I am crying and shaking right now.
On Sunday my 8 year-old niece from Newton-Le-Willows came round with her mum, my wife’s sister. They were always sending us little snaps on Facebook of her in her little Man Utd top. I thought I would make a stand like only a man steeped in the Shankly tradition could. Only those who know, know how I would feel. And do feel. And will always feel.
I wasn’t going to let that little get bully and intimidate me in my own home. I am stronger than that. We are all stronger. The fireballs of fury that have blasted our souls for almost 30 years have seared a hardness in us that the strongest of the Spartans would envy. Gerard Butler would say “This Is Anfieldl” and kick himself in the face.
Sure enough, little Mary arrived with her mum for Sunday dinner. As she entered the room a huge poster of Luis Suarez hung over the table from the ceiling and rested before her face – his majestic glare caressing her features as she would feast on the food of the guilty. My food. Kopite food.
Her hand raised to point but she changed her mind. Too damned right. She understood. Keep it shut and suck it up.
I said ‘Do you want some EVRA?’ and offered her a slice of black pudding. She looked at my face for a trace of humour. She may as well have looked for the soul in a Bitter. I was not joking. I am not John Bishop. She said ‘No thanks’. She understood.
When it was time for the main course, the pig carcass was wheeled in.
“Hello Fergie” I said. To the pig. I got a dirty big fork and stabbed it hard – all the while glaring at Mary. It was all she could do to make eye contact. She understood. She knew and said nothing. Damned right. Couldn’t even look me in the eye when I was stabbing the Manc swine.
The meal was consumed in silence. Mary didn’t eat much. Hard to swallow when racked with guilt isn’t it!
Time for the jelly. Red jelly. Kopite jelly. The real deal. I wanted to grab her by the neck and shove her face in it, but one of us has to show class and dignity and it wouldn’t be that spiteful madam.
I grabbed hold of the remains of the pig, threw it on the sofa and humped it. All the while glaring at Mary - like Richard Gere in that film ‘Internal Affairs’ where he does that to Andy Garcia (I think). I mean bonks Andy Garcia’s missus and looks at him and smirks. Think it was him – or some other bloke. Anyway, that’s what it was like. Just like that.
We all decided it was time for them to leave. I had made my point. There was nothing she could say. I had proven beyond all reasonable doubt that Luis Suarez is an innocent man and SAF and Evra are scum. She left in silence with her mum.
I think that tells you all you need to know.
I think Mary will consider supporting the Anfield Red Men from now on.
You see, that’s what being an ambassador of our fabulous Football Club is all about.
Class and dignity.
I am reading back what I have just written for you.
I am crying and shaking.
