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Published: December 1st 2014
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The 1974 World Cup was the first major international tournament that I was exposed to. The 1970 matches in Mexico had been on too late - sent to bed and I had to make do with highlights on TV, such as they were in those days. England had to beat Poland to qualify and after a defeat in Katowice, the return at Wembley took on crucial significance. The esteemed football men of the day assured us that it would be a mere formality. After all, they had a clown in goal. The clown played out of his skin, we didn't qualify and Poland went on to become the surprise packet by grabbing 3rd place in World Cup.
The top scorer was a balding right winger by the name of Grzegorz Lato. This must have made a significant impact on me, because I can still remember the team he played for - Stal Mielec! It was perhaps that I was still aspiring to be a goalscoring right winger myself at the time, before the eventual reincarnation as a cat. Stal Mielec were no Chelsea or Leeds, but this small town club from southeast Poland small won their 1st Division in both
1973 and 1976 and went on to give the mighty Real Madrid a run for their money in the 1974 European Cup. It would be difficult to imagine what the current crop of Galactico boys would make of Mielec today. The whole population of Mielec would comfortably fit into the Bernabeu.
The delights of a Resovia Rzeszow match had occupied our morning, but 40 years on from the heyday of Stal we find ourselves on the 2 pm special to Mielec. As the club website says, We need you! Towards former glory! It is nice to be wanted. The transport was a 22 seat minibus, which was packed to the rafters, although none of the others were going to the game. We got the last 2 seats. There was only one bus after the match, so with no return ticket on offer from the driver it was a gamble. Would the return run? Would it be too full to get on board? Too late now, we were off. The future was in the hands of Marcel bus.
Fifty five minutes later, we were deposited in a non descript street by the railway tracks. This is Mielec? We sought
a view on the direction of the centre. It was a difficult question by the look of the face of our helpful fellow traveller, perhaps because the word centre is only a loose description of what Mielec has to offer. We are well used to the tower block world that is post Communist Eastern Europe, but initial observations suggested it might be a long 2 hours to kill before kick off.
Mielec owes it's existence to the Polish aircraft industry, who chose this small town to be the centre of operations in 1937. The possible looming threat of Germany no doubt prompted the location as far away from the border as possible. Stal were founded in 1939 to give the factory workers something to do, although for the next few years they had their hands full making aircraft for the Germans followed by a lengthy spell of MIG production. The factory is now in the hands of Sikorsky, who turn out the Black Hawk helicopter.
We crossed the railway tracks and surveyed the windswept scene. A biting wind drove in from the east. The Arriva bus station was deserted. A Tesco looked similarly barren for a Saturday afternoon
and there was little else. We sought the ground in amongst the wilderness. There was no ticket office, as we approached from the bus stop side, but a security guard let us walk through between the sports hall and football and out the other side. A huge statue dominated the space - one of those huge Soviet style sporting icons albeit not referred to as a pussy as in Rzeszow. The club shop - a novelty in its own right at this level - was closed. A polite word and it opened for us. Alas, only one pin badge at 20 Zloty. Do they not realise we could get 4 pints for that? It appeared not all things were as cheap as beer. We were assured that there was would be a seller inside the ground. There was indeed and the same badge was on offer at 15 Zloty. "I knew you were here", announced Mr X handing over his business card. "Collector of Antique Football Badges", it read. He seemed somewhat disappointed that we chose not to take the antique badges he had in his collection.
We obtained 2 tickets, having handed our passports over for the obligatory
ID requirements. The Man in the Middle shook his head at the complexity of the transaction, which largely the same routine as Resovia without photographs. There would be no rocking up at the last minute with this Polish football and expecting to get in for kick off. It was 5 Zloty more per ticket on match day. We made a school boy error and opted for the 15 Zloty section near the VIP quarter. There was nobody on hand to advise that we would just be able to walk along from the 10 Zloty seats, but we should have known that was likely from other Eastern European ventures.
After 5 minutes of exploration, we found what looked like the main street, which led off a square. Home Army Square. The bar choice was limited, but it was cold and a sit down was in order. Stal Mielec handball team were on TV. The locals were busy watching the box. A few more wandered in, shaking hands with all present including us! You couldn't imagine a similar welcome in a working class town in England.
There was no great rush for the turnstiles and unlike the Resovia game, not
1 riot policeman present. Mounted police not necessary! We paused for a toasted open sandwich. It would take 4 minutes and would be large enough to feed a family for a week. The 4 minutes had been communicated well, but the sheer size of the food object was clearly not worthy of mention.
The Stal boys did not have a reputation that required photo display at the point of entry. The turnstiles were still a pain in the neck, as most seemed to struggle with getting the reader to scan the flimsy paper ticket. A security guard took little interest in his frisking duties, so they have not yet got the Old Trafford complex about tablet computers.
The events on the pitch suggest that the journey to former glory might be a good while coming. Both teams were busy enough, with no end product. The locals evening could have been further ruined when the opposition Number 10 smacked the crossbar deep in injury time. The Man in the Middle looke smug, having pointed the Number 10 out as the key man on the pitch. A disappointing 0 - 0 draw. How Stal could do with Lato now!
The 2 hours before the kick off had seemed an age, but the 90 minute wait for the bus back seemed a nightmare. The temperature had plummeted further. We found salvation in the waiting room of the bus station, which was warm, had toilets and amazingly free wifi. The only thing that appeared to be missing was buses. We waited an hour in there, before the security guard locked up for the night and not one bus departed during that time. A few random people wandered through to use the toilets, the strong beer taking it's toll on them as they wandered home. The desolate street on to which we had been deposited a few hours earier was still not a hive of activity and I was grateful to see at least one other who had confidence that the Marcel express was going to turn up. A few local youths provided the backdrop, as they held an informal party under the nearby flyover. The bus arrived like clockwork and by the time departure loomed, there was not a spare seat.
Appendix Saturday 15th November
Stadion Mosir, Mielec
Kick Off 17:00 pm
Attendance: 2,694
FKS Stal Mielec 0 Kluczborck 0 Stal Mielec: Daniel, Zalucki, Duda, Koscielny, Getinger, Bozek (Platek 67), Nikanowycz, Zubrowski, Radulj, Cholewiak, Jankowski (Domanski 60)
Kluczborck: Rudnicki, Orlowicz, Ganowicz, Gierak, Uszalewski, Niziolek, Swedrowski, Nowacki, Grzegorzewski, Reinhard (omaszweski 80), Kodjer (Burski 74)
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