason to be remotely interested in the fact that Ive just flown in from Belgium. Seems his English wasn't the main obstacle to our conversation,more my stupidity. In my defense, I hadn't been to bed in 4 days. Don't know if I've mentioned that.
                                                 
                                                               Not Kev Mirallas

It's a decent enough game,with Everton playing some lovely stuff at times but neither side score to go in at the break ahead. Jelavic is looking lively for us, whilst I can only suggest that Spurs are missing Gareth Bale,because they aren't offering a lot. They aren't bad,don't get me wrong,but Everton deserve to be ahead. Half time comes & I bump into a mate, Anthony, who's been following our mis-adventures & is surprised to see me still standing after it all.

                                  

Of course, in the second half, the game's a bit different,& Spurs go in front with a wonder goal from Dempsey. It's a great strike & Spurs have come out a lot brighter, so I wouldn't say it was completely unmerited. The game ticks along & just as it's creeping into stoppage time with Everton still losing, up pops Steven Pienaar to bury an equalizer. Goodison erupts & the Jamie acknowledges the celebrations as if to say "I see what you meant earlier" but we're not done yet. There's still maybe 30 seconds of added time to play when we get a throw in. The crowd can sense 1 last attack & are roaring it on. Darron Gibson puts over a cross & 'Big Kev' Vellios, who's since come on, attempts an overhead kick,but fails to connect. The ball, however, runs through to Jelavic who buries it first time. Now the place goes really mental. Goodison park is shaking to its very foundations,& Jamie's caught up in it,hugging people, as I've gone over about 4 seats,cutting my legs to bits. Pure pandemonium & it's brilliant. You can keep your ultras,nothing in football comes close to a last minute winner. In fact, it's only bettered when you were losing a minute earlier

The whistles blown shortly after,& what a way to end the tour. 9 games in 9 days & it all comes to down to practically the last kick. Jamie seems to have enjoyed himself & we head back down to the Park End to pick up the flag. As we're packing it away, a steward comes over to ask us what it's all about. We tell him all about Oscar & you can see the tears in his eyes. He tells us about his own kids,& leaves us to get the flag down with the words "that flag's welcome back here anytime. In fact, when the wee man's well enough, we'll get him over for a game"

Before we leave,I have a last look around Goodison. By now, it's just me & Jamie left inside the place. I've been here hundreds of times before,but it's never looked like this. I'm still buzzing off the win.
Buzzing off the fact that we achieved our initial goal.
Buzzing off the fact that we set out to do something & despite numerous setbacks, did it.
Buzzing off the fact that hundreds of people in England have taken an interest in how wee Oscar Knox is as a direct result of this.
Buzzing off the fact that in about an hour's time, I'll be in bed. My own bed, at that.


No, Goodison has never looked more beautiful

                                                                    Up the toffees

So, the tour is ended but the flag has carried on. I don't know exactly what kind of response I expected to get from this, but so many people have been in contact via Twitter & Facebook, offering to bring it with them to their own grounds. We have put a lot of work into exploring aspects to keep this going, & the flag has been on tv at 3 games since those 9 days. It is lined up for quite a few more televised games & I suppose people spotting it at various different locations will prick their curiosity, so anything we can do to keep promoting the Oscar Knox Appeal is an absolute must.

You can read more about "Wee" Oscar Knox here. http://oscarknox.blogspot.co.uk/
Please take a few minutes to do so, if you're not already familiar. That is the whole purpose of all of this

We have set up a twitter account of our own, so that you can follow the flag's journey. It will get more active once the games that we've arranged start to flow a bit more (https://twitter.com/oscarsflag)
& you can also follow Oscar's remarkable progress on Twitter (https://twitter.com/Wee_Oscar)


As a result of this continuation, our JustGiving campaign has been extended also, so please donate even just a couple of pounds to help save this wee boy's life  (http://www.justgiving.com/7ma7ches7coun7ries7days)

Many thanks again to all of you have who have already been extremely generous. We are currently working on fundraising events to push us beyond our total in 2013. Thanks for following our journey. this blog will be updated regularly again once the next phase has fully kicked in, so keep following Oscar's Flag. Happy New Year

The Home Straight- Mons v Anderlecht (8)

With everything we've gone through this week, we were hoping today would be a straightforward conclusion in Amsterdam. With the Ajax game being off,we're now in Belgium to round it all off. Nice easy finish? No chance

We never made it to bed again last night, as the only train journey we could afford within what little's left in our budget, that would get us to Mons in Belgium in time was a 4am departure. Such has been our luck with travelling this week (most of it self-inflicted) we decided to just get there ASAP & deal with it then. 


Anyway, it's now about 4.30 am & we're on the train, due into Mons for 2pm. The games a sell-out, so we need to find tickets,& therefore needed as long as possible to make it. We board our train, travelling 4 hrs before we have our first connection. No problems there & we all manage to steal a bit kip on it. On this second train, however, I close my eyes to get a bit more, when there's an almighty crash. I genuinely thought we'd been in a train crash & leapt out of my seat to spin round & see an almighty mess on the floor. It turns out that about 3 seats away, one of the locals has somehow managed to absolutely clatter into a glass partition, dividing us from 1st class. The noise was deafening,& luckily,apart from a few cuts on 'herr knobhead', no-one was seriously hurt, although a Japanese girl who was sitting in first class is absolutely hysterical with the shock of it all. I'm winding Dean up-" bet its not the first time you've had 2 women running out of doors,screaming like they're possessed,in one night."
He's still got the hump about not getting to bed though, so he's not biting. 

