Andy Robertson - Robbo: Now Youre Gonna Believe Us...

I T was six oclock in the morning when the lights finally went on. First I blinked as my eyes came to terms with the brightness. Next, I did a double take as my focus returned. For a Liverpool player, lifelong Celtic fan and Scotland international, there could be no greater sight. But a combination of lager-induced brain fog, lack of sleep and outright surrealism made it difficult to take in. Stood in front of me was Sir Kenny Dalglish, the hero of all heroes. Not only that but he was being told by his lovely wife, Marina, that no, he couldnt carry the party on because they had a flight to catch and if they didnt leave right now they would miss it.

For a boy from Clarkston who had grown up on tales of King Kenny, told to me over and over again by my dad who worshipped him, this was as good and as bizarre as it gets. Except it wasnt. Seven hours earlier I had been stood on the pitch at the Wanda Metropolitano, blinded by the floodlights as I thrust Liverpools sixth European Cup into the Madrid night sky. Go on Andrew, I thought to myself. How do you even begin to make sense of all this?

If Id never experienced anything like this before then Id wager the Madrid Eurostars Hotel hadnt either. This was our base for 48 unforgettable hours around a fixture that would change all of our lives forever. We arrived back there in the early hours, dancing down an escalator chanting Allez Allez Allez with Alisson Becker carrying the European Cup into a crowded room. This had been the party to end all parties. Not in the sense of what was drunk although I have to be honest, this was one of those rare nights when the lads could let our hair down but in the sense of sheer jubilation.

For everyone who was lucky enough to be there players, staff, families, supporters the feeling of euphoria that all of us were sharing was much more intoxicating than whatever we were consuming. Im not a big drinker but that night I indulged without ever getting to that stage where you start feeling a bit unsteady on your feet. I just didnt want the night to end. I wanted it to carry on forever. Management at the hotel had other ideas, which was why they turned the lights on, sending Sir Kenny and his family for their plane and leaving the rest of us looking for somewhere else to get a drink.

For me, that meant heading up to my room with Adam Lallana. The pair of us went up in the same lift that had brought us down the previous evening, but now we were different people. Our personalities hadnt changed but our status had. Just like King Kenny gets to be called Sir after being knighted, we would now be known as European Cup winners. Its something you could never get sick of hearing. European Cup winner Andy Robertson. Wow. I have to stress that I dont go around describing myself like that and Id fully expect a slap from one of my mates if I did, but Im not ashamed to say that it gives me a buzz when a TV commentator says it or Im announced as a guest at an event with those five wonderful words. Its not just personal pride either, especially as I know Im only part of a team and I know better than anyone that there are many others who helped me along the way. More than anything, I understand what it means to my family and everyone else who has been part of my journey. But how could a footballer not take something out of being in the company of the Lisbon Lions, the legendary Liverpool teams and the greats of Real Madrid, AC Milan, Bayern Munich and Barcelona? No wonder Lallana and myself needed another drink!