It has been an emotionally charged week for the players and focus around the club will be on weighty matters of history, of what we are all about. You can be sure, however, that Derek McInnes and his Aberdeen players have only one thing on their minds.
Aberdeen can win the Scottish Cup on Saturday. They need to play at their very best, and will need Celtic to perform as they did earlier in the competition against St Mirren, but 90 minutes passes quickly at Hampden, and you and I both know to take nothing for granted.
No one is going to drink in the celebrations of 1967 more than me, but we have won only two trebles since then. The current team deserve every inch of preparation possible. They are already one of the great Celtic teams, with an undefeated treble they can look the Lisbon Lions straight in the eye.
CQN presents Lisbon Lions and wives, Greenock Celtic Supporters’ Club, Friday 26 May 2017
The Lions were paraded on a coal lorry when they reached Celtic Park on 26 May 1967. We have a coal lorry, we have the Lions. This will be an incredible event. There’s also a live band.
Admission by ticket only, get yours here. They will be posted until tomorrow or collected at the door thereafter.
Lisbon Lions and other former @celticfc players, chairman and Lord Provost at civic reception in Glasgow city chambers pic.twitter.com/5xup83FgRl
— Ronnie Esplin (@RonnieEsplin) May 24, 2017
544 Comments- Pages:
- «
- 1
- ...
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- »
So sad to hear the awful news about Stevie Chalmers.Heartbreaking illness.Just to add onto the story about the Lions being just ordinary punters,Stevie stayed next door to my Aunt in Easterhouse in the 60s.Edderton Place,to anyone who knows the area.Easterhouse !!!!.can you imagine that now?.I spoke to him regularly,well hero worshipped him really.wonderful guy,always full of Celtic blether to me.
Have a great day everyone.Roll on Saturday.
Ascension Day and Lisbon Lions Day – just the same as it was on that Thursday 50 years ago.
Hope all those in Lisboa have a tremendous day and stay safe!
Heard about LionsRoar at tea time yesterday but didn’t put it on the Blog because I wasn’t sure if all friends and family knew. Said a prayer fro him at Mass this morning.
Like many others, I have very fond memories of a packed living room in Drumchapel going berserk at the final whistle. A wonderful night and a great memory!
KTF
Five decades on and still peerless.
Happy Lions day to every member of our incredible Celtic family.Great day and great times.
Big Jock and the Lisbon Lions…THANK YOU.
67
!!BADA BING!! on 25TH MAY 2017 9:39 AM
Just seen a video of Ajax fans pelting their own players with seats after the game last night, how do this mob get away with it? Everywhere they go ,it’s carnage
Post Brexit,they will officially assume the Huns of Europe title.
Best wishes to LIONSROAR67,hope you’re well soon.
HH
One Day in Lisbon – BTRH
I come out of the Baixa Chiado Hotel and walk the few short steps to the metro station of the same name. Descending deep below the city streets I know I only have to travel one stop on the Green line to reach the train station at Cais do Sodre where i can get the train out to the Estadio Nacional.
When I reach the train station, I pause for a moment to look around and see which platform I should be on, but before I can make my mind up I am approached by a station employee and rapidly fires out a sentence in Portuguese which the expression on my face clearly states I have not understood.
So he starts again and speaks very slowly in broken English.
“Estadio Nacional?” He asks and I nod and say “Si” in reply.
“Linha numero 2″ he says and adds ” stazione number 5 — Cruz Quebrada” and at that just walks away.
Maybe it was the green and white jumper that alerted him to my destination,
At platform two the train sits silently with the doors open. I climb into a carriage and take a seat without realising that the couple sitting opposite me are from England. They are headed out to Cascais for the day from what I can gather, and to pass the time they start to talk politics and essentially “Brexit”.
They are in mid conversation when, without warning, they are interrupted by a wealthy looking Portuguese man who I would guess at being in his 60’s. He wears an expensive looking sailing jumper and his head is magnificently crowned with a leather cowboy hat.
“Forgive me for interrupting, “he says in excellent if accented English “But a donkey will never be a horse!”
For a moment the couple simply look at him as they are perplexed by this sentence and so he quickly continues and explains what he means.
“A donkey is a donkey. A simple beast that has four legs, two ears and a tail like a horse but it is not, and never will be, a horse. This being so, you should never put a donkey into a race or a situation where you, in fact, need a horse!”
The English couple, and myself for that matter, have still no idea what he is talking about until he adds:
” ……. and Boris Johnson is a donkey. A really stupid donkey at that!”
This brings a smile to the faces of the English couple and an involuntary snort of laughter from me.
There follows an exchange of views between the English couple and the ageing Portuguese Cowboy about the state of UK politics, the asinine qualities of Mr Johnson and ineffectiveness of Theresa May.
The English man opines that the UK will lose out culturally and financially as a result of choosing to leave the EEC and bemoans the fact that British Government in particular is dominated by a select few who look after their own and have no time for the wishes or best interests of the ordinary man in the street. He is clearly not a Theresa fan.
