Warms the heart, it does

Saturday morning, well before daylight, which arrives at approximately noon in these northern climes, I hauled myself out of bed and down to the train station for a four-hour journey involving four different trains. One of which apparently never existed - thanks for the accurate trip itinerary, Virgin Rail!

Remarkably, I managed to make it to Liverpool, each consecutive train carrying even more fans in red, so that it seemed the entire surrounding countryside was flooding in for the game. In the environs of Anfield Stadium, the streets were filled with people coming from all directions on foot, wrapped in coats that hid their full regalia until they reached the stadium.


I was there through the efforts of a good friend, Julie, card-carrying member of the Liverpool FC Fan Club, Toronto Branch, who scored tickets and then came across the ocean for the match (and to visit old friends). My affection for Liverpool FC is largely due to her enthusiasm and encyclopedic knowledge. And Steven Gerrard. But it would have melted anyone's heart to hear the entire stadium singing 'You'll Never Walk Alone' at the start and end of the match. Against predictions and a very uninspiring Chelsea side, Liverpool went up two goals early and held on, making it truly the perfect day. Well, actually, fighting for a cab with two Chelsea fans and winning was the final icing on the cake. Though it's become just too easy to hate Chelsea FC, hasn't it? Almost boring.


Seeing just how consumed the city was by the match cast into stark relief the delusions of those who think Beckham will make soccer big in the States. The people at the game - the outfits, the non-stop cheers (each player has his own), and the passion was crazy. These people are hard on their boys! Liverpool were up by two goals, playing rather well, and I'm all 'oh, good try!' and 'it was a good thought' and 'that's okay, get back into position' and 'oooh, unlucky!'. But these Liverpool fans, they were yelling 'ya bunch of f'n pansies!' and 'let's see some football for a change!' and 'that's right, give the ball away, ya #$@*s!' Affectionately, I'm sure. It surprised me how human the players appeared when seen in person rather than on television. They were suddenly so obviously life-sized (well, except Peter Crouch, visible at the center of the photo below), and vulnerable. You could see them mess up and get out of breath. You realise they're all just young men, none too bright, many not long out of high school. And suddenly I understood the attitude of the fans a bit better. We were the parents, cheering on our kids with a hockey-dad-and-soccer-mum mixture of frantic pride, embarrassed annoyance and sympathetic resignation (tho' spicier language than I'd normally use). On Saturday the pride won out, and the entire stadium got warmer and fuzzier as it became obvious the Reds would hang on.




I borrowed Jeff's camera for the day, as it's lighter-weight and less expensive to replace had I been embroiled in any hooliganism. But the zoom isn't as good and the shutter kept getting stuck because there's jam in it. A story which almost certainly deserves its own entry - though it's really Jeff's to tell. Anyway, I didn't get the best of photos, but it was the best of days, so Julie, thanks a bunch and here's to a Reds winning streak! One can dream.