It is said that life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. One such moment was 28th October, 2007. The two hours in ANFIELD have dilated the importance of my life. This may sound a bit far fetched but the best time I’ve ever had is in that very place, Anfield, watching Liverpool against Arsenal. I would rather have people take away years from my life than take away 28th October, 2007. Yes, Anfield, the fortress of LFC, the toughest place to play an away game, and the atmosphere created, which is second to none. I’ve heard people crying out about “living in the present”, and that “a five minute delay in dinner is more important than a moment of sorrow ten years ago”, but the fact that it is crap was manifested by the Hillsborough Memorial which stands alongside the Shankly Gates at Anfield, and is always decorated with flowers and other tributes to the 96 fans who lost their lives. At the centre of the memorial burns the eternal flame, signifying that they will never be forgotten. That’s the first sight you see, other than excited scousers everywhere. What happened during those two hours at Anfield is very hazy, but I will do my best to recollect it.
I had planned a trip to Liverpool and it was decided that my father and me would go to Anfield on the 28th day of October to witness the match against Arsenal. I remember waking up on 28th October, what a feeling it was! The only feeling in my mind was “how many minutes to go?” We went around Liverpool and visited the Liverpool Museum. I still remember how I felt about time going like a wounded tortoise. The only thing I was interested in on the day prior to getting into Anfield was looking at the Arsenal fans, giving them “the Red look”. [No gunner really bothered, but a girl of my age pointed at her crest!]
And then it came. The time I was going to enter Anfield. We got off the taxi, and woah! All of them Scousers around, with their red jerseys on. People selling flags, banners, some of them selling tickets too! The atmosphere was brilliant. People were ogling at their Liverpool magazines, arguing in loud voices about who should be played. This is where I wanted to be. I could stand there listening to their Carra-like scouse accent for many months together. But that wasn’t why I was there. We went ahead. Dad’s always claimed to “like” Liverpool but not being “addicted” or “obsessed” by it like me. If that atmosphere did not rouse a strong passion for Liverpool F.C, I’d say his heart was made of stone. I could see his face. His mouth was wide open, gaping at the ‘family’ in Red, with everyone talking to each other, shouting out songs once in a while. Finally we reached the Shankly gates, sparing a moment reading the names of the 96 who died.
We watched the scarves and flowers and bouquets kept. Never did the Shankly statement about football (“Some people say football is as important as life or death. I assure you it is more important than that.”) seem so near to a wrong statement, as at that moment, when I viewed the Everton, Chelsea, and scarves of many other teams kept. After mouthing a quick swear word at The Sun, I entered what was ANFIELD. The hair on my neck was as erect as thorns. The feeling was brilliant. The place where Bill Shankly once walked, placing my feet over where Stevie, Carra, and the lads walked. Dad and I were speechless. We gazed at the ‘He made the people happy’ statue of Shankly himself. Yes, this is Anfield, I felt. Didn’t even pinch myself, if this was a dream I would love to be sleeping forever. We then waited for the team bus. The real tension of the game was building, with the usual know-it-alls blabbering about how they had heard that Voronin had got on the bus and would be playing. Courtesy Dad’s height and my width, we managed to find quite a good place from which we would be able to see the Liverpool players when they would arrive. I was six feet away from the place from which they would enter. The wait for the team bus was evidence to the fact that we weren’t just 40,000 people who had come to see a football match. We were a family, who had come to cheer the warriors on. No one was shoving or pushing. People were happy wherever they were. Some humorous folks had some witty lines against the stewards on horses, which were pushing us back, away from the players. We all held our ground, and that was the first sign of the unity around. Then the bus came. There was excitement all around. I could see eyeballs popping out, bodies being raised on toes, and the short guys jumping up to have a glance. The bus stopped.
Man oh man! I was there, some feet away from people who I literally worshipped in every sense! The door of the coach opened, and down came the tactical genius, Rafa Benitez. We cheered like nuts, I hadn’t heard such a huge eruption ever [Of course, that was before I actually saw the match!] Rafa had the typical European acknowledgement expression, where you tuck your lips in, such that only your chin is seen. With a quick wave, the man walked off to the dressing room. Steven Gerrard, another huge eruption. Carragher came next, and his was the loudest cheer of them all, louder than Stevie! Then slowly all the lads left the coach, each to be greeted by many huge cheers. With a quick wave, most of them walked off, with excitement in their eyes, the inspired glint, which promised us they were going to give their best, and our loudness, which promised them we loved them whatever the outcome of the game. Babel had a particularly strange walk. He came in with his headphones on, his head jingling to what I presumed was Dutch rap! He did not wave, he raised his head for a stylish nod!
