Walk on

I have had the most surreal weekend of my life. A bit of background to begin with. I am a Liverpool fan, always have been. I was there when we lost the league to Arsenal with the last kick of the season, I stood on the kop for the very last game the venerable old stand would witness (we lost to Norwich, damn thay Jeremy Goss) and I was there again for the first game in front of a fledgling new seated kop against Arsenal; you begin to get the picture.

So I was more than a little stunned to find myself lined up in the tunnel at Anfield this weekend along with Gerrard, Fowler, Riise and Carragher, wearing the famous red shirt and about to walk out on match day in front of 45,000 people.

Let me explain this most unlikely way of spending a Saturday afternoon. Some time ago I entered a competition with Barclays to win a contract with Liverpool, complete with £10,000 signing on fee, a place in the official team photo, a training session and a signed shirt. When a letter arrived from Barclays telling me that I had made the final 11 I could barely believe it. Barclays were going to send me an official match shirt with my name on and take me to Anfield for a prize draw. Hurrah!

So the day finally arrived and we met the man from Barclays who dished out the tickets and gave us our pre-event briefing. At was at this point that the nerves really started to kick in, as it was becoming quite apparent that I would be going onto the pitch. Seated with my fellow finalists the game began and with 35 minutes gone my moment was almost upon me. Eleven of us rose from our seats (well twelve if you count Nigel from Barclays) and began to make our way down the main stand. Quite aware of the fact that 11 red numbered shirts had just risen from their seats I practically sprinted down the stand - rapidly followed by my team mates for the day - and down the first stair well. Unfortunately it was the wrong stair well and we had to reappear further along the stand and go down another level. Nerves got the better of the boys and a quick loo break was needed. The view from behind must have been an odd one, all these shirts and numbers lined up facing the wall. Suitably relieved we made our way further along the stand and a fire door opened to our left.

Leaving behind the poured concrete world of Anfield’s oldest stand we entered a new world of deep pile carpets, panelled walls and trophies. We were now in the domain of directors and other honoured guests. Heading downstairs we were met by former player and League Championship winner, Brian Hall. Arranged into number order and issued with a numbered ball for the draw (I was number 6) we awaited half time. As a litany of former greats walked past and said hello (Tommy Smith, David Johnson, Ron Yeats) the nerves began to kick in with a vengeance. Clutching my tunnel access pass I couldn’t help but notice the quiet and the complete lack of noise penetrating the innards of the stand from the mass of people just a few feet away. Zero hour was almost here and we were called forward into the players area.

Now this is where it gets a little weird. I am now lined up in the tunnel with my fellow finalists, all resplendent in our Liverpool shirts. Bouncing my match ball I look up and can almost imagine that I am to take the field for a match, there’s even a guy named Dalgleish! There’s a muffled cheer and it’s half time. Suddenly both sets of players are making their way to the dressing rooms just a few feet in front of us. There is surprisingly little noise at this point, none of the players are speaking although they are no doubt wondering if they are all to be replaced at half time by this new squad lined up and waiting to take to the pitch. Silently now, we shuffle forward. Again I look up and the famous sign is in front of me, “This is Anfield” it proudly declares. I have stood here before on a stadium tour but this time I’m wearing the shirt, there’s a full house in the stadium and the match and club officials are all around us. I cannot begin to imagine how it must feel to be making your way on to the pitch and having to play in a match. Some of the greatest names to grace the game have made this walk, and I can barely believe that I am following in their foot steps. I begin to make my way down the stairs and cannot resist giving the sign a gentle tap for good luck. My turn comes and my name is announced across the PA system and I make my way forward and onto the floodlit pitch and suddenly feel very small but very proud.

Depositing my match ball into the giant tombola that has been positioned opposite the tunnel I line up in front of the main stand as if waiting for the National Anthem or Champions League music to await the draw. Realising that I will never be in this position again I begin to slowly turn around and attempt to take it all in. The place looks very different from out on the pitch. The stands are somehow taller, the goals are further away and the pitch itself feels huge. I briefly attempt to pick out my wife up in the stands but it is almost impossible to see anyone. Glancing downwards the stud marks left by the first 45 minutes action are clearly visible and the carpet like appearance of the pitch that you get from the stands or the TV has changed into a slightly muddy patch of grass. People have their ashes scattered on this pitch, there is even an urn buried at the kop end such is the reverence that this rectangle of grass is held in and here I am, stood on it. At that precise moment, over 40,000 people in the stadium and countless more around the world would have swapped places with me. Eventually, all 11 balls are in the tombola and it’s time for the draw, enter former player John Aldridge.

Spin, spin, spin. The tombola stops and the hatch is opened. My God it’s number 6! Oh no, it’s number 9. Denied by an inversion. The girl (yes, girl) skips to the front to collect her prize and my dream of signing for Liverpool is over. All that is left is to have our picture taken with John Aldridge and re-enter the tunnel, my time on the hallowed turf is over.

I finally make it back to my seat and settle down for the second half. I feel oddly calm that I didn’t win, yet disappointed that the winner didn’t seem excited by it. Of the 11 finalists, there seemed to be 3 of us who were genuine fans and would have been thrilled to have won. But that is in many ways an indictment of modern football. Too many people are “fans” of a team yet have no inkling of the history or traditions of the club. It used to be that you supported a team because it was your local team whereas today many fans treat their team as a fashion accessory.

Anyway, I didn’t intend to turn this post into a diatribe on the state of the modern football fan so I won’t. Safe to say I had a great day out and an experience I will certainly never forget.

This entry was posted on 20/06/2007 at 08:18 am and is filed under Football related. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.