25^th June 2024 – The European Championships – The Westfalonstadion, Dortmund, Germany

My plan for the Euros had been organised for months. I had tickets for the three England games and was to supplement them with a game or two in-between.  Nothing crazy or excessive, but enough to say and feel I’d done the tournament.  I don’t like to leave things until the last minute and so as soon as flights and trains were available to book, I booked them.  Demand for tickets, and consequently travel and accommodation was at record levels for the tournament.  The expansion of the tournament to 24 teams had meant new sets of fans wanting to passionately follow their countries, whilst being in the centre of Europe, travel to Germany for most countries was easy and relatively cheap.

And then it all unravelled very quickly. On the day the tournament started a work email set off a chain of events that would mean I had to be in London on Monday morning first thing.  Game number one, England v Serbia in Gelsenkirchen was swiftly cancelled.  To be honest I didn’t mind too much about this one – the journey there was a ball-ache, with a flight to Amsterdam and three different trains to my based in Duisburg before onward travel to Gelsenkirchen, a place that sucks the life out of you.  As it happened, the transport system creaked, bent, and then broke, leaving some fans unable to attend, or delayed by hours getting home (or both).  It was highly doubtful I would have made the game due to issues almost everywhere in the region. Perhaps I’d dodged a bullet.

Work meetings attended and the game against Denmark to look forward in Frankfurt next.  Another complicated journey there and back was on the cards, with the Eurostar to Brussels, then to Cologne (via Aachen where I was staying) and Frankfurt.  On Wednesday I started feeling a bit rough.  I was still at the tail end of a bout of pneumonia so wasn’t too concerned.  First one, then another and a third work colleague reached out saying that they had tested positive for COVID.  All had been in the same room on Monday for a couple of hours with me.  I did a test, and within seconds I had the dreaded double red line.

The rules have changed on how you manage COVID and there was nothing stopping me going but knowing two or three people who had been seriously ill through the pandemic, I didn’t want to be “that person” who put others at risk, so I very reluctantly cancelled the trip, unpicking each train journey, claiming refunds where I could.  Another limp England performance, another torrid time getting to and from Frankfurt by the feedback from the fans I knew, including a four-hour delay to the train I was booked on returning to Aachen post-match.

I had one final attempt – the final group game against Slovenia.  This time I was flying into Luxembourg, staying just over the border on the Mosel in Trier and had hired a car for the 90-minute drive up to Cologne.  But was it enough? Of course it wasn’t.  I eyed the earlier kick-off in Dortmund between France and Poland.  It was just 50 miles away, there should be enough time to get between the two games, even if I ducked out of the France game early or was happy to miss the start of the England game. Parking spaces at the stadiums booked, routes planned and locked in. Now all I needed was a ticket for the French game.

Regular (.i.e every 5 minutes) check on the UEFA ticket portal failed to produce a ticket on Sunday and Monday morning.  Then, suddenly around midday, the match appeared.  At first there were only €400 tickets (no thanks), then €200 (tempting but) and finally €150.  I grabbed one, it disappeared from my basket twice then finally I got to the checkout page, put my card number in and got an error message.  Alas, as I already had a ticket for the England game, the UEFA ticketing rules precluded my being able to buy a second.  Bugger.

So, as I had done during the FIFA World Cup in Qatar, I went onto the secondary market.  I really hate ticket touting but when needs must.  I’d bought four tickets in Qatar without any issues, the tickets being seamlessly transferred to my online ticket wallet within minutes.  So, I went in again and within minutes had paid €115 for a €100 ticket. I was going to the ball.

My flight landed in Luxembourg on time and after getting over the nerves of picking up a VW Polo that had 5km on the clock, I set a course to Dortmund, nearly four hours away, loaded up a list of podcasts and away I went.  Unlike the planes and trains, the automobiles behaved perfectly, with minimal delays until I reached the outskirts of the city centre where the queues started.  I followed the instructions to my car park, which was at odds with Google Maps.  I went with the instructions on my ticket – after all UEFA had organised the tournament.  It was wrong.  The approach road on their map was now a one-way street and it wasn’t the way I was trying to go.  Around the backstreets I went, finally finding the right entrance and parking up.

It was a sea of fans, heading in waves towards the biggest and best stadium in Germany.  The nerves of attempting to use a ticket that originally belonged to someone else eased as I passed effortlessly through the checkpoints and I made my way up to the top tier of the west stand, with a bratwurst and a beer.  Thankfully, the seat was shaded from the 32-degree heat, baking the French and Polish fans sharing the famous Dortmund South Stand Wall, one of the biggest terraces in world football, today converted into seating.

The two teams emerged, with the Polish fans having somehow sneaked in a dozen or so red flares to welcome their players.  The French fans responded with a chorus of Allez Les Blues, the only song they appear to know and sing.  You can fault the England fans for a lot of things, but not the variety of their songbook.

Poland were already out, France already through but needed a win to guarantee top spot, so no pressure on either side.  You’d expect the brakes to be removed and a rip-roaring end to end game, right?  Alas no.  It was tepid at best.  In fact, anyone pulling together the first half highlights would struggle to fill 30 seconds, including a multi-angle replay of the one and only chance.

The French fans had their eyes on events in Berlin where Austria were taking on the Netherlands.  All three of them could qualify and the Austrian’s were leading at half-time, but that situation changed within seconds of their game restarting, with the Netherlands equalising.  Both games were supposed to start simultaneously, yet the French team still weren’t on the pitch when Cody Gakpo scored.

The game finally came to life in the 56^th minute when Ousmane Dembele was brought down in the area by Arsenal defender Jakub Kiwior and Kylian Mbappe made no mistake from the spot. But rather than pressing forward, France retreated and allowed Poland back in the game.  With fifteen minutes to go, and as I inched across my row towards the exit, Poland was awarded a penalty of their own.  Robert Lewandowski stepped up, but Mike Maignan saved his spot kick.  The French fans celebrations lasted 10 seconds or so before the referee pointed for the kick to be retaken.  The Polish captain made no mistake with his second attempt.

That was my cue to head back to the car and depart for Cologne and onto game number two for my Euro adventure.  The less said about the England game, the better.