Lifting the Mood?

[the count]

I have discovered to my horror that there is one thing worse than the disaster that was last season and that is the close season that has followed.
Day after day, I log on to be confronted with more depressing news as to the state of out financial affairs, the players that are leaving and sometimes equally depressing who we are planning to replace them with.

While there appears to be no light in the tunnel ahead I thought it might not be a bad idea to look at the brightness behind, to just see what the daylight looks like and remind ourselves of the joy that this great club of ours has brought and hopefully will continue to bring into our lives.

This beautiful piece of writing fully encapsulates the pleasure joy and emotion that supporting Liverpool Football Club can bring much better than I or I suspect most on here could ever do.

Apologies to the author of the piece as I have not sought his permission to reproduce it here but hopefully he doesn't mind.
If it is your first or 'nth time to read the piece, enjoy...................











We woke up early on Tuesday morning. Well Molly and I did anyway. We give Misred a lie in and me and Shortround watch some Spongebob. Im already bricking myself. Im thinking penalties, and I love penalties me…but not so much when im stood there watching the last breath of a dying season in front of me (I enjoyed Arsenals last night of course).
Misred gets up an hour or two later, I think I woke her up giving Molly her bath, and she helps me try to talk Molly into wearing sensible clothes and not a full Lil Liverpool kit. Its pointless though, she’s made her mind up and the only concession she will make is that we manage to get tights on underneath. Misreds stressing me out by trying to make deadlines and im just trying to keep calm in the face of everything that’s going on, and not think too much about the game…..to no avail.

We set off at about half 10, ive made a corker 80’s cheese playlist mixed in with some things Molly asked me to put on (star wars themes, monster mash, pink, kings of leon, flight of the conchords, kimya dawson etc). I drive, cos it takes my mind off the game, (misred later says ‘oh I should have driven here, because you are driving home!!!)
The journey is a peach, no traffic and its just plain sailing. We stop at Keele services for some lunch on the go, and after a short stop with a few minor arguments, tears, tantrums and stupidly expensive food we hit the road again. Btw if you ever go to Liverpool from the south, make sure you use the M6 toll, its so much quicker.

I cant remember what time we get to Liverpool, but for the first time we manage to find FFF’s house without any help (well actually Misred does, I’d have been driving round for a month crying and shit).
We’ve sold the whole deal to Molly (me and Misred going to the game) on the premise that she gets to look after ‘little baby Luke’ with Bex and she is so excited to finally arrive and is all over Luke like rash, a rash in a full Liverpool kit, and cuddling him constantly, lucky he’s a big fan of the cuddles and the two of them tumble from sofa to floor and roll about the place locked in a never ending cuddle. Bex falls in love with Molly and informs Jon that she wants a girl next Smiley
A bit of Molly acclimatising later and we go out to the park. I cant remember the name of the place at all, but it’s a manor house with swing parks set in loads of greenery. Molly loves the swings and even tries the roundabout (gotta love that drunken stagger off the roundabout) and wants to hold Lukes hand all the way round the park, luckily most of the time he allows it and everything is okay. A few scraped knees and a tear or two and its home again. The nerves are getting frayed now, and im trying not to think about it but im getting texts aplenty from Mancs taking the piss, from Reds wondering if I have the team news, from family wondering if I am having a nice time, and im just frantically trying to clear my bleedin head.

