Liechtenstein are Europe’s great overachievers. The miniscule principality’s entire population could fit inside Wembley close to three times over, their number of registered players barely breaks four digits and they are the only one of UEFA’s 54 members without a national league. FC Vaduz, along with the microstate’s 6 other football clubs, play across Switzerland’s footballing pyramid, and at the end of last season the club from the capital claimed the considerable prize of promotion to the Swiss Super League.

Liechtenstein’s size puts their national team on a par with San Marino and Andorra, the ubiquitous whipping boys of European football. However, despite this, and only starting out on their competitive international journey in Euro 96 qualification, they regularly finish qualifying campaigns with a handful of points to their name, having avoided anything like the sort of pasting San Marino received from Holland in an 11-0 dismantling in 2011. Having caught my imagination, I travelled to Vaduz to experience this bizarre footballing outpost, clutching a ticket to FC Vaduz’s opening home fixture in the Swiss top flight.

My obsession with football shirts is well known. The dedicated football wardrobe that stands in the corner of my bedroom creaks and strains as it struggles to hold the vast array of jerseys from all over the world stuffed inside. Preparing for Thursday evening 5-a-side with my mates has become a daunting task. Carefully unbolting the doors, narrowly surviving the onrushing tsunami of Greutur Furth third away shirts and Strum Graz training tops, then ramming them all back inside while forcing the doors closed again after making my selection for the evening takes a rather considerable effort.

This being said, I’m always looking to expand my collection and as the final whistle blew at Vaduz’s Rhinepark Stadium and FC Zurich players threw their sweaty shirts into their travelling support, I saw my chance. However, having flown to Switzerland form London, took the train along the spectacularly alpine Lake Zurich to Sargans in eastern Switzerland and then caught the bus over the Rheine into Liechtenstein, alighting at Vaduz post office all to watch my adopted team begin their struggle against relegation back to the Swiss Challenge League, it was a maroon Vaduz jersey I was after.

As the western stand, or Gegentribune, it’s back to the Rhine – much as Craven Cottage’s Riverside Stand skirts the Thames, slowly emptied after Zurich’s inevitably comfortable 4-1 triumph, I wandered disconsolately down its steps. Peering around the ground, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Kingfield, where my home team, Woking, play their football in the English Conference National. Despite being tidy, smart and modern, much like the principality as a whole, its diminutive size was the ground’s most striking feature.

The 4620 spectators comfortably managed to give the impression of filling at least two thirds of the available seating and standing at the waist high barrier that separated the playing surface from the crowd, I was within touching distance of the half way line. In fact, I could’ve easily reached out and pound my fist on the plastic roof of the home team dugout, bemoaning their team’s frustratingly lightweight and porous display.

Admittedly, despite the eventual three goal margin, the match as a whole was not as clear cut. The Liechtensteiners had started with pace and a degree of verve, taking a shock lead from the title chasing Zurich, who had been tepid and sluggish during the opening exchanges. Seven minutes in, a poor clearance from a Vaduz corner fell to wing-back Ramon Cecchini, who turned swiftly inside Swiss forward Davide Chiumiento before firing low across David Da Costa from a narrow angle, momentarily silencing the vociferous away fans. For the next 15 minutes Vaduz were fairly comfortable, a slight mis-control from long-serving Liechtenstein number one Peter Jehle, which nearly gifted the rangy Tunisian forward Yassine Chikhoaui a simple tap in being the only moment of alarm.

That is until two goals in three minutes punctured the home side’s bourgeoning optimism. The equaliser came in the 21^st minute. After a flurry of activity in the Vaduz penalty area, characterised by some uneasy and indecisive defending, the ball looped into the path of Chikhoaui who’s six yard volley thundered off the bar, eventually falling to the left foot of Chiumiento who, 12 yards from goal, calmly slotted past a static defence and an out of position Jehle. Francisco Rodriguez’s second, which pushed Zurich ahead, turned out to be the goal of the game. A raking pass from Ivory Coast international midfielder Giles Yapi-Yapo invited the teenager to arrow a stunning first time effort, on the run, high to Jehle’s left hand from the edge of the area to round off a sweeping counterattack.

