European Cup Final

Stadium: San Siro (Milan, Italy)


Feyenoord (trainer Happel)
Pieters Graafland;
Romeijn (Haak), Laseroms, Israël, Van Duivenbode;
Hasil, Jansen;
Van Hanegem, Wery, Kindvall, Moulijn

Celtic (manager Stein)
Williams;
Hay, Brogan, McNeill, Gemmell;
Murdoch, Auld (Connelly);
Johnstone, Lennox, Wallace, Hughes

Goals
29' 0-1 C: Gemmell
31' 1-1 F: Israel
117' 2-1 F: Kindvall

Att: 53,000

Referee: Lo Bello (Italy)

Quotes
'It will stick in my mind forever that after the game the Celtic players were extremely good sportsmen and, together with their supporters, they gave us a standing ovation when we were receiving the cup.'
Eddy Pieters Graafland, goalkeeper for Feyenoord in the 1970 final.

'That defeat in 1970 took a lot out of the club and took a lot out of the self-belief and everything else. We never quite got back to that level again.'
Billy McNeill on losing the European Cup Final in 1970, speaking in 1998

'I hit the ball against the goalkeeper. It was just one of those things but I reckon when I did that, that was me finished at Celtic. Jock Stein was like that: he tended to blame you for things. Within a year I had left the club.'
John Hughes on missing a goal-scoring oppurtunity in extra-time of the 1970 European Cup Final with the score at 1-1.

Links

• Road to Milan

Pictures

• Pictures

Memories of the Final
I was 11 years old and remember watching this final on TV with my father. Colour TV was not available in Britain in 1970 (not on Teesside, anyway), so my memories are in glorious, grainy, black-and-white Eurovision. The final was in Milan, which is a long, long way from Teesside (Middlesbrough), so the quality of the TV pictures was not what we are used to today - but they had their own unique magic which added to the drama of the occasion.

Three years earlier, in 1967, Celtic had won the European Cup Final against the odds and against a very strong Inter Milan team. Celtic were the underdogs then, completely unfancied, and generally unknown outside of their environs. A bit like Feijenoord in 1970.

The feeling in many quarters in Britain at the time was that Celtic would coast through the 1970 final and win easily against an unknown team who a) were Dutch, for God's sake, and b) to the English ear, had an unpronouncable name ("Feee-jen-ooooor-d?" - that's far too many vowels to be taken seriously, surely?).

The past truly is a foreign country. Feijenoord's name was almost as comical at the time as that of their great domestic rivals, Ajax of Amsterdam. In Britain in 1970, "Ajax" was a well-known cleaning product, the housewife's favourite, and it was just a hoot that those crazy Dutchmen would name a football club after a bottle of household bleach. By 1973, however, we all knew, greatly admired and could correctly pronounce the name of Ajax of Amsterdam. What is largely forgotten in Britain, if it was ever acknowledged at all, was that Feyenoord (as they renamed themselves after their historic victory) were the first Dutch club ever to lift the trophy.

Ironically (and I think this has more than a little to do with Celtic's disappointing and anti-climactic performance on the night of the final), most of Britain had already witnessed the "real" final when, in the semi-finals, Celtic took on and beat the much-fancied English champions Leeds United. The English are renowned for their myopic view of the world, and in 1970 such a stance was even more entrenched than it is today.

When Leeds were beaten (comprehensively 3-1 over 2 legs), the huge disappointment and resentment that was felt in England was palpable. Leeds were invincible in the English league at that time, although they struggled to turn their superiority into silverware. So, having defeated the English champions, Celtic would ipso facto walk away with the European Cup that year. No question.

The abiding memory for me is that of Billy McNeill who, deep in extra time with the score at 1-1, attempted to parry with both hands a long, high, looping ball as he stumbled backwards in the Celtic penalty box - a clear handball and therefore a clear penalty. Initially, we all shouted at the TV: "Accidental!", and in sheer disbelief and disappointment: "No way! He headed it!". But all the while we feared the worst, the inevitable penalty to Feyenoord.

A split second later, the ball fell to the Feyenoord centre-forward, Ove Kindvall, who had been a threat to the Celtic defence throughout the second half and extra time. The Celtic keeper, momentarily confused by the events, and like the rest of us, probably waiting for the referee to blow for a penalty, hesitated, transfixed almost, as, in an instant, Ove took control of the ball and stroked it past the goalkeeper into an empty net.

It was then that, in desperation, we all screamed "Penalty!", "He handled it!", "No-ooooo...!", etc.. But the referee allowed the goal to stand and that was the end of the dream for me. The game ended shortly after. That was the first time I experienced real grief.

Since that night, the Feyenoord football strip has always put the fear of God into me. To an impressionable 11-year-old, it was such an unusual and striking outfit at the time. But, even in defeat, it instilled in me a sneaking admiration for those unknown Dutch boys from Rotterdam who turned football on its head and heralded onto the world stage that magnificent Dutch philosophy known as "total football".
Anonymous, July 2006