Eindhoven On The Cards For Boro

The Steaua fans - about 1,200 and the biggest visiting UEFA Cup contingent by some way -were making a racket an hour before kick-off but as the Red Army streamed into the Riverside the balance soon swung decisively towards Teesside as the capacity crowd answered the club's plea to generate a rousing atmosphere.

It was a tingling, tangibly special atmosphere calculated to inflame passion.

A massive Boro shirt was laid out on the centre-circle which was an echo of the feelgood factor from that opening day when a giant replica was helicoptered in to announce a Brave New World.

Family friendly though the Riverside is there was a real attempt to emulate the hostile first leg atmosphere of Bucharest and as the visiting team is read out there was a sudden outburst of whistling, booing and cat-calling of an intensity that suggested Steaua had fielded six Alan Shearers, three Craig Bellamy's and a Robbie Savage.

The noise levels were racked up by the minute as the classical music gave way to some aggressive urban beats, like the sound track to a televised mugging. I Predict A Riot rang out and then Firestarter by the Prodigy. Let's eat babies! It was like the pounding build-up in Rome, minus the prospect of violence.

Then it went off the dial as the teams came out to an ear-splitting foundation rocking Pigbag and that inspirational sound was matched by a striking image too.

The big card show of support organised by the dedicated Fly Me To The Moon cyber-ultras worked perfectly, spelling out in bold blocks of red and white the prize at stake: Eindhoven 2006.

The North Stand card wavers held the legend up through the duration of the battle hymn and then it broke up to thunderous applause and within seconds paper planes were floating onto the pitch as they had at Old Trafford in
that other semi-final

Before hand there had been a real bubble of optimism outside. Boro fans were phoning the Three Legends confidently predicting two, three and four goal victories and the buzz from the faithful milling around outside was the same.

I was totally convinced victory was inevitable. We deserved this. I had walked through the Ayresome Parks gates for spiritual on energy on what was going to be an emotional demanding night.

That everyone was predicting victory was unusual and rash. It is normally a precursor to a kick in the teeth. But rash or not people were putting their money was and piling fivers and tenners on a Boro win. If it comes off Eindhoven is paid for.

But once the whistle blew after the initial surge of adrenaline the nerves kicked in quickly. Boro had a good early chance and everyone jumped squealing. Two minutes later Bucharest put a header just over and we jumped and squealed even higher.

Steaua were being stereotypically cynical with the slightest push resulting in writhing and rolling in agony while Boro fans were booing impatiently then bursting into full throated roars as action resumed. There was a real edge to the game.

But Boro fans were left stunned on 15 minutes as Steaua took the lead when stand-in shot-stopper Brad Jones could only parry a low shot leaving Dica to stab home the rebound.

There was a jaw-dropping vacuum for a second then a dramatic diversion as a visiting fan wearing a vest and a East European haircut jumped over the South Stand barrier, sold the stewards a neat dummy and raced towards the centre-circle to celebrate with his heroes.

It looked like the object of his affection brushed him aside and he collapsed on the pitch amid a concerned group of players who quickly called for a stretcher and he was carted off in a medical huddle with a heart attack the consensus among those who watch medical dramas and know these things.

Meanwhile the goal had prompted the Steaua fans to start chanting their infectious Euro-pop thumping theme tune 'Maria' by Scooter. The Carpathian Pigbag had been played in Bucharest at a volume that made flimsy English ears bleed. As far as a soundtrack to Pavlovian conditioning goes I like it.

And they were chanting it again on 23 minutes as non-stick hapless Aussie Jones failed to hold a routine effort a second time leaving Goian to rifle in the rebound.

Typical Boro. Talk about making it hard for yourself. But we have been here before and after a bout of spleen venting invective aimed at the Aussie the Boro fans turned their attention to forcing their team to engineer a second miraculous fightback.

Steve McClaren made an all-or-nothing change in a bid to rescue the dream with Maccarone - the hero of the incredible Basel match - coming on for limping skipper Southgate. The cavalier tactical switch - which mirrored the quarter-final against the Swiss - gave a glimmer of hope and the fans reacted with awesome unconditional support.

And much maligned Massimo made a dramatic immediate impact as he lashed into the far bottom corner from 15 yards out on 33 minutes to give rocking Boro a lifeline.

"We only want three more" sang the North Stand with a flash of gallows humour but also with renewed optimism. The same ditty had been sung after Boro levelled on the night against Basel and the tune had rung out again and
again each time more jubilantly as we closed in on victory. We can do this.

And there was a pulsating end to the half as Viduka and Taylor had good efforts that drew gasps and then there was hair tearing disbelief as a Viduka shot that looked destined for the net clipped the legs of beaten keeper Alberto Carlos and span wide.

I was telling people in the break that we would still win. No seriously. I couldn’t explain how or why. But it was possible. It was our destiny.

The second half started badly as talismanic terrier George Boeteng almost had his head kicked off. The Dutch destroyer needed lengthy treatment but proved correct the terrace assertion that he is 'indestructible' correct. The Romanian high kick merchant never even got a card despite having pulled off a move Bruce Lee would have been proud of.

