So I reads through like 75 pages of "Some fella shouted."
Personally I feel there was about 40 belters out of like 3000 'fellas shouting', and it saddened me, a bit, maybe a lot.
But as good as they are there is so much that you can't say or even articulate and put across...because that was the beauty, the point, the fucking uniqueness of what it was.
For me it was 87.
Queuing up outside The Kop at half ten while my arl fella went in the bookies, then the pub, then the chippy, and then met me at the top of the stairs with a fish cake and chips, half each. He'd go and stand up the back middle behind the break and tell me to stay at the right red post where he could see me. Fuck off. I was in bulk already at the shenanigans going on around me as fellas came in slipping on fish and pissing as a big void formed around him trying to get away from his lash. I was in there.
"In front of the bars son, there'll be notin left of you if you stay there."
Then the singing starts, the cheering of the team sheet one by one followed by all the names being sang, and the softening up of the linesman, "You wont be needing that mate, we'll let you know who's offside," whispers some fella as he climbs out the Kemlyn and walks past him to disappear on to the The Kop.
Then the toss is lost. Fucking hate that. I look back at me dad instinctively like it's a bad omen, but hes looking over at the red post and cant see me; I'm dead centre, half way up, levelish with the crossbar with the pen spot just visible. Game on.
Their keeper has to come towards us. Does he know?This tit's pushing it...and...is right lad you fucking know the score. Respect.
"Come on Redman, into these fucking aids victims."
"Come on you Mighty Reds, come on you reds..."
"Oh when the reds..."
I fucking loved it.
My only regret was I only went from 87 onwards.
My first game was Old Trafford when Aldo stuck his header in. My memory consists of Hansen's cross, then half time getting hot tea, ciggies, and piss dropped on me through the gap in the stairwell above the Scoreboard End tea bar, and a hand ball shout going up that scared the shit out of me.
My first home game was the Arsenal one where McMahon stopped the ball on the touch line. As Digger crosses, the camera flash on the Kop was mine that I did solely for my teacher who wanted a picture of John Barnes and that was the best I could do seeing as though I'd been in the queue for 2 hours and wasnt risking lock out. Was on a shag there too, and we probably would have scored if I hadn't blinded him.
Things have changed. No doubt. I'd smirk all the way home on the train or in the car, "Dad, did you hear that fella who shouted..." "I did, son."
He'd smirk, and I know he'd tell his work mates, and I cant for the life of me remember any, but fuck me they were the best days of my life.
The two 3:3's with the mancs, the Sunderland mob getting poured out the Kop, United getting it at the tea bar, Cardiff going tonto in the 8:0, Molby's deflected derby goal, that run with Arsenal in the league and league cup, Digger's last minute winner against Villa, Rush's first United goal and on and on. Genoa when we lost and you knew we still had it burning like a furnace just when it looked like it had gone. Pissed now.
Last minute corner:
"Dont you fucking dare, Bruce."