Then the Portuguese man tells his story:
” I am here to buy a property. I have lived in the UK for the last 32 years and I have always been treated well. I have never before been looked upon as different or felt any antagonism towards me until a few months ago when a young man walked by me and bumped me with his shoulder. When I complained I was told to “go back to wherever I came from” and that shocked me a bit.
” I do not like the UK politics. There is a nasty current to it and so I have decided to “come home” as the young man suggested, not because I am afraid or anything like that, but because I object to having to apply and beg to stay anywhere, any country, any city, or wherever which I have considered as home for over 30 years. In those 30 years I have done well, made money, paid my tax and made many friends, but the law of the land is about to say I am a “foreigner” and as such I need special permission to stay. I don’t like that. It is oppressive and reminds me of Portugal before the revolution. And so I have decided to retire to Portugal ……. just like so many other “British” people!” ………. and with that he laughs.
The English couple shake their head and sympathise with him, although the chap concerned seemed pretty happy and not the least bit sad to me.
Thus far, I had said nothing but as we had passed the tower of Belam and were nearing the park which hosts the Estadio Nacional I decided to pipe up.
” It could be worse!” I announced ” You could be Scottish. Most of us don’t want to leave Europe and we are being dragged out of it by an electorate who think completely differently to the majority in Scotland. While I am no fervent nationalist for the sake of nationalism, many people in Scotland feel that they have more in common with the inclusiveness and mutuality of Europe than with the perceived exclusiveness and desire for isolation which seems to be favoured by the rest of the UK. At least you can retire to Portugal which will be in Europe — I don’t have that choice!”
This announcement brought both favour and disdain from the English couple. They had sympathy for the European argument, but while expressing great fondness for Scotland they had clearly no sympathy for the idea of an independent Scotland though their reasoning for this was unclear, and to me at least, made no great sense.
Portugal’s answer to The Sundance Kid, however, had said nothing but was looking at me with new found interest. Eventually, he decided to speak.
“Where are you from?” He asked
” Glasgow”
” Ah, I thought so. I suspect that where you come from, if the majority of the people don’t like something in politics they will take to the streets to protest if the Government will not listen. No?”
“Maybe” I said “Long ago, Glasgow had a reputation for protest and I get the sense that some of that is returning but with our own Parliament to speak for us through democratic channels, mass protests on the street will not be immediate. Though the very existence of President Trump may change that.”
All of them laughed at the reference to Trump before the Portuguese continued.
“Well, while I sympathise with the democratic voice as expressed by the people of Scotland the fact is that as part of the UK you had a vote and the vote went the other way — not that I would have voted that way you understand. If you don’t like it, ten you can either accept it or protest against it at the ballot box on the first possible occasion. Alternatively, you can take to the streets.
” I learned long ago that when people take to the streets en masse you create a massive problem for the existing Government especially in this age of instant news via the net. Many years ago, no one dared to take to the streets in Portugal. We were ruled by dictator and had been for many years. The country was poor and there were was military rule with curfews, no freedom of expression, and physical consequences if you protested. Journalists were banned, people were imprisoned and there was no chance to go tom the ballot box. The very idea of crowds protesting on the street was only a dream.
“But then, for some people, all of that changed one day without anyone really realising it. Something happened that no one anticpated and the effect of what happened was not really seen by everyone until much later …….. in fact years later. Only the undercurrent of political agitators really saw and understood the significance of the events concerned.”
By this time the English couple were somewhat entranced by the cowboy’s story as he was good at painting a picture and expanding an argument.
I was equally interested, but felt that I knew where this lesson was going because I had heard a similar story years before (1982 to be precise).
The Portuguese man looked directly at me and asked simply:
“Do you know when this change took place, almost by accident?”
I couldn’t help but break into a huge grin.
” 25th May 1967!” I said confidently as the train just about pulled into my station.
” Ha!” said the cowboy ” Viva Celtic! Viva Portugal! Viva The Revolution!”
The English couple simply looked on astonished.
The train pulled into Cruz de Quebrada station, and I knew that from there the Estadio Nacional was about 15 minutes walk away.
In truth, the station at Cruz Quebrada is nothing to write home about.
When the train drew in all I could see was graffiti on the wall and lots of it.
Loads of colourful swirls and words on a grey concrete wall which demonstrated both boredom and a certain lack of imagination on the part of the graffiti artists.
As an introduction to the hallowed Estadio Nacional the station was a disappointment, and looked as if it belonged on a clapped out industrial estate.
Yet this is where you get off the train and start the walk to where Celtic lifted the greatest prize in European Football some 50 years ago.
When you get off the train, you turn right and walk down the platform and after the train has passed you walk across the lines towards the motorway on the other side.
I was so focused on getting to the stadium that I hadn’t noticed that the Portuguese Cowboy and part time philosopher had also decided to get off the train as well.
