From The Vault: The Lisbon Lions . On 2. 5 May Celtic became the first British team to win the European Cup, an achievement that saw them immortalised in football history as the Lisbon Lions. The first piece is Albert Barham's stylish match report, which appeared in the Guardian on 2. May . Barham, known to his colleagues as Bert, was the Guardian's football correspondent in London during the late 1. He was troubled by heart problems, a legacy of his day serving as a Chindit in Burma under Brigadier Wingate during the second world war. Mc. Ilvanney, a Scot himself, revels in the atmosphere in Lisbon. His obvious rapport with the fans and players is in sharp contrast with the way football journalism works today.
Mc. Ilvanney builds his story on the incidental details and colourful asides he sees and hears. He remains the only British sportswriter to have been voted Journalist of the Year. RELENTLESS ATTACK WINS EUROPEAN CUPALBERT BARHAM, Lisbon, 2. May. Celtic 2. At last, like the World Cup, the European Cup comes home to Britain.
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Celtic are the new champions and worthy ones at that, having beaten Inter Milan 2. Every man gave his all. No other British club has ever reached the final, let alone win Europe's most coveted prize. And as the shadows lengthened just five minutes away from extra time Celtic scored the winning goal. It seemed the final minutes would never pass for their 7,0. It was like Wembley all over again after the Scottish victory against England. Jubilation was everywhere as the supporters cavorted around their heroes.
But hope had been slim for so long. Not for an hour could the despairing Scots break the defensive wall Inter built round their goal. Inter have done it so often, so successfully, it seemed Celtic, for all Johnstone's cunning and Murdoch's support of the forwards, had not the key to prise apart the tall Facchetti from his cohorts, Burgnich, Guarneri, and Bedin. But the assistance from the backs and particularly the shooting of Gemmell from outside the wall, was rewarded in the end. For all the great expectation of high tension no one could have expected it to erupt so sharply or suddenly. Within the first six minutes Celtic were a goal down to a penalty.
It came as Craig fouled Cappellini and was scored by Mazzola for whom this must have been an emotional experience for it was here his father played his last match before he died so tragically in the air crash afterwards. Inter, for all their leisurely approach, snapped into action near goal with surprising skill and speed and only seconds before the goal Cappellini sprinted down the wing and Mazzola's low header glanced off Simpson's knees. From that disastrous goal, however, Celtic gained in strength. Back came Inter into the old familiar pattern of massed defence behind which stalked Sarti plucking the high shots out of the air.
There was no way through for Celtic. There was no way over the wall either. It had to be from outside the wall in the hope of a chink being made that success could come. Celtic waited so long. Incident piled upon incident, thrill upon thrill.
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Auld hit the crossbar, a low left foot shot from Johnstone was smothered by Sarti, who in the next minute tipped a header from Johnstone over the crossbar. Nine men were pulled back to stem Celtic. Inter were well content and determined to hold what they had.
It demanded defence of the highest order against an attack as consistent and resolute as Celtic's. Sarti just managed to smother one free- kick which Gemmell deflected off this wall of defence. Later, lobbing rather speculatively, Gemmell's shot hit the bar as the evening sun glinted in Sarti's eyes. And all the while Inter had not threatened again. And when they needed to come from their defensive box they could not. Gemmell claimed the goal which brought Celtic level after an hour, and what a beautifully taken goal it was, coming from the clever understanding of Murdoch and Craig.
This time the groping fingers of Sarti could not touch Gemmell's fierce, first- time shot. With the goal came renewed hope for in spite of Inter's stubborn defence, Celtic were back with a real chance. It did not come until five minutes from time and then Chalmers was promptly submerged by his jubilant colleagues after he had scored the most crucial goal of his career. And so on to the rejoicing. CELTIC . Pockets of Celtic supporters are holding out in unlikely corners, noisily defending their own carnival atmosphere against the returning tide of normality, determined to preserve the moment, to make the party go on and on. They emerge with a sudden flood of Glasgow accents from taxis or cafes, or let their voices carry with an irresistible aggregate of decibels across hotel lounges. Always, even among the refugees who turn up at the British Embassy bereft of everything but the rumpled clothes they stand in, the talk is of that magical hour- and- a- half under the hot sun on Thursday in the breathtaking, tree- fringed amphitheatre of the national stadium.
Clean sweep. At the airport, the impression is of a Dunkirk with happiness. The discomforts of mass evacuation are tolerable when your team have just won the greatest victory yet achieved by a British football club, and completed a clean sweep of the trophies available to them that has never been equalled anywhere in the world. They even cheered Helenio Herrera and his shattered Inter when the Italians left for Milan yesterday evening.
In that mood, overflowing with conquerors' magnanimity they might have given Scot Symon a round of applause. Typically, within a minute the same happily dishevelled groups were singing: . Sooner or later the Inter of Herrera, the Inter of catenaccio, of negative football, of marginal victories, had to pay for their refusal to play entertaining football. But he continued to receive around . And he was still held in awe by people who felt that the statistics of his record justified the sterility of his methods. Now, however, nearly everyone appreciates the dangers of his influence.
The twelfth European Cup final showed how shabbily his philosophy compares with the dynamically positive thinking of Jock Stein. Before the match Stein told me. That's their way and it's their business. But we feel we have a duty to play the game our way, and our way is to attack. Win or lose, we want to make the game worth remembering. Just to be involved in an occasion like this is a tremendous honour and we think it puts an obligation on us.
We can be as hard and professional as anybody, but I mean it when I say that we don't just want to win this cup. We want to win it playing good football, to make neutrals glad we've done it, glad to remember how we did it. Of course, he has wonderful players, a team without a serious weakness and with tremendous strengths in vital positions. But when one had eulogised the exhilarating speed and the bewildering variety of skills that destroyed Inter . He was almost on his knees with fatigue before scoring that minute but somehow his courage forced him to go on dredging up the strength to continue with the exhausting runs along the left wing that did more than any other single factor to demoralise Inter. Gemmell has the same aggressive pride, the same contempt for any thought of defeat, that emanates from Auld.
Before the game Auld cut short a discussion about the possible ill- effects of the heat and the firm ground with a blunt declaration that they would lick the Italians in any conditions. When he had been rescued from the delirious crowd and was walking back to the dressing rooms after Celtic had overcome all the bad breaks to vindicate his confidence Auld ? Then he answered his own question with a belligerent roar.
Whether warning the players against exposing themselves to the sun (. If there's as much as a freckle on any man's arm he's for home. The impact of the Celtic invasion on the local Catholic churches was a rewarding theme for him.
The nine o'clock and ten o'clock Masses were all- ticket. They've had to get extra plates. How do they divide the takings here? Is it fifty- fifty or in favour of the home club?
When we reached him there, he kept muttering: . This is the true game. Now that the Continental monopoly of the European Cup has been broken, British football is poised for a period of domination. Glasgow Rangers can strike the next blow when they meet Bayern Munich in the final of the European Cup for Cup Winners at Nurnberg next Wednesday.
Scot Symon has rebuilt his Rangers team with patient thoroughness this season, and their thrilling draw with Celtic at Ibrox three weeks ago confirmed how far they have come. Spurred by their great rivals' achievement, they will not be easily denied. Continental clubs can expect no respite next season when the powerful challenge from Scotland will be backed by the presence of Manchester United and Tottenham Hotspur in the two major competitions. It seems unlikely that anything short of the personal intervention of De Gaulle can prevent us from being in among the European prizes again.