The train glided into Dortmund Hauptbahnhof with almost stereotypical German efficiency. ‘Right oan time,’ smiled Barry looking at his long time friend Sniper. They been on many European trips together and had shared some interesting adventures from Seville to Trondheim as they followed Celtic. Sniper opened his bloodshot eyes, ‘what the fuck was in that Dutch firewater we drank last night?’ Barry sorted his bag as he replied, ‘Jenever is gin but I only had a mouthful, you tanned the lot. I telt ye it was 50% proof, but wid ye listen? Naw, wid ye feck! ‘ Sniper stood unsteadily, ‘that us in Dortmund then?’ Barry pointed through the window to a huge sign which read, ‘Dortmund Hauptbahnhof.’ ‘Well spotted, Sherlock, noo lets find our digs before we head intae toon tae find the fanzone.‘Dortmund city centre looked shiny and modern, which in fact it was as the RAF had utterly destroyed it during the war. The two friends made their way through the busy streets towards Linienstasse where a room and hopefully a shower awaited. The street was long and narrow with tall buildings on either side. The buildings on the right were orange in colour and Barry studied the numbers as they walked. Sniper looked at the graffiti covered walls, ‘looks like fuckin Drumchapel here. You sure this place is legit?’ Barry nodded, ‘Aye. I typed in that we needed wan night’s bed and board when I booked it.’ He found the number he was looking for and pushed the buzzer. A woman responded in German, ‘Hallo, wer is da?‘ Barry rolled his eyes, ‘morning. Ye speak English, doll?‘ Without any further verbal response the door buzzed open and the two Glaswegians stepped into the dark interior of the building.Barry and Sniper gazed at the black painted walls as they stood at the bottom of the stairway. ‘She must be a Goth,’ Sniper mumbled as he began to ascend the stairs. As they neared the top of the stairs, a woman appeared. She had a mop of untidy black hair and wore a short leather skirt and a white blouse. Barry looked at his friend but said nothing. ‘Ah my Scottish guests have arrived,’ she said with a smile, ‘no kilts? I like kilts.’ Sniper regarded her, ‘naw doll, a bit hill-billy for the auld kilt.’ The woman looked at him as if he was speaking Mandarin. Barry continued the conversation in slightly more formal English, ‘can you show us our room please?’ She nodded, ‘follow me, Scottish boys. I am Krista.‘ They walked along a short corridor which had three black painted doors on either side. ‘Like the fuckin Crystal maze in here, Barry,’ Sniper mumbled. ‘You can sure pick a B and B.’ The woman stopped at a door and opened it. ‘This is your room. I hope you enjoy your stay.’ With that she pushed open the door and gestured for them to enter. They did as they were bid and found themselves standing in a curiously decorated room which had two single beds and a large wardrobe. Everything was the same colour; pillar-box red. ‘Sniper looked around in silence before saying, ‘who’s her interior designer? Stevie fuckin Wonder?’ As the woman left, Barry looked at his friend. ‘I think this place is an ex-knocking shop.’ Sniper shrugged, ‘Aye, well we’re here tae see the Hoops no get you yer Nat King. So drop the bags and lets head intae the toon.‘ A few hours and a few pints of Erdinger later, they were squeezing into the away section of the magnificent Westfalen Stadion to see their team take on the previous season’s Champions League runners up. The opening minutes of the game were a blur of noise and action. Dortmund took the lead before Daizen Maeda bundled in an equaliser. The joy in the Celtic section was short lived as the slick and powerful German side clinically took Celtic apart. As the fifth goal was rattled past an exasperated Kasper Schmeichel, Sniper looked incredulously at Barry, ‘they’re good but by fuck we’re wide open!’ Barry had to agree. Brendan Rodgers had a track record of going toe to toe with much better sides and it usually ended badly for Celtic. Too many players were hiding or acting like rabbits caught in the headlights of an approaching car. The second half was a slight improvement, but only because the Germans had slipped down a gear or two. When the horror show was over, it was 7-1.As they trooped out of the stadium, the Celtic fans were still singing defiantly, but they knew they’d been outclassed on the night. ‘That was embarrassing, ‘ Barry said to Sniper, ‘if they needed ten goals they’d probably have gotten them.‘ Sniper nodded, ‘I thought we were wisening up in Europe but we’re still soft touches.’ Barry nodded, ‘aye, still, we have six more games. I still fancy us tae pick up nine or ten points.’ Sniper shook his head, ‘playing like that, they couldnae pick up flu in an epidemic!’ Barry had to laugh. ‘We’re in this for the long haul, mate. Celtic’s like a tattoo, once it’s on ye, it’s there for life.’ Sniper looked at him, ‘aye, yer right enough, short arse. Faithful through and through and aw that. Noo, let’s go and get pished.’ It sounded like a good idea to Barry.They awoke in their red room early the next morning, heads throbbing and throats as dry as the Sahara. ‘Whit time is it, Barry?’ croaked Sniper. ‘We need tae catch that train tae Amsterdam.‘ Barry looked at his phone, ‘five past seven. Best get up.’ He wandered unsteadily into the small bathroom and clicked on the light. He looked at himself in the mirror over the sink, ‘aw, Jesus, ah look as rough as a badger’s arse.’ A brief shower made little difference but at least he was ready for the journey home.The train to Amsterdam was full of Celtic fans heading for Schiphol airport and their flights home. Most wanted to sleep the night’s excesses away but oddly Barry and Sniper were wide awake. ‘Seen us take a few gubbings in Europe but that wan was the worst,’ Barry said, gazing at the back page of the newspaper being read by the man opposite him. Sniper disagreed, Barcelona and PSG were worse, but they were all pretty sore.’ Barry looked at him, ‘why do we follow this team? Spend hundreds of pounds and watch them get pumped?’ Sniper shrugged, ‘it’s out team, mate. It was our da’s team before that and our grandads tae. We’re Celtic. We always have been and we always will be.’ Barry smiled, ‘aye. We’ve had some good time tae, eh? Liverpool, Blackburn, even yon time in Stuttgart when you thought you were nipping a burd and it turned out tae be a tranny.’ He laughed and Sniper joined him, ‘aye, clear case of hand ball that night.’ Barry laughed, ‘nae VAR needed that night, mate. Yer arm was in an unnatural position aw right.’ They both laughed loudly, the bonds of shared experiences strong with them.Somewhere down the train someone starting singing a familiar song and a good few weary voices joined in ‘We don’t care if we win lose or draw, darn the hell we care. For we only know that there’s gonnae be a show and the Glasgow Celtic will be there.’ Sniper sipped his can of beer and looked at Barry. ‘If Celtic think I’m gonnae haul my arse all the way tae Dingwall on Sunday after that shit show last night they’d be dead right!‘ Barry grinned, ‘me tae, mate. Yer team is yer team.’
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