However, I had barely placed my feet on the platform when the voice I had listened to on the train accosted my ears with a question: ” Mr Celtic! Do you mind if I walk with you?”
I turned to find the cowboy hatted political commentator striding up the platform towards me.
“Do you mind if I walk with you a little? My car is parked in the park where The Jamor is situated”.
Some Portuguese refer to the Estadio Nacional as “The Jamor” because it is part of the sports complex called “Centro desportivo do Jamor”
It would have been rude to say no, but, in truth, I was intrigued to learn more about this man with the leather cowboy hat and so I readily said that I would be happy to have the company.
“Not at all” I replied to my new companion “Provided you tell me your story of the Celtic fans in 1967.”
And so began no more than 10 minutes in the company of Luis. I never got to know his second name but I quickly discovered that he had lived in England for many years, that he was 67 years old, was a retired engineer, widowed, and was in the course of purchasing a flat in the park area close to the Estadio Nacional.
As we walked he told me his story and gave me a history lesson with virtually no interruption from me.
In 1982, when visiting the town of Ericeira, some 50 miles north on the Lisbon coast, I was told a story by a former Lisbon resident about how in 1967 the visiting Celtic fans had had a far reaching effect on Lisbon and Portugal itself. The man concerned said that he had always been a Celtic fan ever since the events of May 1967 and, while he heaped praise on Celtic and their football when beating Inter Milan, he spoke most passionately about the way the fans conducted themselves in Lisbon and how the Portuguese authorities had reacted to the unexpected arrival of thousands of Scottish people who only wanted to smile, sing, party and laugh on the streets of Lisbon when supporting a football team.
It was a story I had repeated often in the intervening years, but one which I took with a little pinch of salt as it was hard to believe.
To my delight, within the next ten minutes, Luis was to virtually repeat what I had been told over 30 years before and what the man had to say was measured, delivered without either false praise or any great drama and was absolutely fascinating.
“ I was 17 years old when your club and their fans came to Lisbon, and for some their very presence and attitude became hugely significant.
However, to others, I will be honest, and say they were just a one or two day wonder who came and disappeared again. I personally saw very little of them because I lived on the outskirts of Lisbon and so did not see the city centre and so much of what I am about to say was told to me later and it is important that you understand that.
The story I am about to tell was told to me by my father, who worked in the city centre, and then later by others whom I met at University a few years later. Some, perhaps the more political people, saw the Celtic fans as very significant politically.”
“Why?” I asked.
At this point, my far larger companion stopped and looked down on me with a huge smile.
“Because the sang; They smiled; They laughed – In short my father told me that what was so obvious that these crazy football fans were just not afraid. And that made them stand out! That made them different – very different.
“You have to understand what Portugal and Lisbon was like in 1967.
Antonio Salazar had ruled as a fascist right wing dictator since the early 1930’s. Prior to that, Portugal had suffered two decades of misrule by a hopeless and out of date republic which had replaced an even more hopeless monarchy.
At first Salazar’s promise of stability and order was attractive to some sections of society, and so there was support for his policies, especially among landowners, colonialists and some sections of the middle classes.
However, the ordinary people had to pay a price for this “order”. That price was a growing gap between the ordinary people and the very wealthy with those in power tightening their grip on all political and business appointments with a clear policy of keeping all wealth to themselves. While some got very rich, Portugal itself became poorer and poorer.
By 1967 Portugal was a ‘corporate republic’ with a handful of rich families controlling the financial and industrial conglomerates and virtually the whole population was beholding to them in one way or another.
Worse still was the fact that the Acção Nacional Popular (ANP), the state fascist party, was the only political organisation permitted, alongside its youth wing, and anyone who dissented from their policies was in danger of not only losing their job but likely to be imprisoned.
There were open paramilitary groups who terrorised anyone who was thought of as left-wing or who expressed what could be called socialist points of view. Independent trade unions and the right to strike were illegal.
The state police, The PIDE (Polícia Internacional e de Defesa do Estado) was backed up by a massive network of secret agents and part-time informers, and so it was common to hear of people being arrested and imprisoned without trial. Ordinary people were often taken away and tortured.
No, in 1967, Lisbon was not a happy place. It was not a holiday destination and it was not a place where the ordinary citizens were used to seeing singing and dancing in the street. The people were afraid, even terrified of the police, the state and even their neighbours. It was a place governed and ruled by fear.
And then came your Celtic fans.
In truth they were unexpected. So unexpected that the airport staff risked going on strike as they had to handle far more work than they were used to or being paid for.
Until the arrival of the Celtic fans, My father told me that most people in Portugal would have supported Inter. They were one of the class teams in Europe. They had won the cup before, had players who were well known, at least to some, and were a proper football team.
As for Celtic? Well, who were they? Some funny wee team from Scotland or Britain? No one knew who they were. We didn’t know their players or anything about them – and we certainly didn’t know anything about their fans.
Yet here they came in their thousands.