Me and Jon go out and get a chippy tea and the chips and fish taste really good because ive been eating right and it feels good to eat wrong (and to think I was going to have cous cous, schmuck) and then its just about time to go to meet Nessy so we can go to the Harry for a couple before the game.
I perform the shittest 3 point turn in the middle of the road and almost kill everyone to save myself driving a 100 yards down the road, and then we’re good to go. We get to Jons allocated parking spot and its no longer a parking spot (I blame Pete for this personally) so we head up to anfield in the car to find a scally car park to park in, and every single one of them is full. Now im getting double nervous and just want to get there and get it over with. We end up driving near enough back to Jons house and parking at the NHS admin centre where Nessy works out of. Nessy and I have already dropped Misred and Jon at the Harry rather than all of us have to walk all the way back, so its me and Nessy trecking back to the pub, and time is running out, so we get our jog on, and now im regretting fish and chips real real bad, we finally make it back to the Harry and its empty, we’ve been running against the flow of reds for 15 minutes and Misred greets us with a ‘cutting it fine’ and Jon bless his heart has two of the finest pints Nessy and I will ever see sat waiting for us, the time is 7.40.
I swallow a mouthful of lager and we’re out the door, ive blagged a Marlborough off Jon and in the doorway of the Harry I ask a lad for a light, he seeing the frantic look in my eyes hands me a lighter and says ‘keep it lad, go go’ and we’re quick stepping the 500 yards up the alley to Anfield, Misred moaning about the pace and me just not wanting to miss kick off. We find our entrance and theres a bit of a queue and I can hear the champions league anthem playing, and im wounded that we’re going to miss the start. This crazy eyed Irish lad who looks like he’s been drinking since about Thursday is stood next to me in the queue and is spitting words out like a maniac ‘Alright Boyo, fuck, this it fucking it ay boyo, fucking fuck come on fuck’ hes a bit of a scary cunt to be fair and he’s an inch from the side of my face and I feel him staring at me and im like ‘OPEN THE FUCKING TURNSTILES CUNTS’.
We get in and race up the stairs to our seats. The noise when you walk up the stairs into the cauldron of Anfield is probably my favourite sound in the world, and its even better (I discovered) when kick off has just happened, I walk up the last step and have to draw breath as it hits me, I daren’t look at the pitch, I cant until im in my seat, so I bound up the stairs three at a time and then remember that Misred is behind me and I slow down. We get to our seats and theres only one seat……this happened last time too, I tell the lad sat in my seat hes in my seat and he whips out his ticket and accepts it, so the whole row shuffles down. And finally im sat looking down at the ground.
Fernando Torres quickly turns Cannavaro inside out and almost puts us in front, I cant believe what im watching, we’re ripping Real Madrid apart at will, time and again we’re through on Casillas and time and again he alone is stopping us scoring, im worried that this will be the way it goes and I can sense tension and nervousness around me, you wouldn’t know it from the noise though, its crackling, it’s a white noise that doesn’t stop, the songs are as loud as ive ever heard them, and everyone is singing, EVERYONE. My ears are ringing from it, and my heart is pounding like a fucking drum ‘HIS ARMBAND PROVED HE WAS A RED…..thump thump thump…..HE’S BIG AND HE’S FUCKING HARD…..thump thump….RAFA RAPHAEL……..JAVIER……THUMP THUMP THUMP……..’ that’s gotta be a foul right? He’s pulled him do…..he hasn’t given it…GOOOOAAAAAALLLLL!!!! HIS ARMBAND PROVED HE WAS A RED TORRESSSSS TORESSS………..NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NAAAA…..DU DU DU DU DU DUUU DUUU DUUUU DUU DU DU. Fucking heaven.
Misred gets our tickets through her work, so were in the corporate section, and ive been before and its been like a morgue up there, but this time is different, I turn round and catch Rob Jones and Jason Mcateer singing the Gerrard song at the top of their lungs, it was my favourite moment of the whole night, although Ron Yeats shaking the hand of the bloke sat next to me who’s brother is his driver was a good one too.

 

[the count]

continued.....................


