While we have to do a post mortem, while we have to worry about the future of the football club and where we are going soon, while no-one may care about what I have to say, here is my personal story of the best day of my life. Ten years ago today at 18 years old. Istanbul.
The very next day after Gerrard retires/moves to the USA, is the anniversary of the best day of my life. The 25th of May 2005. I had been a Liverpool supporter since I was 8 years old, through chance, by my cousin glory hunting them who ended up going back to supporting his local team Blackburn and by my school mates in primary school putting me on Liverpool in Premier League sticker collection mode. And with two parents who weren't really into footie, I had my team. I slowly over time became obsessed by Liverpool and in my time I have been a staunch fighter for Justice for the 96, and someone who resonates with the idea of the politics in Liverpool, I feel a many times over like I belong as a fan of this club as a left winger politics wise and once you have your team you can't change. You can never change. I'm 27 now, and you are stuck with me
From 16 years old I invested a lot of emotion into Liverpool football club. I'm as you would term, a fanatic. I remember running home from St. Albans Youth Council meetings to catch our Champions League games in the group stages. I remember how gutting it was when one of my favourite ever footballers, Rivaldo, put in the free kick for that Olympiakos goal which meant we needed to score three with no reply to qualify. I remember Rafa Benitez, Neil Mellor, Sinama Pongolle and then THAT goal by Steven Gerrard. Momentous.
I remember taking up going to the games. My mum driving me all the way to Liverpool from St. Albans so I could watch us play Portsmouth midweek in 2004, only for us to draw 1-1 with Gerrard scoring a screamer of a free kick at the Kop end and Lua Lua equalising at the Anfield Road End and doing his back flip celebration. I had my mum drive me all the way home after. What a woman, what effort that must have taken just so I could see the red men in the flesh as my Christmas present. My mum is the best. Since my Bolton Wanderers supporting Grandad died when I was very little as well, shes now a better red than some I know. I find it heartening that Phil Neal has been involved with both teams over the years, so even though I don't support the same team as the football fanatic Grandad I barely knew, at least there is a connection between the two clubs we support.
I remember getting my first away tickets to Watford away from a lad on here, it was the game when Sinama Pongolle did his ACL and ruined himself for 9 months. We won the game on the night but ended up losing to Chelsea in the final to Mourinho. Gerrard headed an own goal in.
Gerrard there, obviously gutted. Chelsea would beat us both times in the league as well. It seemed like they were unstoppable. A hatred for them was brewing, at least from me.
I remember Juventus, Luis Garcia and Sami with two goals I'll never forget, along with Bayer Leverkusen etc. All of them from my arm chair admittedly, so jealous of those on the Kop. I told myself then I would make sure that when I got on the Kop I would be good enough as a supporter to stand alongside the kopites.
Then we had another chance at Chelsea, with Rafa, over two legs.
I remember Chelsea Away, when as an 18 year old I traveled with a mate to Trafalagar Square and the Liverpool fans and us painted the whole area red. Someone even tried to dye the fountains red
A fantastic day out and one of the reasons I've been to so many European aways. I remember going into a pub full of Chelsea fans with my scarf stuffed into my bag as the game was played out in a 0-0 draw with the guys in the pubs saying sickening things about our support, making me fall in love even deeper with the people who support this team.
I remember the 2nd leg, going to my mates house with 6 beers and hoping we could progress to the final. A tight affair where the Kop and the whole of Anfield sang like nothing I had ever head before albeit on TV and I knew then whatever happened I wanted to be a part of it. I remember Luis Garcia getting played in, I remember Cech sprinting and then taking him out with Luis lifting it over him him with the ball landing somewhere between the line and over the line when I (as far as I can remember) Gallas cleared it. I remember the goal being given. I was bouncing off the walls.
Whenever Mourhino remembers this incident, he forgets that if it wasn't a goal, Cech would have been sent off and we would have had a penalty. But that's just a personal gripe.
