THE date is the 15th April 1989 and one that marks the darkest moment in the history of Liverpool Football Club if not English Football as a whole. It should not and does not matter what your club allegiance is, your personal opinion of Liverpool Football Club or whether you have no interest in football at all, nobody should EVER attend a social event of any description and not return home. This is the bottom line. Although I will talk about the final I want to recount my memories of this infamous day first.
It is a date in which 96 fans left family, loved ones and friends, hearts full of excitement, stomachs filled with butterflies and heads filled with the dreams of a visit to Wembley to see the team they loved and the players they adored, but it is date that left hearts and souls so desperately empty, leaving a void that can never truly be filled. Impacting on scores of people from all corners of the globe whether they knew any of those involved or not.
I was only 7 and was made to go into town with my Mum for new shoes or something similar whilst my Dad played Hockey. So kicking and screaming I went to town, gutted that I was missing such an important game. I remember returning home, sprinting to the front door once it was in view, knowing that my Dad would be home and would know the score! Being a Man City fan I was expecting some sort of teasing whatever the result, but as he answered the door the mood was sombre, there was a seriousness in his tone and manner and a great sadness in his voice as he explained to me why there was no result to tell.
Having experienced no tragedy in my own life at that point I just could not comprehend what was going on. My mind could not fathom what was unfolding, the sadness, the anger, the upset, the frustration at not being able to help or comfort in any way. I had no personal connection to the 96 or their friends and family bar being a Red yet I felt a great sadness primarily as a Liverpool fan and secondly as a Human Being. I could detect a change in my parents too, a more protective mindset brought on by the harsh reality of a tragedy that should never have happened.
My normally reliable mind in all things Liverpool draws a blank from the weeks that followed, I know as a club we played and I know we went on to beat Nottingham Forest but I could tell you nothing of what happened. Something that had brought me nothing but joy, something that was so pure and innocent in my young mind and something that ruled my life through viewing and participating had in an afternoon shaken my world to the core.
My next footballing memory is the Cup final that followed, the fittingly poetic match pitting the red half of the city against the blue half. It is a game I remember more than any other, it was the first time I was emotionally involved in a game I was watching. Prior to this, my football viewing was focused on John Barnes, my hero, my idol, a guy that brought a smile to my face just watching him with the ball at his feet.
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This match though I was John Aldridge, I was Ian Rush, I scored the goals, I was Bruce Grobbelaar in despair at having conceded, I lifted that Trophy then I retired to the garden to repeat the match over and over again. The emotion I pour into every Liverpool match from this game onwards has never diminished, neither have the feelings of sadness, anger and frustration over the events that happened on that fateful day or what has happened since with the paper I won’t name and most recently the insensitive comments of one Alan Davies. I will reiterate NOBODY should attend any social event and not come home!!
Viewing the match in isolation, the game between two titans of English football, THE teams of the time, provided the passion the drama and the skill that should be associated with the showpiece final in the English calendar. The finish from John Aldridge in the first five minutes was glorious, a superb right footed effort into the top corner (oh for a John Aldridge in our current side), a goal which not only gave the mighty Reds the lead but helped atone and provide closure for the penalty miss against Wimbledon the year before.
It was a closely fought tie between juggernaughts that looked to be settled by that wonderful Aldridge strike as the game edged towards its finish, but McCall had other ideas, the same Stuart McCall who had only scored once before for Everton. Liverpool has never had comfortable finals! The match continued into extra time with the Rushie, smartly half volleying home. Surely this is it! No, that goal scoring supremo McCall followed up his scrambled equaliser with a superb volley which bested Brucie and truly on any other day deserved to win any match. A goal such as this gives the scorers momentum and deflates the opposition. Liverpool were beaten for sure.
Wait, Digger has it, I love this man, so graceful so skilful. He has time and space…….what a ball…. Is Rushie going to get there? Is he? The most eloquent of headers guided past Southall into the corner! RUSHIEEEEEEEE! What a finish, what a goal, what a team! Liverpool hold on and lift the Trophy for the 4th time in history. The hardest of circumstances united a city into a blended mix of Blue and Red led in a chorus of You’ll Never Walk Alone, on one of if not the most emotional of Wembley occasions.
Not the easiest of articles to write for me but I hope to have done some justice to the occasion. I am on twitter @timdibs so come chat.
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