Gutted in Gelsenkirchen

Thankfully I make a few notes for my blog as events unfold. I hope this will mean that this posting is not clouded by the ending we all know is coming and still gives you a sense of what it was like on our latest World Cup trip to Gelsenkirchen ... we shall see.

We headed off on Friday morning with what sounded suspiciously like a creaking clutch cable. Undeterred - and in possession of European breakdown cover - we headed to the Eurotunnel which was absolutely packed with English football fans all making their way to Germany once more. This meant that the route to Gelsenkirchen was lined with English cars, motorhomes and bikes all displaying their flags and, like us, full of expectation for the quarter final ahead. Highlights included a St George's Cross being waved at the roadside to attract the attention of other English drivers who may be able to come to the aid of a motorhome full of Scousers who had run out of diesel just a couple of kilometres before a service station. They had despatched someone on a mountain bike to the garage but he still hadn't returned! Another English car had posters taped into the windows which read "Wanted: 2 tickets to England v Portugal".

There had been no time to prepare healthy food for the journey so thank God for Pret at Eurotunnel and their fine sushi and fruit salad - eaten in the sunshine in Holland as we took a break. Which was just as well, as the Antwerp ring road - usually heavy with traffic - was solid due to the volume of cars heading out to Germany. Border controls were also in place - which I was blissfully unaware of as I was asleep! - but we were waved through once again.

We had hoped to make it to Gelsenkirchen in time to pick up our match tickets and watch the Germany v Argentina quarter final but we were still half an hour away as kick off approached. We had miraculously been getting a Radio 5 Live signal through Holland but just when we needed it most it started breaking up just after Alan Green uttered "England will be more likely to beat Germany than Argentina".

The only advantage to us running late was the complete absence of any local traffic on the roads, despite it being Friday rush hour. As we drove into the city you could see tumbleweed rolling down the streets and a distinct lack of any Germans other than where a TV screen was sited. We made it into the hotel - the Ibis right next to Gelsenkirchen station which was a great location but also populated by meatheads - and tuned into the game straight away.

We couldn't believe Pekerman's substitution of his two best outfield players in the second half with only a 1-0 lead. It looked suspiciously like he was settling for that result, completely forgetting that you can't write the Germans off until they are in the shower! We imagined the grief Sven would get if he did that and, sure enough the inevitable happened and without their creative players it went to penalties. The German commentator said "Germany are very strong at penalties - especially against the English" in his build up to the spot kicks. Thanks for the reminder!

The moment the winning German penalty went in, people emptied out onto the streets and a cacophony of cheering, singing and car horns started. Our central location was ideal for watching the scenes unfold as the German flag was suddenly everywhere and the English fans celebrated with the hosts.

We headed out for somewhere to eat, settling on an Italian restaurant which we thought would provide a good setting for the second quarter final. Sure enough, the Italian owner had set up a TV and we sat down to eat just as the game kicked off. There were 3 Italians at the table directly between us and the TV and it was great to watch them reacting to the game and abandoning their food in the process. The Ukrainians were never likely to win and it was a happy atmosphere in the restaurant as we left after some excellent pasta and a couple of bottles of wine.

We headed down the main shopping street towards the station on our way back - which had been too busy to walk up earlier - and admired the efforts of the locals in creating a real party atmosphere. It was lined with lots of stalls selling food, drink and footie paraphenalia and was a sea of colour with the celebrating German, Italian and English fans swarming amongst the streets. There was an open air stage in a small square with a band led by an accordion player (each to their own) and even the police seemed to be enjoying themselves.

We woke on the day of the game to the chants of "Ing-er-land" as the usual English haunt of the main train station was already populated by English fans gathering in numbers and making the most of the local beers. We headed out to collect our tickets for the game in blistering heat. The queues were enormous and we realised that maybe we should have forgone a few minutes of the Germany game to sort this yesterday. Thankfully, the N-Z queue moved pretty quickly and it was only an hour before I had my hands on my match ticket. The A-H queue was struggling though, so I sought out some shade and blagged a corner of a huge Man City flag someone had out down and soon got chatting to its two owners - Sean & Jamie.