After it all settles down, we find the incident quite funny & are just chuckling at our luck, when we stop at a station & a proper repair team come on to clear up all the dangerous shards of glass (the driver had previously attempted it with a piece of scrap metal) & this takes us a good half an hour. The train trundles on & we get off at the German/Belgian border to get our next connection to Liege. It's a sleepy little village & we get there to see that our connecting train has already left. No big deal, we'll get the next one. Looking through the departures board, we're not spoiled for choice. When we bought our tickets, we were specifically told we could not travel on ICE trains, as these are a luxury, private company. Looking through the board, there are only 3 non-private (slow) trains to Liege a day,& we've missed the 1st. The 2nd would get us into mons about 20 mins before kick off & we don't know where the ground is,& don't have tickets for a sell-out, but we've got little option, so we find a cafe & wait out for the next one. The game we're going to is an early kick-off for the Jupiler league, & the reason we chose it was it's proximity to Charleroi airport, where we're flying home from the next morning, but my minds thinking- what if we travel onwards to one of the other, later games? I've got a map of Belgium open in one window, a fixture list in another,& the train booking in the other. However, our train is booked into Mons & we have just over €100 left in our budget,& have to get match tickets out of that. I'm texting people at home, trying to get more info & working out all sorts of permeatations. We'd have trouble getting back to the airport, but I'm not coming this far to blow it on the last day. We finish our coffees (the cafe has a place for your empty trays, where you put it, then it disappears down a conveyor belt. Jamie was that fascinated by it, it took us a while to get him out)to get back to the station,& as a result of the snow, all of the trains are now delayed. We get to our platform, & ours is 20 mins late. Bang on kick off we'd get in now. A train pulls into the platform & we're informed it's terminating here, due to ice on the under-carriage. (We're assuming anyway, all the announcements are in German) we stand there, anxiously asking about for a bit of info, when one English-speaking woman informs us that she missed her connection to Liege & is travelling the same route as us, so we're safe. Meanwhile, looking across to the other side, there's a rickety old train that catches us our eye pulling away. I make a comment, saying it'd be our luck to get a piece of junk like that,& then realise it's got Liege plastered across the back of it. Turns out that was our train,& we'd not heard (or understood) the platform change announcement. We're done. It's all over, shy of trying to get to Northern Belgium instead. 

It's then that the ICE train rolls in,& the English-speaking lady informs us that that's our train. We know we've got one last stab at it, so we climb onto it,knowing full well that our tickets aren't valid. As its a fast train, it will get us into Liege quicker & it just leaves us trying to dodge the ticket inspector for 45 mins. This task is made increasingly difficult when we realise the seating is reserved & we obviously don't have reservations, so are drawing attention to ourselves by standing in the aisles. We pile into the tiny toilet cubicle,stacking our bags in,as well as cramming ourselves in,but then realise just how ludicrous this situation is,& spill back out into the aisle,willing to face the music. I say face the music, but the truth is we continue ambling through the aisles, nervously & very slowly, trying to not draw attention to ourselves, which isn't really working due to the bulky bags bumping their way through the train, but we make it. We arrive in Liege station without being asked for our tickets. I venture that we push our luck & stay on until Brussels now, get us midway between a few other games but its a very resounding no,& we get off in Liege, with Jamie & Dean's bums still squeaking.

I get across to the platform information to see that onward trains run hourly & our trains left about 10 mins ago, so we're waiting about.Liege station is quite something. I've been here before, when Everton played, but it's still quite an impressive piece of modern architecture & we stand marvelling at it for a few minutes, whilst Jamie grabs the chance to have a smoke outside,before we casually stroll over to our platform, to be greeted by a familiar sight- the view of the back of a train pulling away from us. A train that we should've been on. It turns out that the snows delayed it by about half an hour,& if we'd have walked over when we got in, we would have been sitting on a warm train,inching towards Mons,buying us a bit more time to try & negotiate our way into a sell-out at the smallest stadium of the week, but instead we're sitting on a freezing cold platform, with a further hour,at least, to wait for the next one to come along. Best get the beers in, then. 

We head along to a bar in the station & sample some of the local Jupiler but Dean doesn't fancy it. He's sitting there silent, before he says "we ain't gonna make this. There's no chance of us getting there in time,& even if we do, how are we gonna get tickets?"
We have to make it. There's no option for not doing it. It's not like we can just try again next week, but Dean's tired,& he's had about enough. "Even if we can only get 2 tickets, I don't mind not going to the game."
The madness of Paris. The lunacy of Milan. All that travelling, all that effort, just for 6/7? Nah. We're doing it, even if it means skipping Mons & making the 2 hr journey from Mons to Genk. We would need a lot of luck in trains falling our way,but it's possible,& gives us a safety net if things don't work out in Mons.


The train eventually arrives & its a tense journey. We get to Mons with about 20 mins to go before kick off & we're lucky enough to find lockers at the train station to ditch our bags in (Jamie was already looking for a suitable hedge to safely store all of our belongings in!) & jump in a cab to the Stade Charles Tondreau. We've no idea where we're going but thankfully the grounds very nearby & we're there within minutes.

