Samedi Midi Football
24. November 2023
Up early, making breakfast in the hostel kitchen – Colin's also around ("Always up early"). As I'm planning my activities around the match, he gives me latest insight into the local footballing culture and the fact that he as an Irish guy is allowed to be a United fan in Liverpool. I ask him, whether he's going to watch the match: "Oh, I'm not drinking this weekend." Now, I feel sufficiently informed.
From Everton to Anfield
I pass Everton's Goodison Park on my way to Anfield. The area consists of small brick houses, some are painted blue – most of them in their original rust red. The stadium looks as if it could use a new layer of paint – it's far from glamorous or beautiful. The entrances lead directly onto the street – there's only a sidewalk in between.
At the end of a conventional street lies Goodison Park
Anfield football stadium – on the other hand – is an architectural beauty. Its brick walls shine bright in the morning sun. The area's houses are a little higher, a little better kept. There are huge murals embellishing the end pieces of these house rows. People from all over the world – I discern Dutch, German, and supposedly Scandinavian languages – join me on my way to Liverpool FC.
I pass some of the local pubs and decide to enter The Park¹. It's cash only, has various ales on tap, and isn't filled with mostly tourists. The décor might've never changed since the pub was first opened – except for maybe a fresh layer of white paint on the walls.
Smack in the middle of this Anfield neighborhood lies the LFC stadium.
Ale in hand, I wander the place, wondering how to start a conversation – or how to strike up a connection. Still unsure, my eyes stay glued on one of the many TV screens, as a report on the Hillsborough catastrophe is on. The famous Sun cover² is shown once more and, somehow, I get taken away in my thoughts. Unconcerned, I ask the guy next to me a related question – the ball gets rolling, the interplay is under way.
John is probably in his later Sixties. His nose is so big and swollen that I would have either guessed he was once an amateur boxer or a professional drinker. His demeanor betrays neither. He recounts frequent business trips to Hamburg, which explains a certain connection to Germany. We talk football culture and socialization. To me, John sounds like my idea of a quintessential Liverpudlian: "There's two things I'm passionate about: music and football. The city offers both." He's a truly nice man, buys me a beer after 15 mins of conversation.
John: "Klopp really is the new Shankly. That's what I think. He changed us from being doubters to believers. Before, we hoped we wouldn't lose, now we believe we will win."
His reverence for Jürgen Klopp feels a little worn, though: "He's the new Shankly." The second coming of a once all-inspiring football coach who turned a second division club into serial silver ware winners. Someone who would turn depressed doubters (or: hopers) into assured believers. We debate the man, we talk about his achievements, and the state of football today. Then, my head goes empty for a while. We shake hands – he's off to meet an acquaintance of his. I thank him and go outside.
Roaming the Football Scene
Now, being here – right under the huge brick walls of Anfield football ground I start feeling the *need* to buy a ticket. Everybody's is here on a mission today. Everybody's here to watch their side play. Only me, I'm the literal tourist searching for a way in: to have a place among them, something to do. The energy draws me relentlessly through the overcrowded turnstiles.
I approach various people – they all tell me: "no chance, it’s all sold out." The idea that "sold out" doesn't always mean sold out, doesn't come to their mind. There are no spares, no collections that weren't picked up, no grifters, no sellers. I circle the stadium once, I walk some of the streets back and forth. Nothing. I give up.
A a quiet moment amongst the derby celebrations: the LFC Hillsborough memorial.
At the entrance of The Park pub (where I resign to watch the match, which will start in two minutes), a sketchy looking *lad* approaches me: "you need a ticket?" – The question I've been looking for the past 60 minutes all over Anfield. OK. "Yeah, of course." – "It's three hundred." A sudden flame that had ignited in my guts suddenly is blown out. "I don't have that kind of money." – "What's your budget, then?" Honestly? "One hundred." – "My limit is 250." The interaction is over. I wait a little – spit the occasional remark, inquire – but the kid doesn't care. This isn't my league, this isn't my game.
Soon, I find myself with another plastic pint in front of one of the countless TV screens. The match is on, the pub is packed.
Roaming the Pub Scene
Turns out the guy next to me is called Paul – and for some technical error he couldn't pick up his seat today. It means that in a stadium which could've sold out twice today, there are seats actually empty right now. In front of the screens, we share Liverpool's quest to break the Everton gridlock – clap our hands, when Mo Salah finally scores from the spot – and then seals the deal shortly before the final whistle.
Paul: "There was an electronic error yesterday night. Yeah, my ticket got deleted. When I came here today, the line at the ticket office was over an hour long, and it's closed now, so. I just watch it here."
