| Opposition | Celtic Games | Estadio Nacional |
(written by Kevtic of KDS forum)
Some of you on this forum may have noticed that I was away in Lisbon a few weeks ago. I did try to keep it a secret but somehow news of the trip leaked out. I thought you might have a passing interest in the trip and BBB said if I didn’t do a report of the trip and take lots of photographs I’d be banned from the forum so under some duress the following is my epic story about how I came to be standing in the famous Estadio Nacional on my 40th birthday.
A special thanks to Fitzpas and BBB for helping me get this epic tale to the forum and helping to iron out some of the problems with the pictures on the way.
Life Begins in Lisbon
Back in my early thirties I decided that if and when I reach the grand old age of forty I would like to celebrate this momentous occasion in Lisbon and more specifically by visting the Estadio Nacional. I never actually thought this would ever come true but I had sound reasoning behind my choice. I’m not the type of person who usually bothers about milestone birthdays but turning 40 is kind of special and needed something to mark the occassion and a trip to Lisbon seemed as good a way as any. There were a number of reasons for me choosing Lisbon. Since my first Celtic game in 1971 I have probably spent far more of my life than is healthy following the Hoops. Over the last 30 years they have provided me with some of my happiest memories and although I’ve suffered the bad times they just seem to make the good times so much sweeter. Through Celtic I have also made many great friends and with this forum I hope that list of friends will grow. Celtic is so much a part of my life that it’s impossible to imagine what life would be like without them. So what better way to celebrate turning 40 than visiting the scene of my club’s greatest ever triumph. My second reason was simply that I was born on the same day Jock Stein officially became Celtic manager, March 9th 1965, and to stand on the ground where our greatest manager had his finest hour well…..
Where else would I want to be on March 9th 2005?
So in January of this year after much research, planning and can we afford it conversations with the future Mrs. Kevtic (who will from now on will be known as TFMK) I did finally book our trip to Lisbon. I might have been approaching 40 but from the moment all the confirmations came through I was like a kid looking forward to Xmas.
Day 1 Tuesday March 8th
Alarm goes off at 6.30am so I can watch the second half of the European Cup Final on video before we leave. Despite a hectic Monday night of packing and not getting home from work until 10 I did manage to find time to watch the first half before sleep caught up with me. I’m feeling knackered but I try to take in the moments to replay once I get to the stadium. I have seen the goals a hundred times but knowing I’ll be standing in the stadium where they were scored in just over 24 hrs makes watching them again just that little bit more special. Feel a lump in the throat as I always do when I see Billy hold the trophy aloft. TFMK decides another hours sleep is more preferable and thinks I’m quite sad. She could be right but I never fail to marvel at the performance on that momentous day. A breathtaking display of attacking football that must be one of THE best club displays ever witnessed in a European Final.
Taxi arrives at 7.30 to take us to Glasgow Airport for our flight to Heathrow. I’m not the world’s best flyer but it’s a sunny day with clear skies and it’s the last day of my thirties and I’m the cat who got the cream. An uneventful flight lands in Heathrow on time and is only made slightly disturbing for me when Classic Rock informs me that two people in bands I liked when I was younger (ok I still do like them) have both had hip replacements. This makes me feel just that little bit older. After arriving in Heathrow we only have to kill 5 hours before the Lisbon flight. This is what happens when your better half doesn’t want to take any chances with missed connections. Do the usual airport routine, aimlessly wander round shops, get dragged into the perfume shop and asked, “does this smell nice?” and reply with “I’ll tell you once I’ve stopped coughing and sneezing”. Don’t go for a drink as unlike many others I don’t like combining flying and drinking maybe I should and I wouldn’t be quite so nervous. I finally spot the internet area and wander off to get my fix of Kerrydale Street. At 10p a minute it’s not cheap but it helps kill an hour. After this I settle down to read my book and people watch. My reading companion is in keeping with the theme for the trip is ‘Jock Stein’s Definitive Biography’ by Archie MacPherson. A book I can now thoroughly recommend. Archie might be a pain but this book is an excellent read. I get through a few chapters before finally boarding our flight at 3.30pm and we are on our way to Lisbon.