I remember winning the game. Running and skipping home from London Colney overjoyed that we had made it to the final. I told my Dad, that whatever happened I was going to the game. I asked on here what the chances of tickets were, and I was told (quite fairly) in no uncertain terms to fuck off. I didn't deserve one. Quite right too. But fuck deserving one, I was enamored and obsessed. I was going by hook or by crook. As I'm sure people of my age did in the 80's. Is right too!
I remember never giving it up and I remember a lad who my Dad knew through his telecom business called Lloyd messaging me through the forum to say he could help out. Next thing I knew we had two tickets in the "neutral section" and we were flying out from Luton, I was shaking with excitement.
I made a banner thanks to Roper's thread on here. It said something shit like "To achieve you must believe" with the Hillsborough flame in the corner, but it was a red bedsheet with white felt and I felt like I had at least done something. Looking back it was shit, but I felt I had at least tried to contribute to the culture.
I remember getting picked up with Lloyd and his good friend Dorian, with butterflies in my stomach. Getting to the airport, more beers. Liverpool flags and scarves everywhere. The flight, I hated it, I'm scared of planes, absolutely hate them. Tried to sleep but couldn't. Worst time of the whole day for me. Constantly thinking I was about to die. So when we landed, I was ready to get absolutely pissed.
Landing, getting into the centre, Liverpool fans everywhere and I mean EVERYWHERE. I remember a guy climbing a tree about the size of three two story houses on top of each other and waving a Liverpool flag as everyone sang below. Footballs being booted into the air, the Sun beaming out and the beer flowing at 2 euro a pop. I remember Dorian and Lloyd saying they wanted to see something of Istanbul and walking down a side street and us getting a crate of beer for 20% of the price on the street and then going back to Taskim Square anyway
I remember getting on the coaches and for the first time in my life despite my cockney accent (it's not a real cockney accent, it's just down south but Scousers would call me Cockney I guess) revelling in starting songs I had learned as much as I could as we sang our way for 2 miles towards the stadium. I remember the coach pulling up and the doors opening and as people pissed on the hill, as a turkish lad stole my scarf. I was annoyed, but soon let it go. I bought my only ever half and half scarf outside the ground as a replacement, so that's my excuse if you ever see me with it.
We progressed about another 500 yards and the traffic jam came to a standstill so we alighted and then we walked, and walk we did. We walked another mile to the Ataturk over the grass with the stadium in full view. It looked majestic. I can't find a picture of it from my perspective, but this one is fantastic of Liverpool fans with the stadium in the background.
I remember the hope I had for the final as I neared the stadium. I remembered Olympiakos and the first 20 minutes of Juventus at home. I remembered Portsmouth and Watford, my only two games thus far and how lucky I was to be there.
In the neutral end. Surrounded by Liverpool fans, behind me a French camera crew, and a few Milan fans mixed around who were I have to say the best sports throughout.
I remember the first few seconds, the free kick given away early on, ball whipped in and Maldini connected. We were 1-0 down already. We managed to hold our own for 30 minutes and then Crespo scored one brilliant goal from an awesome pass, and then another when he was played through and chipped Dudek brilliant. Gutted.
Absolutely gutted. I remember going to try and find a soft drink but everything was closed. I ran around for a bit, dry mouth kicking in from all the lager I had consumed and eventually settled back standing in front of my seat. A few of the AC Milan fans who had found themselves in the neutral end shake my hand, "unlucky" and "you're a good a guy" were the comments I got from them. I have respect for that, I feel terrible and they should be over the moon, but they want to extend the hand of friendship and sportsmanship even though they look like dead cert winners. Fair play.
