კენი დალგლიში თავის წიგნში დინამოსთან თამაშს იხსენებს. ჩვენებს ენფილდზე თამაშის დაწყებამდე მოთელვა თავხედურად კოპის (მაგათი სამხრეთის ტრიბუნაა, ყველაზე გადარეული ფანები მანდ სხდებიან) წინ გაუკეთებიათ. როგორც წესი, სტუმრები ამას ერიდებიან. დინამომ ეს ან არ იცოდა, ან ფარსადანოვიჩმა სპეციალურად გააკეთებინა, რომ ეჩვენებინა, თქვენი არ გვეშინიაო. დალგლიში ამბობს, სუნესს ვუთხარი, რახან ამის ჩვენება უნდათ, ეტყობა, მართლა ეშინიათო.
გვაიძულეს თბილისში მოსკოვის გავლით ჩავფრენილიყავით აეროფლოტის თვითმფრინავებითო. თბილისს ეძახის one of the grimmest parts of Europe, even by Communist standards.
ლივერპული თბილისში რომელ სასტუმროში გაჩერდა, აჭარაში თუ ივერიაში? დიდ ვერაფერი სასტუმრო იყოო, თუმცა გვითხრეს, თბილისში საუკეთესოაო. ლიფტში არ ვსხდებოდით, რაღაც ხვრელები იყო და წყალი ჩამოდიოდაო. მზარეულს არ ვენდობოდით, ჩვენი ჩამოვიყვანეთო. ადგილობრივს ვისკი ვაჩუქეთ და ბედნიერი იყო, რადგან საქართველოში გაჭირვება იყოო.
გულშემატკივრებმა ღამით არ დაგვაძინეს, დინამო, დინამოს ყვიროდნენო. ეტყობოდა, ხელისუფლების სანქცირებული იყო, თორემ სსრკ-ში ხალხს ეგრე შეკრების ნებას ვინ მისცემდაო.
აი, კიდევ: The whole experience was eye-opening and anyone travelling behind the Iron Curtain with thoughts about communism being the future would have changed their mind sharpish. Power to the people? Many didn’t even have electrical power. Accommodation was decrepit, food short and the whole place seemed blanketed in a cloud of smog and depression. Who’d want to live like that? I never blamed the Georgian people, who were just trapped in a brutal system.
ბოლოს ამბობს, დინამომ საუცხოო ფეხბურთი ითამაშაო: Dinamo stormed to a 3–0 win, playing some wonderful football in the second half, which we simply couldn’t live with
=========================================
სრული ტექსტი:
Fortunately for us, the party got going again quickly back
then. That League success swept us back into the
European Cup, thank God, as we’d really missed the
competition. Liverpool belong in the European Cup. Sadly,
we didn’t last long in the 79–80 season after being thrown
in against Dinamo Tbilisi in the first round. Over the years, I
feel a myth has grown unchecked that Dinamo had so little
fear of Liverpool they cockily warmed up in front of the Kop.
Newspapers were riddled with idle chatter that Liverpool
supporters apparently marvelled at the Georgians’ skills
before the first leg on 19 September.
‘If they were doing it to show they weren’t afraid, that just
proves to me they were afraid,’ I said to Graeme. We won,
but only 2–1, and a fortnight later set out on a journey into
the unknown.
Liverpool’s plane was an Aeroflot jet, which the Soviets
insisted we hired, conveniently making them a bundle of
roubles. For a bunch of communists, I felt they showed
distinct capitalist tendencies. Our journey became
increasingly complicated as the Iron Curtain still hung
across the Continent, and any destination in the Soviet
Union involved a stop in Moscow – another Soviet demand.
So we dutifully filed out of the plane, heading through
immigration as Red Army soldiers scrutinised us as if we
were some band of dissidents. The stopover seemed
pretty pointless, paranoid even, but we shrugged and got
on with it. The Soviet solders and immigration officials
didn’t look the types who’d welcome any friendly banter.
We then reboarded the plane to Tbilisi, landing in one of
the grimmest parts of Europe, even by Communist
standards.
Liverpool’s hotel was pretty basic but we were assured it
was Tbilisi’s finest. Fortunately, Bob always made sure we
came well-prepared, bringing our own chefs, Harry White
and Alan Glynn, who worked in the hotel trade in Dublin.
Harry and Alan ensured we had tea and toast for breakfast
and that the hotel cook was onside, a vital move. I was
always suspicious about what foreign cooks might slip into
the food but Harry and Alan man-marked the cook closely,
watching him in the hotel, keeping him sweet with a bottle
of whisky or two. European football required intelligent
tactics off the field as well as on.
‘Anything we don’t use, you can keep,’ Harry and Alan
told the cook, who was incredibly grateful, because
provisions were modest in Georgia. Tbilisi was pretty
primitive.
‘Be careful in the lift,’ I told the players after one perilous
descent towards reception. ‘There’s water streaming down
the side. Don’t go near the electrics.’
‘It’s a hole,’ seemed to be the overwhelming verdict of
the players – a noisy hole as well. Under a Soviet regime
that didn’t seem big on laughs, the natives of Georgia were
forbidden from staging demonstrations – until Liverpool
arrived. My precious sleep was disturbed at 2 a.m. by
chants of ‘Dinamo, Dinamo’. Peering out of the window, I
saw hundreds of people marching up and down outside our
hotel. The noisy protest was so obviously organised it must
have been sanctioned by the Soviet authorities. The
Georgians would never have dared gather in numbers like
that without permission from Moscow.
During my trips behind the Iron Curtain, I gained the
strong impression these Soviets used the European Cup
as a vehicle to generate great publicity for all the Soviet
countries. Whenever a western club visited, the
Communists wanted a show of strength, and that meant
giving their sides every chance of winning. Liverpool were
not just up against a team in Tbilisi. We were up against an
ideology. The whole experience was eye-opening and
anyone travelling behind the Iron Curtain with thoughts
about communism being the future would have changed
their mind sharpish. Power to the people? Many didn’t even
have electrical power. Accommodation was decrepit, food
short and the whole place seemed blanketed in a cloud of
smog and depression. Who’d want to live like that? I never
blamed the Georgian people, who were just trapped in a
brutal system. In the morning, some of the locals even
queued around the hotel just to see what westerners looked
like.
The Georgians’ sad, controlled existence meant they
really let rip on match-day. Dinamo Tbilisi fans were
incredibly passionate, leaping out of the stands, running to
the edge of the pitch as their team gave them plenty to
cheer. Dinamo stormed to a 3–0 win, playing some
wonderful football in the second half, which we simply
couldn’t live with, and again Liverpool crashed out of
Europe at the first hurdle. Even the refreshment in the
dressing room looked trouble.
‘Don’t touch the tea,’ said Bob, ‘you don’t know what
they’ve put in it.’
This post has been edited by Count Szegedi on 11 May 2015, 20:06
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