How could I inflict Newcastle United on my sons, so I set them free to be Liverpool fans
Wednesday 13 October 1982 and the birth date of my first son.
It was the day I finally decided I could not put him through the pain, anguish and devastation of being a supporter of the team I had followed since the late 1950s.
Having moved to Liverpool in 1972 to attend Uni, I’d had the glory of at least seeing the Fairs Cup triumph.
Also, having been born in 1953, clearly I was also alive when we last won the FA Cup.
I had some foundation for supporting a fairly reasonable Club, who, even up to current times, 2021, is in the Top Ten of the most successful Clubs in the country!!
Watching teams like Liverpool, Everton, Man City, Man United was tough, but never once did I waver.
I went to Wembley in ’74, humiliated to return to Lime Street on a Liverpool fans train, then filled with hope again in ’76 for a return to Wembley, this time against Man City.
Stayed in Liverpool, taught in Liverpool, took stick year upon year, until the day the previously mentioned decision occurred. There was to be no influence from me whatsoever! How could I inflict such a punishment on him and his brother who arrived in August 1984??
The rest is history as they say.
Fiercely proud Liverpool fans are they!
Since 1982, Liverpool have won 6 League titles, 2 FA Cups, 6 League Cups, 6 Charity Cups, 3 European Cups, 1 UEFA Cup, 3 Super Cups and 1 FIFA World Cup.
The happiness and joy they have experienced has been immeasurable. Being a supporter of such a Club has been a large part of their privileged and successful existences!
I did what a Dad should do, didn’t I??
Yet, invariably I go back back to what my Dad did for me and start to believe that I broke the chain, disregarded stories of Mitchell and Milburn, Harvey and Brennan, the Robledo Brothers, saw Davies and Robson, Waddle and Beardsley, Gascoigne, Shearer, Keegan, Ginola, Robert to just name a few.
At this stage, I simply cannot take any more. Enough is enough.
I’ll still claim to be a supporter, still stand up to the critics, still wax lyrical about our great history, but until The Fat One and his cronies and anyone/ anything connected to him move on, I’ll never step inside St James Park again. The likelihood being never again!
At 67, all hope has been drained from my mind, body and soul…but ,still a minuscule grain of positivity resides.
Howay The Lads!!
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