We exchanged tales of our football travels over the years - there is something nice about the camaraderie between fans who are drawn together by their love of the game and commitment to England. Very often you have nothing else in common with them and may not even want to spend time with them out of the football setting, but the friendliness - especially at tournaments - is a real plus. Eventually, their mate came over with his ticket so I lost my temporary seat and I went to see how James was doing - fortunately near the front of his queue and, after 2 hours, we both had our tickets and vowed to go the day before in Munich.

We made our way back towards the station and stopped at a Trattoria for lunch before we got to the busiest part of town. Of course, this is all relative, as the place was heaving and the bar staff had assigned one person to just constantly fill glasses of beer and still they couldn't keep up. Some of the staff looked like they didn't know what had hit them - and this was the quieter part of town! Two freshly made and very tasty pizzas later and we headed off to the game, squeezing into a very warm tram with plenty of other fans keen to get to the ground early and soak up the atmosphere. One had a klaxon which he hooted constantly and when it died, pleaded with his mate for another. His mate explained to us "usually it's 18 beers and a klaxon, but this one has had one beer and gone through about 18 klaxons" before berating his mate, like he was his mother, and telling him he would have to wait until he got into the ground! I took on someone who tried to sing "10 German Bombers" with a forceful verbal instruction (!) and soon the light hearted "5-1, even Heskey scored" started up to the amusement of the German fans on the tram. They retorted with "We're going to Berlin" to which the English sang "5-1 in the final" which produced big smiles all round. "Super Frankie Lampard", "Steve Gerrard, Gerrard" and other players songs soon followed as we finally made it to the ground, just under 2 hours before kick off.

The tram stop was very close and the stadium loomed up on a small hill in front of us - very impressive. Behind it the old stadium, now an amphitheatre, and home to big screens for all those without tickets to watch the game. The walk to the ground saw the nerves kick in and I realised that subconsciously I had never worried about us losing up until then. Maybe it was Portugal missing key players, the feeling that this tournament was our destiny, the belief that the players would step up and turn it on. Whatever had been holding the nerves back vanished as the butterflies escorted me through the turnstiles.

We saw 2 fans relieved that their tickets had passed through the barcode reader - they'd paid £500 each for them on the way to the ground - and wondered how many English would be there (estimates after the game suggest 45,000+ out of the 53,000 in the stadium, with over 60,000 at the 3 big screen sites in the city alone). Our seats were on the top tier and we had the pleasure of glass lift ride, giving spectacular views of the crowds below and the amphitheatre - much better than thousands of steep stairs to the Gods at Old Trafford!

The view inside the stadium was breathtaking. Although not the biggest ground, it was beautifully designed and was a joy to look at as the fans started to trickle in. The retractable roof was closed giving the impression of a much cooler space than outside, but I suspect once the place was full temperatures rose, although we never felt overly hot. Another giant video cube in the centre of the roof displayed England's progress to date and all the statistics on the two teams which really set the scene. Our seats were on the front row of the top tier with a fantastic view as we rested our heads on the cool concrete in front of us and waited for the players to emerge.

During Lisbon 2004 we said we'd paint our faces if we got to the quarter final and the same deal applied here. After James had made a complete hash of a small St George's cross on my cheek, I went to wash it off and apply it myself. He declined my offer to paint his face, going off to the gents to do his and coming back with such an extreme example of face painting he scared the life out of me (see photos for full horror!)

We saw more familiar faces from fan groups and previous game and everyone was in good spirits expecting an England win. I predicted 1-0 to England, James 2-0 and as the players emerged the English fans took the roof off with their cheering and singing which remained pretty constant throughout the game. Maybe it was because the roof was closed and it kept the sound in more, but it was one of the best games I've been to for the sheer noise made by the fans. Not one hint of "10 German Bombers" and lots of "Stand Up for the Ing-er-land" which saw virtually the whole ground on its feet, confirming our expectations that this would feel like a home game. And so to kick off...