Boro were building up a head of steam as Viduka brought a good save then Boeteng fired wide after a crisp passing move and the fans responded with a wall of noise ... but the tension was growing and there were yelps of anxiety and frustration among the cheers.

Ten minutes in and the reinforcements arrived as McClaren put on Yakubu for young Andrew Taylor and there is another echo of the Miracle of Basel when caution was thrown to the wind and Boro played four up front.

Boro fans had gone quiet - singing and clapping suspended during on-going nail-biting - and for a spell all the noise was coming from the Steaua fans doing their hypnotic arm pumping Scooter chant and waving flags.

There was a furious scream for penalty on 61 minutes as Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink latches on a ball into the box and invites the challenge before tumbling but the referee rightly waves it away then two minutes later Jimmy stabs just wide from a drilled low cross by Maccarone.

Then... gerrinyoubeauty! Suddenly Boro are back in it and level on the night as Downing puts in a brilliant cross - his first really telling one of the night - and awesome Viduka head home on 65 minutes.

The belief surges back around the Riverside. We can still do this. We will do this. This is Basel all over again. There is a deafening, galvanising Pigbag and then a confident "We only want two more".

Twenty minutes. Come on. YEEESSSS! Stewninho rifles a low shot to the far corner but it is pushed out and fittingly Chris Riggott is on hand to throw himself forward to bundle home and make amends for his costly miss against West Ham.

There is an explosion of euphoric celebration and the insistent chant rings out again: "One more, We only need one more".

Suddenly their is collective conviction in the ground. Everyone believes again. Middlesbrough - an hour ago a useless bunch of wasters who have shot themselves in the foot again - are once more proclaimed "the finest team in football" by a crowd of wild eyed zealots.

Ten minutes. It is agonizing. Nerve shredding. Stomach churning. Boro have turned the simple pursuit of following football into a world of relentless emotional turmoil.

Five minutes. The Twilight Zone. Jimmy gets a ball outside the box but sends it wide. The Steaua fans are going that thing again and it getting
irritating now.

YEEEEEESSS. MACCARONNNNNE! Massimo again. The hero of the hour again. A last gasp winner again. What a bloody hero. I told you the baldy Italian no-mark would come good. Worth every bloody penny.

A scruffy header flies in and the Riverside goes into an emotional meltdown. People are screaming in each others face, an uncontainable eye-ball bulging orgasm of so long denied Teesside passion.

What a team. What a season. What a club. What brilliant fans. Fantastic. Just hold on. just hold on. This is our destiny. We concede a free-kick on the edge of the box and I am having palpitations. The whole ground is hysterical. Just get rid. get it in the corners. The frantic whistles are deafening. Come on.

YEEEEESSS! The whistle goes and a flood of emotion sweeps the ground. Strangers hug and grown men are in tears. Scarves are flying in the air.

Somehow I am stood on the desk in the press box, EIOing around the laptop and screaming gibberish. punching the air and making primeval air punching gestures at strangers reciprocating with idiot grins.

Arms aloft I look at the North Stand - the beating heart of the club throughout this crazy season - and it is going mental. There is as close to a Holgate surge as is possible as hundreds pile down towards the hoardings in a delirious dance and group hug.

Screaming still I realise this is all most unprofessional but I look around and Gordon Cox is up alongside me bellowing and pointing and praising the Lord. On the other side is Dave Roberts - just flown in from New York - is going ape too and just behind Gary Gill and Paul Addison, Bernie and Ali are all screaming hysterically and I picture listeners going down clutching burst eardrums and households in Australian and the States rudely woken as late-night exiles listening on the internet join in the celebrations.

I punch Coxy in the shoulder but the laughter has numbed him to the pain. This is brilliant. What a club. I take a picture of the scoreboard with my phone. There are flashes going off all around.

The party goes on for ages. Steaua have sloped off to cry but the Riverside is still full ten minutes later as the team come out for a warm down/ knees up as they are cheered to the echo on a lap of honour.

Mark Page reads out the team and each of the heroes gets a massive, generous cheer and a little song with Maccarone the loudest and longest and there is a raucous chorus of “One Stevie Gibson,� heavy with hero worship and gratitude although the main man did not appear on the pitch. If he had theer would have been complaints about the noise from Leeds and Newcastle.

Then McClaren, fresh from beaming TV interviews, appears to a loud cheer that is comprehensive and appreciative if not necessarily a reflection of unconditional love.

An hour later there are still supporters milling around the concourses, grinning, saluting and shouting each other then ambling off chuckling.

Brilliant. What a night. This is just the best ever. The UEFA Cup final. Unbelievable.

* Note, after a second slo-mo viewing away from the perception warping hysteia I apologise profusely to our chrome domed Italian friend for suggesting his header was in some way less than perfect. A steward's inquiry has proved that it was in fact a sizzling text book example of the the diving header to join Mogga's strike against Aston Villa in Boro legend. And the Gazette has a simply magnificent picture of it on today's front cover.