In May of 2003 I was still sharing a house in Altrincham with the same people. The Champions League Final that year was at Old Trafford, an all Italian affair between the same two teams we had seen in Milan just two months earlier. I hadn’t given the venue much thought but planned to watch it like any football fan. That afternoon, I remember Skinny emailing me at work. This was pre smart phones, people still used email for chit chat. I can’t remember who’s idea it was but the conversation went something like this; theres a Champions League Final tonight down the road from our house, why aren’t we going? Well we won’t get tickets. What if we just stroll down there on the tram and soak up the atmosphere for a bit and watch it in a pub near the ground or just come home and watch it. Alright why not.
Off we went with not a clue what was to unfold. It never crossed my mind we would get in, even as we got off the tram and could hear touts, we just assumed it would be a fortune. We walked down Warwick Road and the sights and sound took us back to the San Siro. The horns and distinctly Italian songs. It was incredible just being there and soaking it all in. As we got to the ground there must have been a point where we started actively looking. It may have been when we ran into one of my best and oldest mates, Jonathan, who has just got tickets in the Juventus end. We started walking around the side of the main stand, it was very close to kick off, within 15 minutes. Our attention had quickly shifted from watching it on TV to be inside the ground. An Italian fella walked past us and said “tickets?”. We asked him how much and he said £50. Did he just say £50? For a Champions League Final? We bit his hand off. Looked at the tickets. Face value. Unbelievable. Stretford End, Milan end. Unbelievable.
Like excited school kids, we walked into Old Trafford about five minutes before kick off, a see of colour and noise and took our seats, right slap bang in the middle behind the goal. The only words we understood all night was from the fella next to us who kept shouting “Bravo Gattuso”.
Depending on who you speak to, what followed was either the most boring European Final of all time or one of the most tactically beautiful. Personally I loved it but I experienced it in and amongst thousands who had travelled, spent hundreds, maybe thousands and kicked every ball, won every header for 120 minutes plus penalties.
0-0 after extra time, Milan won it 3-2 on penalties. Shevchenko scoring the deciding kick. I suppose the silver lining would have been the shootout taking place at our end but you can’t have everything. We hugged strangers that night and witnessed the biggest game in club football, for face value, a few miles from our house. Magical night.
Attendance: 62,315
Highlights: https://youtu.be/U0bKOtKyurM
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