Dad and me decided not to wait for the away team coach, and we walked ahead to enter the stadium. After our tickets were thoroughly checked by the guards outside, we went ahead into the tunnel which led to heaven. As we walked on through the dark, we couldn’t stop ourselves. Dad said “Yeah man!” and I pumped my fist in the air and gave him a high five. We went ahead in the dark for a few steps, and then suddenly there was a blinding flash of light.
Wow, heaven. I’m a proud atheist but if there was anything near to the “blessed place you go to after you die”, this was it. I was absolutely ecstatic. The stadium was almost empty then, since people were waiting for a “special” welcome for Arsenal players! I couldn’t help myself. Shit, I had gone nuts. The following photo shows my feelings on entering the place.
I felt I would wake up from this dream anytime. I rotated my eyeballs around like a completely bamboozled kid. I remember the part when Harry Potter enters Diagon Alley, I felt like how he must have felt. I looked around. The Liverpool crest which was gleaming from the top of all the stands. The banners hung around. The seats in the dugout, blessed by the backsides of some of the greatest players and managers to ever exist. Many of the people have suggested there’s nothing like singing in the packed Anfield crowd, and that the Liverpool supporters are the best in the world. FACHT! Not delusional at all.
As the people increased in number, the fact began to manifest itself strongly. The crowd was all chirpy, and the DJ played We Will Rock You, by Queen, and we did the *clap-clap-bang* beat courtesy the chairs ahead of us. I thought then, this loudness is what results from 40,000 mad supporters! I was so wrong, then. It was nothing like when You’ll Never Walk Alone began playing. The famous track by the Scouse band, Gerry and The Pacemakers, which was adopted as the Liverpool anthem, to be sung before kick-off. Till the YNWA, the Arsenal fans had their say, but during the song they were as quite as mice, completely enthralled by what they were seeing and hearing. Perfect. As the music for the anthem started to play, everyone became silent, and stood up on their feet. I stood up and got my scarf out, spread out in front of my eyes. The following photo captures the moment.
And then we started to sing, I sang the anthem loudly, I already started to have a hoarse throat, but sang proudly, with wet eyes, the anthem had meant so much to me. Then we sang the last bit of the anthem, which was followed by a HUGE round of applause as the Red Army entered the field. The game begun and it was excellent, especially with the shouts and the cheers around. As Adebayour went to ground, we whistled madly. Every Gerrard pass was followed by his song. The noise when two bodies hit each other was excellent. There were many Oohs and Aahs when Riise cleared the ball away, with a huge THUD. Then came the free-kick.
It was near my end, Kuyt neatly touched the ball and Steven Gerrard banged it in. We were on our feet, jumping like nuts, and the scousers yelling ‘F—k ya, Gunners!”, “GET IN THERE!” and me yelling “YES YES COME ON!!” repeatedly. It was mad, I could have died due to the sudden noise then, but I couldn’t have cared less. Liverpool was shaking. Gerrard had scored. He came running to where I was sitting and leapt in front of the corner flag. I felt like jumping off and hugging him, but I refrained.
Then came the half time whistle.
This is the beautiful picture taken during HT.
Everyone was discussing about who should come on and who should go off. The match resumed, to more cheers. And then we sang ‘The Fields of Anfield Road.’ It was excellent, there was pin drop silence, after one word ended, to be followed by more eruptions. It was crystal clear. The “And could he play!” bit, was brilliant! As the match progressed, I felt ‘ It’s nice that we are one up, but I want to experience the moment when the opposition scores, as people had always talked about how the fans say behind the team during such moments ’ . Someone on the field was listening to what I was thinking, and sure enough, Arsenal scored. Pin drop silence in Anfield, it wasn’t a shock, but no one uttered a word. The period after the goal scored was my proudest as a Liverpool fan. All of us were yelling [even louder than the you’ll never walk alone], “COME ON YOU REDS!” It was followed by the “We love you Liverpool, we do!” when time was running off. The final whistle ended by a round of applause. Looking at the form of both the teams during that period, [When Arsenal was at the top of the league], we were all happy, if not ecstatic, with a point. We walked off, with our voices totally hoarse. I couldn’t talk properly. What an experience. I’ve often been with mates “leaving” one club to support another. Though I was thirteen then, such thought NEVER entered my head. And I’ll say what Steven Gerrard said after the Champion’s League victory, “How could I leave after a night like that?” I repeat, my love affair with Liverpool will never end..
PS - Pictures from the Liverpool museum to be updated later.
