On a weekend that constituted a three-day Premier League winners’ celebration for the vast majority of us, Monday’s open-top bus parade ended the party atmosphere in abrupt and shocking circumstances, amid the horrendous events on Water Street.
We were home by the time my phone started ringing and beeping, my brother wanting to know if we were all OK, and then once he was assured that we were, if we’d seen the news.
I don’t mind admitting that the rest of the evening kind of went into a bit of a cocooned blur from there. My wife took to answering all messages on our behalf for the rest of the night.
Whatever your round ball denomination, whichever team you follow, football’s greatest gift is that it brings people together, whether that’s in times of joy, despair, or a beige place in-between.
Win, draw or lose, there is always a next time, and the chance to dream big dreams once more.
Football is a landscape of hope, a scene of escapism, a place where you can embrace familiar faces and strangers alike with genuine warmth. It is somewhere we belong, and it provides the very best of times.
People aren’t meant to congregate in the name of football, in the name of happiness of any form, and for the day to end amid life-altering or ending circumstances.
As a collective, as a community, as a wider region, and across a largely divided nation, we’ve seen enough instances of tragedy, and we know the where and when of those days all too well, for Monday not to strike a chill to the very soul.
What bubbles to the surface in such circumstances is a wide range of actions and reactions, both positive and negative, but the very the best of people is what eventually wins through.
Yet again, there were people on the streets of Liverpool that showed unconditional compassion, kindness and selflessness in doing whatever they could to help.
Community does that.
A helping hand when needed
We’d watched the parade go by on Rocky Lane, not far from The Belmont. Me, my wife, my son, daughter and my dad had met up with Big Andy and his wife, Carrie. Their daughter lives nearby, which made it the perfect spot to park up and join the party vibes.
I brought a camp chair for my dad. People we’d never met before made a space for him right at the front, making sure he had a great view. My son acted the role of his right-hand-man with aplomb.
The rains came, and we had shelter under a tree. Carrie went off and brought him a waterproof coat and a blanket. Genuine warmth you see, both literally and metaphorically. Family, friends and strangers made sure he was comfortable and made a fuss of him.
Community does that.
Once the bus had been and gone, we shared hugs and went our separate ways, although not before making plans to meet up during the summer months.
At the season’s end, friendship forged by football doesn’t have to go into cold storage until August.
Yes, it had been a longer wait than anticipated to see the players and the trophy go by, and it was over within a flash of fireworks and pyro smoke, but a great time with great people was had.
Twenty-four hours earlier, it had been Anfield, a stubborn Crystal Palace, a late equaliser when down to 10 men and a trophy lift we had waited 35 years to witness together.
On Saturday, we had convened in the very same place in order to lay out the title winners’ mosaic. It had been stressful at times, but there was pride in a job well done at the end of it.
It was quite the way to spend my birthday, and me and my son put the top hat on Saturday by going watching The Pixies. It really had been the perfect weekend.
All across Liverpool on Monday, there were countless others who will have had their own stories of the weekend to end all weekends, before the chaos of Water Street shockingly changed the mood, and you can only hope those that were directly involved in it pull through.
One thing that is for certain, however; nobody will need to do that alone. There are many, many good people out there that offer their hand without being asked to do so.
Community does that.