I leave the lads to look for touts whilst I try the official approach, walking round to the other side of the ground to the box office. I speak to a few touts en route & they want €100 per ticket. No chance. The budget wouldn't stretch that fair anyway, so I carry on in the queue. The whole time I'm waiting, my mind's still whirring & the phone's still frantically trying to find an alternative route to Genk in time for kick off there in just over 3 hours.
I get to the ticket window & explain what we're doing & what we're hoping to achieve, but they can't help, as it is a complete sell-out. At this point, a gentleman comes forward & offers to help. His friend can't make it now & he was looking to return his ticket,but instead is offering it to me, at face value. It's just the 1 ticket, but he says he may know of 2 others. A few minutes later, he's back, complete with the other pair. They're in a different stand to the first one, but we're all going.The fans at Mons are brilliant with us as we're filtering through the gates & as we insert our barcodes into the scanner for the last time on this journey, there's one last relieved shared glance at each other that says "we're in".
However, no matter how big a relief that one's been each time,it's still not job done as its all about getting the flag displayed. Jamie takes the solo ticket & it turns out the other 2 tickets are in the hospitality section,& someone's not turned up, so we blag him into our stand. One last attempt at trying to explain what we want to do to foreign stewards without speaking their language & they're again very helpful, directing us to the corner flag to get the flag hung. I get it tied onto the rail at the front,& upload a quick picture to Facebook to let friends & family know the jobs been done & we sit down. 

I've thought about this moment a bit over the last few days & how the elation of completing our gruelling task would feel,but as my phone starts going mental with congratulatory texts coming through, it's a completely different sensation I'm feeling. My body has completely shut down as I sit down to watch the game kick off. I mean, I don't even the strength to get my phone out. I realise the entire week has been spent on adrenaline & that's run it's natural course. I joked before we went that I'd be living on Red Bull the whole week. Truth is, I had 2 the entire time. It wasn't needed.My minds been constantly moving,thinking of where we need to be next,what train gets us where at what time,finding our digs. Then,it's getting to grounds on time,getting tickets,will the tickets work?can we get the flag in?can we hang the flag?where's best to display it?can it be seen on TV?& so on. Now that it's done, I physically can't move. Looking at Dean & Jamie,they're seemingly in the same boat. The game starts & I'm only half watching. The Mons Ultras, right next to the Anderlecht away supporter are up for it & are making a show with their banners & flares,whilst 2 skinheads stand at the front with megaphones orchestrating it all. I have to say its impressive & seeing each club's ultras has been an interesting aspect to this. 

The Mons team, managed by Belgian legend, Enzo Scifo, however is much less impressive. Within minutes of the start, Anderlecht are hammering them, & by the time they go 1-0 up, in the 5th minute, they should probably have been 2 or 3 ahead already. Dieumerci Mbokani,their Congolese striker is a real handful & he has an easy tap in right in front of us. The Mons ultras carry on singing even in the aftermath of the goal, which is massively impressive,but by the time Mbokani scores his second,they've had enough. No-one enjoys seeing their team get battered like Mons are & I've no idea how they went in at half time only 2-0 down. 

At half time,we head for a beer to try & revitalize ourselves but Dean's getting increasingly paranoid about the locals stood around us, who he seems to think are only here for the sole purpose of battering us foreigners. I must say, I'm not getting this vibe at all, even though all attempts to converse are thwarted by the language barrier. Sleep depravation can do some crazy things to the mind though,& we move on. 

Second half kicks off & the beers aren't having the desired effect. We've taking an extra couple each down to our seats,as its our last game on the continent & we'll be pining for this novelty soon enough, but we're practically falling asleep at this point. So much so that the game completely passes us by. Some of the local kids are taking an interest in the flag & are waving it,trying to replicate the Ultras. This results in the 3 of us not being able to see a thing but no one's moving, speaking or even moderately concerned in the game. There's a bit of commotion down the other end on a couple of occasions,but Im not exaggerating when I say, we are effectively asleep. 
Here's the proof. Mbokani got his hat trick, the Mons goalkeeper was sent off after they'd used all their subs, leading to the footballing equivalent of when a dog runs into your school classroom, the good old tiny left back donning the gloves to go in goal, Anderlecht scored a penalty & another goal besides,& it finished 5-0. I saw 2 of the 5 goals, then 3 kids & a big green flag, 10 minutes of the back of my eyelids & a bit of the Ultras going home. It's fair to say we're relieved to hear the final whistle & we pack up the flag for the last time & make our way out of the stadium. 

We stop for a quick beer outside the ground & there's a barbecue going on for the locals. Dean can't muster another beer,but Jamie grabs us a couple whilst I queue to get us some "baguettes saucissons" at what is literally a grill in the pub car park. The queues chaotic but I eventually get them & sit down to enjoy with our beers. It's beautiful, but about 3 bites into it, I get a gritty taste & hear a crunch. There's actual stones fallen into it & I've only gone & managed to break a tooth on it! Unbelievable. Thought all the madness was over with,but it seems there's one last bit of bad luck left for me,eh? 


We walk back towards the train station & walking through the town of Mons really is impressive. The history & the architecture, coupled with the winter night & all the Christmas decorations really do round things off for us.