HANDBALL the shout goes up, and from where we are it’s a total stick on, I was amazed to find out later that it was never a pen, because it just looked like a clear handball to me…and 43000 others. STEEEEVE GERRARD GERRARD, CAN PASS THE BALL 40 YARDS…..never in doubt when that lad steps up anymore is it? Did you even for a second think he wouldn’t score. When the ref pointed at the spot, in that moment I knew we were in the draw for the quarter finals. I just fucking knew it, not just because I knew Gerrard would score, but because I knew we would keep making chances. The lad next to me had Liverpool to win 3-1 and there and then said, this isn’t going to happen, this could end up 7 or 8. Mascherano had already pulled out a great save from Casillas, so had Torres a couple of times, Gerrard himself nearly turned a flying volley on target, and Kuyt had almost been in once or twice. Only Babel on the other side was disappointing in that first half, shitting out of every single challenge and jumping early for headers to avoid actually challenging for them. But I didn’t care, I just knew we were through.
Half time and I couldn’t even leave my seat I just sat there and smiled quietly to myself and to Misred. I saw Marcelo warming up and I spent half time deciding who would come off for him, I called Pepe coming off and Heinz moving to centre back, reason being Pepe was fucking rubbish and was very lucky not to have been sent off late in the first half for a tenth crude challenge on Torres, but it was Robben hahaha Aurelio, the much maligned Aurelio had seen off one of Europes premier wingers in 45 mins, good lad.
The second half starts and Babel has the ball wide left, and I say to Misred ‘Yeah what the fucks he going to do?’ and then he goes and makes me look a proper cunt. I don’t know how, maybe someone walked across me, or I glanced at the floor because Babel was on the ball but I missed the goal and the ROOOARR of the crowd made me laugh out loud. I saw the goal later in the pub and wow what a goal it was.
The imperious Alonso was withdrawn and to a standing ovation from the whole ground, almost as warmly from the Madrid fans as the Liverpool fans. He was immense on the night, It was a masterclass in centre midfield play and he just looked so serene. I was sad to see him going off as I had enjoyed watching him so much on the night, but with the game won I understood the eye on Old Trafford Rafa was casting, and for once I agreed with a Rafa change, I looked at the clock 63mins…quelle surprise.
The performances from a number of our players on the night was something to behold. Theres Mascherano flying into yet another challenge, theres Skrtel winning every single fucking challenge in the air, theres Carragher toe ending the ball away from Raul and a certain goal, theres Arbeloa up and down supporting Kuyt , theres the jaw dropping Aurelio giving as good a performance at left back as ive seen in years, seeing off first Robben then Ramos, brilliant stuff. Theres steven Gerrard, Liverpools greatest ever player driving us on to another great win, he seems like a giant tonight, brushing players off left and right, nutmegging some of the best defenders in the world, and striding round the pitch like a king amongst his serfs, he is epic to watch, he is just the epitome of what a football player should be, what he should do, what we should demand they give us as fans, he was a blur of red power, left, right, through the middle, he was everywhere at once, he commanded the respect of every single player, fan, pundit, commentator in the ground, he owned the night and earned every fucking beat of the standing ovation of constant applause he garnered. Raul ran 35 yards to shake his hand as he left the field and the Madrid fans continued applauding long after sections of Anfield were back in their seats, and in the warm down were still clapping while most of anfield was empty and most scousers were in the pubs and bars around anfield telling their stories and singing their songs.
All that said, the man of the fans, tonights (and most other nights) hero and the player that instantly sets their pulses racing, and whos song is sung most, loudest and warmest is the finest centre forward in the world. He’s Fernando Torres and hes Liverpools number 9. I sat there all night watching him and just pinching myself that he’s ours and that he feels the same way about us as we do about him, and for the first time in a long time I allowed myself to be glad that we have Rafa Benitez. Why? Because this loyal and humble man would still be in Madrid at our opponents rivals if it wasn’t for the fact that they don’t succeed in Europe. And yes he loves us, but he loved them more, so how long would he stay here if we weren’t the team we are in Europe? On this night, like so many others he was just unplayable, he turned and shimmyed and lost his markers again and again, the 20m Pepe and the former world player of the year and world champion captain again and again looked baffled as he was there, then he was gone, our very own Keyser Soze. He made them look like Endsleigh sloggers and repeatedly punched holes through their weak back line to be repelled by the mind blowingly good Casillas who on the night faced 12 shots on target with only Dirks side netting blast going off target. This Fernando Torres is everything I want in a footballer, he is humble and hard working, but he has skill and power in equal measures. I think the best thing I could say about him is he makes me feel like a 10 year old kid again, he makes me feel like a fan of football, like I could put a poster of him on my wall and not care what that makes me. He’s one of my favourite foreign players we’ve ever had, and his name already sits with Hamman, Hyppia, Riise, Henchoz etc for me in players that I am really genuinely fond of. His attacking work on the night was matched by his defensive work, he constantly harangued the back line and nicked the ball time and again from their midfielders who stared round baffled when the ball had gone and all they could see was the back, and the legend TORRES 9.
Young Spearing did a decent shift a few nice touches, and a lovely pass out wide to Kuyt, who second half was given the freedom of Anfield and for me didn’t really do a lot with it. Marcelo went missing and our last goal was always likely to come from that side, and there he was again, Babel the man who I had laughed at earlier breaking clear again and AGAIN taking the right option and finding Mascherano who once again proved that he could make a pass and is increasingly threatening to do so well in every match and not just in glimpses, and the centre and who the FUCK IS THAT…HAHAHAHAHAHAHA its Dossena well in lad, and he’s slapping his badge, and in an instant ive warmed to him more than I ever had. Im a sucker for a badge kisser, I just cant help myself, I don’t care if its bluff, Andrea Dossena went up in my estimations when he did that. Another man who went up in my estimation was Lucas, who I saw play live for the first time, and was impressed by how involved he wants to be, he doesn’t hide at all, he is always in the thick of it, and not everything goes right for him, but he doesn’t stop trying, and he played a few decent balls out wide and tried to link play, and in the main part did well. He isn’t the shitcunt I thought he was, he at least matched anyone else on the pitch for effort.
In the section we were in (with all the ex players and corporate ticket holders) they clear out early, the game won, im watching Jones, Yeats, Mcateer, Johnson, Neal et all walk past, and im thinking fucking hell, what a night. WHEN YOU WALK….i get my phone out of my pocket and ring me ma, I always do at this time, and I sense her crying at home listening to our anthem…The whistle blows, and weve battered Real Madrid, we’ve been unlucky not to beat them by 7 or 8 and I read the texts on my phone as we walk back towards the Harry ‘Fucking hell Torres is amazing’ ‘you lucky fucking cunt’ ‘waste of money eh’ ‘can we have torres please’ ‘bet you wish you picked a better game to go to’ and there it was amongst all the back slapping and mickey taking my favourite text ‘Thanks honey, amazing as always, maybe one day you and me can go, love you’ and I know she had heard it.
Back in the Harry and its hugs and beer, and Jons introducing me to an atletico fan over on business who took great pleasure in phoning his Real supporting wife and saying ‘Uno Dos Tres Quators OOOOOoooohhhh’ and heres Sunny and I get a sunny hug and the place is crackling, the atmosphere electric, and every single person is laughing and smiling and this is my third trip to Anfield this year and im yet to know disappointment.
Quick beer with Sunny and we’re off, this time walking back to the car, and im breathing in Anfield. Its grimy and run down, it’s a depressed area and its foreboding and I would imagine dangerous at times, and I love it like no other place on earth, im thinking to myself not only do those poor Madrid fans have to go home beaten 4-0..sorry 5-0 but they have to leave this place and go back to fucking Madrid, poor cunts. I keep this to myself.
The Madrid fans were brilliant on the night, they sang our songs, they cheered our players they played a full part in the greatest night ive ever had at anfield, they put their scarves up for ring of fire, they gave our players a standing ovation in the warm down, and here they are, supporters of Europes most successful club ever being humble in defeat and walking the streets of Anfield and drinking in our bars and taking it on the chin, and smiling and swapping scarves (I forgot my fucking scarf again) they were a credit to their country and their club.
Back in the car and we’re soon back at Jons house, and Molly the cheeky madam has refused to go to sleep, so theres poor Bex watching in the night garden at 11pm, after having watched lady and the tramp and ratatioulle, that little girl had her wrapped round her finger, and now she definitely wants a girl next sorry Jon.
Nessy entertained Molly back to his house in the car and through her bleary and tired eyes, she fell a bit in love with the baldy scouser she probably couldn’t even understand but who bounced up and down when we went over the bumps and made her laugh all the way to St Helens. She was asleep about 35 seconds after he got out of the car, and slept all the way home, through about 6 lots of roadworks and through me trying desperately to stay awake and stopping for coffee and playing music dead loud and wondering why some vehicles have odd lights sequences and just wanting to be back at frigging home. 2.30am and we finally arrive back home. Im shattered and beaten but im happy and I crawl into bed spent and wake up late and im late for Mollys nursery and im late for work, and I buy 3 papers to read the match reports, and ive got a shit load to do, and I couldn’t give a fuck, im in Anfield, im looking down through the crowds, Misreds holding my hand and im watching my team, a big part of my heart being spread around out there, im watching my childhood brought to life, im watching Alan Kennedy and Kenny and Rushie, scoring winners. Im watching the Billy Shankly boys, im watching Joe Fagan and Sir Bob paisley in his slippers, im watching Greame Souness and Kevin keegan, im watching Rome 81 im Watching Hillsborough, im watching Heysel, im tears in eyes watching Capello shake Houlliers thin hand, im Cup finals and League titles, im goals, im Europe, im Red, im watching us dismantle white, im fond of Rafa Benitez for a time, im hope and money and Stanley park and Dubai and im tears and im Steven Gerrard and im Liverpools number 9. Im struck by my own history, im Molly in her little Liverpool kit and I tell you what, im at work, but it doesn’t matter, why? Cos im gonna bounce in a minute.