Once more we started brightly and while much had been made of Rooney's inability to play the lone striking role, I thought 5 across the middle was the right move to counteract the creative play of the Portuguese midfield. The shape and balance looked OK but the gap between midfield and Rooney was too great which was confirmed when only 10 minutes into the game Sven was off his seat (almost a first in itself!) with him and Steve McLaren urging the side to push up, not defend so deep and for Gerrard and Lampard to get up and support Rooney.

The Portuguese seemed intent on proving their nasty match against the Dutch wasn't a one off and fell down at the merest hint of a challenge. James started looking round for the sniper in the crowd (I suspect to ask him to stop using blanks and take a couple of them out) but the referee fell for it every time. English fans were incensed at their antics and took it out on Scolari, who was hopping mad on the edge of the technical area, with chants of "Sit down, shut up" and "You'll never manage England". I had felt that, as a team, we had not resorted to the double somersault and pike school of falling over and our play had been clean - evidenced by just 3 bookings going into the game and two of those for time wasting! I'm sure if I go back and watch the games I'll see a couple of "falling over" moments, but comparatively to the Portuguese we were saints. And it was riling the crowd who were furious at their tactics which just fuelled the singing and support to get noisier.

The Terry injury (God, were we glad he got up!) saw McLaren briefing Gerrard on the touchline and he roamed more freely after that and looked much more his usual self but Rooney was being so well marked - at least by one, often by two players - that the opportunities were thin on the ground. But this renewed movement by Gerrard seemed to inspire others and we were stronger as the first half ended - we almost didn't want the referee to blow.

Our verdict at half time was that they didn't look better than us, we had an over fussy (and Argentinian!) ref and what on earth were we going to do without John Terry (after his booking) against Brazil or France?! It was a nervous half time though, with everyone anxious for England to score and settle those nerves. James was my hero at half time - dashing to almost the other side of the stadium for ice cream to provide quality comfort food at the start of the second half.

Again, we started brightly and seemed to be picking up where we left off. While the Portuguese would get forward they never looked like getting past our defence so we were willing England to create and then take advantage of those chances. We appeared to be denied a stonewall penalty which got the crowd riled even more and the continued efforts of the sniper seemed to be paying dividends for the Portuguese. Figo and Ronaldo had switched sides - as Figo had been getting nothing past the excellent Ashley Cole. When Lennon came on for Beckham we looked a more potent and pacy attacking force but we weren't getting the ball to him often enough. Rooney's scuffed chance and Gerrard missing the rebound had us all in agony. Rio Ferdinand seemed intent on hoofing long balls, rather than passing it out of defence in the way he is famous for doing. The referee continued to be awful - it seemed like everytime they went to ground, they would get a free kick, but everytime we went to ground we got nothing. By now, my adrenalin and nerves were probably the highest they have ever been at a football game and my screaming was at fever pitch.

Then Rooney got sent off and I thought I might explode in a combination of anguish and fury. It looked to us as though he had been sent off for a push on Ronaldo who had fallen down like he had been punched by Mike Tyson. For a crowd incensed by what they had seen as constant cheating by the Portuguese this was an outrage and the venomous shouting reached a new level. Even in a moment of clarity when I pointed out that if you raise your hands on the pitch you run the risk of being sent off - almost a certainty with this fussy ref - I couldn't forgive Ronaldo for milking it the way he did. (It was only after the game that fans found out he had been legitimately sent off for the tackle, not the push - so bear with us here!)

The boos - formerly reserved for persistent divers Figo and Maniche - were now ringing out around the ground every time a Portuguese player touched the ball, especially Ronaldo. I was wondering how the hell we were going to cope in the semi final without Rooney and Terry and hoping that the fairytale would be Rooney's return to score the winning goal in the final. The last 30 minutes of normal time was a combination of screaming, singing, trembling, shouting and swearing - it was exhausting. I loved the fact that we played so well when we were down to 10 men, we pushed forward to at least try and create chances and win the game, and our defence never looked like being breached despite wave after wave from the Portuguese. I really thought we'd nick it one nil at the death and when we knew it was going to extra time I was confident that our magnificent defence would not be passed.

