by Indeed, lightning strikes twice. In February, a storm in Sydney and a Wellington airport curfew delayed our arrival in New Zealand by 24 hours, complicating the holiday of a lifetime. On Friday night, the same weather hit Munich airport this time, threatening to spoil the trip of a lifetime – or at least one that had been going on for over 30 years.
My first England game: March 1985, a friendly win at Wembley against the Republic of Ireland, with Leicester’s Gary Lineker scoring his first international goal. My first away game: November 1991 in Poland, Tottenham’s Gary Lineker scoring his last competitive goal. Now, at my 12th tournament after the men’s team, I had a ticket to see them play in their first final on foreign soil.
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There’s just one problem: when my bus left Munich for Berlin on Saturday morning, I was still at Gatwick. The friends and their teenage sons were on a charter-money-back-if-we-don’t-qualify-at-the-game flight without me unless I sorted something out quickly.
It’s not just about England. I am a tournament addict, going in 1994 and 2008 when England were unqualified. If you love football because of its unscripted drama, not only for your own team, then nothing beats a month immersed in this chaotic party. I tried to boycott Russia 2018, only giving in when we reached the semi-finals; the only Covid-affected Euro 2020 was at Wembley; I was quick to boycott Qatar.
After eight years without a tasting tour, I planned to go to Berlin, with or without Bukayo Saka ticket, to book the cheap trip through Munich in January. Thanks to Ollie Watkins, the final was my eighth game of Euro 2024, with many more watched in bars and fan zones.
Believe the captain of the trip that was canceled in Munich: he came out to make the announcement in person. You are entitled to a seat on the next available flight, but when every plane to Germany is booked that is of little help. I have to start over. You will have to wait to receive compensation and insurance.
Amsterdam, Switzerland and Poland are booked solid. But there is a flight to Paris at 8am for £125. OK, how do I get from Paris to Berlin? Deutsche Bahn says yes, there is a train for around €130 (£109). Brilliant.
I book the flight and click to book the train. But not for the first time, DB lets me down: the seat selector gives me options when I try to complete the transaction on a mandatory reservation train, but at the last minute it says the journey is not possible. I try again, but this trip, other “available” services, other websites play the same trick.
I have paid to get to Paris. I’m already very lucky to have Gareth Southgate; the best estimate is that this tournament has delayed my retirement by a month. I’m really grateful for the need to attack my bank balance, but I certainly can’t resume another flight. So what else?
There are buses from Zurich to Berlin; I know this because two months after I booked my original bus from Munich, the same company, on the same motorway near Leipzig, had an accident on a service from the Swiss city. Still, a train is affordable – under the circumstances – from Paris to Basel, with plenty of time to reach Zurich on a direct 12 hour 9.25pm bus. One isolated accident is not enough to deny the opening. After all, lightning never strikes twice…
He was, this time, in no shape. The flight to Paris was 40 minutes late, every layover as we taxied out increased my stress levels, but I had allowed four hours to get to the Gare de Lyon. I arrived in Zurich with more than two hours to spare. The unexpected disruption of a ferry across Lake Constance did not disrupt the plane, train and double-decker car journey. I was at least twice as old as 90% of the passengers but I got off the bus at Wannsee at 9.30am, then on to Potsdam to recover at my hotel.
Related: Heartache for England again as Spain claim Euro 2024 crown – Football Daily
Fifteen hours later, the question was, was it worth it? Some kind of answer came from an unlikely source on the train back to Potsdam, from a couple of English fans in their 20s. One thing, the worst for more than just the result, my yellow Dortmund Euros shirt was mistaken for an Oranje shirt: “Oi, the Dutch have already gone home.”
I was in no mood to take it quietly. I mentioned the wording; that it was not orange but Dortmund yellow and that this was my eighth European Championship with England. I was definitely not a Dutch fan. In 30 seconds I recited the previous seven events. Peace was declared and they asked how this compares.
The trip, I explained, was the worst. But as heartbreaking as it was to lose a second straight final, the six wins in which we failed to reach the last two, where the winners didn’t have to reckon with us, was far more shocking.
I do everything I can to make the trips affordable. In February, we were in the check-in queue to fly to Australia when the autumn Nations League matches were announced. By the time we handed over our luggage I had return flights to Dublin and a hotel for September, as well as a trip to Helsinki via Tallinn for October, along with a ferry crossing, all booked on my phone, mostly one person, before the prices came. up.
It’s not 58 years of injury – I’m only 56. With or without Southgate, the journey of life continues, starting in Dublin.
