19:40 local time. The Munich Subway.
You would swear we were the home team here.
Celtic fans are, like, just everywhere and they are singing and cheering and generally in excellent mood. The home fans, who are scattered about amongst us, look bemused and a little bit awed. They are mostly quiet; think on that. We are the ones making all the noise, in their city.
The subway is mobbed. Getting on a train has proved incredibly difficult thus far; two have come and gone and we’ve not been able to get near them because they are already packed to capacity. The kick-off is a little over an hour away; that caused some hilarious confusion in our group as a couple of us (yes, me included) still weren’t properly synced to the time difference and had thought kick-off was at 19:45 UK.
We are the only country in Europe for whom kick-off time comes before EastEnders.
One minor fly in the ointment here; our accident prone team member, the guy who lost his specs, ripped his bag, left his jacket on the plane and then almost lost his mobile going through security, all before we even got to Munich, stopped to talk to a guy he knew as we were all heading up the platform and we can’t find the sod … and time dictates that if the next train has space on it that we’ve got to leave him.
No choice in the matter mate. Sorry. All’s fair in love, war and getting to a Celtic match in time for the kick-off. He’s a big boy and capable of taking care of himself … although would you really trust him to based on all that? Haha!
Here comes the train. Damn. Well, nothing else for it but to go.