Ultimately, it was not to be.
However, for the thousands who travelled to Bayer Leverkusen, via Cologne, Dusseldorf, Amsterdam and wherever else, it will always be, match ticket or not, one of the best trips they have ever been on.
Continental away days feel different to domestic ones, and that is because they are. They are more powerful, more meaningful, create more memories. They fill the soul and heart, acting as reminders as to just why we do this, why we endure the joy and lap up the pain.
This is how they happen.
Back in late August, after the good and great of European football gathered in Monte Carlo to pull little black balls from glass buckets, this was the trip earmarked by many as the one. Close enough, yet far enough away. Accessible and attractive.
Plans were made and the various travel options were explored. Some hopped across just for the day, in and out, no messing. Others turned it into an extended holiday, whether with family, friends or even solo. It didn’t matter really as, once in situ, everyone became social butterflies, dipping in and out of groups at their leisure, passing familiar faces in the street or striking up new friendships.
Season-ticket holders Darren Campbell and John Rochester have known each other more than three decades. Like most present, they cannot remember a time when United was absent from their lives.
Rochester was best friends with Campbell’s older brother, Davey. The pair have always been close – a 15-year-old Campbell did his welding work experience under Rochester’s watchful eye – but became tighter still following Davey’s passing nearly a decade back. Pals but also brothers.
Their journey was much easier than Milan 2023 where they’d left Newcastle, pit-stopped in Ibiza and then moved on to Bergamo. Plans to enjoy time on a beach during their layover had not materialised. This time they travelled with Newcastle United Supporters Club, with whom they are regulars. Both sing the praises of the organisation.
Such is their relationship, as Campbell explains, they can “rely on each other. We know if we say we’re going, we’re going. These things can turn around so quickly, so you have to be on it.”
They flew in on matchday and immediately plonked themselves in a bar in view of Cologne’s imposing Cathedral of St Peter. It is a building with little need for, what with the gothic structure peering over a city re-built almost in its entirety after the second Word War. Remarkably, despite standing at 157 metres tall, it avoided major structural damage during the bombings.
A tourist hotspot year-round, for 72 hours it finds itself surrounded by black and white clad football fans, each looking up in amazement. As backdrops go, it is special.
During an afternoon sat at their table, Campbell and Rochester interact with several groups. “At one point we were sat across from some lads and I’m thinking, ‘I know him, I recognise his face,’” Rochester begins. The lad in question thought likewise and eventually approached the pair, holding out his phone and pointing. “He said, ‘John, is that you?’ and showed me a picture from Dortmund a few years ago. He was part of the Macedonian Mags who we’d met and chatted to in in the square before the game. How he remembered my name, I’ll never know!”
Norman Riley arrived 24 hours earlier, allowing himself enough time to meander around the densely populated Christmas markets. The 40th anniversary of his first Newcastle game – a 4-0 defeat at home to Everton on Boxing Day 1986 – is approaching but this is his maiden trip to watch United abroad competitively.
“When we were in Europe under Sir Bobby Robson, I was a student and the chances of watching Newcastle abroad were miniscule because I didn't have any money,” he explains. “I’ve been to see us in friendlies in other countries because it is cheaper and easier to get tickets. But this is it for me. German football itself is famed for its brilliant atmospheres, so I'm dead excited.”
Why this one? “I came here in 2003,” he replies. “I was backpacking around Germany after working in Holland for a bit. The chance to come back was too good to ignore. Somewhere like Cologne is not like Madrid or Paris – somewhere you might make a break anyway. I’ll probably never come here other than for football, I’d like to come back with my wife next year and do the Christmas market!”
Shortly after leaving Riley, newcastleunited.com bumps into father and son duo Scott and Colin Anderson. The pair are Leazes End ever-presents and football has been central to their relationship since Scott was born. “I was a young enough Dad that we were able to play together, up in the Eldon Square League and the odd little tournament,” Colin explains. “We’re as much buddies as we are father and son.”
Scott has managed to secure a ticket in the home end for the match, while Colin is more than happy meeting his friends from Ryton Golf Club to take it in on a big screen.
