"... and now for something completely different"

In a somewhat surprising move, and a break from the norm, this blog steps cautiously into the realms of international football history, with a brief trip back down Memory Lane, to 1980's Malta,

Back in late September 1987, I was enjoying a cracking little beach holiday in Malta with my then-girl-friend (now-wife) based in St. Paul's Bay. We'd befriended another young (unmarried) couple who were also staying in our small hotel - an acquaintance struck up purely by chance initially (and by the random nature of old-school UK package holiday bureaucracy) because we had been allocated to the same dining room table to share our half-board meal times. Simon and Julie were great, easy company and were much like us in many ways; with surprisingly similar interests. Not exactly "a butcher, a baker, a candlestick-maker"; but a teacher, a nurse, a civil servant and a Guinness salesman, The dream team, then!

They just don't make ticket stubs like that any more. Three whole Maltese Pounds?

Simon and I were both keen football fans. So, when we found out that Juventus would be visiting this hospitable Mediterranean island, to play Valletta in the first round, first leg of the UEFA Cup, we jumped at the chance to spend a few idle hours at the National Stadium, simultaneously soaking up both the sun and the sporting atmosphere, as neutrals. The 'girls' seemed happy to join us - probably mostly in order to keep their eye on us - which was no skin off our noses. Mine had already peeled fairly spectacularly, anyway - after some early and over-enthusiastic exposure on holiday beaches.

Valletta played the part of willing under-dogs - again! In their only two previous UEFA Cup outings, they had succumbed 1-7 and 0-7, on aggregate, to Inter Milan and Leeds, respectively. Juventus, by contrast, were Italy's most successful club of the 20th century, indeed the most successful club in the history of Italian football; but this was not their greatest era. The celebrated, 10-year reign of Giovanni Trapattoni (1976–1986) had been succeeded by the arrival of the less heralded Rino Marchesi (1986–1988). The visiting squad still boasted plenty of top talent, though including (amongst many others): Michael Laudrup and the recently-signed duo of Luigi De Agostini and Ian Rush. The Welshman's presence in the much-anticipated visiting side was causing quite a stir amongst the anglophile local fans; to the extent that tickets became a highly-prized (and highly-priced) 'hot property'.

   

Would the real Ian Rush please step forward?

Make no mistake, this was a rare, major, international sporting event for the locals. Rush was believed to be carrying a knock. So Simon and I offered the opinion, to anyone who would listen and many who wouldn't, that he was unlikely to play. This unwelcome view had no noticeable effect whatsoever on the escalating price of black-market tickets. Malta's welcoming micro-climate, coupled with its relatively convenient short-hop location, had attracted intense interest and a strong travelling contingent from Turin and elsewhere. A great festival atmosphere would be afoot in the Ta' Qali stadium, on a swelteringly sunny, wonderful Wednesday afternoon. Neutral sporting life rarely gets much better; especially when the opportunity has sneaked up on you, serendipitously.

We four Brits prepared a hearty, make-shift picnic and set off for the venue by taxi (courtesy of "Tony's Rent-a-Car") along dusty, Maltese roads and scrub lands. Some readers may remember the 1980's as the heyday of big hair - and as the pinnacle of professional, English football hooliganism. Even amongst such self-regarding, well-informed, holidaying, neutral couples as ourselves, the local police took a more than passing interest in ensuring crowd safety. As a result, Simon had his expensive pocket knife confiscated (although it was later returned, shortly before we left the island) and, consequently, we struggled to deal with some of our picnic, bare-handed. I'm pretty sure we were also required to polish off all of our ice-cold beer supplies, before entering the stadium ... surely one of the most self-defeating 'safety' measures ever invented. No hardship for us, though. "Brits on tour!" Luckily, it turned out we'd unintentionally (but wisely) paid a premium to sit in a sun-sheltered area. We recovered from our enforced beer-drinking excesses, during the baking, mid-afternoon heat. We also found ourselves sitting amidst thousands of happy, handsome, chattering, Italian holiday-makers. 'The Girls' were now particularly pleased they'd decided to come along. Despite the lack of fan segregation, nothing kicked off at all, apart from the match!

Taken from the West Stand, a low-quality image of the packed Ta' Qali stadium.

For the record, Rush did NOT score, In fact, as suspected, he didn't even play; and he was back at Anfield within the year. Rumours of his match availability may well have been talked up by unscrupulous local taxi drivers and ticket touts with an eye on the local and tourist markets, to drum up incremental custom. De Agostini only managed the first half. Laudrup and Angelo Alessio, however, scored a brace a-piece in an easy 0-4 Juventus win. The action was akin to a rather more harmless re-enactment of Malta's George Cross-winning Second World War siege. The aggregate result, never in any doubt, was later duly completed by a 3-0 return leg, finishing off Valletta's dream encounter with a fairly familiar 0-7 overall score-line. Juve, however, went out frustratingly in the next round, on the 'away goals' rule, to Panathinaikos (3-3). The Greeks had narrowly seen off Auxerre in the first round; but, eventually, went out themselves at the Q-F stage, to Club Brugge.

Some 23 years later, I would thrill to the chance of following Fulham FC's exploits, as they progressed to the final of the same tournament, in Hamburg. The Cottagers memorably beat the very same Juventus F.C. along the way, landing a famous 4-1 victory at Craven Cottage to reach the Q-F stage of the (by then, re-branded and re-named the "Europa League") tournament, Roy Hodgson's hard-working squad of mostly journeymen footballers would later take an illustrious Atlético Madrid side all the way to cruel extra time. "Plucky" Fulham finally lost, of course; but only after a fateful 116th-minute winner from brace-scoring Diego Forlan. His star-studded line-up of team-mates included, amongst many others: De Gea; Reyes; Assunção; Raúl; García; Simão & Agüero. Not such a terrible result then, for little old Fulham. They had, after all, done much better than Juventus could manage that year - and all those years before, too, in 1987. But I digress!

Back at the Ta' Qali stadium, we four had a lengthy, hot, dusty wait for our return taxi ride (naughty, tardy Tony!) back to the hotel. We later discovered, long after our Maltese adventure had ended and the Heathrow luggage stickers had been thrown away, that my trusty (analogue) camera had, unbeknown to us, been damaged prior to the holiday. As a result, most of my souvenir snaps were, to use highly-technical, professional photographers' language, completely cr*p. How we larrfed!

Look closely. You might just make out four happy, healthy-looking, holiday-making Brits (most sporting big, '80's hair) in this rarely-seen, dark and indistinct archive shot. Seated at our shared table in the famous Rumours restaurant and bar, in St. Paul's Bay, Malta - recovering from a brief but intense international football experience.