Thankfully another uneventful flight, but when the pilot announces we are 15 mins from landing I can’t help but think about how it must have felt for those Celtic fans who made this trip nearly 38 years ago and how it might have compared with my trip to Seville in 2003. My dad’s recollections of his trip to Lisbon are kind of hazy which he thinks may have had something to do with a couple of drinks he had before the journey started. My recollections of Seville are still fresh in the memory and amongst the many great memories was the site of hundreds of hoops milling around both Glasgow and Seville airports. Estimates vary about Seville but 80,000 appears to be an agreed figure for Celtic fans, only about a quarter of that made the trip to Lisbon but that in itself was a feat as they didn’t have the numerous options that Celtic fans had when heading to Seville.
One of my favourite Lisbon stories told by my dad was after the game and with everyone celebrating the Portuguese police just put Celtic fans on planes without checking tickets or passports just to get them out of the city. The next day more than a few people found themselves waking up in Glasgow a little hungover and dazed and then realising that they had driven to Lisbon.
As the plane manoeuvres it’s way up the River Tagus I’m sure I spot the stadium out the left hand window but I can’t be sure as the moment passes too quickly and we begin our spectacular descent into Lisbon airport. As the plane comes into land you are provided with an excellent view of the Portuguese capital, not for the faint hearted but impressive nonetheless.
I’m surprised how close the airport is to the city centre and it’s only a short bus ride to our hotel and a chance to relax and acclimatise. At least it would have been relaxing if Remy hadn’t started texting me the Chelsea Barca score. I thought he was at the wind up until my brother also started texting me about it. Cue running about hotel trying to find a TV. Eventually found one and switched on just as Ronaldinhio scored that exquisite second goal. Located a cold beer and watched the second half trying to ignore the German commentary and after Barca’s second half performance it was a travesty they were knocked out.
Before we go out for something to eat I’m told I’m getting my first birthday surprise which turns out to be a Spongebob Squarepants cake which I’d been carrying in my bag and which I’ve also managed to squash. He now looks like Spongebob on acid.
After devouring a few slices it’s out to grab some real food, another couple of cold Sagres and a relatively early night before my big day tomorrow. My final act as a man in his thirties is to skip forward a few chapters in the Jock Stein book to read the one about Lisbon. I go to sleep a happy man especially after Archie confirms my birthday is indeed the day Jock became Celtic boss.
Day 2 Wednesday March 9th
Well that’s it then I’m 40. No fanfares, no marching bands in the street outside although I think Lisbon’s drivers are marking the occasion by constantly using their horns (traffic in Lisbon has to be seen to be believed), still feel 39 and still think I’m 18. Outside it’s a beautiful day and it begins to dawn on me that I’m about to fulfil one of my dreams and I experience a shiver of anticipation. TFMK has brought some of my cards and presents along for me to open. Jumper, t-shirt, Celtic socks and cards with money inside, I’ve done well and as I’m about to get ready for breakfast she produces the piece de resistance, my final present. By the shape of the box I’ve kind of guessed what it is but quickly tear the wrapping off and my guess is confirmed. An iPod. I’m a very lucky man, a woman who, for my birthday, takes me to Lisbon and buys me an iPod (she also bought me my top for Seville). Think I’ll hang onto this one.
A fantastic start to the day and if it’s possible I’m smiling even more. Breakfast is taken in our rooftop restaurant that in the literature assured us we would have scenic views across the city. Hmmmmm maybe before they built the huge luxury hotel opposite you might have. Still, it beats Glasgow on a cold wet, March morning.
We pack for the day ahead and I double and triple check I have everything. Nothing will go wrong today but I still can’t help making sure I have the camera, 67 replica top and the Seville top. They are all there and we’re good to go.
The Estadio Nacional isn’t in Lisbon City itself but involves a train journey out to the suburbs. From our hotel we take the Metro down to the Cais do Sodre train station where you head out on the Cascais line to Cruz Quebrada. The train journey only takes 15 mins and runs along the river giving you a very pleasant and scenic trip. TFMK can’t stop laughing at me as I become more and more excited. I just can’t help myself.
