"I thought I'd planned my investigative trip brilliantly ... but it ended up in total chaos"

The best laid plans often fall flat when you're chasing a story where you can't be sure what will materialise. On one memorable occasion, most things went wrong ...

This is a story about what happens when a sports reporter with some minor sleuthing skills is sent by his mid-market Sunday tabloid on an assignment that, on the face of it, looks hard to deliver.

It’s about journalistic process, and occasions when you’re asked to do things you probably wouldn’t choose to do.

It’s about what I thought was brilliant planning, but ended up involving days of chaos, nearly driving my car off a mountain, staying in a snow-besieged castle, getting borderline hypothermic because I didn’t check the weather, chancing upon a grizzly murder, and having to crash a wedding in rural Poland as my only option for dinner one evening.

It’s also about delivering a story.

The year was 2011, or February 2011 to be precise, 14 years ago.

The reporter was me. I was the chief sports news correspondent for the Mail on Sunday, which, at the time, if not exactly left-leaning, had recently had Gary Lineker as its star columnist (and Sir Bobby Robson before that), and would, in 2016, go on to campaign hard for ‘Remain’ in the Brexit referendum. This often blows people’s minds.

While the MoS didn’t have the snarly reputation of its sister title, Paul Dacre’s Daily Mail - which was then a wholly separate paper, staff-wise, and the MoS’s biggest rival - no Sunday tabloid was going to be without hard-nosed higher-ups.

Competition was cut-throat and in a top-down organisation, it was routine for a senior editor to dictate to a department head that they wanted a story about x, y or z. And, come hell or high water, you would have to deliver.

On this occasion, one of the most senior MoS editors had noted that tickets would soon be on sale for Euro 2012 in Poland and Ukraine, the following year.

England fans would be among those making the most requests for tickets, as they were expected to qualify easily - which they did.

The same editor had also read an article about football hooliganism in Poland, and this led him to YouTube, where he found footage of Polish hooligan gangs, tooled up with baseball bats and knives, meeting in forests to beat and slash each other.

“So Nick,” said my sports editor, Malcolm, one day in early to mid-February 2011. “I want you to go to Poland, find some hooligans in a wood trying to stab each other to death, perhaps interview some of them, and see what they have in store for England fans next summer.”

“OK,” I said, and set about my research.

I figured I should attend at least one match, preferably between clubs with rival hooligan firms, and struck lucky because the Polish season was about to resume, after a winter break, on Friday 25 February. And on that evening, top-flight Cracovia, based in Kraków, would host Legia Warsaw. Both clubs had histories of fan violence.

It just so happened that I had been invited to an EU-sponsored conference on match-fixing in Budapest from Monday to Wednesday 21-23 February, and in my home office, I pulled my European road atlas down from the shelf and hatched a cunning plan.

I could fly to Budapest on the Sunday, attend the conference Monday to Wednesday, hire a car first thing Thursday and drive to Kraków for lunchtime. On the map it looked very approximately like the distance between London and Manchester, so I figured it might take four hours or so.

I’d then spend Thursday afternoon and Friday meeting various people in Kraków, then attend the match, spend Saturday writing, then head back to Budapest early on Sunday for my late morning flight home. My boss said that was absolutely fine.

Next: a hotel. Often when travelling for work, particularly if going somewhere new, I try to stay somewhere interesting rather than a standard downtown 4* hotel. Often it’s cheaper to stay outside cities, and I found a castle, located nine miles north of Kraków near a village called Korzkiew.

It was about £90 a night, or cheaper than the city centre hotels and much more exciting: a duplex turret room with a four-poster bed and a roaring log fire in my downstairs lounge. It was up a hill, set in parkland. I’d have a car so access wouldn’t be a problem. I’ve found a contemporary photo, below.

Next, I needed to set up some meetings before I set off. I would meet some Cracovia FC officials on the evening of the game. I also arranged to speak to the Kraków mayor, Jacek Majchrowski, while I was in town, and Dariusz Nowak, the chief spokesman for Kraków police.

I made a tentative arrangement to speak to an academic about the psychology of Polish hooliganism, and, via a fan forum for Cracovia’s city rivals, Wisla Kraków, I got the number of someone who spoke English and said he’d talk to me about organised fights. Maybe he’d introduce me to other hooligan leaders.

What could possibly go wrong?

I flew to Budapest on the Sunday and attended the conference Monday to Wednesday. It was actually dull but I met some interesting people who in future years I’d work with on stories ranging from football corruption to doping in cycling.

