After their Premier League match on Saturday, Liverpool boss Arne Slot described the majority of his team’s performance against Ipswich Town as “almost perfect.”
The Reds dominated the Tractor Boys for nearly 90 minutes, showing a level of play that was as close to flawless as one could imagine.
The idea of perfection is, of course, a paradox—the concept exists, yet is impossible to truly attain. Jürgen Klopp knew this too; “Perfection? It’s not about perfection. It’s about trying to be the very best version of ourselves on and off the pitch,” he once said.
But then again, such lovely things like what Lou Reed details in “Perfect Day” makes me think that pure halcyon times do indeed exist. Not much could really beat drinking sangria in a park or feeding animals in a zoo with a lover.
For me, Jan. 25, 2025 will always remain a Reedsian perfect day.
The Journey Begins
Bright and early that morning, my father, whom I’d made a Liverpool convert by my own doing, boarded a train with me from London’s Euston Station to Liverpool Lime Street for what would be a first-ever Premier League matchday experience for the both of us.
Soccer may not be one of my dad’s great loves, but I was immensely grateful to share this experience with him, a man who has taught me values of courage, persistence and camaraderie; values that the club has likewise imparted on me.
At first, I kept my jacket zipped tightly to avoid any potential friction with Londoners who might view my red kit the way a bull sees a matador’s red mulita.
But as dozens of Liverpool fans poured onto the train, I unzipped my neutral outer layering, proudly uncaging the Liverbird on my chest.
We took our places which directly faced another pair of seats separated by a table, soon occupied by a couple from London’s suburbs who were also headed to the game.
Our American accents quickly revealed we were not from here, but rather than thumbing their noses at these foreign football tourists, they relished hearing how this would be our first time at Anfield.
We traded stories of travels, us telling them of our magnificent week in the U.K. and how we're sad it was soon coming to an end, them humorously recounting their disbelief in the fact that you can have food and drinks delivered to your seat at Madison Square Garden during their trip to my hometown.
The idyllic English countryside provided a lush backdrop for our conversations, and after nearly two and a half hours, we arrived in Merseyside.
An Anfield Welcome
Arriving with plenty of time before kickoff, I knew there was one stop I had to make before heading to the Shankly Gates—paying tribute to one of Liverpool’s greatest treasures, the Beatles.
I beheld the iconic statue of John, Paul, George, and Ringo near the City Centre, remembering the band that played a pivotal role in inspiring my love for the club in the first place.
The Fab Four themselves may not have been passionate Reds supporters, but as a music lover and a newcomer to football once, it felt fitting to choose the club that represents the hometown of the group behind Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.
From there, our own Magical Mystery Tour of the Anfield neighborhood began, a place that embodies the spirit of the city as excellently as the band itself.
My first stop after stepping out of the taxi on Walton Breck Road was to a scarf stand, eager to physically commemorate the fixture just as I’ve been fortunate to do at other matches during my travels, including at the Santiago Bernabéu (I know, I know. My girlfriend supports Real Madrid–don’t point fingers.)
We then stepped into The Albert Pub with the club’s crest draped around my neck, where a few rounds of ice cold Carlsbergs provided flashbacks from some of Liverpool’s best days, symbolized by their iconic kit sponsored by (probably) the world’s best beer.
They went down with fervor as the Scouse-twinged chants of “Luis Díaz, he’s from Barrancas, and he plays for Liverpool!” rang throughout the pub.
Along with the dozens of framed Liverpool photos and shirts, memorabilia gifted by supporters' clubs from around the world, from Celtic to Club Brugge, lined the walls and ceilings, a testament to the mutual respect between fans of proper clubs and the Reds.
Then, there it was–walking a few hundred meters out of The Albert, a cathedral of world football that I had only ever seen on television and the internet presented itself to me like a painter unveiling a new work of art.
We took our time walking around the grounds, taking in the club songs belted out by supporters, posing for pictures in front of the world famous Kop End sign, all the while realizing how many people from all different walks of life had descended upon Anfield.
Preparing for the game, my dad and I came to the agreement that we simply couldn’t risk purchasing tickets that ended up being fraudulent on a secondary market, prompting us to opt for the club verified hospitality packages–that decision paid dividends.
What I thought would be best for keeping warm and having easy access to food and beverages ended up being an afterthought after my dad and I had the pleasure to run into Isaac Kearney, a young LFC superfan who has captured hearts with his affinity for singing club tunes.