End of a romantic adventure

EUROPA LEAGUE FINAL: PAUL HAYWARDwatched as two unfashionable clubs demonstrated football's ability to elevate the unsung

ONLY THE worst Champions League snob can have sneered at the excitement thrown up by Europe’s other tournament. At the heart of this Europa League final was the sense that great continental adventures can still be had by clubs who are not called Chelsea or Manchester United or Real Madrid. The title of the competition hardly mattered. What counted was football’s ability to elevate the unsung and spread the joy around.

By the time they gathered for a low-key opening ceremony in Hamburg, Roy Hodgson’s team were no longer “dear old Fulham” from Boat Race country. They were battle-hardened nomads contesting their 19th fixture in a competition that is often dismissed as a dumping ground. Even in defeat, after 18,000 miles and 10 months of slog in a journey that encompassed 192 travellers, they shed their reputation for rating conviviality above ambition.

The elevation of Europe’s second-tier marathon to near-operatic status was not at all contrived. Clearly there would not have been this fuss had Liverpool been England’s representatives. But last night, a club rich in warmth and spirit embarked on the most momentous night in their history and responded to Diego Forlan’s first-half goal the way they have all season, with an equaliser, from Simon Davies, five minutes later.

The feat could not be repeated when Forlan struck again as extra-time ticked on and penalties loomed, but Fulham can take consolation. Through a succession of giant-killing acts (Juventus, most notably) Hodgson’s men were obliged to stop treating the replacement for the old Uefa and Cup-Winners’ Cups as a diversion from Premier League survival and start regarding it as an opportunity to forge a new identity.

From the start, Hodgson saw that it was time for the Cottagers to stop punting down the Thames and start making waves.

So a trip thick with romance was also deadly serious in its long-term intent. Sadly, for them to come all this way and not beat Atletico Madrid was a little like Christopher Columbus sinking just before America had become visible.

Yet we marvelled at how far they have surged since 1996, when they traipsed in 85th of the 92 league clubs to post their worst-ever finish. A year later they were bought by Mohamed Al Fayed and transformed by Kevin Keegan. But as recently as 2002 they were ground-sharing with Queens Park Rangers and looked certainties for relegation in the spring of 2008 before Houdini Hodgson saved them on the final day.

Mark Schwarzer, Brede Hangeland, Danny Murphy, Damien Duff and Zamora have at last constructed a new heroes’ gallery to compete with the old prints of Johnny Haynes and Rodney Marsh and the brief push-the-boat-out era of Bobby Moore and George Best.

Fulham did not monopolise all the best lines, of course, and for Atletico too this was a limelight night. Only once had Madrid’s Everton or Manchester City lifted a European trophy: the 1962 Cup-Winners’ Cup. In 1974 they came within seconds of capturing the big one, but lost the European Cup to Munich after going 1-0 up. And then there was Forlan: a class act unjustly maligned at Manchester United, where he took eight months and 27 appearances to open his account but then scored important goals against Chelsea and Liverpool. And Fulham.

But no matter what Europe has thrown at them in this campaign, Fulham have kept on playing their own way, and have performed like people who decided on some long trip to distant parts that unity and coolness under pressure can conquer anything.

Is it the journey or the arrival that constitutes the triumph?

This is heresy, but as the game came to an end one sensed that Fulham had won something in defeat.