"And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
[ of watching the latest 4-3 win at Anfield against the Toon Army
]"
Shakespeare, Henry V, Act 4
--
Once again I feel accursed not to have been at Anfield for one of the most extraordinary games of Footy I can remember. But I did at least have the honour of watching the game live in a packed pub here in Belfast. And although it's over an hour since the final whistle I still can't believe what I witnessed.
The first 20 minutes of the game were pretty tight, but we
were completely dominant, then the breakthrough - a ball across
the 18 yard line, dummied by Fowler, falls at Macca's feet. One
touch. And then a curling shot of international class.
Huge cheers ( naturally ).
We thoroughly deserved it.
Newcastle kick off.
We hussle them ( that's right Liverpool FC in hussle shock ).
Batty gives ball away, Macca puts Fowler through ... he shoots
...
... ball rolls goalwards, I start cheering, Berger raises arms
aloft.
But, ball hits post ! Doh ! Fortunately Berger slams the ball
home.
I resume cheering.
2 goals in a minute.
The atmosphere in the pub was really buzzing now.
For the next 10 minutes we played with Newcastle, who were absolutely appalling. Dalglish had picked a really defensive line-up, and you could see them starting to crack, Albert and Batty shouting at each other, Barton lost, Beardsley useless. It was sad to see a side once so passionate now look so lame.
Then just before the break Redknapp lobbed the ball over the
top, Fowler met it and guided it home. The cheers were not of
relief this time, but of pride - we were making one of the best
teams in the country look ordinary.
We were irresistable.
Redknapp was excellent, Barnes was commanding, Wright won everything at the back. And Macca absolutely sensational. And then there was Matteo playing so intelligently as an auxiliary midfielder. It was a joy to watch.
** Half Time **
Second half, Ferdinand comes on, so does Ginola.
No difference though.
For the next 20 minutes we had chance after chance, McAteer and
Berger were unlucky, Hislop made some super saves. We could have
scored seven easily, and Newcastle kept on loosing the ball. And
then Ferdinard limps off, thank goodness for that thinks I.
And everything Newcastle get the ball in midfield, three
Liverpool players converge on him and win it back. Excellent.
And then a funny thing happened.
70 minutes gone, the utterly useless Gillespie gets the ball
wide, wanders infield, no-one challenges him, and he pokes a shot
goalwards.
All James had to do was palm it away for a corner.
But he tried to grab it ... and it went through his hands.
Chorus of sighs. Newcastle didn't deserve a consolation goal.
Normal service is then resumed. We pour forward, more chances.
I ran my hands through my hair so many times I doubt I'll need to
comb it for the next couple of days. At this point we're not
thinking of making the games safe, no - we're wondering how we
can improve our goal difference.
86 minutes gone. One of our moves breaks down 10 yards inside
their half.
A long ball gets punted towards our goal, and James charges out
of his area ... whereupon Asprilla lobs him.
Stunned silence - you could see what the Liverpool fans were
thinking :
"Chelsea. Chelsea. Chelsea. Oh Please God, Not Again".
What happened next I still find very difficult to describe.
All I can remember is Barton's feeble shot going between James'
legs and trickling past a shocked Mark Wright.
2 goals in a minute.
The pub's atmosphere was now one of shocked silence punctuated by
the wild cheers of a handful of Man U and Newcastle supporters.
I was absolutely gutted.
Remember when Cuntona scored the cup final winner ?
I felt even worse than I did at that terrible moment.
I felt as if I'd been ceremonially disembowelled with a rusty Man
U penknife.
With Alex Ferguson twisting it.
There was still 3 minutes left - but I didn't see them.
I was in a trance, with my head was buried in my hands, all the
while thinking "3-nil up, 3-nil up, 3-nil up" ...
Some people around me head for the exits, they're too shocked to
stay.
To be honest, I was just too gutted to move.
So I just stare dumbly at the screen, shaking my head.
Staring at Bjornebye running down the left.
Staring as his cross hypnotically arcs across the screen.
Staring as Robbie Fowler heads the ball into the Kop ...
What happened next is virtually impossible to describe ...
- there were people kissing the screen.
- there were grown men rolling about on the floor embracing.
- everyone on their feet, all yelling at the top of voices one
word : "YES!"
I'm glad I'm typing this, as I've virtually lost my voice from shouting.
So once again I floated homewards, about 90 centimetres off
the ground.
Still buzzing. Still with the deafening cheers that greeted
Robbie's winner ringing in my ears.
There is a God, he wears No.9.
Walk on.
--
Dr Jaron Collis, Dept. of Computer Science, Queen's University
of Belfast
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EMail : j.collis@qub.ac.uk
URL : http://www.cs.qub.ac.uk/~J.Collis/