In all honesty, after Istanbul, it was the most exciting and worrying football game of my life.
Lose the game and I would be left heartbroken; we would probably not win the league and some other boring “spend 100 million pound” on a a Torres would win it. But it was not to be. Liverpool in reality for once, was replicating my dreams.
We showed the desire from the start. As a mere Liverpool babe (born September 1991, Liverpool) I had nothing but my tongue sticking out, 2-0 up… my dad on the other hand had a face of absolute panic. I speak of course about a man who has seen it all. Born in 1962 this man has seen Liverpool at their very best; a far cry from the Jan Kromkamp’s and Abel Xavier’s I have had to put up with.
At 2-2 it was anyone’s game, but the voice of a previously before sleeping giant screeched out in agony and Phillipe Coutinho made it 3-2.
At full time the words on both mine and my dads lips were the same.”We’re gonna win the league!”
I write this half cut (or drunk to a foreigners ears), half mad, but 100 percent totally in love with the liver bird that lays lovingly on my chest. I’m on cloud nine. And now you’re gonna believe us.