We talk for a while, I fancy buying him a beer, but I'm dizzy from the ones I had already – and I'm not keen on the red cider stuff he's drinking. The match is finished. It feels more like mission accomplished than mission ongoing.
From Anfield to Second Hand Records
After the match, Paul guides me over to the Sandon pub – "soon, this place will be packed." We say goodbye and I fancy another pint. As people are streaming in, I think about maybe getting something to eat first. While I'm contemplating my options, I'm taking a closer look at the increasing mass of individuals surrounding me: nearly all of them are men, everyone looks relatively drunk. They're loud, they shout and sing. It's match day – and their team won.
A sinking feeling muzzles my slight beer buzz. I realize that I don't want to be here. I don't want to be drunk among all these guys, chant songs with them I don't know about football clubs I don't care about. – Football culture, I understand, is the same everywhere. Whether you're in Liverpool or Stuttgart or at Hertha BSC. It's mostly men chanting and shouting while getting drunk.
I'm checking the bus connections, a minute later I'm out.
I'm checking the bus connections, a minute later I'm out.
I don't Care About Football Anymore
Walking the city, I see a record store³ (selling new and old) on the other side of the road. Within minutes I find myself flipping through different genres, looking for music I'd like to listen to at home. There are these Beatles records, Greek pressings, I'm into from the get-go – until I discover a couple of second-hand Roxy Music albums in the backroom. It doesn't take long and one of the owners explains the career phases of Brian Eno to me, let's me listen to the Sergeant Pepper pressing I find so intriguing – while he gives me a little insight into the mastering of the Beatles records⁴. I buy the Beatles and a Roxy Music album.
When I leave, a very warm feeling is extending in my still empty belly.⁵
When I leave, a very warm feeling is extending in my still empty belly.⁵
A Greek Pressing of the Sgt Pepper album bought second hand.
As much as I was looking forward to finally see Anfield with my own eyes, as eager as I was to stand in an actual English pub – filled with home side English football fans – I can't help but feel somewhat deflated about that part of the day. Instead of having fulfilled some sort of personal passion, I can now publicly declare that, yes, I've been to Anfield, too. Yes, the tickets are beyond my reach – but the pubs are full and reasonably welcoming and friendly.
Beyond that I can also tell my younger self that I've truly been there. As for my present self? Brutal truth: I don't care. The surprising realization is that the excitement fell so quickly. The interest stayed so low... I can hardly recall the match already – it was just football on TV.
The train takes me out of Liverpool and to next-door Manchester.
It probably has to do with choices – with people, friends, surroundings – with experiences and memories: after the 90 minutes, football felt far away to me. I had paid tribute, I did the thing – now I wanna do my own.
Time changes our lives – and with them change we.
Time changes our lives – and with them change we.
From Liverpool to Manchester
When I reach Liverpool Lime St Sunday afternoon, most connections are cancelled at this point. According to the announcements, a river flooded some of the tracks. I wait nearly an hour for a train that will actually make the journey. Again, I'm lucky: once I'm in, everything works out fine. I reach Manchester on time to check into my next hostel and still have a piece of Sunday night.
¹ Prices were reasonable. I don’t think I paid more than 5 Pounds for a regular Carling. ↑
² Infamously shouting "THE TRUTH," and then blaming Liverpool fans for the events. It is an impressive example of fraudulent agitation and intentional dishonesty by a publishing medium. ↑
³ I enjoyed flipping my way through Eighty-One Records. I can very much recommend the large second-hand area in the back. ↑
⁴ Turns out, the Beatles outsourced the stereo mixing of their earliest albums. As it was a new technology, the engineers really didn't know what they're doing. "By the time it came to Revolver and Sergeant Pepper, they figured it out, though." There's no need to buy a brand new remastered golden era Beatles album. The mixes are great anyhow. ↑
⁵ I stuffed my empty belly at The Quarter, which is a typical contemporary breakfast spot. What actually stands out, though, is that brownie with salted caramel sauce. It's not cheap, but worth the price. ↑
² Infamously shouting "THE TRUTH," and then blaming Liverpool fans for the events. It is an impressive example of fraudulent agitation and intentional dishonesty by a publishing medium. ↑
³ I enjoyed flipping my way through Eighty-One Records. I can very much recommend the large second-hand area in the back. ↑
⁴ Turns out, the Beatles outsourced the stereo mixing of their earliest albums. As it was a new technology, the engineers really didn't know what they're doing. "By the time it came to Revolver and Sergeant Pepper, they figured it out, though." There's no need to buy a brand new remastered golden era Beatles album. The mixes are great anyhow. ↑
⁵ I stuffed my empty belly at The Quarter, which is a typical contemporary breakfast spot. What actually stands out, though, is that brownie with salted caramel sauce. It's not cheap, but worth the price. ↑