 We head back to the lockers at the station to pick up our bags (bizarrely, there's a couple of teenagers carrying on INSIDE the next locker. Suppose we all needed whatever privacy we could get at that age, eh?)& we head off on one last train journey

We did it. Job done & despite some very major setbacks before we even left, some very near misses in Paris & Milan, Jamie's flights home for the funerals of loved ones, flying into Holland for a game that was never played, the havoc that the continental weather caused to our travels, a lot of alcohol & not so much sleep, we've achieved our goal.The flag has been to 7 games in 7 countries in 7 days, being photographed at all,& made it onto the Telly in 5 of those games.


Our flight leaves Charleroi at 8am the next morning but the lads are taking no further chances on our luck holding out. It's 9pm on Saturday night & we're heading there right now. There's €20 left in the kitty, enough for a few beers & then one last night without a bed. Our train to the airport contains quite a few people on our flight with the same idea of sleeping at the airport. It seems we're not the only ones who don't trust Ryanair. In fairness to them, they haven't let us down this far. Time for home.& by home, I mean Goodison Park. Everton v Spurs tomorrow in what will be a kind of homecoming for us,with lots of people meeting up with us pre-match, including Paul who couldn't make it with us in the end,but contributed massively from home. 

My 9th game in as many days & I genuinely can't wait 

For anyone who hasn't read this blog before, we are trying to take a flag to 7 football games in 7 days in 7 different countries, to raise awareness,& money, for the Oscar Knox Appeal. Oscar is a young boy from Northern Ireland who has severe Neuroblastoma & desperately needs money to help him,& other children with this disease. 

Please read oscar's blog here 

http://oscarknox.blogspot.co.uk/?m=1

You can donate to our JustGiving page here

https://www.justgiving.com/7ma7ches7coun7ries7days/


We are funding this entire trip ourselves & 100% of what you donate will go to Oscar's Appeal
Although we were initially hesitant to be raising money whilst having a glorified holiday, so many good people have come forward to us, that it would be sinful to refuse

Bah Hamburg - Hamburg vs Hoffenheim (7)

You can donate to our Just Giving page where all the funds will go to Oscar here: http://www.justgiving.com/7ma7ches7coun7tries7days

Match day 6- Hamburg v Hoffenheim

"Football's not a matter of life & death- it's much more important than that" - Bill Shankly

Bill Shankly was a great football manager, who had a great number of fantastic quotes attributed to him. The one I've used above baffles me. Football's a great game, & rules many a people's lives. That's why we've chosen to try to use the game that so many of us love to strike a common chord & get Oscar's story out there more.

However, I'm sorry Shanks, but that quote is ludicrous. Perhaps I've misunderstood the context, but the amount of tears I've seen throughout this, from football fans of all kinds, surely disproves this nonsense.

"Football's not a matter of life and death, it's much more important than that - Bill Shankly"

At this point, I'd like to point out that we are working hard to keep the flag from becoming affiliated to any club. It will probably be at more Everton games with me, but I will try to limit this, as it's not an Everton flag.

Due to Oscar's Celtic connection, & the colours, it may be viewed as a Celtic flag, but this is about getting football fans to unite behind one special boy's story, about raising awareness and money for him & other children battling this horrible illness.

Likewise and in the light of the past week's events in Belfast, probably more importantly, the flag has no religion. It's inspiring to see that so many Rangers fans have been in contact & shown their support for Oscar, proving that even the biggest rivalries can be overcome when a young child needs help.

I'm choosing to pre-empt this blog to make this clear, because some of the clubs we've approached about displaying it responded by saying they wanted to check the flag over because "due to the green & white colouring, it may be deemed sectarian or offensive". No-one has said no, but I've found these responses baffling. With this in mind, please enjoy our venture into a foreign ground where they didn't get the gist of the text, & coincidentally, hate anything green & white.

We landed in Eindhoven at around 9am & the place is completely white. We had booked our cheap Ryanair flight into Eindhoven because the only confirmed European fixture tonight (Friday) was Heracles v Utrecht. However, as we lost out on our Bayern Munich game, due to other fixtures being re-arranged, & Hamburg v Hoffenheim had been moved to the Friday, we sacrificed our 1st choice Dutch game to shoehorn Ajax into the trip. It turned out that this was a very lucky break for us, as due to the brutal killing of a Dutch Asst. Referee, all Dutch fixtures were called off as a mark of respect. So, our flight to Eindhoven was pointless, but at least we'd get to see Holland, eh?

Lot's of snow about in Eindhoven including at the train station

We get a bus to the train station & collect our tickets that were booked on the Milan Metro last night, & as we have a few Dutch translation cards, explaining what we're doing made up for the Ajax game, we decide to distribute them while we're here. I can only assume that Google translate has had a mare on this, because the response is almost one of anger! "What's this got to do with me?", etc. We stop there, & rein it in, jumping on our train to Hamburg.

I think it's fair to say that at this point, relations are strained between me & Dean, & meeting up with Jamie in Hamburg will be a Godsend. We're both tired, hungover, stressed & he feels I've been too demanding, barking orders at him. I may have been but its taken a lot of organization to get this far, & we've nearly blown it on more than one occasion. If we fail, it's all on me, if we succeed, it's a shared glory. Absolutely fine, but it puts a lot of pressure on your shoulders & this is a learning curve thus far.

