Liverpool Red Diary 29

by Joel Rookwood

'Sickness would not have kept me from this one. If I'd have been dead, I would have had them bring the casket to the ground, prop it up in the stands, and cut a hole in the lid.'

That was Bill Shankly's reaction to beating Everton in the FA Cup semifinal of 1971, and regarding Liverpool's win at Goodison Park on Saturday, I'd certainly like to echo those sentiments. It was one of those days you just know you'll remember all your life. This is the oldest football derby in the world, and they don't really come much sweeter than Saturday's encounter.

In the build up to this the 168th league Merseyside derby, I was trying to think back to a contest between the Merseyside giants (and Everton) in which the stakes were higher. Because for the first time in over a decade the two clubs would be going head to head for European places, with both teams also vying for the position of highest placed side on Merseyside. And with Everton a point clear before the game, regardless of the outcome, the bragging rights were always going to go either way, and that fact served to magnify the intensity of the occasion, with the day serving as a fest of passion and bitterness.

When I awoke, the subject that consumed my first thoughts of the day accelerated the transition of my state from doziness to alertness – for today was derby day, the most eagerly awaited event of the season. But before leaving the house, my high spirits were dampened somewhat when, upon checking the morning post I discovered a leaflet in my letterbox regarding the forthcoming city council elections. I couldn't believe that the local Labour Party councillor chose Saturday - derby day of all days - to remind me that I live in the Everton ward. Whenever Evertonians are asked where they are from whilst on holiday, they must begrudgingly concede the fact they live in Liverpool. And I knew a couple of my Evertonian mates would delight on hearing of this sweet, almost poetic revenge – so I chose not to share my anguish. I was determined to enjoy the day, so I banished such painful contemplations from my mind and left for town.

The drinking started as soon as ale was being served, with the opening venue being 'Coopers', an alehouse certainly not for the fainthearted. We met at 11.00am, with the group of two swelling to in excess of twenty within an hour, each of us sensing we were about to be a part of something incredible. As we enjoyed a few drinks together, the abuse flowed, with the focus being tales of recent derbies. The Liverpudlians in the vicinity spoke of the 'Gary Mac Derby', where a last minute free kick from forty-four yards at Goodison saw us inflict a painful defeat on our hosts. The Evertonians amongst us responded by reminding us who currently resided as the city's top team. And whether we liked it or not they were higher in the league and favourites for the three points. We've endured a torrid season, particularly in the league and by contrast Everton have experienced an unbelievable resurgence under the 'Moyeseyside revolution'. And the bluenoses delighted in reminding us of that fact.

Before long though, the reds and blues separated, each opting to frequent their own pubs in the hours leading up to the game, which whilst were located within a hundred yards of each other could not have been more different. Evertonians would not have been bothered in Liverpool pubs, but we weren't welcome in any of their boozers, of that I had no doubt. The feeling between fans is intense but certainly not evenly proportioned, with Evertonians certainly more concerned with the fortunes of our club than we our of theirs. So we headed off to the familiar surroundings of the Albert for a couple of hours of singing dedicated to heroes past and present, after which we headed for the ground.

The half-mile walk from Anfield to Goodison Park revealed the '100 Years of top flight football' sign that dominates the view as you approach Jurassic Park. They've won nine titles in that time, but importantly, it threatens to be another century of Premiership football before they add a tenth to the trophy cabinet. But despite this topflight obscurity, it is nevertheless some achievement, and is something those disillusioned folk from across Stanley Park rightly celebrate. But they should spend a little more money on their facilities than showing off about their years of meaningless mediocrity. For what struck me as I was entering the home of the bitter blues is just what a shed it is. I've sat in every stand of that dilapidated ground, and they desperately need to move grounds or renovate before the National Trust renders it a national heritage site and forbids redevelopment.

In the ground the bitterness that has been threatening all day began to seep in as the extenuated differences between the two sides became increasingly apparent. As even in this season, where the fortunes of the two clubs have not been too dissimilar, bragging rights will always be ours. We're the most successful club in the country never mind Liverpool, and our neighbours just can't compete.

During the mid 1980s, Everton's finest ever era, we were still better than them, but they did manage to win the league in 1985. Everton also won the mighty Cup Winners Cup that season, whilst little Liverpool could only manage a seventh European final in thirteen seasons. We lost the latter encounter to Juventus, but more importantly thirty-nine Italians lost their lives that day in a horrific disaster. Whilst the treatment of Liverpool fans in Rome in the previous years' European Cup final, the behaviour of those supporters from Turin, and the attendance of certain English hooligans who weren't from Liverpool and didn't support us but had just come to cause trouble did not help matters, Liverpudlians should not shirk responsibility for the day's events. The blame was subsequently placed at English hands, and as a result our clubs were banned from European football for five years.

So in a period where Everton would have qualified for real European competitions like the European Cup and UEFA Cup, with a team that in all likelihood would have proven successful, they were denied the opportunity to pit their wits against Europe's elite instead of the random selection of unheard of European outfits that Mickey Mouse competitions like the Cup Winners Cup threw at them. And whilst we are more successful than Everton in every domestic competition, it is Everton's relative lack of European honours that really separates the two sides, and for this reason they are consumed by bitterness, resentment which they cannot seem to overcome.