The train pulls into Quebrada and as we alight I begin to feel quite nervous. As I get my bearings I look off into the distance and protruding above the tree line is what looks like floodlights. I search the memory banks and seem to remember that the stadium doesn’t have floodlights. This was one of the reasons the game in 67 kicked off in late afternoon. Still they appear to be in the direction we are heading and as we wander up the main road I’m grateful to see the stadium is signposted. It’s certainly not the kind of setting I’m used to for a football stadium. Walking up a quiet and secluded tree lined avenue is more posh suburbia than Parkhead. Down to our right we pass a number of well-tended football pitches and sports areas and on our left we pass what we think is a swimming pool but our Portuguese isn’t too good so it may well have been an abattoir.
We continue our walk up the road and it starts to curve to the left and it’s there I get my first sight of the Estadio Nacional.
A strange mix of emotions surface. One of the oddest is to turn and go back down the hill. A feeling that I may be disappointed by what I see and in turn shatter the legend of Lisbon. Of course I don’t turnaround but I start to slowly walk forwards and try to absorb the whole scene. As the full stadium begins to appear I find myself standing staring at the building and the ledge where Billy McNeill lifted the European Cup.
It looks superb and it’s a couple of mins before I realise I haven’t moved a muscle. I’m hypnotised but I finally break free and realise that 10ft iron gates and railings guard the open section of the stadium and more importantly bars my entrance to the stadium proper. My more practical self-returns and I’m wondering how the hell do I get in? I wonder up to the gates and check they’re not unlocked and of course they aren’t. I can see some people running on the track at the far side of the pitch. Time for a few photographs and I change into my 67-replica top. Then figure out what to do next.
On my right are buildings, which I initially ignore. Instead I decide to climb up a steep slope to the left to see if there is any other way in. As far as I can see there is a fence surrounding the whole stadium. Not an insurmountable one but tricky nonetheless. I come back down the hill and decide to check out the buildings on the right. It soon becomes clear that this is the way in. A few people are milling around and some stop to stare at us as we walk into a courtyard. I’m sure this is a situation that has been played out many times before in the last 30 years. I see someone who looks like a security guard and approach him and explain I’m a Celtic fan, European Cup, 1967 and ask if I can go into the stadium to take some photographs. He’s not the most friendly of persons and the situation is made worse by the fact his English is as good as my Portuguese. A feeling of dread and disappointment begin to take over as I think he’s not going to let me in. I can hear some guy behind me shouting in Portuguese interspersed with Celtic, European Cup and try to speak to him in English but he doesn’t understand English either. After a couple of minutes of me doing pointless charades another onlooker comes over and thankfully he can speak English and translates for me. The security guard still looks dubious and signals for me to wait as he walks off. At this point I’m torn between making a break for it and running into the stadium just to say I was there before being thrown out and waiting to see how the current situation plays itself out. I see the security guard speak to a woman who I assume is in charge. I hold my breath and she signals that it is no problem. It’s all I can do stop myself from running into the Stadium.
It’s been a long journey to get to this point but the final few steps are surprisingly short as we walk up the path, through a gate and I find myself standing on the running track inline with the goal Celtic were shooting into in the first half. I’ve done it, I’m finally here. I try to take in the site and slowly pan round the stadium and I can’t believe how little it has changed. The floodlights that I saw from the station are actually outside the perimeter fence and I’m guessing they were probably installed when England trained here during Euro 2004. I decide to walk round the stadium clockwise and head down the touchline towards the end where my dad stood in 67 and where all the goals were scored.
As I walk on to the terracing I find the stadium is now all seated and discover later that the stadium had seats in 67 although not the ones they have now. It’s at this point I leave TFMK to walk round the running track while I head into the stand. She shouts that we should just take a few photos and go. I think she realises the futility of this suggestion and I see in the distance the security guard has come out to check what we’re doing but once he sees we mean no harm he saunters away again leaving two runners and us as the only people in the stadium.
