1977 European Cup Final

This is a bit of an article about the commentator Stuart Hall, talking about his experiences in the dressing room at the 1977 European Cup Final. It's a little glimpse into the dressing room that you're unlikely to read anywhere else. Despite being a Manchester City fan, he still described it as the best day of his life. I took it from The Sabotage Times, which is worth a look, if you're bored.

“The greatest day of my life," says Stuart Hall, “was the 1977 European Cup Final between Liverpool and Borussia Monchengladbach. A marvellous experience. I couldn’t breathe, it was so exciting. The Olympic Stadium in Rome. The Coliseum in all its glory. Liverpool fans took over the place. Rank after rank of blood-red infantry. But a peaceful occupation. What a day! I’ll take it to the grave with me.

“They had to smuggle me in. I couldn’t get the right pass although palms had been liberally greased. Forty pieces of silver to be exact. Bob Paisley, a saint to the last, sorted me out with a tracksuit and I went in with the team, sandwiched between Steve Heighway and Joey Jones. The atmosphere in the dressing-room: electric. The players’ breath, creating the kind of fog you’d expect from a row of Victorian chimneys. The nerve ends – you could hear them vibrate from a mile away. All the players had monumental cr@ps. There was no running water in the toilets. Sheer mountains of s__t almost reaching the ceiling.

“Haaaargh. Scarves wrapped tightly around faces. I thought we were going to choke to death. Tommy Smith just cr@pped like an African elephant. You could see the steam rising. Haaaaargh. Extraordinary. Never seen anything like it before or since. Meanwhile, Paisley is giving a pep talk to Keegan who’s got two black eyes. Jimmy Case thumped him one when he heard he was buggering off to Hamburg. Five minutes to kick-off. The nerves stretched like violin strings. The players start stamping on the floor with their studs. A crescendo of noise. It was just like a cavalry charge. It was like bloody Balaclava in there. Then Tommy Smith went off and took another s__t. We couldn’t stand it another moment longer.

“Paisley realised I didn’t have a seat. ‘Nae problem,’ he said. ‘You can be one of the substitutes and sit on the bench.’ I had the number 15 on my back. Sat next to Toshack for the whole game. They won, of course. 3-1. Goals from McDermott, Smith and Neal. The Jerries didn’t know what had hit them. When the victors trooped back into the dressing-room after the match they were p1ssing on the floor with excitement. Berti Vogts, the Borussia captain, strolled in. The golden boy of German football was in tears. He handed me his shirt and said, ‘Keep it, you played a blinder.’ I protested. ‘Berti,’ I said, ‘I’m Stuart Hall. I’m a nobody.’ He was sobbing like a small child who’d lost his favourite toy soldier. ‘Please keep the shirt,’ he said. So I did. Haaaaaaaargh."

What a legend.