By 8am Thursday I was picking up the hire car and I told the guy behind the counter I was driving to Kraków. He raised an eyebrow and produced a map. It was only then that I clocked that between Budapest and Kraków there was … Slovakia.

I asked the guy which border crossing he would use between Hungary and Slovakia and he gave me a name, which I wrote down, and then put into the SatNav. And then I set off.

After more than two hours, the SatNav with an American accent was apparently taking me further and further into the countryside, on smaller and smaller roads. I was obviously not being taken on the highways.

The SatNav then said: “After 200 metres, turn left. And catch a ferry.”

I turned left, and the road became a mud track, which after about another 200 metres, ended next to a small wooden shack, and a jetty. And in front of me, possibly the single widest river I’ve ever seen: the Danube.

There was nobody around. I didn’t have a smartphone, and in any case my mobile signal had gone. I stared at the river for a few minutes, then got out to stretch my legs. An open-bedded truck pulled up behind me. I didn’t speak any Hungarian, so I asked in English if there was a ferry.

The driver, who was really friendly, indicated in sign language it would come in 20 minutes. About quarter of an hour later another guy arrived in a beat-up old car and unlocked the shed. This must be the ticket man. I indicated “one ticket please” but he didn’t take cards and I didn’t have cash.

The friendly man in the truck paid for me. I don’t even know how much it was. I thanked him profusely and when the 12-car ferry arrived, I crossed my Rubicon.

On the other side, I started my car and my SatNav was blank. I hadn’t asked, or been told, but it only worked in Hungary.

I didn’t have a map, or a phone signal, and set off at random. After perhaps 20 minutes I got off the minor road onto something bigger and came to a petrol station, where I bought a new European road atlas.

It was getting towards late afternoon, and darkening, and snowing, and icy, when I finally concluded that perhaps I shouldn’t have gone via this mountain. I was knackered and thinking I might not even make Kraków tonight.

I now know, all these years later, that there is a Budapest-Kraków route that’s about 240 miles and should take about five hours. But I’d taken the scenic route (if I’d been able to see) that was the thick end of 450 miles, and involved two massive hairpin bend climbs and descents.

Turning round one corner in a blizzard, in the right-hand lane with a precipitous drop right there, I was startled by a lorry coming out of nowhere the other way with its lights on full beam. I swerved and slammed on the brakes. The lorry went harmlessly past me and I skidded to a halt, the front tyres off the road and my nerves wrecked.

A relaxing day’s driving it was not. And it was almost midnight when I got to Kraków city centre, now deep in snow, and made a phone call to the castle. I explained I had no idea how to find it and I was asked for my location. I gave the street name and was told to wait and perhaps half an hour later a guy pulled up in a car and told me to follow him.

My hero, Mateusz. When we were perhaps half a mile from the castle he pulled up in front of me and came to my window. “You have snow chains?” he asked.

“Erm, no,” I replied.

“It’s a hill, you have to leave your car here.”

I got out, got my bag, and slid and slipped up the long driveway.

I was the only person staying. My room was magnificent. The fire was roaring. Breakfast the next morning was an enormous spread of cold meats and cheeses and fruit and breads and coffee, on a banquet table, for one.

I’d had quite enough of driving and Mateusz got me a taxi into town. I met the mayor, and the police spokesman. They both told the same story, that domestic hooliganism had been terrible a few years ago, with frequent killings. In the 2005-06 season, eight people had died in organised fights across Poland.

But, they said, with Euro 2012 on the horizon, there had been a massive crackdown and things were generally under control now, and in any case the hooliganism was primarily a club thing and didn’t generally impact on the national team fixtures.

I had meant to speak to the academic on the Thursday but my mountain journey screwed that, so I called him, and while friendly, he couldn’t provide much more than “Some Polish fans like fighting, it’s tribal.”

I met the Wisla fan, who was young, about 20. He said he’d seen fights and knew people who arranged fights but didn’t know of any upcoming, and frankly didn’t have material that would be particularly colourful.

I headed to the Cracovia ground to meet photographer Mark Pain, who had flown in on Friday lunchtime, would take photos at the match, stay at a comfy city centre hotel, and fly back on Saturday. He was extensively wrapped up. He told me he was also wearing thermals. I had jeans, shirt, a thin jumper and light jacket. It was minus 13 and getting dark. He rolled his eyes at me and said I’d obviously not checked the weather.

