SEVILLE 10 YEARS ON: From riots to receptions, epic journey will live long in memory...

Along the way, it became the greatest journey undertaken by a generation of Celtic fans.

A decade on, those who followed the road to Seville – through Lithuania, England, Spain, Germany and Portugal – still recount with pride every step taken to the 2003 Uefa Cup final.

Sure, just like the 1970 European Cup final in Milan, it did not yield the club's second European trophy in 36 years of trying since that glory day in Lisbon.

However, what that Uefa Cup campaign did deliver was a re-awakening of the connection between the club and its support, 80,000 of whom made the effort to join Martin O'Neill and his players in Seville.

It was a privilege to travel every yard of that adventure – even though I did at one stage fear for my life – and, at another, worry I was going to miss the final because of the Lisbon Lions.

What a remarkable journey it was. But the fact remains it was borne out of failure when Celtic came up short in their qualifying ties against Basel for a place in the group stage of the Champions League.

Having defeated Christian Gross' side 3-1 in the first leg at Parkhead, all that was required was to finish the job in the return.

Losing 2-0, to go out on away goals, was never in the script.

I still recall watching Chris Sutton shoot in the final minute, and waiting for the ball to bulge the net.

Instead, it slipped agonisingly past a post, and with it the ticket to the Champions League.

Major shareholder, Dermot Desmond, was there, ready to tell O'Neill to activate the deals to add another couple of players to help with the challenge ahead.

Those plans were immediately scuppered, as £10million slipped through the fingers.

The players were as shocked as everyone else. Instead of passing through the Uefa-designated mixed zone, where interviews could be requested, they headed straight on to the team bus, leaving media men with questions unanswered and column inches unfilled.

Fortunately for me, Neil Lennon did respond to a request sent to him to return to the stadium and give a brief interview, an act of professionalism which took him off the scale in terms of my appreciation.

What neither of us knew was that it was not to be the night a dream ended, but a more grandiose one began.

Waiting for the draw for the Uefa Cup, into which Celtic had been parachuted, brought little excitement as all eyes were on what could have been in the Champions League.

When Suduva from Lithuania came out of the hat with Celtic, the sense of being underwhelmed could not have been greater.

The sight of the decrepit, concrete monstrosity which is the Darius and Girenas Stadium in Kaunus, the venue for the opening leg, did nothing to raise spirits.

However, the Celtic players gave everyone something to smile about by winning 8-1, and the Uefa Cup adventure had begun.

When the next round saw Celtic paired with Blackburn, the juices really began to flow.

The Auld Enemy emotions were stirred and fused with extra zest as Rovers were managed by former Rangers player/manager, Graeme Souness.

He did his bit to hype up the occasion by bringing his squad to Glasgow for the first leg by train, marching them along the platform at Central Station as though he was King Edward with his invading force.

Even after losing to a Henrik Larsson goal at Parkhead, Souness kept the fire burning by saying to his players it had been men against boys, a comment which captain Garry Flitcroft was naive enough to repeat in public.

Armed with this, the Celtic Bhoys could not wait to have another go at the Blackburn men at Ewood Park, where, on a filthy night, they won 2-0.

From that moment, the belief there was indeed merit in being in the Uefa Cup started to emerge.

Defeating Celta Vigo at Parkhead in the next round was expected. What happened in Spain in the return wasn't.

The Vigo team arrived at the hotel where the Scottish press were staying to rest up for the hours before the game, and their South African striker, Benni McCarthy, was happy to hold court at the bar with the Celtic fans drawn by the news of their presence.

During the match itself, John Hartson was spat on by Peter Luccin, for which the Frenchman was later suspended.

Much worse was to follow for many of the Celtic fans, however, as they became embroiled in a confrontation with local police at the airport.

Unfortunately, standing in the queue to pass through security, I realised I was stuck right between fans throwing bottles at the police from a mezzanine bar – incensed when they saw a fan in a wheelchair being struck by a police officer – and the local constabulary who had by now drawn batons and were flailing at anyone in their way – including me.

The crush to get through security became more dangerous, and I felt myself being dragged to the floor, the consequences of which in that melee would have been very serious.

I managed to remain upright long enough to get through security and on to my flight back to Glasgow, battered but unbowed.

Stop-offs in Stuttgart, Liverpool and Porto to play Boavista in the semi-final were much more enjoyable and much less dangerous, and so it was on to Seville.

Getting to the Olympic Stadium on the outskirts of the city was another matter.

Despite hosting a European final, for which the city had been overwhelmed by an army of Celtic supporters, the local taxi drivers decided not to suspend their practise of taking a siesta.

The result was thousands of fans – and quite a number of the press – anxiously trying to get to the game.

Having finally secured transportation, my colleague, the late Alan Davidson, and I got dropped off at the wrong side of the newly-built ground.

We found ourselves outside a hotel built into one corner of the ground and, to our amazement, there were the Lisbon Lions, including skipper Billy McNeill signing autographs for supporters.

The clamour this created spooked the police, who immediately demanded the Lions retreat into the hotel for safety. And, as Alan and I spoke to Bertie Auld and a few other acquaintances, we were swept inside with them.

A reception had been taking place for the Lions, and the free bar was still in full flow. Alan was never happier than when he was in the company of men like Bertie, unless it was in the company of such luminaries with drink in hand.

By the time we did get to our allocated positions, Alan found a Celtic fan sitting in his seat, with a counterfeit ticket in hand to prove he had the right to be there.

There was only going to be one winner there, just as there should only have been one winner on the field.

Jose Mourinho's Porto were huge favourites. And, if you had said before a ball was kicked Celtic would lose in extra time, most fans would have accepted that.

However, Henrik Larsson's two goals and the team's overall performance having got the Hoops into a position where they could – and possibly, should – have won made the result hard to take.

Though Rab Douglas' failure to prevent the winner was blamed for the defeat, in my book Bobo Balde's sending- off for an avoidable second yellow card swung the game.

The mixed zone brought little by way of interviews as a despondent Celtic squad trudged through, eyes on the ground, perhaps searching for where their hearts had landed.

All that was left was to find our way out of the stadium and to locate a taxi to return us to our hotel – an even tougher gig than getting one to the game.

The dream was over, but the memories will last forever.

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