The Liverpool Family
Sure enough, young Isaac was there in hospitality, cheered on by the crowd to perform a special rendition of Vigil van Dijk’s signature song.
Strumming along on his guitar, Isaac had the room in the palm of his hand, acting as a great unifier for Liverpool fans from far and wide.
Then the moment had finally arrived. Exiting the suite, we stepped through the doors into the stadium, and it was everything I had imagined—and more.
Warmups can hardly be exhilarating for a fan who has attended many matches before, but I watched every rondo with scrupulous attention, seeing whose control and touches were on point that day.
Once the players re-emerged from the tunnel, after years of waiting for the chance to joun in song at this hallowed ground, I finally had the opportunity to harmonize with the loyal Kopites, as 'You’ll Never Walk Alone' echoed throughout Anfield with such a gritty beauty, akin to the wonderful Puma football choir ad.
As the words filled the air, scarves raised high, I hadn’t yet realized I was surrounded by over 60,000 Reds, setting a new Premier League attendance record.
Normally in a crowd that large, one would feel small, but the passion and palpable energy from every Red in the attendance was intoxicating, making me feel as if I was ten feet tall.
The whistle blew, and the match went by in a blur.
I could write more about how Liverpool played with an authoritative presence in the match, completely overwhelming The Blues in terms of class, but to me, the feelings I had were just as important as the match facts.
The emotions I felt while embracing my father when Mo Salah, who we both claim as our favorite player, ripped the ball into the top roof of the Ipswich net was indescribable.
Watching Trent Alexander-Arnold deliver a perfect cross to Cody Gakpo 50 yards away from our seats was to behold the art of passing with my own eyes.
I even felt respect for the Ipswich fans, celebrating their late goal to spoil the Liverpool clean sheet like they had won the league, knowing they had made a long journey to watch a match they likely stood very little chance in.
In addition to being part of a record setting crowd, I considered myself all the more lucky to be there for even more milestones, witnessing the goal that saw the Egyptian King overtake Premier Legend legend Thiery Henry in the league’s all time goal rankings and being there for the Liverpool captain’s 300th club appearance.
A fond farewell
It was hard to leave after the final whistle, but I lingered in my seat a bit longer, applauding the players for their performances and reflecting on how they, unknowingly, had made the journey worthwhile for a first-time American fan like me.
My dad and I left the stadium buzzing, making the 30 minute walk back to the train station to take in more of the city, but as we settled in for the train ride back to London, I braced myself for what I thought would be the first unpleasantry of the day.
A group of boys, a few years younger than me, sat at a table next to ours, cracking open a bottle of beer. The cap flew off, hitting the man across from my dad and I, who was scrolling through his phone with his earbuds in, minding his own business. Uh oh, I thought.
He looked over at them, and while I fully thought he was ready to give them a piece of his mind, he said something to the effect of, “That’s alright, lads. That was me once too.”
Laughs were returned, football talk unfolded, and they soon shifted their attention to my dad and I–first they shared their congratulations on the match result for us, and then they shared their handle of Jägermeister. It would have been rude for me to have refused.
So here I was, talking with a group of lads who had travelled a toal time not too far off from my flight from New York to England, making the return trip to their hometown of Kent after watching their local fourth tier side, Gillihgham, play Tranmere across the Mersey River.
Were they a tad unruly as the drinks began to flow? Sure. Would I likely have been annoyed at boys like these if something similar had happened on a train back in the States? It’s likely.
But there was something about their rowdiness and overall vigor I couldn’t help but lean into, playing rounds of rock-paper-scissors to see who had to have the next drink; it truly felt like a more palatable account from Bill Burford’s Among the Thugs.
I was older, but this group of rascals gave me a first hand education on just how passionate and dedicated Brits are about their football, privileged to be a part of their world for a brief while.
We said our goodbyes to the trio of Gills after arrival at the station, perhaps a little relieved to not have to drink anymore Jäger and overall exhausted from the packed but brilliant journey.
“What a perfect day that was,” I said to my dad as we bitter-sweetly packed our bags in the hotel before heading back to the airport in the morning.
So yes, Arne, the performance may not have been picture perfect, but to this Red, I’ll always remember my immense first trip to Anfield.