I decide to phone my dad, as I must be in almost the place he stood all those years ago. Typical, he’s out but later he tells me I was in the right area. I run up the steps to the back of the terracing and as I turn around and take in the pitch and begin to play some of the key moments in the game.
I feel a lump in the throat and thankfully TFMK can’t see I’m almost in tears. Bloody stupid really a 40 year old almost in tears over a game that took place 38 years ago that he wasn’t even at. Still, as I replay Gemmell’s thunderbolt and see it hit the back of the net and then Chalmers side foot the winner and then look off to the presentation area I can see Billy hold the trophy aloft all I can feel is immense pride and think once again what an incredible achievement winning the European Cup that day was.
The other odd thing I find as I’m replaying these memories is I’m seeing them in black and white.
So what do you do in a situation like this? You text all your Celtic mates and the odd hun and tell them you’re in the Estadio Nacional as they’ll understand what this moment means. My tour continues and I stay at the back of stadium and take the path behind the last row of seats.
As I walk round the stadium I come to the building where the trophy was presented. I’m not an expert in European architecture but it has the look of some kind of Roman design and is made from granite and marble. This building is clearly the VIP area and is glassed off and I can’t get access to stand on the famous ledge but I take a wander round the back of the building to see if there is any other way in. The building has its own entrance from the street outside the stadium but I still can’t find a way in. As I come down the other side of the building I start to make my way back down to the pitch.
As I look behind me I notice there is now a canopy coming out from where the presentation took place.
I carry on down to the pitch side and stand where the Celtic bench must have been. Don’t know how anyone can watch a game of football properly this close up but a few more moments of the game come to mind. I’m tempted to run on the park but decide if I’m going to do it I’ll save it until last in case I get thrown out. I look back up to the presentation area and try to sense how it must have felt being a Celtic fan standing here as thousands did and watch the trophy being held aloft. Having been in Seville and tasted the disappointment of defeat I can only wonder what it would have been like if we’d won and these are the thoughts that run through my mind as I see the chaos and joy of that night in 67.
A few more photo opportunities and we wander round the trackside and we’re at the tunnel where the players came out. As I walk down it I notice the tunnel leads to the courtyard where we first came in. I guess the players must have got changed in the buildings surrounding the courtyard before making their way to the pitch. As I stand on the steps I’m tempted to start singing the Celtic song as the players did all those years ago but to save TFMK’s embarrassment I sing it inside my head instead. Walking up the steps I get goose bumps thinking about how the players must have felt as they came out of the tunnel’s darkness into the glorious sunshine.
I’m coming to the end of my walk round the stadium and the TFMK can see that gleam in my eye and tells me if I want to go to the pitch then I’d better be quick. Needing no further encouragement I’m away as fast as my 40-year-old legs will take me to the centre circle. I stand in the centre of the Stadium and slowly pan round with my camera and try to get a shot of each area then I take a moment to do the same without the camera. Despite the stadium’s emptiness I can feel the noise and sense the crowd and I once again replay the important moments but this time I’m much closer to where it happened. I contemplate walking down to the penalty area where the goals were scored but a combination of outstaying my welcome and not wanting to encroach on history stops me. Some things are best left untouched.
I finally walk off the pitch and it’s time to take my leave of the Estadio Nacional. I don’t want to leave and replace my 67 top with my Seville top for some more photos to somehow complete the circle.
A few more runners have appeared and I can hear them chatting as they run past and again all I can make out is Celtic, European Cup. Do they think I’m mad or am I just another in a regular procession of Celtic fans who appear in the Stadium from time to time?
Despite my reluctance to leave I take a last look round and still marvel at how little it has changed in 38 years. It’s as if the stadium has been preserved as a monument to commemorate one of European football’s greatest ever performances. Of course this all sentimental nonsense from me but what’s football without sentimentality?
As we walk off the track and back to the courtyard I try to find the security guard to cross his palm with some Euros so next time a fellow fan makes the pilgrimage he’ll maybe remember me and as a result ease a fellow fan’s passage to feel the emotions I’ve had the privilege of experiencing today. Unfortunately it must be siesta time as there is not a soul around and we leave the courtyard and start our journey back to the station. I find myself back where I stood an hour before and stop to get my final look at the most famous ground in Celtic’s European history.
