Travel Diary: Wednesday, October 11th, 2000 - Oslo, Norway

Haraldsheim sits atop a hill in the outskirts of Oslo and is where I awoke on matchday three of the current World Cup qualifying round. The heavy rain that was falling when we arrived had stopped overnight and the sun was shining brightly. The air was brisk but quite a bit more temperate than we expected for this time of year in Norway.

Standing atop Haraldsheim

We caught the tram into town and were on our way to the hotel where the Americans were staying when I noticed a lad walking towards us with a yellow and blue striped hat. I was wearing my Ukrainian national hockey team shirt with a big tryzub for a crest and noticed him looking and so we stopped and introduced ourselves. Oleh, it turns out, was from L'viv and now living in Gothenberg, Sweden. He had read my note posted to the web that Ukrainians would meet at the Radisson SAS Plaza hotel and so he came to Oslo and was wandering around hoping to bump into someone. Job done! We dragged him along with us into the hotel where we met our friends from Chicago and Cleveland.

After some introductions and quick planning, the British contingent along with Oleh went out for some beers. We settled in initially at the Fiasco Bar, where over a beer we were savagely attacked by a wasp. Well, he was getting in our way and we swatted at him with futile results, angering him. However, one of our number included a priest and as the wasp buzzed him, he blessed the bug who promptly flew straight out the door. "Okay", we all said! Eventually we went walking about town and caught another couple of pubs before heading back to our residence to change for the match.

Diaspora Goes to Norway!

As we walked back, a lad sitting at the front door muttered something and Oleh stopped to talk to him. When Oleh finally made it up to our room, he mentioned that the lad he'd stopped to speak to was named Dmytro and was a Ukrainian from Belarus who was now living in Stockholm! "Well go get him so we can all have a drink!" we said, and so our numbers swelled by one more!

Once we were all dressed in our traditional match wear, we headed back to the Radisson to hook up with the rest of our crew. A quick photo session ensued and then we were off on the subway to the stadium.

Quite naturally, by the time we got to the stadium it started to rain again. We quickly ducked into a bar outside the Ullevaal and sang some songs and danced some dances and shared some general camaraderie with the Norwegians. Jaegermeister chased with a beer was the drink of choice and pretty soon we were all flying higher than kites ought to.

Who's 40???

Kickoff loomed, so we made our way inside the stadium. My seat happened to be in the first row off the pitch and since the Ullevaal is built like a traditional English football ground, the first row of seats is literally within spitting distance of the touchline. Good for giving the players some stick and/or encouragement as required, but also completely unprotected against the elements. In short, we were getting absolutely drenched.

To be honest, much of the match is a blur, but some moments did stand out. Solskjaer swivelling and hooking it inches over the bar, Shovkovsky letting the ball slip a couple of times and nearly letting the Norwegians in. The Norwegian supporters were loud, but all their chances went begging and to be honest, I never felt like our defense had lost control of the match at any point.

By halftime, we'd survived the difficult conditions and I ran up higher into the stands to try and get away from the rain. Despite what we'd been told that there was no Ukrainian sector, I bumped into about a hundred or so Ukrainians in the next sector. I introduced myself and it turns out they all seemed to be older generation, from Kyiv. I also asked some of the under-21 players who were in the crowd what happened the night before where they'd been beaten 3-1. They all just shrugged their shoulders. Well, once more into the rain for part two.

The second half did not start out much different to the first but then, ten minutes in, suddenly everything changed. Rebrov played the ball out wide to Vorobei on the left on a quick counter-attack. Vorobei dribbled with it until he spotted Shevchenko in front of goal. At once Sheva knew what to do and Vorobei lobbed the ball into the area. The pass was inch- perfect and Sheva burst past the surprised Norwegian defense to chest the ball down. Just like that he was in alone on the keeper and in one swift motion the ball was past Olsen and in the back of the Norwegian net! 0-1!

From that point on I had a stupid grin on my face the whole rest of the night! The Norwegians pressed forward, brought on Tor-Andre Flo even, but there was nothing they could do. The defense was solid and Shovkovsky was there to push aside anything that got through. It had been a long time since I felt so confident that our defense was unbreachable!

Warming up on the touchline

When the final whistle blew, Shevchenko spun and ran straight to the sector where the bulk of the Ukrainians were sat and threw his jersey into the crowd before running straight off the pitch. Rebrov followed up with the same gesture moments later. I jumped up and got out of the stadium as quickly as possible too! In short order I found the rest of our group outside the stadium near the Ukrainian team's coach waiting for the players. I shook Andriy Vorobei's hand and congratulated Rebrov and Sheva and also argued with some officials over the problems we'd had getting tickets for the match. Well, all in a days work! And to top it all off, I was getting even more drenched than I already was. Time for a sharp exit to the bar.

It was not as packed as it was earlier, but there was nonetheless a large group of Norwegians celebrating with us again and I lost count of the number of beers that they bought us! And in between there were more test tubes of Jaegermeister. We sang some songs, drank some beer and generally had a great party. And then the highlight of the night when one of the lads from Cleveland dropped his trousers so a Norwegian girl could autograph his butt and kiss it. My, we live in interesting times!

Celebrating Sheva's goal

In fact, time seemed to stand still and I have no idea when we left the stadium, but we all headed back towards the American's hotel and ended up stopping in the Champs Bar across the way. The barman insisted it was last call, before I suggested he play "I Feel Fine" by the Beatles as the last song of the evening. Well, did that start something? Sure enough, the barman got in the mood and suggested another last song, "Help!". Fair enough, but we needed a better last song, "Can't Buy Me Love". And soon another round was poured and a few more last songs were played, until he truly had to shut down for real.

We said our goodnights and made our way back to our accommodation by taxi. A day of relaxing sightseeing beckoned, safe in the knowledge that we had three points in our back pockets. A superb draw for the Welsh in Poland meant that Poland had dropped two points at home and brought us to within a point of them. After that disaster against the Polish in Kyiv, we can all breathe a little easier now until the springtime. Next stop, Cardiff!

The table after round three...

Coming in March: Welsh rarebit, anyone?

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