They piled into Lisbon and cared nothing about the secret police or the authorities. Apparently, they came in from the airport, went to mass, came out of mass and simply sang, drank, laughed and joked throughout the centre of Lisbon without a care in the world.
For the people from Lisbon, this was something they had not expected at all and had never seen before. But the way it was told to me, many people could see that the police, the army, the armed guards and the secret police had absolutely no idea what to do with these people.
I was told that some people expected them to be rounded up and taken away to jail, but instead the police just stood there and let them get on with it. It was as if the police were no longer in charge and that these ordinary people were dictating the mood with their parties and their singing.
I am told that there was one song, in particular, which they sang which caught the imagination of some local students in Lisbon. They sang a version of a song by The Seekers pop group called “We shall not be moved” and I am told that the sight of all these football fans in the street singing that song and those words was inspirational because they were not moved, the police did nothing.
Had local Portuguese people taken to the streets like that then the tanks and armoured cars would have come out and people would have been shot and arrested.
I have since seen TV footage of Celtic fans running on to the pitch at the Estadio Nacional after Celtic had won. If you speak to any of the Celtic fans who were there they should remember that they ran passed armed soldiers. I will tell you now that a Portuguese crowd would not have been allowed to do that. Only the Celtic fans could have done that as they were there in numbers and were in a party mood. Had Inter won there would have been no such pitch invasion.
Years later I was at university and much the same story was told to me by others who lived in the city with some saying “Do you remember when the Celtic fans came and how the police did nothing?”
In 1968 Salazar had a stroke and was replaced by Marcello Caetano who at first introduced some reforms and what appeared to be greater democracy but in truth it was all a sham.
1968 saw the start of more and more social unrest with students and others becoming braver and going on strike and taking to the streets only to be met with fierce resistance from the police and more and more informers.
Portugal was at war in the colonies, Mozambique etc, and more and more young men were drafted into the army and sent away to fight in wars they could not win. By the time of the revolution in 1974, many like me who had been 16 or 17 in 1967 were in their twenties and they wanted none of it. They wanted change.
“Have you heard of singer called Zeca Afonso?” he asked
“ No” I replied.
“ Well he was a folk musician and an agitator. A radical.
Many of his songs were banned by the state because they were protest songs.
In March 1974 Zeca Afonso appeared in concert and sang a song called Grandola Vila Morena. It is a song which, on the face of it, is about the strength of the town and the people of Grandola which is in the Alentejo region of Portugal. Do you know about Alentejo?”
“ No” I replied
“In Portuguese, “Alen” means beyond and “Tejo” is the river Tagus. The Alentejo is that area beyond the Tagus. It is a large historical and cultural area of Portugal but for years it and its people were ignored. It is known as “The Breadbasket” of Portugal and it is here you will find our best wines, bread and olives. But it is a poor area and the people lived and still live like farm peasants in many respects. There is a high level of illiteracy even today. In the times of the dictatorship these people were treated dreadfully. They were poor and they were kept poor.
Anyway, Afonso wrote this song called Grandola Vila Morena and it used the Alentejo style of singing. The Alentejo historically sang while they worked. They have a unique Polyphonic singing style which makes every song sound like being sung by a choir with one voice.
At this concert in 1974, Zeco Afonso sang the song and suddenly the audience cheerfully burst into song with him and they all sang Grândola Vila Morena together, symbolising the unification of the people.
Very quickly, the song became a symbol of togetherness, a song for the people, a song that, if you like, said “we shall not be moved”.
This is important because on Thursday, 25 April 1974 at 12.25am the signal was given and the rebel song, Grandola Vila Morena, by Zeca Afonso, was unexpectedly played on Rádio Renascença – the state radio station.
This was the signal for the start of what became known as the Carnation Revolution which brought decades of Fascist dictatorship in Portugal to an end.
Captain Salgueira da Maia and other young members of the army left Santarém (50 miles north-east of Lisbon) with eight armoured cars and ten trucks, and moved on the capital. Other divisions under the command of the Movimento das Forças Armadas (MFA – the Armed Forces Movement, radicalised mid-rank officers, typically young captains in their 20’s, were mobilised.
The 5th Infantry Regiment took control of Rádio Clube Português, another state radio station, transmitting the first MFA communiqué at 5.30.
It appealed to police and ordinary troops to stay in barracks.
By the time the rebellious solduers reached the centre of Lisbon there was some opposition from other parts of the army and there was a very tense stand off. The radio instructed people to stay indoors in this time of crisis, but what happened next was remarkable.
The vast majority of Lisbon took to the streets and simply stood there. They blocked the streets, climbed trees and brought the whole city to a standstill. It was as if they were all saying “we shall not be moved!”
They placed carnations in the barrels of the army guns and ensured that there would be no fighting. The army soldiers who were originally against the revolution were won over and the whole crowd began to sing in the street – a bit like the partying Celtic fans 7 years before.
This then spread throughout Portugal.
Caetano was ousted and went into exile and within a year Portugal had elections.