I can feel the emotions rising once again but a deep breath and final hail hail and I’m walking back down the tree-lined avenue sad to be leaving but extremely happy at the same time. I’ve waited many years to visit the hallowed turf of the Estadio Nacional and it didn’t disappoint me.
Complete set of Estadio Nacional Pictures
My Celtic European journey isn’t quite over yet though. In an attempt to take sadness to new depths we take the train from Quebrada down to Estoril to visit the hotel the team stayed in, the very upmarket Hotel Palacio. It’s only another 20 mins further down the coast and we find the hotel is only 5 mins from the station.
As we walk over to what looks like the front of the hotel but turns out to be the back. A circuit of the hotel and we find the very posh front door. As I take a few photographs I expect to be moved on but other than a couple of odd glances no one bothers. There is minibus waiting and the name on it will raise a few laughs on the forum so another photo taken.
I decide I’m going in but TFMK is less than enthusiastic. She thinks were not dressed for it but I tell her what’s the worst that can happen so we approach the front door a little nervously and what happens? They open it for us and show us to the bar. What a fantastic country. The inside of the hotel is very smart but one of those places where you almost feel scared to speak. From the bar you can see the pool where I remember a few pictures of the lions were taken. The Hotel doesn’t have the feel of the Stadium but I didn’t expect anything different and just wanted to see where the bhoys had lived over those memorable days. We have a couple of drinks, an expensive and tasteless sandwich, a few photographs and we’re off to the station back to Lisbon.
The Celtic part of my trip is nearing its end and as we pass through Quebrada on the way back I can once again see the floodlights in the distance and a smile of satisfaction spreads across my face. I’ve done it, I’ve stood on the hallowed turf, it’s been an emotional and sentimental journey but one I’m glad I’ve made. If any Celtic fans are thinking about making the same journey then don’t hesitate, you won’t be disappointed.
Although the Celtic part of my trip may be behind me, the football and green and white hoops part still has a way to go. Once we arrive back in Lisbon we head out on the Metro to Campo Grande. Where on exiting you will find the Estadio Jose de Alvalade stadium facing you. The home of Sporting (Sporting Club de Portugal), it seemed appropriate to visit europe’s other wearers of the Hoops. Sporting are currently lying second in the Portuguese league and on my return progressed through to the next round of the UEFA cup against Middlesbrough. The final of this years competition will be held at their stadium so the incentive for Sporting to reach the final is massive.
The outside of the Stadium is a slightly bizarre mix of green and yellow tiles along with the usual metal constructions. A leisure mall surrounds the outer ring of the stadium on the side we’re standing on. Inside we find food shops, a bowling alley, a cycling shop, cinema and the Sporting merchandise store. The store is like a home from home with green and white everywhere and they sell as much crap as we do. Particularly liked the player jigsaws and the piece of grass from the pitch in a glass ball or if you were feeling rich you could get this glass ball attached to tea towel with a picture of the stadium on it. Meant to get a picture but couldn’t hold the camera steady for laughing.
Think about buying a top but seeing the Hoops with red, white, blue and orange is too much too bare. Unfortunately this is the colours of Sporting’s sponsors.
So I make do with buying a glass and asking the guy if I can get access to the stadium for some photos. It’s a bit late in the day and I’ve missed any tours but he tells me I can see some of the ground if I go up to the cinema, which I do and get a few photos. The bizarre tile pattern is carried on inside the ground. I believe the Moors brought the art of tiling to this part of the world but I have no idea why Sporting’s seating is set out in this way.
We do a circuit of the Stadium and my attempts to just walk in any open doors to see where they lead are soon knocked back by TFMK. Get a good photograph of the Club’s logo and one of me outside the stadium that looks as if Sideshow Bob from the Simpson’s is casting a shadow over.
We find ourselves back at the Metro and although Benfica’s stadium doesn’t look that far away on the map we decide we’ve done enough for one day and we head back to the hotel to relax and get ready for my birthday dinner.
