My First Anfield Experience

After fourteen years of supporting them come rain or shine, I finally watched the Reds play on home turf. And it was a dream come true.

I cannot tell you how long I have been dying to go and watch Liverpool play a game. It's been one of those far-fetched fantasies that I long accepted would always remain just a fantasy. The envy when my brother went to watch the Liverpool-Everton FA Cup semi-final at Wembley in 2012 shortly followed by two home games can't be put into words; I begged him to describe it in excruciating detail upon his 1am arrival despite his evident sleepiness and I forced him to show me all his pictures and videos, refusing to wait until the next morning. I'd watch the weekend games and wish that I was part of the crowd that went wild when we scored a screamer. I wanted to be singing You'll Never Walk Alone from the stand instead of having to watch it from a lagging laptop stream.

So when my cousin messages me saying he has a spare ticket to the Europa League game against Besiktas which he's taking my brother to, and asks if I'd like to come, suffice to say that I jumped at the chance. I literally, jumped. Up and down. Repeatedly. And silently screamed in excitement. I announced it in caps lock on twitter. My imagination immediately went into overdrive. And my mind went crazy with "you're going to watch Liverpool play at Anfield".

Excited doesn't cut it. So for two weeks, I had my mind on this one single event and suddenly before I even knew it, it was the day of, and I was about to explode with the excitement that had been building over the last fortnight. We set off early for the trip down (up?) to Merseyside for the 8pm kick-off and after killing a bit of time, we pulled out onto Anfield Road about an hour prior to kick-off and the atmosphere was unreal. I was overwhelmed by the mass of red, transfixed by the sheer number of people that were milling around takeouts and the little Kop Shop stands that were selling Liverpool merchandise. I watched as men, kids and women alike made their way towards the stadium, donning their red-and-white team scarves, LFC woolly hats, and the signature red shirt.

We toured around the official club store, bought souvenirs for the mother and yours truly, and stared in awe at the players' cars that were parked proudly by the entrance. We took pictures at the Bill Shankly statue and that famous KOP emblem and before I knew it, we were pushing our way through the tiny turnstile and walking up to the stairs that lead to the football stadium. And then there we were. I'll never forget the first time I stepped into the Anfield football stand; the total illumination of the pitch by the bright white lights, the players in their pre-match kick-about, and the huge Europa League logo that sat at the side of the pitch.

I was at Anfield.

Team line-ups were announced. Players made their way out of the tunnel. We sang You'll Never Walk Alone. We kicked off. And boy was it everything I had imagined and more. I was captivated. We watched as Liverpool came close to putting us in the lead, and as Besiktas missed their chances. We groaned in frustration then oooh-d and aaah-d at how we very nearly grabbed the goal we were waiting for with bated breath. We yelled at the ref and we yelled at the players. We jumped out of our seats when we were bordering a chance and we burst out in song to piss off those bloody away fans that were deafening with their chants. We gripped the edge of our seats until the 85th minute in which we earned a penalty and went up in an uproar. We went mad out of the sheer fact that we had a clear-cut opportunity to break the stalemate and score to win the game we had travelled 120 miles for. We went silent as Balotelli got set to take it. He scored. We erupted.

Visiting Anfield for the first time to watch us win? Feeling at home and proud as hell as the anthem rang out loud and clear throughout the stadium? Being the football hooligan that you are at home, with 40 000 other hooligans instead? It was exhilarating. My throat was raw from shouting so much, my hands hurt from clapping so hard, and my body ached like I'd been body-slammed - but my God was it worth it.