Here's what I wrote following that match. Tonight, I will watch at a pub in the United Arab Emirates and hope for similar results, though I doubt we'll be marching through the streets afterwards.
Ohhhhh, Campione, the one and only, we're Liverpool
They say our days are numbered we're not famous anymore
But Scousers rule the country like we've always done before
"That's a new one," Steve tells me as all around us in this First National pub, this converted bank in downtown Liverpool, the chants grow louder.
"Don't worry, by the end of the night, you'll know them all."
*****
I'd arrived in Liverpool just after noon with my knapsack and a desire to get that Liverpool gameday atmosphere.
I had a three-point plan to a successful stay:
1. Get a Liverpool FC jersey and scarf
2. Get on the Magical Mystery Tour.
3. Make some friends to watch the match with.
I stepped off the train and stopped the first guy in a red jersey I saw.
What was the fastest way to Anfield? There was a bus but a cab would cost me about five pounds.
I hopped in a cab and the friendly driver (everyone in Liverpool was extremely friendly), while he delivered me to Anfield, told me I had better find a room and fast.
"You better make that your next priority, mate," he said. "On a match day, people come from Norway to go to games."
Norway, right. I really should have booked a room, shouldn't I? Well, I'll get that jersey first.
I had a four-point plan to a successful stay.
1. Get a Liverpool FC jersey and scarf
2. Find a room. Any room.
3. Get on the Magical Mystery Tour.
4. Make some friends to watch the match with.
A quick pic, a quick inquiry into buying a scalped ticket ("we hear they're going for 400 pounds") and a Liverpool bag and I was back in a cab being driven to the Marriott. The Marriott! Where they had just one room and that had just come available. You don't hesitate, even when it'll cost you $164 pounds. No, you pay for your room with twin beds and be thankful for the choice of left or right. You drop your bag, pull on a Liverpool jersey and start walking toward Albert Dock and the mystery tour because the last bus is leaving in 20 minutes and the Dock is supposed to be a 10-minute walk away.
20-minutes later, you start to lose hope. Guess you'll just visit the Beatle's Story Museum. But then there's the bus pulling up to a stop. Sprint man.
"Hi," I said. "I haven't paid but can I pay you now for this trip?"
"Sure mate, we've got room," said the tall blond guy.
"Great," I said. "It must be a good day. I just got in to watch the match and I just managed to get the last room at the Marriott."
"You got a room today? You're lucky," he said. "If it was a weekend there's no way you'd get a room."
"Well, you fell on your feet today mate," said the tour bus driver. I liked that phrase.
This was my four-point plan to a successful stay, carefully planned the night before.
1. Get a Liverpool FC jersey and scarf.
2. Find a room.
3. Get on the Magical Mystery Tour.
4. Make some friends to watch the match with.
Strawberry Field, Penny Lane and the Cavern Club and now we'd reached the crucial point. In the square downtown there were hordes of red-clad fans. To be honest they'd been there since I arrived but there were more now and you could hear the chants down the street. My tour guide, who says he played John Lennon's mate in an NBC movie, looked like he would cry with pride and I needed some food and a place to watch.
I walked into the square with my camera set to video and captured the moment. Shot video of men and women chanting and clapping. I sized people up. I lost my nerve. I walked back down the street to near the Cavern Club and ate at Subway.
My four-point plan to a successful stay, was really make some friends to watch the match with times four.
Back to the square, inside a pub. I'd buy a beer and chat with some people. What about these two guys. They look decent. They're queing up for a beer. I'll ask them what to order here.
"Scuse me guys, I'm visiting from Toronto and wonder what's a good beer to get at this pub?"
"If you want a good draft beer, get Sam Miguel," one said.
"From Toronto, did you say?" said the other.
"Ya, I'm a Liverpool fan from Toronto and thought I'd come here today for the atmosphere."
"Ha, Mark, now that's commitment, he came all the way from Toronto just for the atmosphere."
"Well, I'm staying with family in London."
"We took a 20-minute train ride to come here."
"How much is the beer?"
"Oh, don't worry, that's on me mate."
We chatted about the NFL and other things Toronto. They told me where they'd watch. I was welcome to join. We moved there, bought two beers each because the lineups were going to be murder later and you don't even want to see this place if it's an away game.
Then the chanting started. And the boos when they showed Jose Mourinho. And wild cheers when they showed Steven Gerrard.
"Don't worry, by the end of the night, you'll know them all," Steve tells me. They're school teachers who'll be teaching with sore throats tomorrow.
They're mates Mike and Matt arrive and the game is on and we're on beers five and six and you can line up for the bathroom, if you can get through the crowd but it'll take you at least 20 minutes and who wants to move when all around you they're chanting:
oh when the Reds, go marching in, oh when the Reds go marching in. I want to be in that number, when the Reds go marching in.
Then shouting:
Oh when the reds (oh when the reds) go marching in (go marching in).
Sometime in the first half Liverpool scores on the set piece and the place explodes. Beer is everywhere and I'm in a bear hug. Steve plants a kiss on my forehead. This might have been awkward in any other setting.
We're going to win now, I can feel it. I never doubted it though did I? They couldn't lose with me here. And with the other four points of my five-point plan to a successful stay working out beautifully, how could I be denied a Liverpool victory.
In the second half a Chelsea striker with an empty net in front of him and the ball at his feet knocks it clear over the cross bar.
Mark gives me a look. That was close.
"Come on lads!" Mike shouts.
In extra time Liverpool scores. We win. This time I leap up and grab my friends in a bear hug.
"Wait, they've disallowed it."
An offside call when clearly Liverpool's Dirk Kuyt is onside. I sag in my seat and put my head in my hands. This is more than I can bear. I don't think I can finish that sixth John Adams.
"Have you ever cared about anything so much in your life?" Mike asks me. The answer is no. They simply must win. But they'll have to do it in kicks.
My mind flits, no it stumbles, back to when we first entered the pub and I'd said, I hope it doesn't come down to kicks and Mark had said, if it does Liverpool will win for sure.
Now we're standing in a row, arms around each other and the place erupts on every goal, every save. It was over before the first man placed the ball on the spot. Liverpool's keeper, Reina, is simply unbelievable on spot kicks. And when I thought it couldn't get any louder, it reaches fever pitch in here. I take pictures. I get hugged by a lot of sweaty men. I hug a woman when it starts feeling weird. Mark takes off his shirt and text messages a friend.
We all sing:
And you'll never! walk! alone! You'll never, walk, alone.
We spill to the streets. I climb up the steps in the square. People take pictures of me chanting and clapping. We march down the street. I don't know where we are or where we're going but I realize I probably didn't need that hotel room because my new mates would gladly have put me up.
I take pictures of them carrying Mark's banner, with lyrics from a time when the club made a hip hop video. They tell me it's my turn to carry the banner. I wrap myself in it and know that if I don't do another thing on this trip, I'll go back to Canada a happy man.
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