So here we are in Lisbon famous for it’s cuisine among other things and especially it’s fish dishes so where do we go for dinner? The Hard Rock Café. Seems an appropriate place for an old rocker like me to celebrate but I begin to worry slightly when they start playing YMCA and think I’ve probably stumbled into the only gay Hard Rock café in Europe. Turns out it’s the bar and waiting staff’s favourite song and about 25 of them are on a small stage doing the actions. This would all be well and good normally but I’ve been waiting ages for a cold beer and my waitress is one of those dancing but I’m now a more relaxed and mature 40 year old and let this one go. Food arrives and we get stuck in. Either the day’s been too much for TFMK or my conversation is deadly dull as she falls asleep with her head in her hand after the pudding. The plan was to go to a place called the Blues Café after dinner but we, or rather I, decide we’ll go back to the hotel and sink a few Sagres before retiring and recharging the batteries for tomorrow.
The day has been as close to perfect as I could have got and I reflect on what a fine idea this was. I sleep the sleep of a contented man.
Day 3 Thursday March 10th
Decide to forgo our scenic view of the hotel across the street and pick up some breakfast on our way to stadium número três. We take the Linha Azul (Blue line) to Colégio Militar/ Luz Metro station and after following the signs we are back in the sunshine and facing the Estádio do Sport Lisboa e Benfica (unofficially known as the Estádio da Luz, the famous Stadium of Light).
The stadium of course was where the Euro 2004 final was held and the current building was built partly on the old ground and now has a capacity of 65,400 compared to the old stadium’s 120,000. I hadn’t realised until reading up on Benfica before the trip that former Italian manger Trappatoni is currently in charge of the team and as I write this they are six points clear in the Superliga. Also surprisingly they haven’t won the league since 1994. Some of the names I recognise in the current squad include Slovenian Zlatko Zahovic and Nuno Gomes, a few of the others seem vaguely familiar but no one of any great note.
As we approach the stadium the by now familiar question arises of ‘How are we going to get in?” We see a gate that people are going in and out of so decide to follow them and it brings us out at the statue of Eusebio, Portugal’s greatest ever player (well apart from Jorge Cadette of course).
The statue is located outside the grounds main entrance, which is guarded by a huge eagle above the door with the club motto E Pluribus Unum (all for one) underneath.
Apparently the eagle is a symbol of Benfica’s independence, authority and nobility. Before important games they have a trained eagle that sweeps down from the top tier to take a piece of meat from a trainer. This is meant to signify them having the opposition for dinner, apparently.
Anyway enough of the history lesson. I once again find myself walking round a stadium probing for any weakness in its defences but I can’t see any way in. I locate the team shop and have a wander round. Not as tatty as Sporting and I buy another glass. Get chatting to the guy behind the counter who speaks a little English. I tell him about my trip and he says that Benfica sometimes train at the Estadio Nacional and that the stadium is still used for the Portuguese Cup Final. I ask him about stadium tours and he directs me to an office across the walkway. Luck deserts me when I’m 15 mins late for the tour and the next one is not for 3 hours but I’m informed that you can get a look inside the stadium from their restaurant a couple of gates along. So the restaurant it is but it looks expensive, will I brassneck it and go in and take some photos and leave again? Decide we’ll have something to drink and to hell with the cost. So I order a coffee and a coke and prepare myself for the worst as I ask how much? I wait with bated breath and he asks me for 2 euros. Did I tell you that I love this country? The restaurant has a huge glass window overlooking the pitch from behind the goals. I ask if I can take photographs and after consultation with his boss I once again get the ok.
It’s an impressive stadium and I wish I’d made the tour. I try to work out which end Beckham blasted his penalty over the bar in the Euro 2004 Semi-final but the only way is to focus in on the guilty penalty spot but there isn’t a plaque to signify that hilarious moment so I’m none the wiser. Finish taking my photographs and go and take some lunch in the massive shopping mall beside the Metro. If anyone is planning on coming to Lisbon and fancies the stadium tour and their better half would rather be shopping then this is the place to leave them.
