My day started as any day should start. Being off work is always great, but with a day at Anfield to look forward to. Yet two things were different about today.
Firstly, there were no points at stake. For once, I was quite glad about this. Playing for points is great, but after a bad result I tend to feel disheartened. Since the result last week, I felt very disheartened. Upset and disappointed and disheartened. But watching one game of England with Roy Hodgson in charge and I was eager for our Redmen to be back out on that dodgy Anfield turf. That hallowed, dodgy turf.
The second thing that was different about today was that it was my first, but hopefully not last outing in the press box before, during and after the game. I’m not going to lie and I won’t try and sugar-coat it, this was exciting. I love being out in the crowd. In the Kop with the fans, but this was to be a different experience all together. I was giddy to see the game from another perspective. I was looking forward to see how the other half lives. Was there pies? Who was there? Who would I see? Are the seats comfy? How was the WIFI? All of these are questions that I was thinking. Of course I was. I am a fan first and foremost, but this was new to me. New and brilliant.
It’s many thanks to the lads at Read Liverpool for giving me this opportunity. Less than two months ago I was an aspiring writer with no way of showcasing what I could do. Yet, fast forward those two months and here I was, sitting in a packed out Anfield wondering how I write about this without seeming like I was showing off. These guys say they promote young writers, and this is them proving that’s what they do. This experience was all because of them. Cheers, lads.
Anyway, enough of the love in. You’re here for the football, so let’s get cracking. The atmosphere was a strange one. Not strange bad, but just strange. A little bit carnival. For a tennis analogy, think Olympic tennis, not Wimbledon. General cheering and excitement. And then there was the team sheet call-out. A tradition at Anfield now, the “and for Liverpool..!” was met positively, each player getting a good cheer, with Riise and Gerrard getting a big cheer, but the greatest moment of the announcement came right after the name of a certain Xabi Alonso. To say it was deafening would be very, very close to the truth. It was the loudest I had heard Anfield in a long time. Until something that came a little bit later on. But all in due time.
Upon arrival, I presumed the football would be very slow. As charity games go, there was a lot of big hitters here. Players still playing. Injuries needed to be prevented. Didier Drogba plays for the team who will be champions of the Premier League in two months. Luis Suarez plays for Barcelona, the best club side in the world. Fernando Torres plays for the current La Liga title holders. And even after that, we had a lot of players still playing in top leagues, if not for ‘top’ clubs. Yet, the football was quite quick. Some would correctly argue it was quicker than the Liverpool first half vs United. The quality was also pretty good. Riise did all the stuff Riiise did. He was back home, being uncontrollably Riise. All there was left was for him was to score a screamer from 25 yards, which unfortunately never came. He ran, the marauder he always was. Carragher was shouting all over the shop, keeping his defence in check. Each time someone was within 40 yards of goal, there were cries to “shhooooooott!” – for everyone. Except for Mario, who does what he wants anyway. And so he did again, but this time; goal. A cracking shot to the left of Brad Jones. Out of every mad shot he has had this season, of course he scores in a game that it doesn’t really matter. But hey-ho. What can you do?
Balotelli was involved in the action once again, this time playing through Didier Droga for a goal that was offside, marginally, but considering the officiating in the Premier League has been hugely woeful, this, in a charity game, can certainly be let off.
A foul against Jerome Sinclair brought along that most common of occurrences; a penalty in a charity game. It always happens. As sure as day turns into night. Dispatched nicely by Mr Penalty himself, Steven Gerrard, something we have become used to, something we will miss once he leaves for the beautiful weather and bank balance provided by Los Angeles.
The half time whistle blows, and into the press catering we go. Loads of butties. Loads of pastries. And loads of press, presumable wondering what exactly they are supposed to write about so far. Yeah, there has been goals, but it’s all been a little bit tepid. Alonso’s reception aside, that is.
After the butties and the drinks came the sitting down. It was a successful bit of sitting down. You can tell it was, because by the end we were all sat down. The sitting down is important, because of what I had previously expected. Before I arrived, I expected Harvey’s furniture. Proper seats. Somewhere comfortable to park my behind. In reality, it was just a normal seat. This didn’t bother me as such, but it is funny what you expect when something seems so usually unobtainable. The press are just people, and here they are treated so. Seems apt really, and something some people need to remember. They’re just men and women, who occasionally get it right. They sometimes break stories, and they are often wrong. And they also sit down on seats like the rest of us. Remember that when the Echo quote a signing upon the horizon that never comes. Blame it on the seats.