And that, my friend is my story, and how some people say that Celtic and their fans played a little part in the story of Portugal.”
“ That is very interesting” I said “But surely it is stretching things too far to say that football fans – Celtic fans—played a significant part in the Carnation Revolution?”
Luis turned before heading to his car. He adjusted the cowboy hat and said:
“Well, Celtic fans come to this city and this stadium year in and year out. I know they are automatically given directions and all the help they need by the people of Lisbon, especially by the older generations.
So ask yourself this: Why are they treated so well? Because they won a football match 50 years ago? Loads of teams have played football in Lisbon and their fans don’t get the same reception. Why is that?
Portuguese people are very friendly in the main but Celtic fans are given a special welcome in this city by some – just ask yourself why that is?
“Further, I told you that in 1967 the people of Lisbon knew nothing about Celtic and their team. Well, I for one can now tell you that the manager was Jock Stein and that the goals that day were scored by Gemmell and Chalmers. When Jock Stein died it was front page news in Portugal.
Why is that?
I knew nothing of Celtic the football team before 1967, but my father told me the story of the Celtic fans in Lisbon and I later saw the video of the game against Inter who were the favourites. I made it my business to know and learn about this Celtic club and their crazy fans. That was not because of their football, although that was great, but it was because their fans came as one and won over a city and, for some, they played a part in showing what could happen if people stood and partied together. They rendered fear and oppression useless.
Perhaps that is hard to understand when you have always had democracy but here in Portugal the revolution is still very much celebrated.”
And with that, Luis shook my hand and bade his farewell as he turned right towards his car while I went left towards the Estadio Nacional.
But after only twenty yards or so he turned and shouted:
“Oh and another thing: Throughout my time in England I always looked out for Celtic and would tell anyone and everyone that I am a Sporting fan first but a Celtic fan second or even equal first – and we should have won in Seville! I don’t like Mourinho or Porto!!”
With those words from a Portuguese stranger ringing in my ears, I started to climb the hill towards one of the most famous stadiums in the history of Celtic Football Club and all the way up the hill I simply thought:
“Bloody hell!”
One Day in Lisbon — Part Three
The Estadio Nacional lies in parkland and the entire complex and area has the feel of a University facility.
As I start to climb the hill I can’t help but think of Luis and his talk of revolution, oppression and dictatorship. On this February morning, there is the smell of cut grass, birds are singing in the trees and the sun is shining in the sky. There are few cars and little noise and so it is hard to imagine a population living in fear and abject poverty.
As I walk, I think of how my surroundings are not dissimilar to the entrance to Stirling University with its grassy campus, lake and general peace …….. except Stirling doesn’t have a space ship in its midst!
Nor, to be honest, does the Centro Desportivo Nacional do Jamor have a space ship, but the site in front of me somehow makes me think of one.
What I am looking at is a parkland, trees and some strange looking things that stick up into the sky like a spaceship’s legs, as if the craft had landed on its back with the legs sticking straight up.
Of course, I recognise them instantly. What I am looking at are the unique floodlights of the Estadio do Jamor, or The Estadio de Honra (The stadium of Honour) as it is sometimes called, however to us it will always be The Estadio Nacional.
The Jamor sports complex is the largest sports complex in Portugal and it features an international class running track, Olympic swimming pool, golf training centre, Faculty of Human Kinetics, full sports training centre, tennis centre where ATP events are held and, officially, the Stadium of Honour for football and athletics. There is also a canoe trail, open plan grassy areas and general parkland where several sports can be practiced.
This is a place where anyone can come to walk, run and just participate in sport.
Work started on the stadium itself in 1939 and it was officially opened on “Portugal Day” (10th June) 1944 by the then Council president, and the now despised, António Oliveira Salazar.
I have covered thousands of miles in my lifetime watching Celtic at home and abroad, and that journey has taken me to many foreign shores, but in over 50 years on the planet this would be the first time that I have visited the stadium where we lifted the big prize and changed football significantly.
Coming from Glasgow’s West End, I have frequently passed by The West of Scotland Cricket Club in Hamilton Crescent where the first ever International Match was played and, there, I always feel a wee sense of history about the place.
Celtic park has a sense of history all of its own, as do places like The Bernabeu, The Camp Nou, Wembley and other great stadia.
However, on this walk up the hill I am suddenly gripped with a real sense of history and emotion. I feel it coursing through me and I have thoughts of my dad, my grandfather Joe, my uncle Jim, Aunt Agnes, Charlie Tully, John Quinn and many others who are all gone now yet who were here, on this spot, in May 1967.
And then, suddenly, there it is.
There is the stadium, and the pitch, and the dais where big Billy lifted the trophy, and the track around the field of play, and the goal posts ……… and I can see in my mind’s eye the guy with the kilt, the guy with the handmade Jock Stein shirt, and the line of endless green and white buses which took thousands and thousands of ordinary Celtic fans up this hill to this exact spot all those years ago.