Once lunch is finished it’s back onto the Metro and a return trip to Cais do Sodre to travel out to Belem on the same line that took me to the Estadio Nacional yesterday. Belem is very much a must visit tourist area if you come to Lisbon and I think we should really do some tourist stuff before we go home. The first significant building you come across is the Padrao Dos Decobrimentos that was built in 1960 as Monument to the Discoveries,
a few hundred yards up the river you will find the Torre De Belem a very small looking castle on the banks of the Tagus which is a monument to the countries maritime triumphs and was built in 1515.
A quick walk into the main part of Belem and we visit the Mosteirio Dos Jeronimos a grand looking monastery that from the outside reminds me of the houses of parliament. Inside it’s the usual extravagant gold statues etc. We get bored rather quickly and leave to visit … yep you guessed it another football stadium.
Built into the hillside of Belem is the home of Lisbon’s third biggest team Belenenses (the Partick Thistle of Superliga if you like or the Zitchkov of Prague ). The Estádio do Restelo is a compact ground with a capcity of 25,000. I can see TFMK can’t wait to see another football stadium and it’s her enthusiasm that keeps me going. As we reach the ground we have to decide whether to go right or left and we choose right which was the wrong decision. This takes us on a rather long tour round the stadium just as it starts to rain for the first time on our trip. For a team in the top league you can see a surprising amount of the pitch from outside the ground so I take a few shots in case this is as close as I’ll get.
After about 20 mins of walking through residential buildings and roads that take us away from the stadium we begin to turn back in the direction of the floodlights and discover what looks like the main entrance. If we’d turned left initially we would have been here in 5 mins. It’s now late afternoon and I’m sure any chance of getting in or near the stadium will have gone. There’s a security guard on the gate and I enter into a conversation with him only to discover he doesn’t speak any English. This is becoming a regular occurrence and I really should have bought a translation book. As luck would have it a car comes along and it’s occupant speaks perfect English and I explain why I’m here and he says no problem to take some photographs and points the way along the road. I get the impression he is somebody important within the club and I thank him and we make our way in.
The difference between Belenenses and the big two Lisbon clubs is quite evident. Everything is done on a smaller and more relaxed scale. I wonder up past the main entrance to the stand and see a gate open at the far end so that’s where we head. After a small walk up a ramp we find ourselves at one end of the stadium looking out over the pitch from the right hand side behind the goals. It’s a very tight and neat stadium with one end uncovered that provides you with a view across the River Tagus.
As their colours are red, white and blue I feel a little chill as you often do when seeing this combination of colours. I also notice their seat numbering is a little hard to follow. See photograph for evidence.
Take a few more photos and we take our leave of the stadium. As we make our way out through the car park I see what looks like a trophy room and take a wander over and find my way blocked by secure iron gate so stick the camera through and take a photo and walkaway. A few seconds later I hear the secure gates being opened and old women appears and motions for me to come in and have a look at the trophies. When I get inside it’s like entering the tardis, the place is huge and wall to wall trophies. Like most of the clubs in Portugal it’s football clubs are involved in more than just football they also have clubs taking part in athletics, cycling, volleyball, swimming etc and by the looks of this place they are quite successful. She proudly shows me the league trophy Belenenses won in 1946 when they became the only team outside of Sporting, Benfica and Porto to win the league.
Since that time only Boavista have joined that exclusive list and that was in 2001. Many pennants adorn the wall and I come across one from Celtic from a game in 1990.
I tried to remember if Celtic had ever played Belenenses but I couldn’t say for definite one way or another but here was proof. Since I’ve returned I’ve tried to find out what the score was but to no avail. The stats show it wasn’t a European game so it must have been a friendly but I can’t find what the score was. I’m sure the stattos out there will oblige. I take my leave and we find ourselves heading back to the station having done four stadiums in two days (sounds like a Crowded House song).