What happened then confirmed my passion for this team that I support. From the corners of the Liverpool section rose the song "You'll Never Walk Alone" and I've never heard it sang that way before or since. Normally it's a platitude. Sung when we are 4-0 up at Anfield with the clock running down, or perhaps when we are at a close victory, but this time it was proper, we meant every word. You. won't. walk. alone. with. us. through. this. Thanks for taking us this far, even if we get shipped 8-0, thanks for taking us to the top European stage and at least letting us go to a European cup final, especially as a youngen like me. As it came to a close, I wouldn't say I was crying but I was emotional, ok maybe a few tears did pop out a bit. I knew all my friends back home who supported other clubs would be laughing at me, but fuck it, we're here, we are the only team English team left and I fucking love my team, let's not let them fall hard without us letting them know we love them whatever happens. I sang that song as loud as I've ever sung anything. That was the motive around the stadium and if you haven't heard it, get on this, I wish it was longer.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S8CEh_TgAg4You'll never walk alone ended and I was expecting us to ship 3 more. Sorry, but I was, we'd just been dicked in the first half. What was about to happen I couldn't possibly have prepared myself for, I was already trying to work out witty responses to my friends back home when laughed at for the worst European Cup Final defeat of all time.
Dieter Hamann comes on. We look more solid. The ball gets passed out to John Arne Riise, he tries to cross but it's blocked. He sets himself again, and whips in a beauty. Gerrard rises majestically and like he always has done for us in important finals meets the ball whether by head or foot and puts in straight into the back of the net.
His celebration isn't a celebration. It's a rally cry. We are in this fucking game lads, we are in this fucking game, and stick with us. We can entertain a comeback. I'm not going away, I'm not giving up, help us see it through. The kopites in the ground answer unequivocally. The whole catalogue of songs starts ringing out around the stadium. The small section of Milan fans to my right are suddenly very quiet. Have we got a chance?
The game moves on, the ball is shifted to Smicer. "Don't shoot" I shout, just before he does. The ball travels menacingly, low and hard, Milan Baros moves out of the way trying not to deflect it off target, Dida tries his best, but it nestles right into the bottom left corner. A guy 6 rows down from me turns around going mental, we make eye contact and he lifts his arms up for a hug. I literally jump down the 6 rows into his arms and grab his jumper shaking it furiously. I'm not on a row, I'm on about three rows almost crowd surfing.
Through losing my balance my friend Lloyd pulls me back up again to the row we are at, "Calm down" he says vociferously but as soon as he sees that 18 year old me is safe, he starts jumping all over the place himself. We're right back in it. We're fucking right in it. Anything can happen now. The songs grow even louder.
Before I can catch my breath, the ball is played through to Gerrard, he's in on goal. I'm still not sure to this day whether Gattuso clips his leg enough for him to go down or not, but go down he does and the penalty is awarded. I'm all over the place again. My voice is going. We have a chance to get level, from crying at half time, to possibly level in the contest, this is unreal. My heart is beating out of my chest. I can't even watch. Yes I can then no I can't. It takes an age for Alonso to walk forwards. Then Alonso is standing over the ball, another age while we wait for him to take it, he runs forward and shoots. And it's saved. I fall forward to my knees and look at the floor, we're just not getting the breaks are we? Suddenly I hear a roar around me from the whole stadium and someone pulls me up and starts throwing me in the air. He's put in the rebound! We're level in the European cup final!
Much of what happens next is fairly mundane (or I just can't remember very well
). Carragher and Gerrard play the game of their lives. Carragher several times has to be looked at for cramp. Traore saves one or maybe two off the line. I'm beside myself. I knew sport could be tense, but this is INtense. Nerves? Plenty of them!
The game goes to extra time. We look like we are barely hanging on. Eventually with not long to go Milan swing the ball in and Shevchenko heads it towards goal, Dudek saves it but the rebound falls deliciously at his feet for the volley and it feels like time stops right there, everything from here (even now) plays out to me in slow motion. Shevchenko has the whole goal to aim at with Jerzy Dudek reacting from already making a save. He volleys it towards the goal, it hits Jerzy's arm and in something that must be beyond science somehow rises upwards, and deflects the ball over the bar. We should have lost the entire final right then but we've still got a chance.
