NOW What an emotional seven footballing days of my life. Mayfield Athletic Football Club gunned down by my beloved Old Manorians, defeated by Albanians in the Jack Perry Cup on penalties, semi – final Carling Cup Liverpool v Man City, Liverpool v Man United in the FA Cup, and Globe Rangers v Old Manorians reserves.
I guess I must have been nervous, my alarm went off on Wednesday 25th January 2012 at 5am, and I spent the next two hours somewhere in cloud Cuckoo Land. Up and out, school run over, and my mind was still all over the place. Back home laptop packed, I recall it all getting too much to process. Re-scheduled the day. Sent an email before I ventured back out. O.K that meeting was now postponed. On the bus. Off the bus, and straight into a light is flashing green. Wooooow I stepped back before me and the 4×4 became connected.
I remember nothing.
To the office and four hours passed like a blink. Flowers for the Misses, and some munchies and bubbly for me in preparation for “the night” . What’s app message came through reminding me ‘el Classico’ Copa del Rey was also on at 9pm, but wasn’t my focus.
The Carling Cup semi-final Liverpool v Man City is what “the night” was all about.
Souped-up version of the Milk Cup, Littlewoods Cup or Simod Cup as it was in my day, the day’ s anxiety was all making sense.
THEN we’d ride up and out of our road
and out onto the high road and into the park and play football for a couple hours before the finals up at the Old Wembley Staduim to soak in the atmosphere. Players from the past shrieking out our mouths when we’d dribble, tackle, score and celebrate. Me Kenny Dalglish and my brother from the imitation reds from Manchester, he’d always be defensive against the offensive brilliance of Liverpool.
There would be a sea of people moving in tandem on the high road making their way as if in pilgrimage towards Wembley Stadium
The adrenlin racing back home to watch the match on the box was all part of the excitement and build up. And I think it would be fair to say I’m struggling to think whether it was actually a race, because my brother always won. Never mind.
NOW I’m back home playing ‘hydro strike’
with my mini mentor trying to pass the time and kick off is getting closer. Talksport radio and Twitter are helping to ease the anxiety. I’m not ashamed to say that this would be my first Liverpool Cup Final I’d be at, and I want to relish it. I want to have this opportunity as an adult to soak everything thing in. I want to digest the journalist articles in the build up to the day, the all the media coverage, the old footage on LFC and ESPN. I want to be saturated with everything Liverpool. I want to physically be at Wembley witnessing those Twenty Three Pairs of Feet on the pitch control my emotions. The smells, the noise, the singing, the humour, the colours, the weather, the coming together of people I do not know, but have the same desire to breathe Liverpool.
At a period where the eyes have been on our club for the wrong reasons, and me questioning the nonsense coming out of the mouths of some of our own supporters mouths something still hangs over my head, almost haunts me. It would be a dishonour for Kenny not to train and prepare our players so I can witness them at Wembley. I want to hold my Cup Final ticket in my hand. I want a match programme. I want to buy an over priced burger, or a pie, or the inflated fish and chips at Wembley Stadium. I want a warm flat beer. I want to sit and look into the eyes of everyone Liverpool, and anything associated with us.
Minimentor fed, and bathed. Kick-Off
Kenny pulling chess moves like Fresh