Even though I've been to each of the cities we're visiting before, I'm no expert & the tight timeframes don't allow for any mistakes. We sit apart on the train, stealing a bit of kip wherever possible, whilst keeping one eye on where we're changing each time.

Holland is blanketed in about six inches of snow, so each stop adds about a ten minute delay to our journey. By the time we reach Hamburg, we're three & a half hours from kick off, & Jamie meets us at the station, having flown into Hamburg that morning. He takes us across to a little home made pizza place in the station & tells us we have to try one, as he's already had two.

We get checked in, drop the bags off and with our tickets already in hand, have a little bit of time on our hands before kick off, so we go through the Hamburg Christmas markets.

Hamburg Christmas markets



I was in Hamburg during the 2006 World Cup & it was here that I discovered kurrywurst. I've been banging on about it to anyone who'll listen ever since, so we make a bee-line for that stand. Kurrywurst is essentially, sausage, sliced & served in what can only be desribed as a ketchup/gravy mixture, finished with paprika. The usual reaction when you explain this to people is "that sounds vile", but when I think back to that summer six years ago, we practically lived on it, & it was great. I can only assume that we were drunk the entire time in Hamburg, in 2006, because kurrywurst is vile.

Kurrywurst after purchase

Kurrywurst being prepared.



The Baltic coast is living up to it's name, and as we make our way to the Imtech Arena, we see St.Pauli stores, St.Pauli graffiti, & St.Pauli merchandise everywhere. It may well just be the central area of Hamburg we're in, but for such a smaller club, they certainly make their presence felt in this city. Unfortunately for us, a lot of this merchandise contains copious amounts of green & white, "You'll Never Walk Alone" motifs, and some graffiti mentions,which comfirm their allegiance to Celtic.

We were familiar with the tales of Hamburg fans unfurling a full size mosaic of a Union Jack when they played Celtic in Europe, to make sure that everyone was aware of their thoughts towards Celtic, but we were hoping that was just a one-off, rather than a deep rooted hatred for them, due to their affiliation to their city rivals. None of us are actually Celtic fans, but the flag is green & white, so we're worried as to how the locals will respond to it.

We arrive at the station, & have to take a shuttle bus to the ground, set deep in some dark woods. This journey does nothing to settle our nerves, as the bus is packed & the German fans are very aggressive in their nature. It's boisterous, but a few cross the line on occasion & this is without a green & white rag to the bull. It's intimidating, to say the least. A very stereotypical port city, full of your stereotypical sea-faring men.

We reach the ground & there's barely a word said. We all know the job we've come to do. We decide to go straight to the stewards, armed with yet another Google translation. The steward looks puzzled at the sentence construction, then seems to have gleamed the necessary information from it. "What the f#*k has this got to do with me?" he asks.

Not the response I was going for, but I carry on anyway, explaining what we're trying to achieve, & communicate a little bit more about Oscar, but he's not budging. "No" is the constant reply. I leave it, & go grab Jamie to come with me to try again at another entrance & the whole scene plays out in an almost identical fashion. Literally, near word for word. It seems we're on our own as we enter this blue & white bearpit.

We head straight to the front to find a spot, but there's nowhere to hang it. There's a huge wall behind the goal, but it's completely flag-free, so that's a no-no. Our seats are at the top of the lower tier,behind the goal, so we've nowhere to hang it there,either. We hold it up on the concourse,to get a few pics against the pitch, & the reaction isn't so bad. We get a few shouts (in German), but nothing overly threatening, & we're back scouring for a place to hang it.

The flags and banners at Hamburg



By the time we reach kick-off, however, it's a different vibe. The entire back row consists of plain clothes police, all massive & all looking for a kick-off of a different kind, it seems. The three rows in front of us seem to consist solely of big, burly skinheads, who could probably be best described as modern-day pirates, due to their arrays of tattoos & beards.

The game starts and a few fans start to sing, only to be shouted down by the skinheads. They were Hamburg fans, singing Hamburg songs, but every time they start up, they're told to stop. One gets a tap on the shoulder and the back of a hand raised towards him is enough to say, "try it once more & I'm coming over there".

I was curious as to what they were singing about, as they were all clearly supporting the same club. I wonder if it was the German equivalent of "Kenwright out" heard at a few Everton games & always guaranteed to ruffle a few feathers, one way or the other.

We found out later that Bundesliga clubs were participating in the "12:12" protests, a protest against new German security measures being enforced in football grounds. This protest took the form of no singing for the first 12 minutes of the game, which made the whole atmosphere all the more surreal for us, and all the less likely to rock the boat.

We were excited by the fact that you can get a beer in your seat at Bundesliga games, but that novelty wears off, when the minus temperatures make it nigh on impossible to drink. Even the beer backpack man gives up, disappearing to re-appear with a backpack full of 'Gluehwein', or mulled wine to me & you.

Anyway, we're re-thinking our strategy in displaying the flag somehow, & as its well into the minuses inside the ground, the flag doubles up as a blanket, draped across our legs, as we sip on our mulled wine, at the football. Old age has well & truly caught up.

