It was the evening of October 26th last. And it was coming up for seven o' clock in Barcelona. In around an hour and a quarter Dundee United would enter European football - by kicking off against the Fairs Cup holders in fabulous Nou Camp Stadium. Watching the players gather in the vestibule of the Hotel Colon, I think we all hoped hard that, for a start, no inferiority complex had entered into their systems. For much had happened to implant such a feeling. But our boys looked calm enough as they went out to board their bus. Anyhow of we went through the thronged streets. Admiring our driver for dexterity in the tide of traffic. Right to the Camp Nou - and out onto the pitch immediately. It was dark. with only a few pilot lights burning. And the huge tiers were so empty of people. But the pitch felt great. There was also a pleasant bit of wind to temper the balmy atmosphere of a typical Spanish evening. It seemed no time at all till the preliminaries were over. 

How smart the players looked in a brand spanking new rig-out. And the teams were lined up. And we on the sidelines sensed a new excitement. This was United, the wee team of recent years, off on their big adventure. How we hoped for them....In their red and blue, the Barcelona men seemed to want to spar at first. But United weren't having any. There was urgency in their movements, bite in their tackling, intelligence in their positioning - and the wait they made the pass. This looked good...It looked even better, when, after Sandy Davie had turned aside a shot that came at him through a ruck, a build up ended with Billy Hainey taking the ball through. A cutely-placed shot GOAL!!! Away up in the stands a wee knot of United fans went crazy. And didn't their whooping and cheering sound out! For, as far as the 20,000 Barcelona fans were concerned the 'hush was horrible. We waited now for a Spanish onslaught. It came too, but didn't get very far. For Jimmy Briggs and his garrison were in that certain mood. Ever chasing, ever challenging. Using short pass movements to break out of defence. Covering so effectively it seemed no shot would penetrate. I think it was about then we made up our minds, surely no United team had ever played better. And no matter though the harsh awards of the Yugoslav referee were disturbing, confidence replaced apprehension as the second half got going. Well, the story is now familiar. As United continued inspired and unruffled, something of desperation entered into Barcelona. Tackling became tougher. Fouls were more frequent. And still the ref, was unkind to United. But he could do nothing but give a penalty when Torres brought down Billy Hainey. BANG! Finn Seemann stepped in to hammer the kick. But it was no-score as Orjan Persson had stepped into the box as Seemann shot. Never has a retaken penalty been sent home more confidently, right to the spot where the first one went. Now we just knew United were to win and shake Europe in the doing of it. It was a wonderful feeling, out in the foreign land. Wonderful to ba a part of an invading force that was triumphing over all odds. Oh, the dying, desperate efforts of Barcelona brought a goal to give them more hope for leg No.2, and help there now irate, derisive, whistling fans. But soon came the final whistle to seal victory for United. A victory grown out of courage supreme, sharp and sure football, teamwork of highest football order. A victory that will most certainly get very special placing in the record book at Tannadice. It was certainly a famous evening.  Written by A man who was there.