For day three of our Liechtenstein trip, we actually go to Liechtenstein.
In fact, our bus, organised by the man, the myth, the legend, Dibbs Anderson, travels from Munich, Germany, through Austria, through Switzerland, and eventually into Liechtenstein. It’s a lively bus, with inappropriate humour and all the hope and anticipation you would expect when going to play one of international football’s minnows. An away win is on the cards. We are obviously going to tump them.
Only one complaint about the bus. But it’s not actually just this bus. For some reason busses on the continent never have the toilet open. They are there, they are built into the bus, but they are always locked. Why bother buying a bus with a bog if you’re not going to open it? Due to bladder awareness, I opted to minimise fluid intake, which goes against the grain on a football trip. Although we did make a brief stop at a services on the Autobahn, to use the Pissoir.
Just shy of three hours after leaving Munich, we are pulling into Valduz, the capital village of Liechtenstein. Yep that’s right. The capital of this tiny country is a village, with a population of just 5,700 residents. Today, over 3,000 Wales fans are descending on the village to watch the footy. That means the population of Valduz will increase by more than 50% for the day.
The country has a reputation for being eye-wateringly expensive. So as we drive in, the streets are lined with Wales fans sitting in the street necking beer purchased in the local supermarket.
As villages go, Valduz is a bit of a show off. It’s got a castle, a cathedral, a museum and an art gallery.
The village is surrounded by alpine mountains climbing up to meet the sky. Perched halfway up the one mountain sits Valduz Castle. This 12th Century building is the home of the Liechtenstein Royal family and has amazing views of the village below. Apparently. We didn’t climb up there.
We did visit the New Castle though. A restaurant that has spare seats. We grab a table and order food. The beers arrive in tiny plastic cups, which is a pain. But they are probably the price of a pint (we hadn’t enquired how much, we just said ‘two beers please’). They are probably saving our wallets from humiliation.
Eventually we decide it is time to wander through the village towards the ground. I struggle to think of any football ground I have been to that has a location as stunningly beautiful as this. The River Rhine runs down the one side and it is framed from all angles by alpine mountains. Rhienpark Stadion is home to Valduz FC who play in the Swiss league, and home to the Liechtenstein national football team, who are having a bit of a bad run. So far this tournament they have lost all six games, conceded twenty-three goals and not scored once. But given the entire population of the country is the equivalent of Cwmbran, they don’t have a massive pool of players to call upon.
The stadium first opened in 1998 and has a capacity of just 5,873. Tonight more than 3,000 of those seats are going to be sat in by Wales fans. Three of the four stands are occupied by the Red Wall.
We stroll in about an hour before the game, as many fans are running around finding somewhere to tie their various town or club flags. Our allocated seats (not that anyone gets precious about sitting in their allocated seats at away games) are down the front. This means we are not going to have to worry about people standing up in front of us, and if we decide to stand up ourselves, there’s a handy barrier to lean on.
As kick off approaches the stadium fills up and we say hello to mates we haven’t seen since the last Wales Away trip. The Welsh national anthem echoes around the stadium like a home game, with Wales fans sat everywhere. The Liechtenstein national anthem, Oben Am Jungen Rhine, is set to the tune of England’s God Save The King (as are the anthems of Switzerland and Norway), which was slightly surreal.
The game itself would be even more surreal. Wales totally dominated play with around 90% of possession, almost all of the game was played in the Liechtenstein half of the pitch. But Wales seemed incapable of putting the ball in the back of the net. The ball did hit the back of the net in the first half but the VAR dude disallowed it. Jordan James finally scored in the 61st minute. I have no idea if it was a good goal, because the man, the myth, the legend, Dibbs Anderson chose that moment to walk in front of us on his way back from the bar.
This is a team that has conceded twenty-three goals in six games. We should have put four or five on them, but we couldn’t hit a cows arse with a banjo. We were shit. Luckily, they were shitterer.
No one walked away thinking ‘a win is a win’. Everyone walked away thinking ‘North Macedonia are going to do us next week’. But hey, it’s Wales Away, we dont do it for the football.
After the game we all made our way back to the bus. We stood outside for ages waiting for the driver to arrive. Then it turned out he had been sleeping at the back of the bus all along.
Three hours later we are back in our hotel drinking Christmas Mojitos. Truly things of beauty.
And hey. A win is a win. Yet again Wales find themselves in a position where they could qualify for a major tournament, not because they are good, but because others around them are slipping up. Belgium drawing with Kazakhstan has left it all to play for on Tuesday. But it’s the hope that kills you.