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THREE CHEERS FOR THE FAT BUDDHA
Mike Harris takes a Viennese Whirl

Gibbins looked up in awe at the monolithic 13th century towers. Damon Searle reckoned it "a perv's paradise". Pikey grinned in disbelief - the "talent" was in a different league. He was knocked out by the Austrian Frauleins. Such are the pressing concerns of professional footballers abroad.
I know this because they were the first familiar faces I saw outside St. Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna, a meeting point for City fans in Austria. The team had beaten the supporters to the spot.

After four days of Parisian comfort, a 14-hour rail journey to Vienna had brought home the realities of following City. A different destination, but the bumps and bruises felt the same.
Ten in the morning, and a room had to be found among the vast range of Gothic complexities,Hapsburg treasures and other delights. Bounced from one pension to another with the same reply "Sorry, full", I began to wonder just how many Cardiff fans had made the trip. Was it in such droves that we had taken every available bed in town ?

Eventually I had an offer. A space in a shabby, dank affair with three Romanians who appeared to be down-and-outs. They brought along a few mates to spice up the occasion and I made a quick getaway wanted to hang on to my cash, camera and travelling kit. As luck would have it, I eventually found a decent room, cleaned up, and headed for St. Stephen's Cathedral where I bumped into the team.

The fans though converged in the centre, but 400 Bluebirds in a city the size of Vienna did not count for much.
For the most part, the bars were full of locals and very few got to hear the Eddie May message.
Sad man of the night was the fat berk who obviously spent his time working out with Christ Pike,
honing up chat-up lines.

Beat this for a classic spiel: Armed with only a beer gut, and a Cardiff top sticking sweatily to his chest, he swaggered up to a local lovely looking in a window and in true Cardiff vernacular asked: "Alrights, luv, you interested ?"

She was not.

As Pikey found out, he wasn't able to fall back on a 15 stone walrus lifted from the depths of Coco Savanna. It was going to take more than a lager and lime, a chicken curry and a look at his scrapbook to make the net shuffle in this town. He was destined to spend his evening training on the outskirts of the city. Hard luck, Pikey.

Wednesday. A 3pm start saw us south-bound on a tram heading towards the suburbs and stop called Maria Bundesstadium. Fifteen stops down the line and were in a characterless concrete newbuild with zero atmosphere and not a lot to do. Four hours before kick-off and the police presence was intense. About 50 vans lined up behind one side of the ground. The uniformed mass, armed to the teeth, stared at us.

Reputations have a habit of following us, but this was ridiculous. With most places shut( whether for us or not, I don't know), we walked the best part of a mile to find an open bar that served food. A couple of hours later and we were back at the ground. The police search at the turnstiles took two minutes.

The City section, in the right corner of the main stand offered a choice of two tiers both third rate. Behind both goals stretched grass banks which were unoccupied, though some Wacker fans stood in a single line at the fence at the back of both ends. Opposite, was an open terrace, only about 20 rows deep. Our side was a bit better, but the roof above us had been left unfinished. We had the option of sitting on the seats embedded in the concrete but it was clear everybody would be standing for the duration of the game.

Admira Wacker were clearly the poor relations of Viennese football, a bit like the Brentford of London football. It seemed a long way to come to be playing a side of that calibre.
Pre - match entertainment included a match with a Wacker side from the Seventies doing battle with a Czech team from the same period. It was like a game in slow motion, with the Czech centreforward having a torrid time, missing one easy chance after the other.
Each one was greeted with: 'Are you Pikey in disguise ?'

A 4-4 draw and the kids' stuff over, we waited for the big one. By this stage, the Cardiff chanting was vociferous.
The Austrians, it was obvious, did not have a clue what was going on and couldn't understand what the fuss was about. They just stood and gawped open-mouthed at us.
Suddenly, a familiar voice came over the Tannoy. Holiday Camp King Rick Wright was trying to make himself heard above the racket. His message: that the game was to be stopped to honour with a minute's silence, an UEFA official who had dropped dead. Fair enough, but why not have it before the, we wondered?

Seconds later, and the teams were out. Eddie picked the same line-up as in the home leg, with the exception of Robbie James who was drafted in. Ramsey, Brazil and Grew were the "foreigners".
With the rain drizzling, the game kicked off. Again there was no right back. Brazil, Abraham and Baddeley filed the space in the middle as the three central defenders. Searle at left back, and James pushed in, just behind the midfield.

It was clear, as at Cardiff, that there was little between the teams. Wacker had a bit more skill, but overall they were light weight and did not press with much conviction.
The no right back gamble was just that. All the home attacks came dow the left wing with one telling cross nearly resulting in goal. Despite some anxious moments, Brazil looked commanding and sewed up most of what was thrown at us, with Baddeley playing well beside him.

Nil-nil at half-time was about right, the only note of worry for City being the lack of chances created. Dale was doing a lot of running, but not receiving balls to feet and Pike was finding the marking restricting, to say the least.
The second half, I would like to forget. The first Wacker goal looked so pathetic, with Brazil falling over and Grew completely. misreading the line of the ball.

From then on, City always had to chase the game and despite plenty ofpossession never really threatened the Austrians. Our final ball was often really sloppy and poor distribution at this level gets nowhere. Their second, in the last minute, flattered them and triggered a wave of despair over our section of the ground.

One moronic loser ripped up a wooden seat from the concrete and threw it in anger. Not surprisingly, it came crashing down on a City fan's head, the victim iucky not to be seriously injured. The moron then sneaked off and quickly changed his top in the hope no one would recognise him. Brave man.

The whistle blew. Despite a big send off, I think we got less than we deserved. Robbie James was excellent and Ramsey fought all the way, but we looked a shapeless unit that was short on ideas.
As the players faded away on the far side of the pitch, a familiar voice came over the Tannoy. The holiday camp supremo had more to say.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," he started, in a Fifties Butlins-camp style. "I think we did well."
Did we?
"And I can tell you this, we'll be back next year. I guarantee it."
Never guarantee anything in football, Rick. Anyway, we thought you were off-loading the side for £2m.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, I want you all to leave the ground quietly."
Come on Rick, you were talking to Cardiff City, not Barry pensioners on The Knap.
"And I'd like to give a special mention to our manager, Eddie May."
Oh yeah, what's that?
"I think, Eddie's doing a great job, so let's all give him three cheers."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Hip, Hip."
Cue laughs of derision from City fans.
"Hip, Hip."
More laughter.
Hip, Hip."
Hysterical laughter.
Poor old soul.

He just wasn't clued in. Carried away by the sound of his own voice, and believing he had hit the right chord, the Buddha-like figure in a blue anorak trundled down the empty section of the stand and came to the fence segregating the away support. He greeted the adoring masses with a benign smile and a warm hand.
A chant of "Rickie, do the Ayatollah', had him completely baffled, though he obviously enjoyed the attention.
A five-minute sendoff, and he trudged back whence he came, his name still ringing in his ears.
I bet that never happens at the Majestic.

After the usual ten minute lock-in and the City were let out.
Did they obey the Fat Buddha and keep quiet ?
You bet they didn't.
Hip, Hip Hooray.