Well done Richard Brentnall for writing a fan's account with a refreshing formula - no flying bottles (though he can evidently drink with the best of them), no copycat diarying, no moaning. A splendid travelogue laced with background history, football matches experienced in the context of their location.
Some of the portrayals are so vivid I almost felt I was there too - Newry, Prague, Salonika, Santiago, and especially the suffocating gloom of East Germany when he went there with West Brom back in the seventies.
His theory as to just how Daniel Nivel came to be battered at France '98 certainly makes sense to me, though I'm not sure that I could fall in love with Argentina too! A more succinct account of the club that was Dukla Prague I've never read, nor a more reasoned one of the demise of Hungarian football. Those who despair at refereeing standards will find ammunition in a Lisbon derby, while anyone recalling the proven-to-be-corrupt Guruceta Muro will be provided with a prime example of his handiwork. And if it's laughs you want, go back to the seventies again when Brentnall and his mates went to Spain (and partied with a young Bryan Robson).
Another thing about this book is that, for any busy reader, its episodic format makes it easy to dip in and out of, and you can't lose track.
Brentnall sticks up for the "real" football fan. If only everyone who travels to watch football abroad could go with his attitude.
One last word: brilliant.