The Wrong Kind of Red
By Andy Wilde @AndyWilde22
In April 2019 I travelled to New York with my wife for a short break to celebrate her 30th birthday. While I was there Liverpool faced Porto at Anfield, beating them by 2 goals on course to lifting Number 6.
I went to The Irish American Pub, a fantastic bar not far from One World Trade Centre and while there, got talking to some local Liverpool fans. Their stories fascinated me — how they became Reds and how they consumed their twice weekly dose of Jurgen’s magnificent men. What else fascinated me though, was their reaction to me.
See, I’m from Glossop — a town of 60,000 plus people in Derbyshire, at the foot of Snake Pass. Our nearest city is Manchester and so whenever I go abroad, I always say I’m from Manchester as it makes for a shorter conversation.
When asked by the IA Pub lads, I did what I always do and was greeted by looks of astonishment. “MANCHESTER? How are you a Liverpool fan then?” Each subsequent introduction was suffixed by “he’s from Manchester,” prompting the same reaction from each new face.
I’ve always been a Liverpool fan and as I explained to my new found acquaintances why that is, it got me thinking about my own journey. As a lad from close to Manchester, surrounded by United and City fans, why Liverpool? More to the point, why STILL Liverpool? There’s a lot of talk about who should be Liverpool fans, the local v non local debate. Well, allow me to tell you about my experiences of growing up a Liverpool fan in one of the most inhospitable environments imaginable for a Liverpool fan.
I grew up in a cricketing family — my Dad is a mad cricketer and never really talked about football other than tuning in to watch FA cup or England games on the BBC. I remember the school yard going mad after World Cup ’90 and Nessun Dorma was ever present on the lips of kids playing with cheap fly-aways in the autumn of that year.
But then everything changed — at 7 years old. I sat next to a lad in class who supported Liverpool. Ste he was called and he had one of those silver and red adidas holdalls, modelled after that great away kit from 89–91. He used to talk to me about Kenny’s team and how they were the best, about the likes of Grobbelaar, Barnes and Beardsley.
After that I found out my cousins were also Liverpool fans. They lived in Leyland and were quite a bit older than me, so we only used to see them on Boxing Day and sporadically in-between. On Boxing Day ’91, their mum (my auntie) bought me my first shirt — it was beautiful, that iconic red strip with the 3 stripes across the right shoulder. I wore it everywhere, I consumed as much Liverpool as I could from magazines to annuals, learning the names of the players and where they played. I class 26th December 1991 as the day I truly became a Liverpool fan.
A few years later, my brother became a Man United fan in very similar circumstances — his friend at school was United and some Eric Cantona and Peter Schmeichel posters started appearing on his wall. The ’96 cup final at ours is a day that’s lived in infamy for the last 24 years as my 9-year-old brother and I pushed each other around the house and the aforementioned posters were torn from the wall. At 37 and 33, we still get calls from my mum on a Liverpool/United match day making sure we’re not watching the game together.
My formative years were spent watching United win title after title, trophy after trophy. I had to sit there as my brother and a town full of United fans crowed about Fergie’s brilliance for near on two decades. Meanwhile I survived through Souness, enjoyed Evans and was given hope by Houllier.
Finally, I had something to shout about with the treble of ’01 and the certainty that it would be followed up by a title. It wasn’t.
Benitez came and gave us those wonderful moments in Istanbul, Cardiff and Manchester. I was certain we’d land the title, we didn’t.
Why did that title matter given those successes? Well, all the while, that was the repeating narrative for me — “but you’ve never won the Premier League have you?” “5 Champions leagues, yeah but where’s your Premier league?” It weighed heavy, like a burden that couldn’t be shifted. No matter how happy I was with our success, there was always that comeback — that one line could bring me back down. I lived in a bubble, there was no escaping it. Even the rare trips to Anfield that I was able to make didn’t help in the long term — I just returned back to Glossop with a song in my heart, but the tune eventually died.
They say it’s the hope that kills you, but I found it to be the utter shite under Hodgson. We were further away than ever and I couldn’t see a way back. I stopped watching. My love for Liverpool never went away, but I couldn’t bear to watch. It was like seeing a family member slipping away, your love for them probably grows but sometimes you just can’t be with them, for your own sanity.
Kenny brought a trophy and brought me back. Rogers wonderful 13/14 season both gave me hope and dashed it against the rocks of my own doubt. Yet again, we were nowhere. Leicester won the big one and City continued their success. Where the City fans had been allies in the past, now I couldn’t even look to them for support. At least United were on a downward trajectory!
Then came Jurgen.
From the off, I knew. This is the man who will help me to cast off that yolk I’ve been carrying around. His honesty, his passion for the club and his will to win. His first season brought 2 unsuccessful finals but moments, those moments sustained me. Those moments helped me build the narrative of the journey we were on. They gave me belief. No Premier League, well we will have soon! Kiev — we were on the way. It hurt that, but through that hurt came belief — these Reds are different. Madrid, wow! I wish I could’ve been there, but I was with my mates who are Liverpool fans and we made the absolute most of that night.
And now, this! This season that should (yes, I’m one of them) finally give me a retort. STICK THAT UP YOUR ARSES! No Premier League you say? Here’s a picture of Jordan lifting it, do one!!
There are times when I look back and wonder what might have been. My first kit was actually blue, one of those Man City kits that came in a box. I wore it for playing footy at school, but it was never true love. But what if it had been — I would’ve grown up a City fan in a town full of them (and United). I would’ve witnessed crushing lows and a rise to the top on the back of a shady sheikh. Would I have enjoyed it, I’ve no doubt I would — but for 29 years I’ve followed these wonderful (and often not so wonderful) Reds through a similar journey and all the shit I’ve taken has been worth it. I’ve laughed, cried and made lifelong friends because of this club.
And this brings me back to the point about fans and why I’m STILL a Liverpool fan, despite all that outside pressure. For me, being a Liverpool fan isn’t something that can be measured objectively. It can’t be measured by how many aways you’ve been to or how many trophies you’ve seen us lift. Measuring it that way is like asking someone to quantify how much they love their kids.
For me, being a Liverpool fan is about connection. It’s about a love for something that transcends numbers and geography. Thanks to this team, the wonderful work of The Anfield Wrap, Redmen TV and others, that connection has never been stronger. Yet, we still have conversations about an objective measurement of fandom and how that validates someone’s opinion or not.
Throughout the rest of this historic season, no matter our location, religion or race, we should remember that WE are Liverpool and that one fact, truly does mean more!