Deep in one of many cavernous pubs – often stone floored, firelit establishments where beer is served cold and in 200ml measures - sit a group from Scotland. A member of the Newcastle United Scottish Supporters, Stuart Graham has watched Newcastle since he was “a wee boy” but has since “emigrated to Kirkaldy, Scotland”.
He and his pals – Davey, Gav and Ewan – make up Wemyss Mags. They knew when booking the trip that they had no chance of away end tickets but that matters little to them. They just wanted to be here, to experience it, which they did in a sports bar in the city. Smartly, they booked ahead, aware that Borussia Dortmund’s home game meant there was no guarantee United would be shown widely.
Gav speaks with a broad but soft Scottish accent, recalling time spent in Blyth with family growing up. He, like his travelling buddies, is on his first Champions League away day. “When we qualified a few years ago, we were all taken by the fact we played big teams like PSG and Milan. We made a promise then to get to a European away game.”
So, Gav, pretend those three aren’t sat over there, and tell me what they mean to you? “They’re like my brothers,” Gav replies. “We all look after each other, we all look after each other.”
Across North Rhine-Westphalia there are scores with similar tales to tell. It might seem odd to those who have not fallen in love with football: a trip with a match at its centre willingly made despite no chance of attending – madness, right? That, though, misses the point.
Suddenly, it is time. As much fun as the socialising has been, there is a game to attend. In drabs and dribs folk march back past the cathedral, down the concrete steps and into Cologne’s vast train station. “Yanited. Toon,” echoes through the concourse.
Once boarded black and white met red and white. There is not a hint of trouble. Locals and travellers mix, at times barely able to understand each other but all speaking a universal language. “Woltemade ist sehr gut?” Very much so.
There was none of the bite or the hostility of Marseille. Just one European city extending a warm embrace to another. Exactly as it should be.
Most journeys ran smoothly, although there were a few who were rumoured to be late through the turnstiles owing to delays. After a 15-minute trip, fans are deposited a walk of similar length away.
The expectant hum of pre-match supporters is sweet, sweet, music and like flies United fans are all attracted to the beaming red light.
Upon arrival, entry is efficient and spirits are high and, while there are two tiers, all enter via the same concourse allowing mingling right to the very last. Eventually, it is time to go, to take a seat, or at least find one to stand next to.
As the teams emerge, the music beings. “It has not got old yet,” Riley says. “That music, the knowing your club is in the Champions League, still puts the hairs on your arms up a little bit.”
The BayArena is loud, much louder than one might imagine given its capacity is just 30,000. It has a remarkable ability to sounds like twice that number are present.
The away end is officially 1,800 or so squashed into a corner, but it is extended by the presences of mags, and plenty of them, who have bought tickets in neighbouring areas. The true extent of the undercover operation is only revealed when Anthony Gordon levels from the penalty spot 51 minutes in. Limbs everywhere, a proper celebration, strangers hugging enthusiastically. When 40 minutes later Gordon exits the pitch with the score 2-2, he applauds all sides of the ground – just in case.
While not irrelevant, the outcome across an hour and a half’s football is not everything on these trips. What matters, really matters, is the hours, the days spent in the company of friends and loved ones. Representing a city, a region, a club to the best of one’s ability. That is what matters.
“I hope I never get to the day where a Champions League game just becomes routine,” Riley says. “Even though I want to be able to say we’re in Europe and playing in the Champions League regularly, I don't want those games to become just games. I want them to still feel special, you know what I mean?” We know what he means.
It is the morning after now and time to go home. The familiar, consistent sound of suitcases wheeled across solid surfaces rings out city-wide. Some journeys are simple, others convoluted. Some begin in the small hours, under darkened skies, while others have afforded themselves a few more hours to sleep, or given themselves final chance to purchase Christmas gifts for those back home.
“How was your stay, sir?” asks the concierge. “Aye, it was mint.” “Good.” “One thing, though – you know the three pictures on the wall?” “Yes.” “I’ve tripped and smashed the glass of one of them. Really sorry. It was an accident, like, and I’ll pay for the damage.”