Before heading back to Lisbon I give my mum a phone as it’s her birthday today (What a birthday present I was). Then on the way back on the train we get thrown off for not having a valid ticket. Our plan for buying a return ticket when we got off has backfired somewhat when we discover it’s only valid for 2 hours. Inspector was very polite about it but still a bit embarrassing. We finally arrive back at our hotel and seeing as it’s our last night we decide we’ll have dinner in the Blues Cafe we didn’t quite make last night. I do manage to catch some of the Sporting game against Middlesbrough and they are giving them a right doing. Pity the first leg hadn’t been at home and I could have been there. Anyway we make our way down to the supposed happening area of the dockside. It’s dark, quiet and really doesn’t look the type of area you want to be wandering around at night. We get to the Blues Café only to find it’s hosting a private function. We wander along the road for another 10 mins trying to find somewhere that serves food with no success. Decide we’re sitting ducks if anyone wants to try and mug us so we manage to get a tram back in to the centre and end up at the …..Hard Rock Café again. Waitress excels herself tonight and seems to be getting everyone’s order wrong and then making a mess of the payments. Feel sorry for her until she forgets to bring my beer. No YMCA tonight but a whole host of songs that are not hard rock still at least it’s not dance music.
An early night tonight so we can get up early and do a few more touristy things.
Day 4 Friday March 11th
A beautiful day and we head into the city centre to sightsee before leaving for our afternoon flight. Decide to go up the Elevador de Santa Justa which is a lift that takes you up to the higher parts of the city although you can only access the viewing tower at the moment while renovations are taking place.
After the lift you can access the upper floors by spiral staircase on the outer side of the tower. I turn green as I finally succeed in getting up to the top at the second attempt only to find there is a café there. The views are great but I’m a lot happier when I’m back on the ground again.
Some more pictures of monuments and statues and we’re back to the hotel to finish packing and leave for the airport. Lisbon is a beautiful city and when they finally get a cheap flights route I’ll be back to visit and take in more of the normal tourist attractions.
Flight leaves on time and as we head to Heathrow I finish the Jock Stein book and the final chapter nearly has me in tears again. I remember the night he died in Cardiff and watching it all unfold on the TV and I feared the worst. I had to leave a friend’s house where I’d been watching the game before any official announcement was made. When I arrived home my dad was clearly upset and all he could say was’ Jock’s dead’. It was as if a family member had died. Stein’s home was 5 mins from where we stayed and I remember seeing him in his garden coming home from school on the odd occasion and I wish now I’d had the nerve to speak to him but he always seemed a scary man to a daft schoolboy. On the day of the funeral my dad took me along to line the route along with thousands of others to pay our respects as the Big Man’s coffin drove by, a gesture I’m eternally grateful to him for. As I reflect on this and appreciate the reason I’m on this plane is because of Big Jock and how he inspired a club that was going nowhere fast to achieve European success in such a short space of time. To me Jock will always be not just Celtic’s greatest manager but football’s greatest ever manager.
My journey to Lisbon has literally been a dream come true and I have to give a special mention to the TFMK who suffered four football stadiums in two days, encouraged me to book the trip in the first place and never moaned once well not about the football anyway. She does want to go to New York for her 30th next year though so the bar has been raised somewhat.
I have often joked with my dad and say he should have taken me to Lisbon in 67 even though I was only two at the time. Although it is done in jest, part of me does really wish he had taken me so I could say ‘I was there’ even though I would be unlikely to remember any of it. Now I can at least say the next best thing and that is ‘I’ve been there’.
A couple of postscripts to an already epic tale.
On returning to Glasgow I was speaking to TFMK’s dad who happens to be a rankers fan. I wouldn’t call him a hun as he’s one of that rare breed who can talk some sense about the game and he told me he was jealous not so much about Celtic winning the European Cup but that the place they won it is so special. Although he was in Barcelona when they won the Cup Winners Cup it doesn’t have the same mystique about it because so many other finals have been played there and Barca are a massive team anyway. No one really cares that they won the CWC there. Quite an admission from a follower of the darkside.
My second and final postscript. This year my dad turns 70. So in june for his birthday my brothers and I are planning to send him back to Lisbon. Ever since I announced I was going to Lisbon and then seeing the pictures on my return he’s been saying he must go back some day and relive the memories. I’ll maybe get him to write up a report when he goes.
(Written by Kevtic of the KStreet Forum, orignally posted on 29 Mar 2005)
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