We stayed outside for two hours before kick-off, waiting for the away fans to arrive, escorted and protected by 500 riot police. If this was Poland after solving its problem, then who knows what it was like before. The atmosphere was crackling and the photos would tell a story. My finished piece is below in full for more on that.

By half-time, I knew I really didn’t have the story that was being expected back in London.

Sure, I could write about the massive problem Poland had had in the recent past. But I would need to reflect that the mayor and police were largely on top of things.

And that’s when I started talking to another bloke in the press room, also trying to warm up at half-time with a coffee and donut.

His name was Grzegorz Szopa and he was a former lower-division goalkeeper who was now a football writer. I told him why I was in town and what I’d been sent to find.

“Ah,” he said. “The really bad hooliganism is largely gone.” He paused.

“Although one supporter was hacked to death in the street here last month, by men in rival colours, armed with machetes.”

Oh. My. Word.

That’s called a story, and I asked Grzegorz for all the details and spent the next few hours and the following morning checking it out.

I went back to Mark’s hotel for a bite to eat and a glass of wine late on Friday, and called my wife Helen. After about a minute she said: “You are making absolutely no sense at all.” (No change there, then).

Mark said he thought I was verging on hypothermia. So we stayed by the fire for a couple of hours until I warmed up, then I got a taxi back to my castle.

I spent the morning writing and filed mid-afternoon.

There was no way I was driving back to Budapest on the Sunday. I didn’t know what to do. I rang Helen. My brain was frazzled.

She called back about 20 minutes later. “There’s an EasyJet flight from Kraków in the morning,” she said. “And you can drop the car at that airport instead of Budapest for a surcharge.”

Hallelujah!

It was evening now, and dark. I was the castle’s only resident and the kitchen was closed so no food was available. My saviour Mateusz told me to walk down the hill and along the lane, and there was a barn restaurant about 10 minutes away.

I set off. It was snowing.

When I got there, there was one big room, and a live band, and dancing.

I asked a member of staff if I could order some food and in good English she said that this was a wedding and the venue was booked for the night. Contemplating that I might be eating snow for dinner, she told me to hang on a minute and went over to the bride and said something.

Then she came back and said: “The bride says we can set you up a table at the back, and please help yourself to their buffet.”

My goodness, I could have wept. Instead I sat down, had some delicious dinner, and a beer, and then went back to my castle.

I’d delivered my story, and it’s below; first how it looked in the paper, and then the copy. Do also look at the online version, if only for three of Mark Pain’s photos. I saw the whole portfolio from that night and they were brilliant.

Sometimes things don’t go to plan. But you get over the line anyway (hopefully). That’s journalism.

PS: The writer doesn’t write the headlines!

PPS: After the Euro 2012 draw, and the FA’s decision to have England based in Krakow, I was sent back there again to stay in England’s future hotel, take photos of Fabio Capello’s bedroom, and scope out the local nightlife including a nearby bar with waitresses in hotpants on roller skates. I also met a supermodel … but that’s another story.

Guns, riot police, teargas and violent fans: Is that what's in store for Euro 2012?

By Nick Harris for the Mail on Sunday, 27 February 2011

The killers of 'Tomasz C' wore the colours of a rival football team when they hacked him to death with machetes in a pre-planned attack in broad daylight last month.

On Friday evening, at the ground of Cracovia, the Polish top-division team which the slaughtered man supported, 500 riot police filled the dark, freezing streets as the home team prepared to face Legia Warsaw.

The security squad were not there because of the murder, perpetrated by followers of Cracovia's bitter city rivals, Wisla Kraków.

They were there to chaperone the 700 Legia fans, notorious in their own right and responsible for their club being banned from Europe in 2007.

Most of the police on Friday were carrying batons and shields. Some had guns, others had teargas canisters strapped to their backs.

They had armoured vehicles and water cannon as back-up. This pre-match scene, with its bomb-loud firecrackers and edge of menace, is what passes for low key in Poland in 2011.

It can get much uglier, as the most cursory search on YouTube proves.

Welcome to the nation that will co-host Euro 2012, a place where football and terror go hand in hand.

Tickets for the European Championship go on general sale on Tuesday and England fans will be among the heaviest subscribers.

They will arrive in huge numbers next summer to confront a football culture still seeped in the sort of violent clashes not seen on home shores since the worst excesses of the Eighties.

The atmosphere outside the ground on Friday was hugely intimidating as the Legia fans were escorted from packed buses to a caged entry tunnel to the stadium.

They were frisked for weapons.

A few home fans jeered from across the street.

Two Legia fans tried to scale a fence to reach them but were discouraged as the double line of armed guards moved in.

