A Wing(man) and a Prayer(answered)
The week of May 4 was a good one to be in London for a football fan. To be more specific, Champions League Semi-Finals were to be played on the fifth in the Emirates and the sixth in Stamford Bridge. The road to Rome was passing through London and it was the center of the football universe for the faithful.
Having made the pilgrimmage to the Mecca at this most opportune of times, I was thrilled as I exited Holloway Road a couple hours before the Arsenal- Manchester United second leg match. My joy was tempered by a glaring inadequacy in my strategy, I lacked a ticket. Having been to many World Cups, Copa Americas, and European Championships, the thought of securing a ticket was approached with a confident and committed mindset. After all, previous attempts to secure entry had met with success on 51 of 53 occasions and never was more than $200 spent. Make that 51 of 54. I walked around the Emirates well into the first half and by the time I capitulated, the first half was 15 minutes in and Man United led 2-0! Feeling devastated and defeated, the tube to Deptford was my reward and I missed the entire match.
May 6, 2009
With the failure of the previous night still fresh and scathing, there were thoughts of not even attempting to go after a seat at Stamford Bridge. If failure were to be the ultimate result (odds certainly favored that outcome), then there was a fair chance that defeat would leave me so disheartend that I would not see the match. Then the spirit of adventure surged to the forefront and enticed me with the prize, a seat in Stamford Bridge for the biggest game in England in some time. Isn't that why I am in London? Since when does failure define the actions of an adventurer? The answer was simple: when the adventurer no longer adventures.
So off to Fulham Broadway with a plan and a prayer. Settling in front of the station with a mannerly and urbane sign, activity was sporadic and expensive (500 pounds was the lowest price to come at me). " Need to buy one
ticket please" seemed to be direct, but polite.
So standing with a sign and having no success, I surely must have cast a forlorn figure with no friends and more importantly, no ticket.
It was an hour before kick off and a figure whom I recognized appeared and gave the brightest moment of hope yet on the evening.
Bob Bradley, the Head Coach of the US National Team was milling about in the station so I tucked my sign under my arm and made a beeline right for him.
"Coach Bradley, Coach Bradley"
"Yes."
My savior and his date for the evening
Just so we are clear on the evening, I was presented with a free ticket at the midnight hour of the biggest game in England for a long time. And in return I was expected to escort a lovely young senorita to her seat and make sure that I was present with her the whole time to handle any improprieties that would possibly come her way.
I can safely and confidently say that I lived up to my end of the bargain and would gladly do it again if presented with the same situation. My attempts to contact my saint have been in vain and I feel as if I was used. But like I told him in my last attempted correspondence, "use me anytime."
"My name is Pat Johnston and I am a fellow Yank, I assume you are here for the match?"
"Yes, of course."
"Please excuse my audacity, but I am looking for a ticket to the match and was wondering if you knew of any that could be had."
With a pensive look and a few moments of thought, Bradley responded, "No Pat, I'm sorry but I really don't know of anything out there, I wish I could help you."
I extended my gratitude and exchanged some brief small talk with him and mentioned a mutual friend we had. He then remenbered me as a player and I have to admit I was flattered and told him he had my support. Being sure that that had made his night, he blended into the masses heading for Stamford Bridge and disappeared. My impression is that he is a pretty decent guy.
With Bradley gone I had to get back to the task at hand and time was running out. I stayed put in Fulham Broadway until there was about 30 minutes to kick off. Full of despair and dejection and close to capitualtion I made one last attempt and went closer to the ground in search of a ticket. As I was walking a man approached me and asked, "are you still looking for a ticket my friend?" I had seen him at the station and we had made eye contact through the crowd and he seemed to be coming towards me but then he disappeared in the throngs and I had forgotten him.
Now he was back and inquring about my need.
"Yes" was my response.
"Put your sign away my friend, I have a ticket for you."
As I was putting it down I asked his price and he said the words I will always remember.
"No, nothing, it is free."
"How does that work?" was all I could say.
"Listen, I will explain, follow me, we have to get moving."
Exhilirated and apprehensive at the same time, I followed him towards Stamford Bridge. He knew I was not English and had the impression that I was sincere in my desire to acquire a ticket to view the match and not sell it for a profit. I confirmed his observations as we came upon two young, lovely senoritas from Spain that were waiting for him.
He introduced us and explained that he was going to pick up the tickets. Between their English and my Spanish the ladies and I got acquainted and I had to inquire about this saint that had picked me out of the crowd. As it turned out, the ladies did not know him very well, but worked with him and they validated his capabilities. My suspicions were fading and I was actually starting to believe that the events unfolding around me were geniune.
He returned with four tickets and turned to me, "Patrick, here are two tickets for you and Noelia. You will please stay with her and make sure she is looked after during the match." He then turned to Noelia's amiga and explained that she would be attending the match with him while Noelia went with me. I was asked to be a wingman and a bodyguard from out of the blue! Well if I have to sit in that crazy stadium with this lovely young lady, I guess I can take one for the team. "Of course" and the tickets were in my hand.
We entered the "Shed" portion of Stamford Bridge and proceeded to take our seats about 15 minutes before kickoff. Once we settled into our seats, I reflected upon the last 20 minutes or so of my existence and came to the conclusion that somebody 'up there' really liked me. The old proverb "fortune favors the brave" certainly applied to this evening and I was in a fantastic frame of mind. Noelia, of course, supported Barcelona but knew that disgression was the better part of valor even when Iniesta delivered the heroics for the Catalonians in injury time.
So I escorted her to the pre determined meeting spot after the match and my saint offered to put his resources at my disposal on any future occasion. After what I just did for him it was only fair was my conclusion. After sitting through that match and having the burden of escorting the young lady, it was the least he could do!
All kidding aside, I profusely offered my gratitude and went about finding my way across London to get home.
PJ Note- I have not disclosed the name of my saint and his date for their benefit. It is probably not an issue but it is better to be safe than sorry.
For a match report click here
My 'date' Noelia Pre match anthem at Stamford Bridge, atmosphere of a lifetime