And, now, here am I. Staring through a gate at an empty football stadium, feeling all emotional and for some reason extremely proud, happy but with an uncontrollable tear running down my face.
And at that point I have a simple set of questions running through my head:
Why?
Who comes to visit an empty football stadium with no museum, coffee shop or other kind of attraction?
Who, in their right mind, does such a thing?
Exactly why are you here?
Deep inside, I know why.
After a moment or two of just staring through the gate, I walk on towards the administration block beyond the stadium where I hope someone has arranged access for me to actually go inside this holy place.
I know that the stadium manager cannot see me today as he is busy elsewhere, and so when I enter the administration block I am faced with a security guard.
The man concerned immediately reminds me of an extra in an early Clint Eastwood movie.
He is thin, has a receding hairline, pencil moustache, a weather beaten Latino complexion, and a significant gap between his two front teeth.
I try to explain the reason for my visit and that I had arranged to come here through the stadium manager.
The guard seems to speak no English but he just smiles and says “Si …. Si” and then “Entrada….. entrada” and waves me back outside and points me towards a small path.
He stays in the doorway of the administration block and I begin to make my way through what looks like a small garden towards another block of buildings with cars parked outside.
I am almost beyond them when I realise these are the dressing rooms, and behind the grilled shutter I am standing next to is the tunnel leading to the pitch itself.
I carry on up the path and almost without warning I find myself standing inside the Estadio Nacional.
I climb the stairs immediately to my right and head up to that tallest vantage point and I can see why this stadium is barely used for major matches. Time has stood still here. The toilet blocks and the concourse have not been modernised and the whole place would not meet modern Uefa standards but by God that gives the place a unique charm and quaintness.
The sense of history is touchable and is all around me now.
I spend ages taking some photos and just wandering around making my way round to the dais area.
When I get there, I find that you can’t get into that area because it is glassed off and no doors are open to allow access.
So, here I am on this alter, this pantheon of history and football, and I can’t get to that final spot where Billy lifted the big cup.
I have a small rucksack on my back and have my fingers looped into the straps as I walk about trying to figure out if there is a door or something that I have missed that would let me on to the platform.
Then, I hear voices. I am not alone up here. Someone is in the area where I want to get to. I climb down a few steps away from the building that houses the platform , and can now see through the glass partitions.
There, in full view, are five figures ………. And every one of them is wearing a Celtic strip!!
A young guy spots me, sees my green and white jumper, saunters over and stands above me on the other side of the glass partition and says:
“Do you want a hand climbing over this fence, old yin?”
To be continued …………………..
Hoopy Lisbon Day to all the Celtic family
“Lionsroar67” wishing you a speedy recovery…………..
Big Jimmy hope it goes well
for all the families of those killed in Manchester , just hope all the thoughts and prayers bring a little comfort.
Have just watched BBC programme again and……………the thought that just 12 men shaped the lives of so many has left me feeling , well I’m not lion …………very grateful, Thank You
HH
Celtic starting line up v Inter Milan, Estadio Nacional, Lisbon ko 5:30pm Live BBC2 & STV
Simpson, Craig, Gemmell, Murdoch, McNeill, Clark, Johnstone, Wallace, Chalmers, Auld, Lennox Sub: Fallon
Early post as heading off to stadium shortly
Team line up sponsored by Cowiebhoy :-) HH
Great night last night in the heat of Lisbon. Taxi coming to pick us up for 11am Mass, a braw visit to the Estadio lies ahead.
God bless the Celtic family.
slainte
tony
Morning
Read the sad news about Stevie Chalmers. I was in the same class at Primary school as his elder son, Stephen junior, when the Chalmers’ fanily moved to the Briggs. A quiet man with a nice family I cannot claim to have known him well but I was surprised and delighted when 20 years after I had last met him he nodded to me in recognition when our paths crossed.
I wish him and his family nothing but well on this day filled with so many menories
Jimbo67
“We did it by playing football; pure, beautiful, inventive football.”
Probably the greatest sentence ever spoken in the history of football.
Fitting that VFR has posted BRTH’s story again today.
There is every possibility that I would have been in this city today without the assistance of BRTH, but that doesn’t detract one iota from my appreciation for his help in making this trip so special.
The amount of work he has put in to organising so much for so many to make the trip can’t be underestimated, and even last night at the dinner, towards the end of the night, he was in one of the small ante-rooms, sweating his nuts off ( sorry ) making sure that everyone who wanted a ‘One night in Lisbon’ t-shirt
was able to get one.
Hopefully, you get a chance to take a step back now and enjoy the day and the rest of the celebrations. You deserve to.
Good . morning CQN I think I’m suffering from a hangover from last nights 50 party I in Lisbon I was only drinking water.But ahh says Pog of this parish “It was Holy Water Murdoch !!