The game itself isn't very good. Hoffenheim are pretty awful to be fair & Hamburg are only marginally better because of the excellent Son, who showed a great bit of skill to chest a ball, swivel & volley it against the crossbar. It would've undoubtedly been the best goal we'd seen all week, but a few minutes later, their big Latvian forward, Rudnevs looped a lovely header over the keeper & puts them 1-0 up.

Half time came and went and I thought about going across to our left to try & communicate with the away fans, who were in a massive cage alongside us & had managed to get their flags on display no problems. We still had nowhere to hang it, but as quite a few of the rougher fans disappeared, we decided to just go for it & hold it up at the top of the stand for about 5 mins, in the hope that cameras picked up on it, but regardless, we got a few pictures of it amongst the Hamburg crowd, who seemed oblivious to it behind them as they watched the game going on. As close to a mission accomplished as we're getting. The game finishes with Son the best player, & Rudnevs having added a second goal to kill it off.

The Team Oscar flag displayed at half time at Hamburg's stadium

The only train journey we could afford within what little's left in our budget, that would get us to Mons in Belgium in time for our final fixture was a 4am departure.

After the game, we headed for the notorious Reeperbahn, to have a few beers & fill the gap between the game finishing & the train leaving, despite having not seen a bed since waking up in Barcelona on Thursday morning. You can't visit Hamburg & not see the Reeperbahn. It's as seedy a place as you'll ever see, but very unique. We have a few beers in an Irish bar along there (I know, I know, but I'd honestly had enough of the Germans at the football & just wanted somewhere we could talk to people about what our aim was), watched a band (excellent first set but a really dreary 2nd set let them down) & at around 2am we leave to get back to our hostel (unused bed again).

Opening the door to our dorm, a woman screams, jumps out of her bed & comes running at us, flailing her arms & getting more & more worked up as she starts hitting Dean. We get her settled down & she's a French woman, who doesn't speak much English. She's obviously had a few night terrors that got worse when us three stumbled in the door, but it didn't do anything for our hearts, & she slopes out the door, embarassed.

Jamie & Dean decide to get into bed (despite the fact that we're leaving in 15 mins) & I have the nightly ritual of recharging my phone,whilst trying to sort out the next day using the only wi-fi I can get access to.

I'm stood in the corner of a pitch dark room, facing the wall, when the French girl walks back in, & noticing me, she's off again. I suppose it must've looked like something out of the Blair Witch project, as I was stood by the plug, just the glow of my phone illuminating me, so I would've gone tearing back out screaming too.

This wakes Jamie & Dean up, despite having got their heads down about 5 mins earlier & they're not happy. Exactly the reason why any attempt at getting into bed was a recipe for disaster. We go back to the train station, where Jamie decides to have his 4th of those little pizzas, & we are in fact 30 mins early for our train, which only makes those two more annoyed about not getting any sleep. As if all the rushing about wasn't enough for them, they obviously fancied a bit more excitement. Instead, we board the train for one last game. Home straight as we keep being reminded. Surely nothing could go wrong now.....

For anyone who hasn't read this blog before, we are trying to take a flag to 7 football games in 7 days in 7 different countries, to raise awareness, & money, for the Oscar Knox Appeal. Oscar is a young boy from Northern Ireland who has severe Neuroblastoma & desperately needs money to help him, & other children with this disease. 

Please read Oscar's blog here http://oscarknox.blogspot.co.uk/?m=1

This is wee Oscar himself.

You can donate to our JustGiving page here

We are funding this entire trip ourselves & 100% of what you donate will go to Oscar's Appeal. Although we were initially hesitant to be raising money whilst having a glorified holiday, so many good people have come forward to us, that it would be sinful to refuse. Help spread the word, help save a little boy's life.

Inter The Home Straight- Inter Milan vs Neftchi Baku (6)

You can donate to our Just Giving page where all the funds will go to Oscar here: http://www.justgiving.com/7ma7ches7coun7tries7days

Our flight to Milan isn't until 3, so we have our 1 & only lie in this morning, & it's great. Waking up naturally, the batteries feel recharged & we're halfway there. This entire thing has been so hectic, that to use a football cliche, we could only ever take it one game at a time, but now we're over halfway, the thought of actually making it is starting to be a possibility. We feel fresh & take in a little bit of Barcelona, as our bus to the airport is right by the digs.

However, I am in a very sombre mood as my mind turns to Jamie's flight & hoping he makes it to his sister-in-law's funeral in time this morning, & more personally, thinking of good friends who are all attending Jevs' funeral today. I'm really upset at not being there for him, but he had a real spirit for adventure & doing this is a fitting tribute for that, I hope. Jamie had the privilege of playing football for a season with Jevs as well, so he's hoping to pay his respects at his service, too. I'm not sure if I could do that. As I said to him at the time, 7 games in 7 days is difficult, but 2 funerals in 1 day is unthinkable.

Back in Barcelona, me & Dean stroll to our gate & wait for updates on our flight. We duck into a little coffee shop to make a few repairs to the flag, which has had a bit of a battering this week, when we hear the announcement that our flight has been delayed. We were already a little tight from arrival in Milan to getting to the game, but this has put us under a little bit of pressure now,even if its only a half an hour delay.

Milan Malpensa Airport.

