I’M writing this with a headache. A pain in the head brought on not just by last night’s booze, but the also the cacophony of Anfield at its best.
Prior to the match against Manchester United, I was thinking about an angle on the game because by the time this lands on the web, a thousand column inches will already have been filled.
Then I realised I did have a different angle; watching the game from my old stomping ground of the Kemlyn Road Stand (the Lower Centenary to you modernists). Normally, I’d be up in the gods — on Row 60 of The Kop.
This time though, I was side-on, edge of the box, Kop end, just 17 rows up, with the whiff of the Anfield grass breezing through the nostrils. Senses heightened by “a few ales” as Withnail might put it. At the risk of sounding like John Motson here, more of that later.
We’d been to town. Done a show for TAW (the non-swearing radio one at the tower) and met up with what seemed like half of the usual cast at Bier in the city centre.
Neil, Robbo, and Gibbo. Ben Johnno and his mate Dan Fitz. Paul Cope waltzes in, with the smugness of a man who’s been on a long holiday. Such is the blind swagger of the man that he instantly knocks over a glass of coke, and quite frankly doesn’t give a shit.
I’m getting side-tracked here, but I’ll carry on. I like Copey. He sits down next to me, whips off his bubble coat which nestles with mine into the beginnings of a big sleeping bag behind us.
Ben Johnno is holding comedic court. He admits that Dan Fitz, on their recent jaunt to Dublin, had to proofread one of his withering columns, in case “he’d gone too far”. We chuckle (well, Ben laughs wickedly) about the Wrap being closed down by the legal people when “it had all been going so well”.
Adam Melia arrives, sparking stories of Wembley and a hip flask that rendered him incapable after extra time and penalties.
Copey and Dan Fitz bemoan the conservatism of friends with young kids who won’t stay out until six in the morning and how they might have to become mates with fellas in their fifties for a decent night out. Sat between them, I pat them both on the knee and suggest, though I’m not quite there yet, I might be their man.
The point of this is that everyone is out. It’s been a while. We’ve barely mentioned the match but there’s a buzz that only a big game brings. OK, it’s not a Champions League semi, but it’s still Europe and it’s Manchester United.
I meet my mates, Chris Maguire and Britty (my Athens 07 drinking companion) at the bar. Chris has my ticket and no doubt a bag full of Haribos. Time rushes on and a taxi whizzes us up to Anfield. I’m tipsy and spend most of the journey being Roy Hodgson (without hair made of iron filings). There’s time for a couple more in a rammed “Solly” a few hundred yards from the ground.
Anyway, back to the Kemlyn. Anfield looks so different from my old vantage point. As we get our first sight of the pitch, You’ll Never Walk Alone, sung with gusto, is in full bloom just to our left. One of the best things about not being in The Kop is being able to watch it when it’s on form and it’s on form here.
I even get a tingle of that “first match” sensation when the magical kaleidoscope of green, and red and white, hits you right between the eyes.
The Kop, in full European mode, is on its feet and will stand throughout. In the Kemlyn, it takes a full five minutes before the stewards, with an air of resignation, manage to get everyone seated. We’re soon back on our feet as Liverpool attack the far end. In fact, we’re up and down like a fiddler’s elbow all night.
Standing, with a side-on view of the pitch, and in this atmosphere, momentarily takes me back to my childhood Anfield experience of the Paddock terracing in front of the Main Stand and the floodlit European games my dad took me to in the late seventies.
- Liverpool 2 Manchester United 0: Player ratings
- Liverpool 2 Manchester United 0: Match review
- Liverpool 2 Manchester United 0: Five From Fitzgerald
- Liverpool 2 Manchester United 0: Post-match reaction show
Briefly, I recall the fog against Anderlecht in the 1978 Super Cup. That’s definitely the ale, I think to myself. Chris has the hip flask open by now, his usual toffee flavoured potion (I can’t ever be arsed asking him what it’s called for it adds to the mystique) stirring senses awakened by three pints of Moretti.
As Liverpool ramp up the pressure in the opening salvos, two considerations come to mind. Jürgen Klopp has really got this lot playing. Quick combinations all over the show, seen from low down and close to the action, and touches that kill the ball stone dead show you why these lads are the professional footballers. The other thing, in this moment, as Klopp would say, is that we might have to reprise some opinion on these players. Some of them are not bad, not bad at all.
Having said that, United look shite. I’d love to know what Van Gaal’s has got in his folder. I’m guessing an Atlas, a sachet of Just for Men, definitely a Bible, maybe a consoling Kit Kat.
We’re right on the end of row 17 (an absolute prerequisite if I’m to follow through on my eventual plan to move home to the Kemlyn) so I hop down for a piss on twenty.
There’s nothing worse than being in the bog when a yell from upstairs and the clatter of seats tipping up rapidly confirms something significant has happened.
