Liverpool is Red
Alexandar-Arnold, one last serve. Comes out… Oh Van Dijk, he had more time.
Pickford’s lost it, Divock Origi... Unbelievable
YEAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
I tell this story to all my new friends who quiz me on my decision to support my team over any other team in the world. Everyone has their reasons and myself? My story goes back many years ago after I picked up a news daily and as silly as it sounds, it detailed how two strikers in Emile Hesky and Michael Owen wearing the all-red attire of Liverpool combined to spank some team in the Premier League and ever since, I have been a fan through and through. That was when I was 11 and I am 26 this year and those 14 years have been such a wild ride.
The Champions League win in ’05, the FA Cup in ’06 and the League Cup in 2012, I celebrated them all and each time I turn on the telly to watch them play, my hands still get clammy and cold and Leanne will be the best one to confirm this. But for the longest time, I have dreamed of standing on the terrace at Anfield, belting out the lyrics to ‘You Will Never Walk Alone’. Many Liverpool fans will also find, as I did, that this team has come a long way since their heydays in the 70s and 80s and that might make us fans a little bit more cuckoo, but that craziness is well-served since it materialises as an iron-willed loyalty to the team.
When the opportunity came up to snag tickets for the upcoming season, I caved and picked up a pair of hospitality passes at the Anfield Road end (it was a month to my birthday, mind you). It was a spur of the moment thing and the purchasing of tickets was the easy part since I could very convincingly sell Leanne the idea of yet another European adventure, but the trepidation of being in the presence of the mighty reds, that really shook me.
In football, there are only a handful of games that take hold of the footballing world. The Liverpool-Manchester ones always come to mind, but to Scousers, nothing comes as close to the emotionally-charged rivalry between the red and blue side of this city. What makes this football game massive is that there is so much more at stake. On telly, it is a game that has always been hot and fiery with crunching tackles and hot-headed clashes taking center stage. In the city, it was the difference between going to work with your chest puffed out or being at the end of ridicule until the next time the two sides meet again.
Just the day before the penultimate game, Leanne and I joined up a walking tour to indulge our fascination with the city. A couple of hours in, there was an obligatory stop at the Hillsborough Monument Memorial just at the corner of William Brown Street – I will be straight, it looks just like any other monument that hundreds of people would pass by without noticing. For the people of the city, it took on an important duty as a reminder of this significant moment in history where 96 fans went to watch a football game and never came home.
Since the disaster took place in 1989, the blame had been directed at the unruly fans of that day by the press and the government, but the people of Liverpool (both red and blue) all knew that was highly unlikely since they knew them best as neighbours, family and friends and they mourned, refuted and fought against the verdict. The inquiry eventually right that wrong in 2017. It was a victory for the city and every aspect of this David Vs Goliath fight for justice, I hold to my heart.
And yet, odd as it might seem despite the geographical difference and the obvious lack of Evertonians where I lived, this rivalry appealed to the competitive freak in me and it is this obsession with Everton that made me feel more connected to this city.
Fast-forward to game day. I can still remember the first moments I saw Anfield looming larger in the distance as our cabbie inched towards the stadium. As we got closer, our driver narrated to us how it felt entering the hallowed grounds of Anfield, “each visit still feels like the first time”, he explains. From afar, it looked hardly convincing how 54,000 rabid fans would be able to fit in it and sing with one voice but I knew that was the magic of Anfield to allow 54,000 fans from different countries, backgrounds and skin colour with one club to come together.
Because of me wanting to make the most out of my one special day on the trip, there we were, with almost two hours to kill before our planned stadium tour at noon for us to get a feel of the atmosphere. Thankfully, the Champions League final against Real had made Leanne a much bigger (and extremely supportive) football girlfriend and we conducted our own little stadium tour (and I must add, a massive photo spree) before the actual one inside. There and then, we paid our respect at the Hillsborough memorial, shook hands with Shankley, nabbed a few badges from a guy who had constructed a makeshift booth atop a bin and grabbed a pie at Homebaked as part of the strict pre-match ritual for a Reds win to be on the cards. As pilgrimage goes, it felt like one especially when we journeyed through the player’s tunnel, stretching our hands onto the famed ‘This Is Anfield’ sign and getting our first look at the fields of Anfield Road.