We land at Milan Malpensa airport & after I pick up the Juventus hold all I've been carrying all week, to a bit of stick, we get a train to Central Milan. We arrive there just 2 & 1/2 hours before kick off, & need to get a further train to where our hostel is. We are walking around Milan station, trying to find the platform no we need & all we can see is herds of people staring at the departure board. All of a sudden, a few platform number's flash up & people scatter off in all directions to run for their train. It's the most chaotic system I've ever seen & having run to our platform, there is a sudden platform change & everyone's running off again to catch the train. Only a handful actually make the train & we're now right up against it. We leave the station to get a taxi but its deserted outside & nothing on the roads. Stranded again, we go back to get the next train & suffer our fate.

Upon arrival, it's not been too bad a journey & we've got directions to our hostel. We walk up & down the road several times, & seeing nothing of it, we ask a local in a very shady looking neighbourhood. She points us in the direction of a gated building that could only be described as a prison complex, or at best, an institution of some sort. We have to buzz at a gate for cars to enter, & we enter to see a park, trees all around & some little cube shaped buildings. I approach the first one, thinking its the reception but its a little restaurant/bar & the owner points me in the right direction. I thank him & say we might pop over later, but our flights at 6 in the morning & the game finishes at 11, so it's clearly not realistic

At reception, it's a case of bags in, call a taxi for the San Siro & get there, as we don't have our tickets yet & it's less than 90 mins to kick off. Our receptionist Giusseppe has other ideas,though & in hindsight it was hilarious. He pronounced every word he said & made a point of making sure he got every detail across,without interruption. 

"You e-mailed us on Monday, (long pause) the 22nd of October to book a room for 3 people. (long pause) We replied saying that this was possible & you would pay to us the sum of €60. (long pause) I am afraid that you will have to pay the full amount (long pause) as we may have been able to rent this bed (long pause)

Now, I must tell you that there is a tax of €1 on the room. (long pause) this is not our fault, but our governments. (you get the idea of the long pauses between every other word now. I just wanted to shake him at this point) Around 4 years ago, City hall enforced this upon us..." & just carried on in the most irritating manner imaginable, despite knowing how big a rush we were in. Saying over & over again, in his very unique style, that "I can't stress enough how important it is that you use the Big. Wooden. Door.To. Come. In....."

He did, however, proceed to tell us (very slowly) that no-one could come in or out of the grounds between 1.30 & 5.30 a.m. This was a big problem for us, as our flight was leaving for Eindhoven at 6.50 & we had to leave for Milan Bergamo airport at 4. He agreed he would arrange to have the gates opened for us & called a taxi to take us to the station to complete the 60km trip to the airport. He also told us that a taxi to the San Siro right now would be madness, as it would cost a fortune & traffic would make it difficult to get there in time,so we ran off to have another crack at the Italian Metro.

1 hour from kick-off, we thankfully find our way easily enough onto the metro. As if this panic wasn't enough, we're flying into Eindhoven in the morning, initially booked to get us in for the Heracles v Utrecht game which we've changed in favour of Hamburg. It's a good job we changed it because all Dutch games have been called off following the tragic killing of an assistant referee in a youth game there. 

However we still have no onward travel booked & we land in Eindhoven in 12 hours time, so I'm frantically searching for trains to book whilst Dean makes sure we don't miss our stop to try & deal with the more pressing matter of getting a ticket for tonight's game.

I manage to get a train booked & we come out of the Metro station & walk along the route to the ground. It's about a mile walk & it's clear that this isn't going to be a very popular game tonight. Inter are through & Neftchi Baku, an Azerbaijani club, are out. The roads are eerily quiet & we're beginning to wonder whether its kicked off earlier. There's no-one around. 

Outside the San Siro in Milan.

We get to the box office & are accosted by a ticket tout, urging us not to buy from the box office & instead get them from him at LESS than face value. Now, I'm not a fan of touts, but sometimes they're necessary. On this occasion though, we get our tickets for a combined €30 & it's nice to get another break. He walks us round to our gate to prove that they work before we pay, & I have a slight panic when they ask to check my passport, but they wave me on & we're in! 

Having climbed the stairs to the very top of the San Siro, it looks more like there's a stadium tour taking place, as opposed to a match, with pockets of fans scattered about the vast stadium. We're on the same side as the cameras, as well as up in the Gods, so we need a change of tact. I ask for a Steward's help, with the use of 1 of our translation cards, & he marches us right back down the stairs, straight out of the door & round to pitch level on the opposite side of the ground. In other words, right in the camera line. They were great & couldn't help enough. The fans also. I can't find any pics online of the teams coming out but they raised all their flags for it & it would've made a great pic, Oscar's wee green flag in amongst the big boys of the San Siro.

The stadium looked more like there were tours taking place than an actual game

The game itself, is actually quite decent, & Inter, who have a stronger team out than I expected including Cambiasso, Samuel & Coutinho, take the lead through Marko Livaja, only for a Baku to snatch a great equaliser just before half time. The entire Curva Nord is empty apart from their ultras in the middle tier & the noise they make in such an empty stadium is very impressive. They even keep singing the whole way through half time.

Cassano comes on at half-time & Inter are a lot more threatening for it. They re-take the lead early on (Livaja again) & dominate throughout,missing some unbelievable sitters in the process, (Livaja again) & Baku equalise late on. There are about 30 fans from Baku there,all of whom have been moved into the middle of our end,to try & make the place appear more full for the cameras,& they're going mental, letting off flares & all sorts.