Keep getting asked by the locals who we are playing….I reply Aberdeen o.n Saturday in Lisbon :)
Best wishes to lionsroar
Happy Anniversary to our worldwide Celtic Family! ☺
I had a great night last night; maybe not as good as those currently celebrating in Lisbon, but a great night nonetheless. First up was a fantastic Anastacia Concert in Basingstoke; that lady sure knows how to rock! She did a fabulous rendition of The Foo Fighters ‘The Best of you’. Not only Lisbon Lions, Celtic Lions, but made me smile anyway! ☺
Oh, one other thing, and it has to be said… Feck you ISIS!!!! Good to see a strong Police presence out and about.
Next was getting home in time to watch the BBC’s wonderful and accurate Documentary on the Lisbon Lions. As an 8-year-old bhoy I was too young to go to Lisbon, but the game is indelibly seared in my psyche. Aside from celebrating the goals my key memory is being so pumped up with joy and emotion at the final whistle and feeling like I would burst that I rushed straight out and ran down the street madly shouting “Celtic!!! Celtic!!!” After catching my breath I realised the street was deserted as everyone else was indoors watching TV and celebrating like crazy so I just went back indoors.
I was amazed how this documentary personally surprised me and in ways I wasn’t expecting. The first was memories of growing up in a tenement block in Townhead in conditions every bit as squalid as those shown in the programme. Of course I didn’t think anything of it at the time; this was life, and these were my roots. The second was that I didn’t know that Stevie Chalmers had been diagnosed with TB. This brought a shiver to my spine as I remember my much-loved late Grandfather being treated in the same Belvedere Hospital for TB, and thank God he too survived to tell the tale. I was shocked as I listened to Glasgow being described as a ‘City designed for TB’.
Thirdly, and curiously, I was amazed by the amount of times I thought ‘Brendan Rodgers’ during this programme. I can only put this down to a gut-feel recognition that we are living in a very special time to be a Celtic Supporter and to be a part of this world-wide Celtic Family. As Neil Lennon famously said, “This is just the beginning!” I won’t be on God’s earth for the next 50 Years, but I expect there to be many pleasant surprises and special joyful memories ahead of us in my time remaining. Going forwards I know and have every faith that this Celtic Family and Legacy is in the very safe hands of our children and Grandchildren. ☺
Wherever you are today, in Lisbon, at home, working or travelling, I wish each and every one of you a very special Happy Anniversary! ☺ Keep safe and God Bless you.
Yours in Celtic,
TB&F.
I can remember 25th May 1967 like it was yesterday.
A few months previous I had left my home in Cork as a 19 yr old to start my first job in a small Financial Institution in a small town in Co. Kerry.
There was a staff of 6 and the Manager was one of the greatest cnuts it was ever my misfortune to meet. He hated me from the start & set out to make my life hell for the year I worked there.
On the day of the big game he announced there was overtime, the only person who had to come back was me, so I took my tea break walked across the road to my digs and was due back to work in an hour.
Needless to say, I thought f**k him, I’m watching the game even though I knew i’d get the bollicking of a lifetime.
Watched the game with a bloke from Waterford who also stayed in same place & after game with tears of joy in my eyes headed back to work to face the music.
To my total amazement when I got back to the Office, for the first & only time in the year that I spent in that place the Bo**ix was Happy & in a great mood & was polite & friendly to me, talking about what a great game it had been etc.
I then knew for sure I had witnessed something miraculous that day.
Enjoy your day Celts wherever you are in the world.
50 years, where did the time go ….
Hail Hail
Well, that was an amazing night, last night in the Casa doAlentjo. Many thanks to BRTH and all your helpers and, of course, to The Spirit of 67. Only one way to top that, and that is a trip out to Estadio Nacional.
Best wishes to Lionsroar and good luck to Big Jimmy in Edinburgh today. Go, get’em big ghuy!
Happy Lisbon anniversary to Celts everywhere.
I was 5 months old when we won the big cup, far too young to remember the lions.
My Father waxed lyrical about the lions, kept all the press reports from the game in a special box.
My Father is no longer with us,being a victim of the awful disease which is afflicting big Billy and Stevie Chalmers.
My father gave me many things including an enduring love of Celtic.
Thoughts and prayers with lions roar, a true gentleman.
HH
Happy Lisbon Day to one and all!
Reading back and there has been some wonderful posts from the Celtic family.
Proud to feel i belong in this awesome community.
Already watched the BEEB prog again this morning and still feel it was a great tribute.
For my penance i will now go and attack my Congo-esque back garden with vigour and a smile on my coupon.
Have a great day Celtic fans.
My thoughts are with my good friend Lionsroar67, speedy recovery Billy Hail Hail
Celtic, Celtic, Celtic, the very word is currency worldwide, it rolls off the tongue and it stands for football played in a certain way, beautiful, inventive football played to the highest standards possible by any given Celtic team but a standard that was set fifty years ago in the Estadio Nacional in Lisbon.
No otter how many times I watch the game I am always to this day finding new things and passes and moves that today remain fresh as fresh can be in game often destroyed by cynical tactics and mangers.
