Travel Diary: Saturday, September 4th, 1999 - Kyiv, Ukraine

Dawn broke over a cloudless Kyiv sky to the unrelenting sound of snoring. Having only made it to our beds an hour or two prior to sunrise, we were quite content to let the bulk of the morning slide past unawares.

Our last time through Kyiv we'd found a delightful little bistro just outside the Olympiiskyj Stadium complex and, once up, we headed out for brunch. A great meal there and we headed for the Dynamo club shop and the bazaar outside the stadium. The weather was warm and not very humid at all, perfect weather for walking around town shopping or promenading along Khreshchatyk & Maidan.

The Vengabus?

The Dynamo club shop is hardly that. The only kit available is from three years ago and even that has the feel of a knock-off. The other stuff available were mostly key-chains and coffee mugs and things of that sort you could buy almost anywhere. Truth be told, most of the material for sale was merely Adidas merchandise. Unsurprising, given they're the kit supplier to the club, but I've seen a better selection of things for sale for 3rd Division sides in England. That you can't buy the current season's kit is unforgivable in the current business climate modern football clubs exist in.

The bazaar itself was full of football goods, mostly over-priced if official and the rest being very cheap knock-offs. The number of AC Milan jerseys for sale was rather impressive.

Getting painted up at Rock Cafe

As early afternoon approached, we headed back to our flat to get ready for the big match. Again, as usual, we were dressed in our now traditional vyshyttya, jeans and sunglasses. Alex, from Edinburgh, Scotland, wore his kilt as well. Quite what some of the Kyivans who saw us must have thought, I don't know, but we did get our fair share of stares as we made our way back into town and to the Rock Café to meet our mates.

We'd finally met up with the French Ukrainians the night before and everyone was there getting ready. Sasha from Moscow, Serhei and Natalka from Kyiv, Eric, Natalka, Ivan and Lisa from Paris, Pavlo from Lviv, plus other friends and znajomy from far and wide, we made quite a contribution to the atmosphere around the bar's patio.

As match time approached, we finished our drinks and started the march to the stadium, up Khreshchatyk, via Chervonoarmijskaja and the now familiar cordons of militsia frisking and inspecting everything to ensure there was no trouble.

The spirit of football - friendship!

Once we got into the stadium proper, the players were already in training. The first major change I noted from previous matches in Kyiv was that they'd finally installed a proper sound system in the stadium. Because booming out of speakers set around the newly renovated athletics track was the type of rave/trance music one more associates with Ibiza than Kyiv, and in the midst of it a gentleman was hyping up the crowd, leading the chants to the beat and starting waves of choruses of YKPAIHA surging into the warm evening air.

And soon, as the hour approached and the stadium filled up, the whistles began to drown out all before them and the teams walked out onto the pitch. Lining up, the French locked arms behind each other's backs and sang the French national anthem to an overwhelming chorus of whistling. It died down in time for us to sing along to the Ukrainian anthem, but the music was so quiet we kept speeding ahead of it. The French squad walked past their hosts to shake hands, the referees turned and everyone assumed their places as the PA announcer read out the squads. A swift whistle from the referee and the match was underway!

Immediately, France began pressing, controlling the ball in the Ukrainian end, passing it about almost at will. But they were not able to break down the Ukrainian defence and by the quarter-hour, Ukraine slowly climbed back into it. However, it was quite clear that this was not going to be one of those entertaining football matches one hopes for as a supporter. Indeed, both midfields were effectively cancelling each other out.

Husyn marked Zidane practically out of the match and anytime he escaped Husyn's clutches, three Ukrainians were immediately on him. The same applied to Shevchenko, who was also a mostly invisible force. The people you might have expected to benefit from this, namely Djorkaeff & Anelka and Maximov & Rebrov, were also unable to make any telling contributions and the match degenerated into a midfield war. Still, Shevchenko could have put Ukraine up a goal near the half-hour when he sent an arcing free kick past the French wall and only inches past Barthez's post, the keeper stranded. The French were constrained to mostly speculative efforts from 30+ metres out. Not that Shovkovsky's not been beaten from there before, mind you!

The road to Olympiiskyj

At halftime, we got up and went for a walkabout around the concourse. No Obolon' was on sale in the ground this time, so we made do with merely walking our frustrations off and bumping into friends.

Settling back into our seats for the second half, there was not a little hope expressed that the second half would bring something different. Did it heck. More of the same and it's not so much fun as a supporter to watch a match where it seems noone looks remotely like scoring. That said, there were a few chances, the best falling to the French shortly after the restart. As the French approached the penalty area, Zidane and Deschamps got into a tangle and as Deschamps was falling he tried to pass through the Ukrainian defence to the onrushing Djorkaeff. Running back to defend was half-time substitute Mykytyn who blocked the ball awkwardly, falling as he did so. The ball took a severe deflection off his boot and spun wildly towards, and thankfully just past Shovkovsky's far post. I was left thinking about Croatia's goal in Kyiv during the World Cup qualifying playoff the whole time the ball hung in the air, but thankfully this was only a warning. Mykytyn took it to heart, it seems, as he played almost flawlessly the rest of the way in.

The only other real chance of the second half fell to Shevchenko. A deft little pass from Vashchuk over the French defence to Sheva at the top of the penalty area saw his first touch bring the ball down nicely. Sheva controlled the ball, rounded the defender and struck, Barthez watchfully at the edge of the six-yard box ready to dive, but it was all in vain as Sheva's strike went the wrong way off his boot and flew wildly wide and high of the far post.

Signs of the times...

With so much at stake in the match, defeat for either side effectively condemning them to elimination, it's no surprise that caution and defence was the byword of the day. The inevitable 0-0 draw left Ukraine top of the group on 16 points but results elsewhere saw France drop to fourth on tiebreakers, level with winners on the day Russia (2-0 vs Armenia) and Iceland (3-0 vs Andorra) all three clubs only one point behind with two matches left to play. Clearly the tightest group in the competition, the top four clubs are separated by one point and all four have clear chances to win through directly to Belgium. The only consolation for us Ukraine supporters is that we still have the clear advantage and wins against both Iceland and Russia would see us through no matter what anyone else says or does. Our destiny is still our own!

After we left the stadium, we marched and sang our way up Khreshchatyk back to Maidan where we sat around and sang all the old songs. One old boy from Dnipropetrovsk bought about 20 beers for our boys urging us to sing even more, he had not heard these songs in such a long time. And after bending our voices out of shape, we retreated to the confines of the Rock Café for the last time to celebrate our tovarystvo and relax awhile. And when last orders were called, a bunch of us traipsed down to a mate's house for pasta carbonara, a few charkas of horilka and the warm feeling of being amongst friends in surroundings anyone who feels Ukrainian, wherever you were born, would revel and delight in.

Ukraine is starting to feel more like home with every visit.

The table after round eight...

A trek through the Alps...

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