From here, the result never looked in doubt. Vaduz forced a couple more corners in the lead up to half time and but rarely threatened for the rest of the game. Yapi-Yapo, showing some accomplished passing, calmly exerted his control over the midfield, providing the basis for an impressive Zurich second half. Chikhoaui jinked inside from the left flank to bend a right footed effort past Jehle in the 51^st minute, before Amine Chermiti gleefully converted a penalty 15 minutes later to complete a resounding victory, allowing FCZ to coast to the three points for the remaining quarter of the game.

At full time, after making a brief trip across to the North Stand to applaud the most vehement of their fans (consisting of about twelve blokes with their arms folded and a couple of flags), the Vaduz side had hastened their departure down the tunnel. Except, that is, for Swiss defender Phillipp Muntwiler. Muntwiler was making his first appearance of the season after helping the principality’s premier side to promotion while on loan from Luzern last season, making his stay a permanent one over the summer. He sauntered over to a stylised red and white standing desk in the corner down to my left where Switzerland’s answer to Craig Doyle had been presenting Swiss television coverage throughout the game. Doyle and Muntwiler shook hands as the player was mic-ed up and prepared to fore fill his media responsibilities.

Muntwiler wore 27, which happens to be the day in August on which I was born. A good omen, I thought. My plan was to hang around until he was finished chatting to Craig, call him over and explain (in painfully broken German) that I had travelled great distances and overcome many an obstacle in order to witness this momentous event and would love his shirt, should he be so kind, as a rather delightful souvenir. Simple. Surely, a professional footballer would be taken aback by my passion and dedication and be only too happy to help, especially after watching his opposite number gleefully hurl his own jersey into the stands to rapturous applause?

However, I had failed to factor in Lichtenstein’s apparent all-encompassing nonplussed attitude to seemingly pretty much everything. The country itself, two thirds of which is mountainous, is a quiet and tranquil place. Entering across the Rhine and journeying around the southern village of Balzers, I had felt a touch intrusive. Almost as if Lichtenstein had left it’s front door slightly ajar and I’d had the audacity to knock politely and peer inside while calling, in my most well spoken of English accents; “I do say… is anyone at home?”, only to hear my voice echo back at me.

Furthermore, despite the pleasing attendance of approaching five-thousand, bearing in mind that there are only 36 thousand people in the entire nation, most of them appeared to be Zurich fans, even those I walked back to Vaduz town centre with wore blue and white Zurich scarves and sang Zurich songs. While those that did seem to support the home side – I only saw three maroon jerseys with Liechtensteinische Landesbank emblazoned across their chests all day – for the most part appeared to be content to simply shrug their shoulders, mutter to themselves and let their team get on with it.

Zurich, meanwhile, filled the away end to the brim, singing wildly, lighting flares, whistled deafeningly through opposition corners and thoroughly enjoyed themselves for the full 90 minutes and for a good hour before kickoff too, making as much noise for the fourth goal as they did when their team emerged from the tunnel to warm up. Granted, they’re a much bigger club and were as recently as 2009 watching Cristiano Ronaldo free-kicks fizz over their wall and crash into their net at the Letzigrund Stadium during the Champion’s League group stages. However, the gap in passion and support between both clubs, considering they play in the same small 10 team division, was stark.

Philipp Muntwiler on the other hand, was happily chewing Craig Doyle’s ear off in what seemed to be an attempt on some sort of record length post match interview, and the stand behind me was now completely empty. Security had been surprisingly tight around and inside the stadium all afternoon, my person and my bag had been thoroughly searched upon entering, and a security guard was now eyeing me suspiciously. I did my best to look inconspicuous – checking my phone, taking the odd picture and wistfully gazing around, admiring the scenery. Fortunately, this was an easy task, as the mountains that loom over Vaduz are one aspect of the Rhinepark Stadion that was truly utterly jaw-dropping. In fact, I‘d booked tickets in the Gegentribune solely because it offers the best views of the Alps between which Lichtenstein is squeezed.