It felt like a serious incident was one stampede barrier away - and this is after years of anti-hooligan initiatives.

It was not the kind of place you would be happy to take children, and there were few youngsters in attendance.

None of clampdown measures prevented the brutal death on January 17 of Tomasz C, a fan 'leader' also known by his ironic nickname 'człowieka', Polish for 'human'.

His surname was abbreviated in nationwide media reports for legal reasons because it is strongly suspected that he was killed as part of a drugs feud.

The murder appalled Poland, reigniting debate about hooligans and their links to mobsters.

Although deaths happen from time to time, there has not been sustained bloodletting since eight killings across Poland in 2005-06.

Tomasz C was 30 and he was not killed at a game.

The Polish league resumed after its three-month winter break only on Friday. But the ambush slaying was perpetrated by 20 men wearing Wislaw colours.

They ran their target's car off the road then, as a pack, they hacked him with knives and machetes.

He died after sustaining more than 50 stab wounds and was left unrecognisable. Seven Wisla 'Ultras' were arrested to prevent a tit-for-killing but all were released.

The city's mayor, Jacek Majchrowski, says the incident was as much to do do with hooligans migrating into drug-crime rather than simple football rivalry.

The chief spokesman for the Kraków police, Dariusz Nowak, agrees.

'At the stadiums things have certainly improved,' Nowak told me.

'Incidents of violence (such as the most serious stabbings) are now rare there. This is thanks to hard work in past three years by clubs, the authorities and the police. But, of course, hooliganism hasn't been eradicated.'

Four of Euro 2012's host venues will be in Ukraine and four in Poland. No games will be played in Kraków but the city's efforts to tackle its decades-old hooligan problem reflect a national picture.

'We estimate there are around 200 of the most hardcore thugs in our city now, split between the two clubs,' says Nowak.

'We call them pseudo fans because we see them more as criminals than supporters.

'You could say that they demonstrated their "soldier" credentials with football violence and were recruited into organised crime on that basis. We think they mostly fight now away from attention, in the forest, for example.'

The two Kraków clubs have the most violent rivalry, known as the Holy War, but every major club in Poland have their own 'firm'.

Nowak says all these groups are becoming synonymous with drug-running.

But they do still have pre-arranged fights, with points awarded for 'battle wins'.

Tallies are kept on websites.

'It is known as the hooligan league,' says Nowak. 'We are cutting down on the visible problem but when we sometimes see people with injuries we believe are from hooligan fights, it is almost comical how they avoid admitting it. You'll find someone with a head wound and they'll tell you they had an accident with an ironing board.'

Cracovia as a club have worked hard to try to rid themselves of hooligans.

The worst single injury at Friday's game was sustained by a Legia player, Ivica Vrdoljak, knocked unconscious in the 3-3 draw when he fell and hit his head on the frozen pitch.

It was minus 10 degrees and snowing.

The player was out cold and an ambulance came on to the pitch to take him off. He was later released from hospital.

'Honestly, you can see the improved situation at stadiums,' says Grzegorz Szopa, a former goalkeeper who now works as a football writer.

'It is getting safer and safer, and you can see that the home fans here tonight are passionate, not violent.'

The atmosphere away from the enclosure holding the raucous Legia support was certainly good - a riot of flags and coloured foil banners, not blood.

Cracovia's old ground, described by one fan as 'a s**t dump', has gone, replaced by a brand new 15,000-seat arena which opened in September last year.

It is smart, next to a park, and the staff are friendly.

Bizarrely, there is a chandelier shop in one wing of the stadium. All fans must now be club members and carry photo ID cards that are scanned on entry.

The worst elements of the fanbase either stay away, or attend solely to socialise, keeping their fights for elsewhere.

'But we are not complacent,' says Nowak. 'We know these hooligans are still associated with football, even if we see them as straight criminals. Hooligans are hooligans, and we must keep working to improve the situation.'

As for Euro 2012, Nowak says he is 'convinced' that it will pass off peacefully.

Every major international tournament since Euro 2000 has been spared large-scale trouble, and rampaging mobs have been absent at that level since English fans ran amok in Marseille in 1998.

'I think that whatever problem we have at a domestic level, there is less chance of trouble around Poland games,' says Nowak.

'The risk is certainly lower these days, whether from Polish fans, or English or German.'

Szopa adds: 'I see two more serious problems for Poland at Euro 2012. Our roads are rubbish, and so are our team.'

And if those are next summer's worst problems, a nation will be grateful.

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