It feels a bit strange. There was a time when the pre match piss up was the main event, but today I find myself heading for the game stone cold sober.
This might sound obvious, but it is a new sensible approach for me. Today, pre match drinking is replaced by a healthy local salad washed down with a tea served in the cutest tea cup in the world. Ahhh bless. A fleet of busses sits outside the Baku Hilton, waiting to take the massed ranks of the Red Wall to the stadium.
Not a problem here. The eight quid ticket price includes free transport from the city centre out to the stadium. Well, not free, cos we paid for it, but very cheap. Once the busses are full we pull off in convoy with police escort. Baku traffic is a law unto itself and does not get out of the way for anyone. The Formula One drivers that compete in the annual Baku Grand Prix probably have to compete with taxi drivers in beat up Mercedes and play boys in blinged up Ferraris.
The stadium is on the outskirts of town in an area dominated by hotels and casinos. We are among the first to arrive and head through security. And more security. And more security just in case the first two lots missed any of our guns. We are a good hour and a half early but the stadium is already filling up with police, the army and FAW stewards.
Dotted around the terraces are plain clothed coppers. My record of spotting undercover cops is woefully inadequate, but, at the risk of sounding racist, they stick out like saw thumbs. Eventually the squads come out to warm up on the pitch. The match officials run up and down the touch line in front of us, provoking sarcastic applause.