 

[FoxForceFive]

Fantastic read & some boss memories. Cheers count, and the author, of course!

 

[Paddy]

It makes me miss the Champions League, Torres, Gerrard, and Mascherano. Otherewise good reading.

 

[Fabio]

I can't read that now.
It was beautiful reading last year, exquisitely written too! But now I read it and my mouth fills with bile, my heart races and my fingers shake. What has happened? 1 year on from Madrid we lost to lille. Lowly LOSC. If I had the energy and the talent to write something worth reading I would emulate this. But of this season. This abortion. But alas. No one would want to hear it.we've lived it. Whether we were in the ground or at home with our loved ones, our wallets lighter or our stomachs fat from ale, it wouldn't matter. We all share this crushing dissappointment. I can't look at our past any more. It hurts. Hurts like watching someone you love disappear. All you have are memories tainted by how you feel now.
Our future is dark and far from clear.
Like that loved one, I hope we return, and all the pure emotions come back

 

[Fabio]

Incidentally, my last post does NOT suit the thread title

 

[Loch Ness Monster]

Thanks for lifting the mood brother. Misery. And i love reading Andys stories.

 

[Fabio]

[quote author=Loch Ness Monster link=topic=40276.msg1105632#msg1105632 date=1274033125]
Thanks for lifting the mood brother. Misery. And i love reading Andys stories.
[/quote]

yeaaaaaaaaah i should have just got on with it. Andy's stories as a rule are awesome

 

[Oncy]

That was a fucking great night.

 

[Avmenon]

Fucking great post too.

Can't read it now tho, if anything it will make the mood worse.