By Barney Burnham
October 26 2004

It's time to dig out the passports, dust off the phrasebooks, locate the Euros left over from the last foreign trip and look forward to the Heineken Cup. For any Wasps fan who followed last season's trail to glory, it's clearly going to be a difficult act to follow, but it'll be fun trying . The glorious thing about the European competitions - let's not forget what a memorable time we had in our one season in the Parker Pen Challenge Cup - is that there's far more to it than just the rugby. Why else could we still have fond memories of that gruesome day in Treviso, three years ago? Bottom of the Premiership, with an injury list as long as a South African prop's arm, and we
go and lose to an Italian side! To be fair to Treviso, we aren't the only side they've turned over at home.

Don Fowler (RIP, sadly missed) had booked his official party into the same hotel as the team. That Saturday evening, as we gloomily tucked into an excellent dinner, and contemplated the misery of our 32-17 defeat, Nigel Melville came and addressed us. He apologised for the afternoon's performance and told us that the boys owed us, and were waiting in the bar, to discharge their debt. What could have been a night of gloomy despondency became a memorable session of player-supporter bonding, which left me with the mother and father of all hangovers - thanks very much, Will Green!

A leader to the end, Nigel was last to leave the bar, and first into the swimming pool the next morning - or so I'm told.

Last season's epic trip to Perpignan brought us another unforgettable night with our victorious heroes. Our favoured haunt since arriving in that wonderful Catalan hotbed, whose stadium was nicknamed Le Chaudron (the cauldron) had been the bar owned by the former French lock, Jean-François Imbernon - a man with a bone-crushing handshake. Since it was a Dimanche, Chez J-F was fermé. A group of us sought alternative watering-holes, and found ourselves with most of the team, enjoying a sing-song led by ace plucker Martin Purdy at the guitar.

That trip embodied what European rugby was all about. Some of us had made contact with a handful of USAP fans, who'd travelled to Wycombe for the opening group match. They assured us that we'd be very welcome in Perpignan - and how welcome they made us! Three of us were collected from our hotel and told "Tonight, you pay for nothing!" A superb meal followed, and the centenary year of the Entente Cordiale got off to an auspicious start.

The following morning, one of our hosts took us to his winery. We ended the trip in his house, where we were joined by the rest of the previous night's company, who brought cheese, ham and bread. The ad hoc lunch which followed, washed down by Henri's finest, was every bit as enjoyable as the previous night's feast.

As we know, the game itself was brutal, but the response of the passionate Perpignan fans was exemplary. They waited for several minutes, to ensure that they gave our team a standing ovation.

Our visits to Stade Français have also been characterised by the friendship which makes rugby so special. Who will forget the lunch we had, prior to that epic win in the Parker Pen, on one of the coldest nights I remember watching rugby? That 2nd leg performance is right up there with the greatest of many Wasps performances I've been privileged to witness. With the game, and the tie, long since won, the team put their bodies on the line to ensure that Stade were denied a consolation try. The only blot on the landscape was the disgusting glass of red wine I bought in the clubhouse - the sort of potion which could have justified a war, had Hans Blix and the boys stumbled across it in the Iraqi desert.

Most memorable of all has to be last season's semi-final in Dublin. I remember being overcome by emotion at the end of that spectacular match. When I finally rediscovered the power of speech, I choked out the words "That has to be the greatest game of club rugby I've ever seen." I was more than gratified to see that the Fourth Estate agreed, to a man.

Many of us are still bearing bruises from the number of slaps on the back we received from the magnanimous, muscular Munstermen we encountered on that joyous night in the city of James Joyce.

And then there was the final. Glorious weather, a carnival atmosphere in the West Car Park, the Hand of Howley, and a night of ecstasy, ending up in the Orange Tree with most of the team.

I could go on. We could all go on, with our own memories of great days and nights in the Heineken Cup - and the PPCC!

The important thing is, the games have always been just part of the whole experience. Winning has been the icing on the cake, and a very delicious icing indeed - but this great tournament is one to be savoured, whatever the result.

This season offers us a mixture of northern Italy, the French Basque country, and ... er, the East Midlands. Beyond that, who can say? I should, at this point, make it clear that Leicester is a magnificent city, unjustly overlooked by world tourism, with a rugby team which has rightly been
considered one of the wonders of the modern world - that should ensure we don't have touchy Tigers fans miaowing with rage!

This year's final will be in Edinburgh, for the first time. We all hope Wasps will be there, but you can guarantee that whichever sides meet at Murrayfield next May, their supporters will have had some magical moments on the road to Auld Reekie.