The roar, shrill and loud but cut short, doesn’t sound like a goal. My guess is a goal disallowed but with jeans hastily fastened up and half a piss still inside me, my slightly embarrassed reappearance in my seat confirms better news. A penalty for Liverpool from which Sturridge scores. Ring of Fire ensues; scarves twirl. You don’t get match reports like this in The Guardian.
Half-time sees the hip flask polished off. There are a couple of JD miniatures to fire us through the second half. We stand on the concourse underneath, where my Dad would normally be. He’s not here tonight but I get a text. “Should be 3-0 HT bloody Deheia again!!” I message him back, agreeing, not with his predictive spelling, but with the sentiment.
Liverpool really put United to the sword in the second half. Coutinho, no more than 20 yards away from us, shoots violently and De Gea tips over brilliantly.
It’s a piece of football that takes the breath away. A second goal seems inevitable and when it comes from an unchallenged, unhurried Firmino it looks too easy. Anfield is on fire, almost literally.
Pyro from the back of the Kop; Pyro from the bloody Main Stand that shrouds the ground in ciggie-like smog reminiscent of those glory days and nights.
We’re a bit bladdered by now. We’re trying to get some simple Firmino chants going. The lad deserves it but all we get is more Ring of Fire. The Kop, who had earlier saluted “Sak-ho”, struggle with a third syllable and leave the intriguing little Brazilian, whose walnut whip-shaped head reminds me of a cartoon character I can’t quite place, un-serenaded.
The Kopites, rounding off a cracking night, soon redeem themselves with a mocking rendition of “Show them the way to go home….”
No need though, Van Gaal’s got his atlas.
excellent
“My guess is a goal disallowed but with jeans hastily fastened up and half a piss still inside me, my slightly embarrassed reappearance in my seat confirms better news. A penalty for Liverpool from which Sturridge scores. Ring of Fire ensues; scarves twirl. You don’t get match reports like this in The Guardian.”
Sure as hell Barney Ronay or Graham Taylor won’t write this on SportBlog! :D
Last night was brilliant, found myself a few times standing back and smiling from row 57 of the Kop, most enjoyable game for me at Anfield since Arsenal 07
Firmino is a bit hard to sing work out a song for…I was thinking…”Bobby”
borrowed from The Righteous Brothers like this:
But bobby, bobby I know it
You’ve got that scorin’ feelin’
Whoa, that scorin’ feelin’
You’ve got that scorin’ feelin’
Now it’s goals…goals…goals…woah
My effort to the tune of the good the bad and the ugly i think simply
Rob-erto fir-min-o x3
Fir-min-o
hahah everyone has to whistle!
I’ve seen The Anfield Wrap criticize periodically about songs sang by the kop and other fans during games.
They need to add a place on this site for us to submit songs, and get the good ones spread out to the supporter groups.
It’d be gratifying to hear a song I came up with getting sung on tv…since I live in the USA.
Hey where in the US are you? West coast?
Texas.
Excellent piece Mike, It is like being there myself, can feel the atmosphere and the… hang on…back in a minute.. :)
Brilliant Mike :D
Awesome article.
Laughed the whole way through.
I am still buzzing after such an awe inspiring display by the lads.
:-)
To the tune of waltzing Matilda
Bobby firminhio
Bobby firminhio
We’ve got bobby firminhio in our team
And he ran and he passed and then he scored a wonder goal
We’ve got Bobby firminhio in our team
Good article. Job half done. Let’s cool our jets until the tie is put to bed next week. Then we can REALLY push on through
Plus – crack on with a 10 game unbeaten run to end the season !
Great article, but I must correct one factually incorrect comment.
Fiddler’s Elbows go in and out, it’s a Bride’s Nighty that goes up and down !
It’s actually a brazzers knickers
Wallnut shaped head? … Is that Tin Tin or Max Headroom
In a week when we finally show the results of getting a decent manager, Rafa goes to Toon. If it were not for Klopp, I’d be spewing, because Rafa IS OURS.
But I wish him well, and therefore I wish Newcastle well. I hope our league fixtures against them next season are both 5-4 wins to us, and that they join us in the CL,
I love Rafa, so under valued, only had bad season for us and even then he got to a Euro semi.
Hope he does well for the Geordies, hope they apreciate him.
YNWA
Great article!
If Rafa keeps the Geordies up, they will be a threat to our European qualification ambitions next season. This league is crap, much weaker than when Rafa managed us. He’s more than capable of getting Newcastle 60-65 points in 2016-2017.
Newcastle rising from the flames is the last thing we need right now. I love Rafa, but I’m hoping he can’t avoid relegation and decides to weave his dogged attritional magic in another league.
You just know they’ll take at least 4 points of us, next season, if Rafa’s in the hot-seat.
‘…dogged attritional magic…’
3-0 down at half-time, he attritioned us to the CL Cup.
You’ve been lying in the back of the van too long, I think. All in all in all, you are a miserable bitch.
Stirs up some lovely imagery! Cheers for an enjoyable read Mike. If you fancy a go low down in the upper Kemlyn sometime I’d love to try the lower!