And so to more of the same. Waves of Portuguese attacking players, us trying to nick a goal on the counter. As the end of extra time approached you could almost taste the anxiety in the crowd. Conversations started about who would take penalties and praying for Sven to make sure as many of the best takers were on the pitch at 120mins. Unlike Pekerman, Sven threw on the right substitute in the form of Carragher - one of England's best penalty takers - and, as the referee blew his whistle we all prepared ourselves for the most stressful minutes ahead and a hellish way to settle a football match in the goal closest to us.

Robinson takes his place in goal to a resounding chant of "England's Number 1" which he applauds. They score, we miss and it feels awful. I've shouted so much I have almost lost my voice. They miss and Owen Hargreaves steps up to words I bet he never thought he'd hear from English fans "There's only one Owen Hargreaves" and we score. The cheer, leap and relief was so great I almost faint and James has to sit me down. They miss and give us hope. Lampard steps up to the sound of "Super Frankie Lampard" but, as has been the case in the whole tournament, never looks confident, and misses. They score and an exhausted looking Steve Gerrard steps up to the sound of "Steve Gerrard, Gerrard" but he takes a poor penalty, looking as though he barely has the energy to kick the ball. They score. And super-penalty taking sub Carragher steps up to keep us in it...he scores!! But he has to take it again. And everyone in the ground says "he's bound to miss it now". He does. Ronaldo - perceived architect of Rooney's dismissal - steps up to resounding boos. He takes his penalty and scores, compounding the sense of injustice. And the biggest sound of the entire game is the deafening silence of 45,000+ England fans with the hands on their head or head in their hands as though frozen in time. And then the tears come - streaking my St George's crosses pink and the injustice of it riles - awful refereeing, a player unfairly sent off, us bravely holding on. Why, oh why did it have to end like that? The drop from the furious adrenalin to complete numbness is a long way to fall and we both sit in silence for a good 20 minutes or so, only standing and making a sound to clap the players as they disconsolately walk round the pitch applauding the fans who had sung their hearts out for them and willed them to win. But it was not to be.

We step out onto the concourse and drink water as we look out at the tens of thousands crestfallen England fans trooping back out to the tram stops. We hold back to avoid the crowds, both of us hoping that the injustice of the defeat doesn't spill over into trouble on the streets. We make it onto a tram almost an hour after the end of the match and James is the first person to speak "we didn't step up and turn it on like we should have". I agree but it is too early for me to acknowledge that as the pain of the defeat is still so raw.

We get back to the hotel to find the bar full of people watching Brazil v France and the score is one nil. Talk is already buzzing about plans for Euro 2008 qualifying games and speculation about McLaren's reign. We are not sure we want to watch any more football today. We have the unpleasant task of sitting at a computer cancelling hotel bookings and other arrangement for our anticipated onward travel and find that we can't get a Eurotunnel crossing home on Sunday - too many have beaten us to it - so book a beach hotel in Northern France instead. We get a bottle of wine from the bar and retire to the room, giving in to the temptation to watch the game and starting to reflect on England's performance. The result means only European teams remain and only Italy of the teams who topped their group. The realisation that I had put a £1 bet on Brazil not winning at 60-1 before the tournament started so I was £60 up couldn't even generate a smile or smugness about being right! We didn't feel like drowning our sorrows in public so got a second bottle of wine, takeaway noodles and drank ourself into a drunken sleep.

Unfortunately, the next day didn't bring a different result. We were still numb and not talkative and in some ways it was worse. There were so many symbols of going home - throwing away the directions we didn't need, the unopened case for the next stage of our travels in the boot, the CDs we wouldn't get chance to listen to on the road. All minor things with major resonance. We saw all the headlines in the newsagents - "Tears and a Clown" the worst - and so many doleful English fans with their heads buried in newsprint. We bought the English papers and I insisted on an ice cream parlour for breakfast. Even three scoops of excellent ice cream didn't cheer me up! Devouring the match reports, the realisation that Rooney's sending off was fair sunk in. But it didn't take the edge off the feeling that the Portuguese had dived their way to the next round or the heroics of our 10 man performance. The foul count of 21 to England and 9 to Portugal told its own story of the refereeing - over double any foul count of an England game prior to that, although there was no criticising of the referee which made me wonder how much "group think" had a part to play in the fans view within the ground.

