When Manchester United land in Istanbul this week ahead of their vital Champions League clash with Galatasaray, one thing is certain: their encounter will not be the same reception they received 30 years ago.
At the time, members of the media were sharing a charter plane with United players. I was there and witnessed one of the most extraordinary events in sports history. And if the imitation of shoving me by the officers and cops filling the baggage claim area as we got off the plane that November day in 1993 seemed a little over-exciting, it was nothing compared to what awaited us at the airport. main hall.
Several hundred locals had gathered there, with many signs written on pieces of cardboard printed on the glass barrier. It was all in English. None of them were friendly.
“Welcome, Mr. Cantona. Then you say goodbye to Miss Cantona,” was an oddly cryptic threat. Another – “You call us barbarians but we remember Heysel, Hillsborough” – was even more telling. But it was what one man supported that came to define the event.
“Welcome to hell,” it said.
And when we look back almost exactly thirty years ago, we see that it still resonates. Throughout my life of watching football, I have never experienced anything like what happened in Istanbul at that time. This was a football match in which the local fans, seething with nationalist intensity, were determined to play their part in ensuring the proper blooding of European football royalty. It’s a claim often made, but back then the audience really was the 12th man.
United came to Turkey for the Champions League 2nd round rematch, paying the price for its complacency in the first match. Like their current successors at Copenhagen recently, they took a 2-0 lead at Old Trafford before quickly letting it go. Galatasaray equalized the score in the first half and took the lead shortly after. Only Eric Cantona’s 81st-minute goal could save United’s unbeaten record in European competition.
So, when they took the field for the second match in Turkey, they knew that just a win would be enough, as they had conceded too many away goals. And as he walked behind the players nervously making their way through the noisy welcoming committee, it was clear that this was going to be a bit of a challenge.
That evening, Alex Ferguson held an optimistic press conference at the Ali Sami Yen Stadium, confident that his team had the strength to progress. But the first question was whether he had experienced a riot similar to the one at the airport.
“Was this a riot, boys?” came the cheerful reply. “You’ve obviously never been to a Glasgow wedding.”
After finishing, I took a walk towards the site and surveyed the bowl-like sweep of empty open terraces that I was told would be bustling with activity the next night. In the middle circle was Denis Law, then co-commentator for ITV. I asked if he had played here.
“Yes, for Scotland,” he replied.
So what was the atmosphere like? His answer was short and to the point.
“F— myself.”
On the evening of the match, the media bus touched down two hours before kick-off. There was no one outside when we set out. Not a soul. It’s like we came on the wrong day. I asked the bus driver where everyone was. “Inside,” came the reply. “They’ve been here since 9am.”
OK, they were there. As soon as we entered the stadium, a huge roar, like a plane taking off, surrounded the place. The front of the top floor was lined with men playing big bass drums. Behind them was a constant swirl of fireworks and flares. A cloud of gunpowder smoke covered the playing surface. The chants continued uninterrupted: One tribune was screaming, the other was responding with perfect coordination. And that was 90 minutes before kick-off.
The only space I could see on the ground was the away section. Around 300 United fans were surrounded by police. Apparently the rest of the 1,200 people traveling had not yet arrived.
Half an hour before the match started, at the entrance of the underground tunnel leading to the dressing rooms, a group of police officers created a turtle from riot shields to protect the United players who came to the field to warm up. . Rockets fired from the stands hit the shields. A huge chant of “f— you f— you, f— you Manchester” erupted in welcome.
Just before things started, I saw Turkish Prime Minister Tansu Çiller coming from the press box, waving to the crowd. Unpopular in the polls, he was seizing the opportunity to associate himself with Turkish sporting success.
And how successful it turned out to be. Everything played out in an ear-bleeding cacophony as the noise continued on and on, as if chanting alone would carry their side to victory. United looked scattered and distracted as the sound boomed around them.
Stuck under UEFA’s limit on foreign players, which counts Irish, Welsh and Scottish internationals as foreigners in English teams, Ferguson was forced to reform his favorite squad by dropping Mark Hughes. Without the bull-like striker, United looked toothless. In fact, an excellent double save from Hakan Şükür by Peter Schmeichel (whose popularity at the club later propelled him into a career as a member of the Turkish Grand National Assembly) managed to keep them in this group.
With three minutes to go and the game still goalless, the ball was kicked off the field into a melee of substitutes, photographers and police. Among them was the man who refused to return it to a United player. Seeing this interception, as was customary at Selhurst Park three years later, Cantona ran 20 yards and threw the ball out of the arms of the police officer holding it.
When the whistle blew in the 90th minute (no modern stoppage time for a referee wanting to get to the dressing room in one piece) chaos ensued. Galatasaray overturned all the negativities, turned the once champion team upside down with the away goals they scored and advanced to the next round.
Hakan ran towards the crowd, waving his shirt over his head. He never made it, being buried under the human pyramid. The field was occupied by thousands of people, jumping and dancing with joy. It turned out that most of the invaders were police. The dogs, some wearing red and yellow Galatasaray collars, snapped at the red-shirted United players as they marched dejectedly towards the tunnel. On the way, Cantona said something to the referee and received a red card. As he left the field, accompanied by captain Bryan Robson, he was punched in the back of the head by a police officer, apparently still angry about the kick. When Robson turned to object, he was hit with a riot shield.
I ventured out to see what was happening. News of the famous mass victory had spread. Thousands of people came to the field from all over the city to join the celebrations. A truck crashed over an overpass at the edge of the stadium with half a dozen young people dancing on its hood. Car horns were honking everywhere and fireworks were filling the sky. It was chaos. After asking a local a question in English, he advised me to go back inside immediately. “You’re not safe here,” he said.
When I got back inside, I went down to the tunnel where I was told that Ferguson would be speaking to the press. It was full of jostling police officers. I walked towards the United dressing room, where I expected to hear the sound of breaking plates. But the manager was more cunning. He let the silence speak. For the first time that evening, everything was quiet, calm in defeat. Finally, Ferguson emerged for a brief press conference.
“We didn’t play well enough. It ended in desperation. Messy,” he said. “I have no intention of looking for excuses in any way. “Our biggest loss tonight was our European experience.”
Although, given European experiences, this was something to remember. When I got back to the pitch, the only people left on the ground were the 300 United fans. They were surrounded by police as if they were a threat to national security. Ask someone “where are the others?” I shouted.
“He was arrested,” came the reply.
And some of them were indeed offended. Apart from those who refused to enter the pitch despite having tickets or were deported before kick-off, the six were held in Istanbul prison for the next 28 days until they were unceremoniously returned to Blighty. Their crimes? Being largely in the purview of a police force, it seems they are keen to do their bit to improve their team’s chances.
As for the locals, hangovers were a big deal. After a long evening of celebration, the casualty list included two people who died as a result of bullets falling from guns fired into the air, another person who drunkenly rolled under the train, and dozens of people injured by the cascading fireworks were hospitalized.
The result gave no clue as to what was to come: In the next stage of the competition, Galatasaray finished last in their group; Embarrassed by their eviction, United continued to console themselves by winning the domestic double. It’s safe to say that such consolation is unlikely to be found if Erik ten Hag and his team encounter a similar inconvenience on Wednesday.