EUROPEAN TOUR, A EUROPEAN TOUR
KRC Genk 2 West Ham 2
Before the advent of The Brexit and The Covid, journeys to the European mainland were a straightforward matter. On one occasion I rocked up for a Parisbound Eurostar less than ten minutes before departure and was still allowed on. For this trip to Brussels though, the minimum time we are told to allow for check in is an hour and a half. But it was never going to be easy once we had drawn Racing Club Genk in our group, a team that plays its matches on an industrial estate and whose nickname is De Smurfen (The Smurfs). One half of the club used to be known as FC Winter Slag, but in 1988 the merger dropped the Slag part and (if this morning is anything to go by) kept the Winter.
In my bag I have my ticket verifier (form to be exchanged for a ticket at the ground), various train journey tickets (printed out), my double jab certificate, passenger locator forms, passport and 50 euros. West Ham’s allocation of tickets for the game was a little over a thousand, but I have managed to get one, something which makes this 313 mile herculean task of a journey seem a little more worthwhile. It’s the equivalent in UK driving terms of a shlep to Carlisle from where I am, so I’m hoping we don’t draw them in the cup. They’re playing Horsham FC of the Isthmian League in the first round on Saturday, so it’s not impossible.
I arrive at St. Pancras at 7.30, strictly speaking too late to board, but I am directed to a queue of sleepy-looking Hammers fans who will no doubt have already travelled a lot further than I have. Many of them have not got tickets, so it’s the old hope over experience syndrome kicking in. If the Genkians have an eye for an opportunity there will be bars around the ground showing the match live on giant TVs with plenty of that 13.5% proof Belgium Beer, all concocting a probable second kick off on the streets after the game with the local inhabitants. It might all well add up to West Ham playing one of the knock out round home fixtures behind closed doors. Yes, it’ll be like the Height of Covid all over again.
The Eurostar is full, but the clientele are well behaved, some ordering ‘skinny lattes’ in their London brogue. I have three unfinished Saturday papers to digest, but opt to people watch after flashing my Public Health Passenger Locator Form and getting the passport stamped. The few random families scattered amongst the travelling Irons look slightly uncomfortable, but it’s too early for sustained songs or raised voices.
The moment we stroll round the streets of Brussels, Europe without the UK looks no different. The majority of notices and placards outside the take away restaurants are written in English – with no local translation. Why when you’re finally rid of the Brits would you want to scrawl their fast food terminology everywhere? It’s the visual equivalent of stale rank cooking oil in your nostrils.
Starbucks is the known food option, with some local varieties. There’s even time to drop the bags off at the unstaffed password-protected hotel. The train to Genk is half full as we are travelling later than intended. It’s a mere lull as a glance at the commandeered ground bound coaches outside Genk Station reveals. The Hammers faithful will be herded to the venue in these glorified free cattle trucks.
No Soucek. Coufal is back.
Four minutes in and Genk are ahead. Joseph Paintsil is quickly on to Junya Ito’s wide pass and hits his shot early. Areola goes down to parry it with his right hand but merely deflects it against the post and in. The PA announcer is fresh up with his dull lone goal-celebration repertoire… The crowd respond mechanically. Joseph! (Paintsil!) Joseph! (Paintsil!) Joseph! (Paintsil!) The Genk faithful go Gonk. This wasn’t part of the plan. Masuaku looks a little out of sorts. Coufal is clearly not match fit. His passes lack their usual measure. Hammers have a few chances, but the rest of the half sinks into a routine of passing mediocrity.
David Moyes Claret and Blue Army! (We Hate Tottenham!) sing the travelling one thousand and seventy fans as the second half begins. The ailing Noble and Masuaku are removed, and replaced by fresh legs. Antonio is also dragged off, to be preserved for next Sunday.
Three subs. One minute. One goal. Benrahma.
Coufal cuts into the area this time and slides the ball square for Benrahma to slot home. West Ham have been behind for almost an hour, but as it is they then score a second, Cresswell’s pass finding Benrahma in the area, and he sidesteps his marker exquisitely before slotting home his second past Martin Vandervoort. And that should have been it.
Genk have no targetman or striker, which suggests they will go home empty-handed. Indeed when the substituted Preciado hits a hopeful ball towards the far post, it looks innocuous enough until Soucek’s effort to head clear deflects the ball past Areola. The French World Cup winner might have saved that on another day if he’d been concentrating more and covering his near post. As it is he merely flaps at the space where it should have passed him and Genk are level. The PA Announcer attempts to suggest Angelo Paintsil had put the final touches to Preciado’s cross, but we know better.
Two genius Benrahma goals in a sandwich either side of two weak-handed errors from Areola mean that West Ham will in all probability go through tonight, qualifying as group champions if they win either of their remaining two fixtures.
All that remained of the fixture was getting back to Blighty. The return free coaches were rammed with fans, each unwilling (or unable) to surrender their hard-earned position under someone’s boot, or draw their face back from out of a fan’s anonymous groin area. A couple of fans fainted on the coach and there was talk of another having lost a finger celebrating West Ham’s second goal. I made a mental note not to attempt to emulate Michail Antonio’s goal celebrations if we score at Rapid Vienna’s ground for fear of accidentally dislocating my hip or rupturing my spleen. Following your team around Europe was never this much fun in the old days.
The train journey back from Brussels the next day seemed like the revenge of the EU, even though it was British customs officials who insisted on SAS regimented border checks and questioning techniques that even the Stasi might have considered a little harsh. Combining all that with trying to download a Covid form in a customs vestibule with little or no Wi-Fi with fifteen minutes to go till the Eurostar departed induced a little unnecessary atrial tachycardia to the system. Staggering out of St. Pancras International just after half past seven, I finally began making my sober way home, my mask still wound tightly around my face. And there was still the £69 PCR test to complete and scan off the results of in the next two days.
Covidabudobulous!
13 Alphonse Areola, 3 Aaron Cresswell, 5 Vladimir Coufal, 15 Craig Dawson, 23 Issa Diop, 26 Arthur Masuaku, 16 Mark Noble (C), 41 Declan Rice, 10 Manuel Lanzini, 9 Michail Antonio, 22 Saïd Benrahma
Substitutes: 28 Tomas Soucek, 8 Pablo Fornals, 20 Jarrod Bowen, 33 Alex Kral
Goalscorers: Saïd Benrahma (2)
#GENKGUNK #BrazenBenny #WereAllGoingOnAEuropeanTour #WHUFC #COYI #AreolaBillViola #TomasSoucekOwnsGoalAgain