As I finished the article the reporter praised England for their determination in adversity and persistent attempts to win the game and as I read the words the tears started again. I simply couldn't believe that we were out of the tournament, but I guess that's what people on the streets of Buenos Aires and Rio de Janeiro.

On the drive to France there were more English number plates on the road than any other and even the flags and other decorations looked sad. Most of the journey was silent with us reflecting on what might have been, until we reached our hotel. We headed to a beachfront cafe, ordered fine seafood, fine wine and local cider and proceeded to get pleasantly drunk with the conversation not turning towards football once for the first time in the previous few weeks. BBC news channels in the hotel brought us David Beckham's resignation as captain and a montage of their coverage brought a tear to my eye once more, so sad that our World Cup adventure is over.

And now, in the cold light of day, it is possible for me to say we didn't do enough. We watched the Germany v Argentina game and the Germans took the few chances they had. Watching the highlights of the game, if we had taken just one of the dozen or so chances or half chances we'd have won that game as they never looked like breaking down our defence and instead of feeling glum we'd be wondering how the hell we were going to beat France with no Terry and a striking partnership of Walcott and Crouch! Sven gambled with his squad selection and the Owen injury made it the wrong bet. You can question the formation but for once I think he made good substitutions and did the best with what he had while some players just didn't step up.

Robinson was solid and is clearly our best keeper. Ashley Cole returned to his best in the tournament and nullified everything thrown at him by the opposition. Neville was excellent and, at 31, we will miss him. Rio was steady, though played too many long balls from defence, but formed a strong partnership with Terry who was magnificent and would be my pick for the next England captain. Gerrard underperformed - when we played 5 across the middle and he had licence to get forward he never took that chance while Lampard barely turned up, lacking in confidence throughout. Beckham is still the best taker of set pieces we have and his passion and commitment to England is evident but Lennon's pace shows what we miss with him on the right. Michael Owen was unfit before he got injured and doesn't look the player he once was, while Joe Cole finally came of age in an England shirt managing to combine possession and trickery to create a real attacking option on the wing. Rooney was isolated up front on his own, lacked service but was also missing his quality first touch due to a lack of match fitness, squandering the few chances he did get. His temperament is also still an issue. Hargreaves played out of his skin once he was put in the role he excels at and not used as a utility player and, after 6 years of playing under Sven, finally got the fans behind him.

As for the squad players - the future's bright on the right, the future's Lennon. Still not the finished article but definite potential there. We didn't really see enough of Carrick - he can certainly pass the ball but I suspect is not as gutsy at tackling back as Hargreaves. Crouch was often played on his own, unsupported and isolated but he worked hard. Carragher always looked like he cared but will only ever be a utility player, Campbell is a player in decline and will not make the next tournament while Downing offers pace on the left but needs to work on his final ball.

And so, 5,000 miles later, our old S reg Clio which has done us proud, will bring us home. Memories of Germany abound, from the warm welcome of the wonderful hosts, the impressive stadia, the carnival atmosphere and a cracking World Cup. Onto Euro 2008 and, if enough of you tell me you would be interested, I will carry on blogging during our qualifying campaign and beyond ... 104 games and counting.

GELSENKIRCHEN FOR TWO PEOPLE
Match tickets: £118
Travel: £344
Accommodation: £252
Spending Money: £267
Gelsenkirchen Total: £981
Tournament Total to date: £3942
Watching England go out on penalties in the quarter finals (again): priceless!

PHOTOS AT: (please bear with the lack of match photos - I was slightly preoccupied!!) http://www.photobox.co.uk/album/3497378