Wednesday, 25 May 2016
The story of me as a Liverpool fan is a strange one. We'll, not that strange, in fact it's probably fairly common. Born in Bath and brought up in a nondescript town in rural Wiltshire I had absolutely no connection with Liverpool whatsoever. My early exposure to football was through my Dad, watching World Cup 94 on telly, the playground at school and the likes of Match magazine. My Dad couldn't have been further from a pushy Dad if he tried, he always had a laissez faire attitude to what I should be interested in or good at, but I was aware that his affinity to Bristol Rovers and to some extent Southampton having worked there. But through magazines and TV I had begun to feel affinity to a team in red… I don't know what it was but I remember being fascinated by John Barnes and also a skinny curly haired player, a bit like me, Steve McManaman. My Dad must have noticed that I had become attracted to Liverpool because I distinctly remember asking him who I should support, almost begging him to say Bristol Rovers, knowing that was “the done thing.” But he just said “support who you like.” So I did. I became obsessed. I collected cuttings and Liverpool magazines, I collected those weird big headed player models, I read up on Liverpool as much as I could. I’ll never forget how gutted I was when we lost to Utd in the 96 cup final.