Now I can understand why they are bitter for the fact they were not permitted entry into the European cup in 1985. But that was nearly twenty years ago, and it's still their leading line in any red v blue argument. Liverpudlians always comment on how bitter the blue half can be, and not without good reason. For their obsession with Heysel is something that doesn't seem to fade with time. In a pub before the game I heard some Evertonians singing 'Don't blame it on the Kendall, don't blame it on the Harvey, don't blame it on the Walter, blame it on the Heysel.' In other words the reason they have not been able to compete in the European cup is not due to a succession of incompetent managers, but is solely because they couldn't enter the competition following UEFA's decision to ban English clubs from European competition, essentially therefore, because of Liverpool. And Everton have never and will never get over that, and their malevolent following won't let it go.

They always have and always will blame us for the fact they were not permitted entry into the European Cup, but in truth we are tired of the old excuses, and these days we don't exactly express much sympathy. On Saturday instead we simply sang, 'Have you ever won the double?', 'Have you ever won the treble?', and 'Where's your European Cups?', queries to which predictably they had no response. Though when we levied the 'You're the s!&te of Merseyside' claim at them, I heard at least a dozen of the 35, 000 or so blue noses present muster a response. They really are electric over there.

Our lack of sympathy went one further when, in light of their subdued reaction to any song we started, we went on to say 'You've got no history.' As if they needed reminding. An elderly Kopite behind me then went on to make a fairly random reference to the fact that they didn't pay their rent in 1892. Anfield was once home to the blues until an argument with the landlord saw them move down the road. The majority of Evertonians it seems, have despised Anfield ever since.

In Merseyside derbies, there is a component that has always been fair and light hearted, albeit ultra-passionate. But there also undoubtedly exists an ever-evolving bitter element, which is about as welcome as cancer to my left testicle. And whilst for those of you unfamiliar to Liverpool or the nature of its inhabitants, it may not be surprising to hear of a local derby turning a bit nasty, it's not the way it used to be and is not how it should be. You've only got to turn on the TV to see Roma and Lazio fans killing each other at the Rome derby to see how inter-city encounters can turn nasty. But the Liverpool I grew up in wasn't like that. If I was Roman, I'm sure battling with Lazio fans (in a city with a blue and a red team, I must favour the latter despite my disliking for them), would be second nature. But this vibrant town that clings to the Mersey from which I hale has never been that way inclined.

People talk about the win over Arsenal in the 2001 FA Cup final as our greatest victory in that competition, but for me the 1989 final between Liverpool and Everton was by far the most meaningful. The animosity between the two sets of fans at the time was not particular strong, with fans putting aside their club allegiances, joining in the singing of 'Merseyside', as a demonstration of unity following the heartbreak of Hillsborough. I wasn't at the game, but watched it with my best friend and his family, all Evertonians, and I've never been prouder. But the derby these days seems to serve only as a function of animosity.

Shortly before half time Rooney echoed the thoughts of every Bluenose packed into Jurassic Park by spitting 'towards' the Liverpool spectators in the Bullen Road stand. No one was directly spat at, it was merely a demonstration of contempt towards the Kopites, and I don't really blame him for it. At half time though, I was concerned at seeing a few of my mates talking to police officers evaporated when I heard them complaining at being spat at 'in the face' by the Everton youngster. One lad even cheekily claimed to have been struck by a coin by the player. When I woke the next morning to hear Sky Sports News report that Merseyside police were investigating the allegations, I didn't stop laughing for about two days.

But whilst Rooney is only a kid and no one really took the incident too seriously, he is representative of his club and without wishing to get all high and mighty his actions didn't really help. All those psychologists who contend that aggression is a learned social behaviour might actually have a point, as one Everton fan subsequently ran on to the pitch and threw a blue scarf over Salif Diao's head. But in truth if this is where the bitterness stopped, we could all just laugh it off.

Yet this incident was just one of a number of unsavoury occurrences that happened over the Easter weekend. The Evertonians started it on Good Friday when the Hillsborough Memorial at Anfield was attacked with blue paint - in the same week Liverpool fans were marking the fourteenth anniversary of the disaster when ninety-six fans died.

Although this has happened before I have no doubt that it followed on from the incident where Dixie Dean was painted red at the last derby. The idiot responsible for the initial attack might have only meant it as a joke, but when the response involves defacing the Hillsborough memorial, regardless of whether this is a fair exchange or not, the man who drew first blood last December should regret his actions, given that he has fanned the flames of hatred. The day after the derby the Dixie Dean statue at Goodison Park was again daubed with splashes of red paint in reaction to the response from angry blue noses.

