My friend Grogs said told me that whether Liverpool win or
lose when your actually in Liverpool you win. I know hundreds of people who
have spent many a weekend watching football, drinking swill, dancing at clubs,
hitting the seedy streets on stags and hens, and everything in between In Liverpool.
I however have not. Living in America most of my adult live has meant I’ve
sacrificed doing things that my mates take for granted. Things like going to
Liverpool for the weekend.
We celebrated like kids on Christmas when Stevie G calmly
tucked home a peno (that shouldn’t have been given) to equalize against an
organized and very up for it Aston Villa. We were going to win 3-2, maybe 4-2.
We danced in the stands and sang with the Kop. But as the clock quickly
approached 90 minutes it became apparent that a draw was going to be a goof
result for us. Suarez was getting the crap kicked out of him. Sturridge slowed –
lack of game time catching up. Steve G was off his game, and our full backs
looked hungover. No super last minute thumper from Steve G. In its place, some
golf claps and a slow exit.
My first Anfield experience in 20 years ended in a 2-2 draw.
It was a game we were supposed to win at least 3-0. Myself and Grog did the
shuffle out of the stadium onto Anfield road, heading toward the boarded up
houses like something out of the wire. They call it the Anfield Regeneration
Project. It was after a little bit of crowd bumping that we made the democratic
decision to have a pint in the nearest pub we could find. This happened to be The
Arkles and was indeed a pub for “home fans only”. You don’t get this in the
USA. And it’s a shame it has to be like this in the UK but alas some things
never change.
‘Order 2 each Kel’, shouted a buoyant Grogzer as he
discussed the game in depth with a bloke from Cork. “Johnsons shite”, and “what was your man
Cissokho like? He was running all over the place doing nothing” The post game
discussion was happening behind me while I waited for shoddy Guinness served straight up in plastic glasses. And
when I arrived back with the swill in hand and a couple of packets of crisps in
each pocket it suddenly dawned on me that we were in Liverpool and despite the
draw we were both in great form. Onward.
We took a cab with a bunch of Swedes and headed for a night
in the city. Liverpool is friendly and they embrace the Irish as their own.
Scoucers are pretty much a nationality themselves. And years of immigration by
Irish, and the hoards that travel each weekend for Liverpool games have meant
we are adopted. Myself and Grog embraced the welcome and had an amazing night
which was part reliving youth and nostalgia. Nothings changed in the 30+ years
I’ve known Grog. And while returning to the hotel, fairly steaming, after a
great night, I thought it could have been 1994, 2004, or as it was 2014. This is why I
like to think I have the best friends in the world. And this is why growing up doesn’t
have to mean growing lame. If its too loud, then you’re too old. And believe
me, its not even close to loud.
Peace and Love
Kel
Peace and Love
Kel