The whole games had a friendly, family atmosphere to it & most Inter fans are pleased to see the Neftci fans enjoying themselves.

The banner proudly on display inside the San Siro

We didn't manage to talk to as many people at the game today, & we head off back to get a few hrs sleep before the taxi comes. This one being our latest kick off of the week (9.05 local time) we get home for 12, leaving us four hours of sleep. Just as Dean's putting his key into The. Big. Wooden. Door. I can clearly hear music coming from the bar/restaurant we got directions in earlier. "Why don't we go for a couple of sociable ones, then we can kip on the plane & the train?" I venture. 

Dean doesn't take much persuading & we head over. The place is packed,they have a DJ playing & it's mental. Bearing in mind,this is set in a compound,in some woods in Milan, it's not exactly what we expected to find. We stand at the bar,ordering our beers,& watching the locals. Communicating without the language is difficult,especially in this noise, but it soon becomes clear that its the boss's birthday & we've effectively crashed the party. When we order our next beer,he insists on paying. We're very appreciative, then, naturally, buy him a drink back. He refuses, unless we'll drink a shot with him, so we do that. 

Big mistake. From that point on, every drink ordered at the bar results in one of the locals sending us down shots. We're now well in with them & have told everyone what we're doing & why we're doing it. I received a message on Facebook from one later, saying he'd donated to our justgiving page & would continue to follow Oscar's story, which was remarkable. The DJ's finished & we're now in great company with about 15 of the locals, when Dean asks the barman for a cocktail. His choice. He then proceeds to walk along the bar, pouring a bit from every single bottle along it into a shaker, before shaking, pouring & adding about a thimbleful of coke into each one. Lunacy & that probably tipped it over the edge for us. 

We carry on with the locals, who despite their poor English, know the words to seemingly every single U2 song, when 3.30 rolls around. Knowing our taxis at 4, we say our goodbyes before heading back to collect our bags. I sit down in a stairwell, whilst Dean goes to sort himself out. The next thing I know, a phone is ringing behind reception & I, for some reason, decided to answer it. A voice mumbles something in Italian, but I pick out the word taxi, & suddenly I'm very, very sober. I realise I've fallen asleep & the taxis been waiting a good half hour. We're 60km from the airport, our gate closes at 6.20, we've missed our bus to the airport & now we're going to miss our taxi. It's now 4.40 am. 1 hour 40 mins or the dream is dead again.

I run round the building like a madman, looking for Dean & can't find him anywhere, when I find a locked toilet cubicle. I'm hammering on the door where he's not responding. I manage to get in, literally drag him out, grab his bags & go. Outside, the taxis long gone. We're locked in this compound with no taxi & less than 90 mins to get our flight. A night watchman lets us out, but we're still miles from anything ,& at this hour, there's no sign of any civilisation. It's also started snowing, just to add to the chaos. We're walking about 10 mins when we end up walking along some sort of motorway. There's still nothing on it, & the whole situation is hopeless. I'm screaming, a lot, knowing we've not only failed the challenge & let people down by drinking stupidly, but we're probably also going to be stranded in Milan for a bit, such was the house of cards that this trip was built into. As well as that, Jamie's flying back into Hamburg in the morning & we're in danger of leaving him there alone.

At that point, I see some headlights in the distance. 

(On my Facebook at the time of travelling onwards, I wrote we were saved by the Coca-Cola Christmas lorry. I can't confirm (remember) whether that's the case or not, but I'm telling you, when you're stranded in a hopeless scenario, & a big red lorry comes driving over the hill, through the snow, lit up like a beacon sent by God himself, the only sound you hear is "holidays are coming....")

I flagged him down & tried to explain our situation & showed him the Italian translation card that I had at the game. He obviously refused to take us to Bergamo himself,but he called us a taxi, which took us straight to the airport. €150 but this legend not only took it upon himself to drive like a lunatic to make sure we made our flight, but he also only charged us half fare (we called it €100 in the end,for his trouble) & we made it. Not for the first time, we bundle onto a Ryanair flight just in time,& as we go through security, the adrenaline begins to subside & we suddenly realise again just how drunk we really are. We're travelling into Eindhoven now, with no game being played in Holland, so a long day's travelling awaits on the other side. I sit down in my seat, strap in my seatbelt & open my eyes in Eindhoven. Teleportation does exist,it seems

Only problem I see upon landing, is the snow seems to have got very serious overnight....

The snow in Eindhoven looked like it could cause some problems

For anyone who hasn't read this blog before, we are trying to take a flag to 7 football games in 7 days in 7 different countries, to raise awareness, & money, for the Oscar Knox Appeal. Oscar is a young boy from Northern Ireland who has severe Neuroblastoma & desperately needs money to help him, & other children with this disease. 

Please read Oscar's blog here http://oscarknox.blogspot.co.uk/?m=1

This is wee Oscar himself.

You can donate to our JustGiving page here

We are funding this entire trip ourselves & 100% of what you donate will go to Oscar's Appeal. Although we were initially hesitant to be raising money whilst having a glorified holiday, so many good people have come forward to us, that it would be sinful to refuse. Help spread the word, help save a little boy's life.