It used to be perfectly acceptable for blues and reds to sit side by side at Goodison. At Anfield this is still tolerated, even promoted, but at Everton this behaviour will, I fear, soon become a thing of the past. Incidents at the game like fans acting like idiots is taking it far enough - painting memorials and statues is going a step too far, as such actions publicize the bitterness. But the real danger as far as I'm concerned is not the defacing of precious monuments, for such behaviour is dismissed by the majority as the work of a mindless few, and rightly so. The true evil I believe, is the fighting between fans after the games, which seems to get worse every year. And although a police spokesman claimed no arrests were made, the violence that ensued was reminiscent of a Man United v Liverpool game. Hundreds are involved, many more see it and thousands hear about it.

How can people from the same city, the same background, the same family let the game of football which we so love serve as such a destructive force in our lives? It might sound all a bit far-fetched and philosophical this, but the trouble can't be brushed under the carpet. Fan culture, as any culture serves as a progressing creation of its members, not a fixed entity. It represents a constantly altering compilation of attitudes and practices that develop according to contemporary conditions. And football fan culture in Merseyside is changing for the worse, and at an alarming rate. I don't doubt that next year I'll be commenting on even uglier scenes.

Those who argue that the derby will all settle down in a few years are being more than a little naive. As the trouble develops from simple altercations between odd sections of support to a more meticulous approach, incorporating organised firms, surely it can only get worse. We're not the bloody 'England barmy army' for God's sake, having a drink together one minute and killing each other the next. I just hope those naive few are right, because I want to raise my kids in a city where blue and red can sit side by side at the match, celebrate a win openly and take a defeat on the chin like a man, just as we did in the good old days. The fact that a twenty-two year old man can talk about the events of fourteen years ago as though they transpired half a century ago, serves to show how rapidly things have changed. I for one hope we've seen the worst of it.

Anyway, before I forget, I think I should get back to what I'm supposed to be doing – commenting on the match itself.

It was a predictably fierce encounter, which saw more yellow cards than meaningful efforts on goal, and therefore it took more than half an hour for the opening goal to come. To our delight, the man responsible was our own child prodigy who threatened to steal all the headlines from Everton's own wonder kid Wayne Rooney. Indeed this game was billed as Rooney v Owen, and thankfully our boy came out on top. But there will be plenty of opportunities for the young Evertonian to seek vengeance on the old enemy, of that I'm afraid to say I have no doubt. Thankfully however Saturday was not Rooney's day.

The move that ended in Owen's ninety-eighth Premiership goal began with Heskey who fed Baros on the wing. The Czech striker played the ball to Owen via Riise, with the number ten cutting inside and beating Richard Wright in the Everton goal.

We were delighted at the prospect at going in to the interval a goal to the good, especially given that both Hyypia and Henchoz were unavailable, forcing Houllier to opt for a central defensive partnership of Traore and Biscan. But the latter picked up an injury with the game just seven minutes old, with Houllier acting quickly, installing Carragher at centre half with Diao coming on to fill in at right back. The injury it seems was a blessing in disguise, for Carragher, playing in what is for me his best position was outstanding all afternoon. So despite a weakened and reshuffled back four we still entered the dressing room with our noses in front.

At half time some unknown bin man entered Jurassic Park, but just as it looked like David Unsworth had undergone dramatic liposuction during the interval, the announcer advised the crowd that the intruder had played for the Toffees once or twice. Neville Southall I think he said his name was. But then I remembered this was the man who had conceded five to Liverpool, including four for Ian Rush in the corresponding fixture back in 1982, a fact we weren't shy about reminding old Nev, as Rush's name reverberated around Goodison. I hear Southall's playing Saturday league football these days. Good to see the moody Welshman eventually reach his peak after serving a few decades' apprentice at Everton.

In the second half Everton were certainly quicker out of the blocks than the visitors, and actually had a shot on five minutes after the break. And although Gravesen's effort went wide of the post, the ground staff still thought it was worth celebrating, as the scoreboard flashed up 'Goal!' following the unsuccessful effort. The Liverpool fans were in hysterics but I don't think it was a mistake - they just celebrate every shot on goal they manage to muster. But we couldn't laugh for long, as Goodison soon erupted again when a clumsy challenge from the otherwise impeccable Carragher on Naysmith gifted the hosts a lifeline with referee Dirkin pointing to the spot. Unsworth made no mistake from twelve yards to draw the match level. But Murphy was to have the last laugh, grabbing a brilliant winner midway through the second half. Our player of the season (at least according to this subjective observer) picked up the ball on the edge of area and curled an unstoppable effort around the hapless Wright in the Everton goal. A minute later Murphy nearly notched his second, but saw his effort flash just wide of the post.

Man for man Liverpool had outplayed and out fought their hosts. Everton battled hard, seeing two players sent off for their troubles, but Liverpool always looked in command. And so Liverpool were rightly restored as the top team in Merseyside, with their fifth win from six league games. 2-1 was a fair result, and we were all delirious to be back in contention for a Champions League place. All, that is, with the exception of my mate Deano, who having guessed the correct score would have made a good few quid from the bookies had he put his money on Owen to score first instead of Murphy. Ah well, you don't win them all.

In 1968 Shankly was getting his haircut, and the barber asked him ' Do you want anything off the top?' Shankly replied 'Aye, Everton.' Back then the great man got his wish, and on Saturday, so did we.

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