San Siro is the only stadium in Europe that you have to watch a game at before you die, or before it dies. The ground’s demolition has been mooted for over 5 years, and although no ground has been broken for a replacement, time is surely running out for the famous old stadium. I’ve always wanted to go to San Siro, and when I was given the chance to, I had to drop everything and book a flight to Milan to watch AC Milan face off against Empoli in Serie A.

On the day of the game, it rained torrentially all morning. Milan is a great city, with fantastic architecture and long, wide boulevards, but it’s not built for the rain. Big raindrops jumped back off of the pavement and cars sent puddle water in huge sprays on the sides of roads. I decided to brave the torrent and made my way to a bar near Cadorna station. After a few refreshments, and after the downpour had subsided into a drizzle, it was 2pm and time to make my pilgrimage.

If you’ve never been to San Siro I’ll tell you how to get there. The stadium is out of the city, so you want the tram or metro. I opted for the latter, perhaps not a fantastic idea an hour before kick-off. From Cadorna you take the M1 train to Lotto where you have to switch to an M5 train. Ride the M5 a few stops to the end of the line and you’re at the ground.

Hundreds of rained-on Rossoneri piled into the metro at every stop, Adidas Sambas slapped against concrete, red and black scarves tired around necks and wrists and umbrellas drying out in their closed state. Trying to change train at Lotto station is, in effect, a lottery. If you’re bold enough to shoulder your way through the hordes you might be able to squeeze onto a train, already pre-packed with football fans from elsewhere along the line.

The metro journey is mercifully short, and when doors open, you’re carried by the flood of bodies, feet hardly touching the ground. Through the ticket barrier and through a second set of turnstiles and you’re finally back in the open air. Your eyes adjust after your time underground and what you see can only be described in religious terms.

Milan has two cathedrals, the Duomo, splendidly white, ornate and gothic, and San Siro, the brutal, imposing goliath, its red girders jutting out at each corner and its series of spiralling walkways, the long and singular way to ascend to the top tiers of the ground. As a pilgrim to San Siro, I was struck with awe.

Getting into the ground is relatively simple, snake your way past scarf vendors, hot dog and pizza vans and beer tents and you find yourself at your gate. Surrender your umbrella at the gate, the steward promises its safe keeping until you return at fulltime, but you know that that isn’t going to happen. Then, if your ticket is like mine and in row 7, there’s no venture up those iconic spiralling slopes. Instead, a dingy flight of stairs, another equally dingy flight of stairs, a third, perhaps slightly more dingy flight of stairs, and finally you are smashed in the face with one of the greatest sights you can see at a football stadium.

Stepping out from the stairs, the first thing you notice is San Siro’s roof. The roof isn’t particularly waterproof, it’s not particularly good at keeping atmosphere in, it actually floats suspended over the whole ground, a mesh of steel beams and Perspex sheets that makes rectangular perfection. Then you look down and realise the scale of the place you’re in. San Siro’s steep stands give the stadium a feeling of boundless scale. From my seat close to the pitch, the third tier was completely obscured by the ground’s design- the heavens an apt name for the section when you could see white clouds behind it and the roof. At each corner of the ground are peculiar structures, concrete cylinders large in size and covered in portholes. These parts of the ground are completely unnecessary, they could have normal windows, they probably don’t have to be as big as they are, but they’re there because they can be, defiant in their design.

I love San Siro because of its condition. The place is falling apart, there were puddles along walkways and in the stands because the roof didn’t guard from the rain. Concrete underfoot was either crumbling or irregular- evidence of decades of repaving and reconstruction. Most concrete supporting beams and the big porthole towers in the corners were stained in shades of green and black after years of rain, wind, snow and sun. The stadium’s poor condition gives it a completely natural feel, there is no highly polished glass, cupholders next to seats or even any discernible order as to where seats were and why they were there. Its condition conveys the history and significance of the ground, it feels lived in, alive. You can feel the lumbering beast sigh with its age, and as kick-off came closer, sighs turned into excited breaths. Every game in such a ground is a spectacle and for me it was no different.

I was lucky enough to be situated close to the Curva Nord, Milan’s ultras section. From the second tier, the ultras, all in black, waved flags of various insignia and provenance. Some craned over guard rails, balancing on them to stop themselves from dropping 15 feet onto the spectators below. The voice of the capo, who led the ultras in their chants, boomed from the second tier, amplified enough to go around the ground.

Milan started the first half completely dominant. Noah Okafor, with his low centre of gravity and quick feet, multiple times bamboozled his opposing fullback on the left wing. Fikayo Tomori and Malick Thiaw also proved dominant at the back, their large physical presence was felt each time Empoli dared to forge an attack.

The only goal of the game came from one of these Okafor runs on the left. The young Swiss international directed a smart pass to Christian Pulisic on the edge of the box who struck the ball with his first touch. A deflection off the last centre half skewed the ball past a the helpless Empoli ‘keeper. Celebrations were dampened by the lifting of the linesman’s flag but after VAR was consulted, the goal stood, and Milan were ahead.

The standout performance of the match was that of Theo Hernandez. The French fullback showed his incredible skill and touch several times on the wing, jinking past Empoli players and linking up well with Okafor. His passing range was also first class, utilising a range of long and short balls that probed the Empoli half throughout the match.

Milan pushed for a second goal in the second half but each chance was squandered. Ruben Loftus-Cheek had a shot from the edge of the box but it was easily saved by Caprile in the Empoli goal. Late on, Davide Calabria had a chance to head home from close range at the back post but his effort sailed over the crossbar. The Milan captain’s exasperated expression after missing his chance echoed the feelings of those cheering on from the stands.

Empoli should have put Milan to the sword but unfortunately for the visitors they were as wastefully inaccurate as the home side.

After a late cameo from French star Olivier Giroud, which seemed to put some fire in the bellies of the home side, additional time came and went and the final whistle blew.

As the victorious masses left the stadium, and en masse attempted to squeeze their way back onto the metro, I was hit by how normal everything was. For the ultras on the second tier this was merely a formality, a good result albeit a slightly lacklustre performance from their adored side. The masses will return to San Siro in a couple of weeks, some will return without a second thought to the stadium’s might, its brutal, weathered beauty or even perhaps to its impending doom.

When San Siro is torn down, as it inevitably will be when its crumbling concrete and lack of amenities becomes too much for two elite European clubs, its spectacle and history will be torn down with it. Soon will come a time when those monumental red metal girders and porthole adorned towers will be a thing of the past, resigned to photographs and YouTube videos.

Despite this, it must have imprinted something onto the minds of those who were lucky enough to be in its presence. The thousands of loyal Rossoneri will remember San Siro, sun-bleached seats, cracked concrete and all its other imperfections.

I will always remember San Siro because I made my pilgrimage and I saw how San Siro represents everything that I love about football. Football is more than just a game, and San Siro is more than just a stadium. It has history, grit and profound beauty in scale made up from imperfect parts, mistakes and irregularities. Go before they take it from us, go while you still have the chance, everyone deserves to go the greatest ground the greatest sport has to offer.