Who says that the Champions League is predictable? Manchester UnitedâÂÂs trip to Bursa last week was anything but.
A flight to and a night in Istanbul were followed by an early morning ferry across the Sea of Mamara to TurkeyâÂÂs fourth-biggest city of 1.8 million. The hospitality was superb, the atmosphere in the ground too â as it always is in Turkey.
Come match day, there were some weary eyes on the early-morning ferry to Bursa, most of them from the 60 United fans on board who probably hadnâÂÂt had their right hours.
A Bursa fan was waiting for me at the ferry port with a sign saying âÂÂAndy Journalist.â IâÂÂve never had anyone meet me before with a sign, though a mate once came through arrivals at Vienna airport and went to hug a complete stranger for a dare.
âÂÂGreat to see you again,â he said, hugging the confused middle-aged Austrian tightly. âÂÂThanks for picking me up.â The befuddled Austrian finally pushed him away gasping, âÂÂbut I donâÂÂt even know you.âÂÂ
The Bursa fan took me to meet his mates, all proper die-hard Bursaspor fans who had been to their away games in Glasgow and Manchester. They were in the process of sorting their Valencia trip. As Turkey is not in the European Union, they have to pay for all their travel and then apply for a visa. If they get knocked back â tough.
TheyâÂÂre happy to be in the Champions League, to be enjoying trips to Ibrox, Old Trafford and the Mestalla. TheyâÂÂre leading the Turkish league and hope that theyâÂÂll be back next year when they plan to do a bit better. Bursaspor could start by scoring a goal and getting a point.
They took me to BursasporâÂÂs modern training ground, to their team bus, presidentâÂÂs helicopter, museum and to meet a director who had dreamed up their âÂÂGreen Crocodileâ moniker. They were proud of their city and their team and couldnâÂÂt do enough to help.
They told me how PrestonâÂÂs Gordon Milne was their manager for a time and how their team was built on emerging Turkish talents. With a new stadium, they hope to match the Big Three of Galatasaray, Fenerbahce and Besiktas.
And they told me that the journalist IâÂÂd been with in Istanbul was very well respected. âÂÂI was with another girl,â I added, explaining who the other journalist was.
âÂÂYou had dinner with Burcu?â they asked, aghast. âÂÂThat is the dream of every Turkish man.âÂÂ
It was at that point that he sent his football CV to me, hoping to play for a team I was running. HeâÂÂs been that leagueâÂÂs player of the year several times since and his professional life has taken an upturn too.
Once it was clear that he knew football, had great social skills and could speak five different languages, he was snapped up by a company which looks after several top footballers. And several lesser names. He spends much of his time knocking on coachesâ doors in Brussels or Birmingham, Bari or Bochum. HeâÂÂs a good egg in an industry not adverse to attracting crooks and consumed by greed.
Last week, he took one player contracted to a Premier League club to Atletico Madrid for a trial. He then watched and waited as the player was put through his paces. On an adjacent pitch, Diego Forlan and Simao were practising. They wouldn't have thought that my friend was an agent, because most agents aren't lads in their twenties in good condition.
Forlan was pinging the balls with both feet and unnerving accuracy. HeâÂÂs done this since heâÂÂs been a child and recommends any budding footballer to follow. Simao was equally impressive, until one ball flew in the direction of my mate â who trapped it mid-air, flicked it up and volleyed it back.