Finally, just my security guard observer was edging toward me, looking as if she was on the verge of hastily ushering me out of the stadium with her baton and walkie-talkie, Muntwiler finished his interview and began trotting back towards the centre circle. Now was my chance. But just as I took a deep breath in order to yell his name across the pitch, the stadium staff saw this as the opportune moment to blare out some post match music. A curious phenomenon that occurs both before and after matches all over Europe, achieving little else than to drown out the more vociferous sections of eh crowd and dampening the atmosphere markedly.

My ears, along with most of Liechtenstein, were filled with a heavily distorted recording of Europe’s ‘The Final Countdown’. Apt in a number of ways, perhaps not least as a chance for the guard to get me to leave so that she could lock up and go home for her tea. It did not, however, aid my chances in claiming my prize. Nevertheless, undeterred, I yelled “PHILLIIPPPP!!”… Nothing. I made several more attempts, shouting at the very top of my voice but he barely seemed to notice, let alone look up in my direction as he quickened his step in the direction of the payers tunnel on the far side. Whether he couldn’t hear me over the 80s synthrock anthem or just plain ignored me I’ll never know. Although to be honest, I could barely hear myself over the speaker-shattering hair-metal.

Defeated and disgruntled at the waste of my time and the delay back to the bus station, I trudged along the touchline in the rain, hands in pockets and head down. I would have to wait until my next European excursion for another chance to achieve my goal. Although, just as I reached the edge of the penalty area I decided to stop to take in the stunning views of the Rhinepark Stadium one last time. But, to my surprise, along with the snow capped peaks and clouds playing around the tree tops high above the principality’s capital, the whole of the Vaduz match day squad was steadily bearing down on me.

Clearly, Muntwiler had met them on his way back to the dressing room and had accompanied this team mates on their warm down, after all they must have been pretty stiff, spending the better part of an hour chasing the ball backwards and forwards. Due to the confines of the stadium, the entirety of Vaduz’s disappointed selection were little more the a few metres away from me as they jogged by.

Then, seemingly as one, they raised their heads and looked rather eerily straight at me. Taken aback, I froze. I had no idea what to do. Normally, in say, a Premier League game, there would be enough home support hanging around to deliver a reasonable round of applause, showing appreciation of their team’s valiant efforts in defeat. But since the remaining Vaduz support consisted of… well – me. Clapping might’ve been perceived as rather odd, or even sarcastic. So in a moment panic, my shirt quest completely forgotten (at least 3 or 4 of the team were still wearing their jerseys), I decided the best course of action would be to curtly jut my chin upwards, as if spying an acquaintance from across a road and making the effort, friendly as I am, to acknowledge their presence.

A few of the Vaduz players smiled to themselves at this ridiculous greeting as they continued their oddly silent lap round the pitch. While I, feeling like more than a bit of an idiot, hurried along the touchline and out of the gate, which was held open by my now confused looking and mildly annoyed security guard friend, happy to finally get rid of me.

Promotion to the Swiss Super League for a club of Vaduz’s stature is an achievement in itself and the experience that the improved competition both in league matches and for places in the starting 11 will only benefit the 6 Liechtenstein internationals in the FC Vaduz squad. This exposure to the higher standards for all 7 of Liechtenstein’s clubs, even in the lower reaches of the Swiss football league system, has been invaluable in aiding the development of the national team over the last decade and is a model that other nations of the same stature could consider following in order to improve their players and their results.

Vaduz’s only previous top flight appearance was in 08/09, they finished 17 points adrift at the foot of the table and were unceremoniously shoved back down to the second division, I know I’ll be excitedly following the progress of Muntwiler and co this season to see if they can improve on that performance and keep their head above water, a testament to the outlandishly impressive exploits of this most miniscule of Europe’s footballing outposts.