The second half was brilliant. It really was something to behold. Not the football; that was largely the same as the first half. It was football that was happening. A nice pace, between players not playing for anything. Kevin Nolan played like he has won a competition to be there. He’d cut out a week’s worth of tokens from the back of the paper and was dead happy to be given the chance to play on the aforementioned hallowed turf. Which was to say that he was a bit crap. But he turned up, and he played, and he deserves credit for that. He didn’t need to, but he did. Nice one. Jonjo Shelvey didn’t get his usual over-the-top ovation he gets each time he plays against Liverpool. And the way he played was very Europa League. Very Jonjo. He is the most Europa League player I have ever seen. Hollywood passes and crap control, working not-very-hard but looking like he could easily be a good player later in his career. He has 7 years to practice how he’s going to be great when he is 30. Like Scott Parker did.
Luke, I hear you say. Why was the second half so good? You just told me the football was average, so do explain yourself. Sorry guys, a tangent occurred. The second half was brilliant because of what happened. All of the players came onto the pitch, ready for the second half. All bar 2. 10 seconds went by, and we hadn’t kicked off. The ref looks over to the tunnel, and called whoever it was to hurry up. “Who are we waiting for? It’s cold and I’m sat on what is basically a plank, get a move on” I thought. And then they entered the fray. Two lads. Two really great lads. They used to play for us, but now are both in Spain. One left with blessing. The other didn’t. One is loved by all. The other really isn’t. They were the stars of the show. Then and now. Fernando Torres and Luis Suarez. In a move that was probably clever planning, they both came on together. There was pre-match talk of a jittery reception for Torres, after leaving for Chelsea in 2011, so bringing him on with the golden boy of the Kop would allow any possible boos to be drowned out by adulation for Suarez. It would have been a great idea, except it really wasn’t needed. The crowd went mad. Bananas. Insane. Whatever you want to call it. This was the moment everyone had waited for. We sang for Suarez. We were in tune for Torres. It has been a long time since we’ve heard it, but to hear “we’re gonna bounce in a minute” was a genuinely emotional moment. This felt like it. Redemption, of sorts. What he did to us was wrong. He left for the club that was opposite to us in every way. Plastic fans, plastic flags. However, here is a man who knows exactly what he did wrong. It’s been a while now, and here was a bit of an olive branch. You left us and your career went down the pan. Now we are even. And because we’re even, we’re going to belt out your song with the verve of a crowd who know this is a fella who gave us some of the highest highs in our recent history. You think last year was good? 2009 was just as good. And he was the main man then. Let’s give him some credit, let’s let him know that we remember him.
What seemed like every 10 minutes of the second half was a song for Suarez, and song for Torres, and song for Garcia. This was the party we had all hoped for. The carnival of Anfield.
In amongst the songs, Suarez was brought down by Carragher in the box, and Gerrard put the ball neatly to the left of Peter Gulacsi, a second half substitute for the legendary Pepe Reina, who was rightly afforded the raucous applause he deserved upon leaving the field.
The game ended 2-2, bang on 90 minutes. And there we had it. A last hurrah for a lot of players who simply never got to say goodbye. Some of these lads have moulded our recent history like it was theirs to sculpt. They came to our clubs as players, and left as legends. Alonso, Reina, Suarez. And those who aren’t legends still gave us the memories we can talk about with friends, neighbours, fans and opposition supporters for years to come. Riise vs United, how did he score that goal? Luis Garcia, he came from Barca to bring us joy. Yet it is the captains who deserve the most credit. They brought together two teams full of players befitting of the day. Honourable mentions should go to Drogba and Terry. This is really not their territory. They have been booed and hounded here time and again, but they’ve done us a solid job and for that I say thanks.
My day was great. The butties, the footie and the company. A day in the life of the people who are here to report what we sometimes don’t see. It was fantastic and hopefully I’ll be able to do it again in the future. Yet on that note, I leave you with this:
They say that you should never go back. That’s what they say, isn’t it? Well, whoever ‘they’ are clearly haven’t spoken to Fernando Torres this evening. They haven’t spoken to Jamie Carragher or Pepe Reina. They haven’t spoken to any of the former players who played today. Chapter closed, the end has come. A proper send off, for some proper players. Thanks for the memories lads. I love you all.
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