Well I had a wonderful journey up the M6. Stuck for nearly an hour in solid, foggy traffic, in a cold car, with something really old playing on the radio and what appeared to be an army of City supporters travelling up for what they hoped would be sweet, sweet revenge. However my goal destination was indeed golden, and I'd have sat there for longer than two hours knowing what was to come at the end.
Unfortunately my much anticipated destination of Anfield wasnt to be my first, and instead I spent an agonising half an hour at my Uncle's house. True I got a mug of tea out of it, a much needed mug considering the outside temperature of about -2. (And I also discovered something very, well, funny I suppose. If you take a very close look at the Bill Shankly mug, the one with his quote about the fans at Anfield, if you look closely at the picture of the Kop there's three flags on the left hand side and in the center is who seems to be our very own Bob. Or maybe I'm mistaken but he's tall, sorta Gary Mac style hair and ... well I wont say anything else incase I get hit!)
The half an hour crawled by, until finally it was a quater to one and time to head off, through the tunnel and up to Anfield. The atmosphere lacked something on the route from where we dumped the car to the stadium. (Well, tell a lie, we never got past the Albert.) Okay it was cold and wet and foggy, but it just didnt seem to have that edge on the way up to the ground that matches usually provide. Perhaps that was just me though? Admittedly I was paying more attention to preventing the frostbite on my fingers than I was looking around. (Which I should have done more of as I walked into someone about four times.) We, my Dad, Uncle and I, never actually made it past the Albert until just before Kick Off, as the allure of a pint (for them) and a warm Coke (for me) was evidently too much of an opportunity to pass up.
The prematch in the Albert passed with little incident. I met some new people, spoke to those that I recognised and generally had a laugh. (I also successfully hid from Alan's camera, something of which I am sort of proud. Mind you he was too busy with the ale to care ... in fact so were most of them. Although I am quite curious as to why ttnbd was looking at me as though he expected me to be blonde or something?)
Twas time for the match and not a Matchday Mag could be found anywhere within the realms of that God forsaken ground, okay tell a lie, I picked one up in the Kop. (And the story behind the title will be explained later...) I made my way precariously across a floor that really wasnt designed to ever get wet ... I skidded into the stairs ... and up to my seat on Block 203. (For once not in the pissing "Family Section" of Block 304, yes it does exist, I've sat there on many an occasion and its shite.) A damn good view greeted me, all the players warmng up, ready for action. The atmosphere was electrical. Either that or I'd just sat on a plug. The travelling masses had the entire Anny Road end to themselves, and boy did they fill it. Blue and white en masse, singing, chanting, threatening to outsing us at every opportunity. And at some points they did.
Kick off and the game was underway. YNWA had been sung and I was merrily enjoying my first ever FA Cup tie. (Yes I know, sad isnt it? But this season is proving one of many "firsts" for me.) This was a game that City were said to be wanting to exact some bitter sweet revenge on us. Do a giant killing act on the team that laid claim to the League Cup that so many of their supporters thought should have been theirs. The passion from the away support was intense, the cheers and cries reverberated around the ground, but as usual for a cup tie, we were not to be out done.
Owens precision targeted 101st goal gave us cause for immense celebration and cheers echoed around for the Crown Prince who has become elevated to God, the King of the Kop. The goal was timed just after 16 minutes, the perfect early start that we needed, and the last thing we should have considered doing was sitting on the thin cusion that we'd created for ourselves. And we didnt. We pressed on, determined to get the second, and it came. It came with a spectacular lay-on from none other than our new Number Nine; Anelka. As Owen ran off to celebrate Nicky could pat himself on the back knowing that this was going to be his game. His mere presence up front seemed to add extra dimensions to the team. His awareness and speed creating holes where before there were only walls, his vision providing assists and near perfect passes. The lad had a damn good game.
Others should be allowed special mention. Stevie G was seemingly back to his original best, unleashing powerful strikes from 20 and 30 yards out. They may not have been entirely on target but they were enough to strike fear into the City defence, who, much as they tried to push forward, were clouded and smothered and rarely allowed a clear shot on goal. On the odd occasion that they did penetrate our defence they found that great big Pole in our goal, Jerzy Dudek, who claimed balls with what seemed to be the greatest of ease.
Half time came and went to no great avail, although for the first time ever I actually won something in that pissing draw! Fuck I was mega impressed. Problem was I only realised when I was half way home on the M6 ... ahh well, it wasnt like it was the years supply of Carlsberg. Some bloke behind me won that, and promptly fell halfway down the Kop stairs in a state of shock. And just out of curiosity, as this was a debate that raged afterwards, just how much is a years supply of Carlsberg? I mean, a pint a day? Two a day? One a month? But that is a discussion that can be continued some other time.
The second half came and cries and cheers reverberated around the ground, and not just from the Blues. A conversation began between the two ends of the ground. Always the optomists they began "We're gonna win 3-2..." to which the intelligent reply sent out was "You're gonna win fuck all..." A nice conversation that soon shut that lot up. And what really made them sit up and take note was Anelka's goal into the Kop. A fierce strike that put all those that had doubts about him to rest. He was on fire during that game, and what a prospect he is too, with the option to purchase at the end of the season. He and Owen complimented eachother beautifully, laying on passes for eachother as if they'd been together since birth.
And so ended a damn good game. 3-0. And the score hardly reflects how easy the lads made it look. The back 4 rarely seemed troubled and Dudek looked cold through lack of action. They all played damn well, but I fail to see why such a performance cannot be repeated in the league. Perhaps this game has provided the kick up the arse that was needed, and we'll get our acts back together now? Christ I hope so.
And I dont really mean Kopites are gobshites, do I Steve? But on being asked where I was sitting, and I didnt buy the tickets my Uncle got them, I got told that Kopites were gobshites. Charming isnt it? (Good thing I was far to nice to hit him there and then. I kicked him later instead. Bot hard like...) So there you have it. Evidently those camped out in the Centenary believe that those in the Kop are gobshites. I'd hope that it was just the ale, because if it wasnt...
And finally, unfortunately Stoke couldnt do the business against Everton and the Blueshite got through. What are the odds of us drawing them at home tomorrow? Christ, there's a game I want to be there for.
Oh, a more personal note, here's to a giant killing by Cardiff City tomorrow. Lets hope the travelling Leeds fans get a good luck at the Millennium Stadium as they go past. It's the closest that shower of shite are ever going to get to it!