Few hours later and after a lacklustre meal at The Boot Room (perhaps meeting an ex-Red legend in Jimmy Case was the only shining light), we were back in the stadium. This time in the middle of a deafening wall of noise. From where we were situated at, we could almost make out the players running onto the field to warm up at the opposite end, where the famed Kop stand stood with its large banners. From the second tier of the stadium, the cold and the wind was almost unbearable, flogging at us mercilessly. I finally understood what they meant about the miserable weather in Liverpool and I held a silent prayer that the game would be anything but that.
Another unfortunate thing about being on this side of the stadium was that we were together with the others who had picked out the hospitality passes. I have to add that they weren’t the most vocal of supporters and I am not going to be the one to take anything away from their decision to be here in support, but a part of me wished I was gobsmacked in the middle of the Kop end. At one point, someone in the first row had stood up and gesticulated towards the back, “this is not a library, get behind them lads”. That stirring comment didn’t do much for them and to make up for the lack of support, we drummed up whatever support we could to barrack for the team and chanted the famous songs that made Anfield danced into life.
From the Anfield Road End, close chances were far and many. I saw Mane sky a close chance just before half time and Salah skipping around defenders only to slice the ball right into the away end. Because of how part of the Anfield Road End was allocated to the away supporters, the sarcastic roars from the Bluenoses were apparent and it even invited a smirk from Salah as he bounced away. The 12th Reds responded in the only way we knew, “Mo Salah, Mo Salah, Mo Salah running down the wing”.
The unsettling thing about half time was that it was a mix of the jitters and optimism and a few supporters left and right were moaning over chances rued (just as supporters would) and trying to make sense of how we had looked bereft of ideas in getting the ball to the final third at times. Everton were playing hard ball with us, attacking with an intensity I haven’t seen too often under Marco Silva and making sure we barely get a sniff of the ball in their half. All of us knew how crucial those three points were in ensuring we stay toe to toe in the title race - Man City looked dangerous as ever and any slip up would mean an easy path for them to the trophy presentation in May. As the players ran onto the pitch for the second half, those half worries seemed to fade away and we grew in confidence and voice. Each challenge coming in and each half-chance that we got spurred the crowd even more. That was before I saw Salah’s number coming up on the substitution board for Sturridge and then Firmino off for Origi. A cynical part of me was fuming. Was Klopp settling for a draw in this penultimate game of the season? It was moments like these that really tested us as supporters. In the 11 scenarios that I drew up in my head, none of them had us pulling our top scorers off for Sturridge (as much as I loved my #15) and Origi.
But there is a clear reason why Klopp is on the sidelines waving his hands manically, while I’m on the second tier of the Anfield Road Stand with my head nearly done in. Origi seemed to have horse blood coursing through his veins, darting down the line with the ball before fizzing one right across the box for Mane to tap in. Mane didn’t connect as well but we inched closer.
It had almost looked like the Evs had just stolen a march on us as the seconds ticked passed the ninety-minute mark. I had almost sunk in my seat as I saw Trent play a final hail mary pass forward in search of whoever’s head could take us to the glory days. It came off Yerri Mina’s head and as I saw Van Dijk’s face turn as he smashed the rebound up, I knew that it was over…
For whatever reason, the relentless wind over the entire afternoon seemed to have second plans for us and I would think that some part of it had nudged the direction of the ball, landing right on the crossbar. As the Evertonian keeper leapt in the air to push it out, it bounced for the first time, then a second before falling right within the crosshairs of ORIGIIIIII YEAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH.
If you ask me what possibly could have happened at the stadium moments after Origi had rocketed the ball into the net, I can’t possibly tell you in all that exhilaration but Leanne had shrieked back at me at how I had elbowed her in the face while I was celebrating with the blokes sat next to me.
Audacious. What a moment that was to relish at my first game at Anfield in the 90 +6 minute. That jubilant mood never ceased and even as we climbed down our seats out of the stadium, we were still singing MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERTON and this continued at Liverpool Lime Street, where we waited for our train back to London. It was only when I was replaying the highlights that I realised that Klopp had marched right onto the pitch to celebrate with Alisson. Now there’s another reason why I wouldn’t support any other club in the world. It is almost magical and I only wished that you had been there.
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