It moves onto penalties and my already fast beating heart is going double what it was before, then triple, then quadruple, I try to ignore it, I can't. I slip both my hands to my knees, I'm finding it hard to stand up. This is ridiculous. I still think we are doomed.
The penalties are mental. A couple are missed by the Milan players that you wouldn't expect. I celebrate early. A more nuanced Scouser tells me it's not over until it's over, quite right too. Then Cisse who is back from a broken leg scores his and goes crazy. Riise who I thought was certain to score hits his low but with not enough pace and Dida saves. Maybe we are going to lose afterall?
Eventually it comes down to Shevchenko. One of the best strikers in the world but who missed that amazing chance against Dudek. He has to score to keep them in it. He runs up slow and methodical, Dudek is dancing on the line like Grobbelar used to back in the day. He hits it, slow and straight down the middle. Again, for me personally, it feels like time stops. In slow motion, Dudek dives but has enough of him left in the centre to palm it away.
WE'VE WON THE EUROPEAN CUP.
The players run towards Dudek and go ape shit. Carragher runs towards Dudek and goes ape shit, then before hugging him, he runs to our fans and goes ape shit. I go ape shit. Everyone is going ape shit. I see Rafa, he's smiling and not going apeshit. Nerves of steel.
Gerrard lifts it.
The scenes are immense. Behind me is a French TV camera crew who film me going mental, singing songs into the camera before climbing onto the banisters and swinging my Liverpool scarf around as my head as we sing to the tune of Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash. A chant of "Are you watching Manchester?" goes up and for the first time in my life supporting Liverpool it doesn't feel ridiculous to join in. You'll never walk alone starts up, and unashamedly, I tear up. Fuck it, I don't care, after a roller coaster like that I dare anyone to not admit that they wouldn't have done the same. I sit in my seat in disbelief for a minute or so then get back to celebrating.
I can barely speak. I'm dehydrated, my mouth is dry, I'm absolutely spent, it's all over, but for 20 minutes I get back up and we belt out every song you can possibly think of, sort of like how I was starting them on the coach up but almost the entire of the ground joining in as well. I find the Milan fans who shook my hand at half time, I hug them generously, they are gutted as I would have been (and was in Athens two years later). I shake their hands enthusiastically. I almost feel embarrassed that they have lost and we have stolen it from them. They accept graciously and tell me to enjoy it and remember it forever, I will do. Top lads.
From expecting to be the laughing stock at sixth form when I got back from Turkey at half time, I'm walking around 6ft tall, absolutely buzzing. We walk back to the coaches and I'm going mental. I see a few celebrities and past players and there are high fives all round. We make it back to the coach and get on. Almost instantly I pass out and the next thing you know, I wake up at the airport sleeping on the kerb waiting for our 8 hour delayed plane. Fun times. That would have been horrendous if we had lost, but that's another story.
Ten years ago. Ten years. Best day of my life. Eventually I got my brother into Liverpool and going the games is so fun with him, I just wish he had been there, and experienced that night as it happened, he'd certainly love it. I hope we do something in our lifetimes (other than the Gerrard FA Cup final the year later and the Cardiff Carling Cup final) where he can experience a night like that with me, in the fucking ground. He deserves it.
And whether we are European Champions, or 6th in the league, I fucking love this football club and all the brilliant people I have met off the back of supporting them. At the end of a disappointing season, with Gerrard on his way out, let's keep our heads up high and say "We are Liverpool".
There will be a lot of talk about the manager, whether he should stay, or go, but ultimately I can't decide that, I can have an opinion, but it's not up to me. I see how it plays out and support the team, because you can't change your team. You can't change your team, you can only love one and I love mine.
Drink it in. Fuck Aguero's goal, you'll never see a night like this Martin Tyler.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnB4XAhl6PY