Looking forward to the past

Today Aberdeen take on Manchester United at Pittodrie in a game that marks the end of the celebrations to commemorate the north-east club's famous win against Real Madrid in 1983, some twenty-five years ago. Today is a time for looking back and celebrating arguably the finest moment in Aberdeen's history and though the game, and the run-up to it, are described elsewhere, here are six things I remember from that day in May '83.

• I was twelve the year Aberdeen won the cup. I watched the cup-final on my own, in the front room. I was wearing my Aberdeen top, the one with the pin-stripes on it. I'll be wearing my Aberdeen top today, except this one has two stars on it to reflect the number of European trophies Aberdeen have won. It's not many, but still one more than any other team in Scotland.
  
  
  
• When Erik Black scored in only the 7th minute I knew, even with the limited tactical nous that your average 12-year-old has that Aberdeen where in for a rough ride. When facing superior opposition, the last thing you do is score early as it only serves to get the other team worked up. As an aside, this tactical certainty  was cruelly illustrated fifteen years later during a momentous five-a-side game when the team I was playing for, Racing Club, scored straight from the kick off against Cults Hotel, a team that had won the league for the last five years. I don't remember much of the twenty-nine minutes which followed, but I do know we lost 13-1.
  
  
  
• When Juanito equalized from the penalty spot I cried tears of anger, frustration and disappointment. I knew all about how good Real Madrid where from my World Cup '82 tournament guide. I was angry they'd scored, frustrated because I just knew they'd score again, and I was disappointed for the team for making it as far as they did only to fall at the final hurdle.
  
  

• The time between the Madrid's equaliser and Aberdeen's winner, some ninety-eight minutes later, was spent either screaming at the telly, or looking at it through my fingers. Everyone always jokes they hid behind the sofa as a child watching Doctor Who - I only ever hid behind the sofa once, and it was during this game.
  
  
  
• Even now, just thinking about it, I get goose-bumps when I see John Hewitt dive to meet Mark McGhee's inch-perfect cross. Well, I say inch-perfect, but really it's not a good cross at all: it's at shoulder height, ideal for a keeper to come out and catch (or more likely, punch). I watch that goal at least once a week, just to cheer myself up, and every time I do, I cannot understand how Augustin in the Real Madrid goal doesn't get to that ball. But he didn't, that much is fact, and a second later the ball is nestling in the back of the net. Hewitt looks over at the linesman, then wheels away, arms aloft. Aberdeen have won the Cup and I'm running around the house like John, arms aloft and screaming my head off.
  
  
  
• Like most kids in Aberdeen, I skived off school the day the team drove down Union Street to show the Cup. We never got into trouble for it because everyone knew that it was a momentous occasion, one that even then we felt wouldn't come along too often. I'm glad I skived off to be part of that moment because twenty-five years later, I'm still waiting for another chance to wave the team home.

The glory of Gothenburg is now a long distant memory which, to fans of my generation, was once the standard by which every subsequent Aberdeen team was measured, often without much success. A mere three years after the Gothenburg victory, most of the team that won that night had gone, sold on for large fees and the prospect of glory elsewhere. The club soon sank back to their pre Cup Winner’s Cup days, with little to celebrate in the intervening years. The steady management of Alex Ferguson gave way to a series of mediocre managers (Porterfield, Smith, Aitken, Alex Miller, Willie Miller, Skovdahl and Patterson) and distinctly mid-table performances that continue on to this day. Under current boss Jimmy Calderwood it is getting better, if slowly, but it's a sad thing to have to say that I don't expect my son will ever have to skive off school to cheer the Reds on down Union Street.