Celtic played the beautiful game that day and I think our name is synonymous with an aesthetic of the game which persists not only in the hearts of those who support the club but also those interested observers of the game itself. Short said I think neutrals would like to see us do well whenever we play!
Bu the beating heart of Celtic is and always has been The Support, a diverse group of men and women who support our club from near and far, who travel the world representing our club with distinction and today in Lisbon, Portuguese citizens will see our support all over their city celebrating and event which define our team and club but also was a defying moment of our people, cause and culture here in Scotland.
I was fortunate enough to live in Carfin when we won the big cup, a room full of men watching one of the few if not the only TV in the street and outside people in the garden listening to the game and the scenes of wild abandon afterwards have lived on in my memory since that day. I was six that day and have lived more than half my life since then but rarely a day goes by where I am not connected in my heart to our club. The discovery of CQN some seven and half years ago when Mrs Starry was pregnant has been the missing part of my Celtic puzzle. Switzerland is not a football country and even the people who like football here like it in a kind of detached way so CQN has fed me, watered me and sustained me these last years.
So a mighty Hail Hail to all who post here, to all who makes this Dear Green place what it is.
And to all those in Lisbon today, enjoy yourselves, we made history and we are still making history as we speak and it is with great excitement we await the Hoops taking the field on Saturday and this Tim thinks we are watching the birth of a new great Celtic team which Brendan will guide to even greater glories than they have achieved already.
My final thanks goes to each and every one of the Lions and to Mr Stein, you gave me and I think many of us our place in Scotland, we were outsiders and foreigners many of us and Lisbon gave us our reason to be rightly proud of what our club had achieved and no one or any length of time can ever take that away: Thank You from the bottom of my Irish heart!
And last but not last a very very Happy Birthday to my daughter Hana Skye born on this day seven years ago.
Happy Birthday Big Cup Baby, yer Da’ loves ye!
Celtic Celtic Celtic the very word holds magic for millions worldwide:))
Get well soon Lionsroar67!
Wee prayer said to speed your recovery.
If anyone knows the whereabouts of, or is in contact with BourneSoupRecipe, tell him i will have something in my pocket for him should our paths cross today ;-)
It was 6th Form Speech Day arranged for the first time in the evening. This is south of the border. As Headboy, I couldn’t get out of it. A Glaswegian had joined the school a year or so before and he wasn’t going to be deprived. He came late and just in time to receive a prize of some sort. He walked down the aisle muttering audibly 2 – 1… 2 -1 and giving a thumbs-up. The supporters among us – and there was a good few since Celtic has followers everywhere – all replied with low grunts of approval. Few of the staff members at that Grammar School, English, somewhat stuffy and non-sporting, knew what it was about. That boy’s name, I remember distinctly, was Harry Hood but he was not THE Harry of later fame.
SP- great post sir.
BB- i just text BSR for you
STARRY…
Top post fhella.
Happy 7th birthday to Hana Skye and many many hoopy returns.
HH
Happy Birthday Hana Skye, I have seen pics of you on Facebook and you are a beauty, you picked a great day to have a Birthday.
Starry if you are in to coincidences I got a notice on Facebook today saying today is the 4th Anniversary of our Facebook Friendship.
Now you tell us today is your daughters Birthday well believe it or not, I also have a daughter celebrating a Birthday today.
May 25th magic.
Lisbon Diary Day 2
After a very pleasant bus tour around the city I went to one of the beautiful squares for a long oozy lunch with a few CQNers…quite merry we dandered back to the hotel. I had a snooze before the celebrations.
The event itself was tremendous food and drink was flowing..the game on a big screen..singing and the band took the roof off the place..the staff were all dancing and shaking their heads at the green and white dafties!
Special mention to the cyclists as the audience clapped every single one of them and were on their feet throughout..special mention to Paul n Vinny.
The night continued in a few wee bars til 4am.
Rough as toast..aye but it was the way we did It!!
Stadium later for more tears n shenanigans.
Kikinthenakas
Happy Lisbon day – sat down this morning to watch last nights Glasgow 67 programme which I had recorded – typical bbc the recording finished just as TG scored the equaliser – lucky enough caught last 10 mins on i player
Definitely a lump in the throat and tear to the eye.
Hail Hail
Lionsroar 67
Sorry to read of your illness – prayer for a speedy recovery
Sad to hear of Stevie Chalmers fight with dementia – such a cruel condition
YNWA
CORKCELT
I love a wee coincidence.)) A fine man ye are for posting that!
I knew that Hana would be born on the 25th, it’s a Celtic thing isn’t it so a very Happy Birthday to your daughter too:))
HH
Lionsroar 67
Sorry to hear you’re ill mate, hoping the spirit of the Lions will lift you up today.
HH
Best wishes for a speedy and full recovery for LIONSROAR.
HH!!
Thank You, Mr Bing. Much appreciated.
http://www.celticfc.net/news/12695
Sensible decision
Bada
I am sure the orange walks over the weekend have also been cancelled