 Understandably, there were few signs of European Cup fever on that leg of the journey. But on boarding the connecting flight to Istanbul, it became quickly apparent a large number of fans had cottoned on to the same idea - including, judging by those present, the whole Dublin branch of the Liverpool supporters' club. Rather than small airport to the north of the city that was accepting arrivals from England, the flight landed at the main airport nearer to the Ataturk Stadium to be greeted by... well, not very much really. The mayhem was restricted to the east of Istanbul - AC Milan supporters were somewhat conspicuous by their absence to the west. It was to be an omen for the rest of the day. Mayhem was just one of the words that could be used to describe the taxi journey to the stadium. When the big book of Liverpool's history is written, there must surely be mention of the miles and miles of bright yellow taxis crawling their way up twisting roads through hills of nothingness to a stadium in the middle of nowhere. The barren, lunar landscape that engulfed the drive in - its growth encouraged by some unusual fertilising agents thoughtfully administered by well-oiled Liverpool supporters - was topped by a sprinkling of crack marksmen, and not the type who'd play up front. Then, what felt like days later, it appeared. The advance party had forewarned the stadium, though a magnificent beast, was in essence an "isolated dustbowl". They weren't wrong. No wonder Istanbul wasn't awarded the Olympics, the very reason the stadium was first constructed. Milan fans were nowhere to be seen, but their Liverpool counterparts were swarming behind their allocated end of the ground, determined to enjoy the occasion. Match programmes had somehow all gone, liquid refreshment was running low, and the less said about the queues for food the better. Once inside the ground - having done a double-take: was that really was Diego Maradona standing by the turnstile? - the first impressions were . . . it was rather chilly. Cold, in fact. By half-time there'd been very little to warm up the Liverpool fans, who had taken over three-quarters of the vast stadium. Then came "You'll Never Walk Alone" - supporters possibly feeling sorry for themselves after such an arduous, expensive journey - and "We're gonna win 4-3", sung more in hope rather than expectation. We all know what happened next. On such grand occasions, personal allegiances in the Press box often come to the fore, so while born-and-bred Kopites danced on their chairs in delight, those of a bluer persuasion gritted their teeth as they were pushed to the very limits of their professionalism. Any attempts to disguise boyhood support fell by the wayside with some of the more excitable members of the gathered hacks giving Benitez and a shattered Steven Gerrard a standing ovation as they entered the post-match press conference. | 
