UEFA Cup Thursday March 20th 2003

Liverpool 0

Celtic 2

0:1 Thompson (45); 0:2 Hartson (82)

Att: 44,238

ref: Markus Merk (Ger)

Celtic: Douglas; Valgaeren, Balde, Laursen; Thompson, Lambert (McNamara 73), Lennon, Petrov, Sylla (Smith 86); Hartson, Larsson

Ticketless, so it was up to the BBC to provide the best seat in the house... well, my house at least.

Switching on at the appointed time I was breathless at the waves of attacks raining in on Liverpool. Then I realised that the Beeb had switched the channels round and I was actually watching coverage of some air strike on downtown Baghdad. A quick zap with the remote and it was Huddle Time.Ten minutes of listening to Rob McLean and Sandy Clark and I was longing for David Dimbleby though.

Not surprisingly Liverpool started the game strongly and carved out a couple of half chances for themselves early in the match. Yet as the first half wore on it became clear that the sieve had decided that tonight was the time for one of those no passeran performances we've become used to in Europe - at least at Parkhead. When Rab Douglas produced that wonder save from Gerrard there was definitely a feeling that something was in the air.

Actually it was on the ground. A low flying Scud missile from Allan Thompson just before half-time which was an action replay of his goal against Rosenborg in last year's Champions League. The Liverpool defensive wall politely stepped out of the way to leave their 'keeper waving at the ball as it slipped inside the post. Dent number one in the ceiling and a the first coronary of the evening for the dog.

Half-time saw the studio panel mull over the events of the first 45. The ubiquitous Gordon Smith and ex-Celt Paul Elliott dissected the action while Dougie Donnelly was heavily punting the Beebs prize for guessing who Sandy Clark would select as the Man of the Match - a mobile phone and a trip to Lithuania to watch Scotland. Presumably the mobile phone was necessary to call the Lithuanian branch of the Samaritans.

The second half got underway with Liverpool desperate to restore parity. The loss of their away goal advantage spurred the home side on to even greater exertions but chasing the game is not the natural style of this particular Reds team. Against a Celtic midfield on top of their game they began to toil. Hopes were rising as, incredibly, confidence appeared to be oozing throughout the Celtic team. Not even the oafish Sandy Clark's utterly banal observations nor McLean's incongruous reference to Rangers' hopes of winning 'the domestic treble' (you could actually hear the elation in his voice at the very thought) could dampen the rising spirits.

The score permutations and the endgame scenarios were in the process of being calculated by my increasingly febrile brain when the ceiling took another serious blow to the artex and the mutt decided he'd had enough and headed for the back garden. John Hartson, looking for all the world like Rudolf Nureyev after an overdose of mashed potatoes, played a deft one-two with Henrik Larsson on the edge of the Liverpool box. The Reds defence had a few seconds to admire him trundling towards them like a second-hand Bradley tank before he lashed the ball past Dudek into the net and wheeled away to soak up the adulation of the bulk of the Celtic fans packed into a corner of the Anfield Road end.

Forget about your three lions and your thirty years of hurt... this was twenty eight years of almost unremitting European misery wiped out in a moment of glory.

The last four of a European tournament (and I don't care if it is the UEFA Cup) for the first time in two generations and it felt glorious to be a Celt.