The big match.

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        The crowd erupted as the 22 players emerged from the tunnel; each one gunning for victory like the crowd and each player was greeted with an encouraging cheer. Then whilst the players shook hands with the other team, regarded as the enemy, I was left to fantasise about the course of events that might occur over the next 90 minutes of thrilling action. This was the final, placing Champions Of England, Manchester United against the Champions Of Germany, Bayern Munich.
War was about to commence . . ..

        This was the day I had been anticipating since United had qualified for the final and my Dad immediately booked flights, tickets and hotel accommodation so we could see United. Finally it had arrived, Wednesday 26th Of May. The Nou Camp in Barcelona was the spectacular host of the final and was packed with 91,000 people, all of whom shared the belief that their team was going to win and claim the title “ Champions Of Europe”. Many fans were here 31 years ago in 1968, when Sir Matt Busby guided United to the title. Could it happen again?

        Kick Off, and every fan was full of hope and optimism. It was a warm night in Barcelona, which was no surprise and every fan was proudly dressed in their teams kit, Red for united, or Grey for Bayern, which made the stadium look like vast patches of grey and red, shimmering in the light.

        “Were going to win”, I shouted to my dad, so he could hear me over the roar of the crowd. “I can sense it”.

        Everyone was full of confidence, especially us United fans, since only 3 days ago we had won the F.A. Cup and the League, and every Manchester Fan was hoping that we would be the first English team to win the Treble.

        I felt at ease I the stadium, with my dad on my left, and a man wearing glasses on my right, who was of course, wearing the United strip. Everyone nearby was a United fan, although I couldn’t hear the Germans fans opposite us. It was a friendly atmosphere.

        Just as I was beginning to feel settled, Bayern won a free kick on the edge of the penalty area.

        “This looks dangerous”, murmured my Dad, not daring to take his eyes off the ball as if it might suddenly fly in the back of the net without warning.

         “ The goalie will save it, but this guy…. what’s his name?”

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        “Basler”, replied my Dad, still not daring to alter his gaze.

        “ That’ the one”, I replied, “Basler, will miss it!” I added in a triumphant manner.

Then, as if he was waiting for me to finish prophesising his kick, Basler stepped up to the ball and launched a daisy-cutter, which skimmed across the ground, thorough the wall, eluded the goalkeeper and nestled in the back of the net.

        The opposite end of the stadium erupted into cheers and cries of ecstatic excitement and no doubt joy. The silent German fans were no longer silent, they were loud. ...

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