The day I first went to Anfield,
A cloudy day in September,
A lifetime ago it feels,
A day I would always remember,
My love of the Reds was sealed.
I didn’t really know where I was off to,
Too young to understand,
With my dads Red and white scarf,
Wrapped around my neck,
And tightly holding his hand.
There were thousands of Red people singing,
Groups of mad men,
Or so it seemed,
The beginning of a journey of a lifetime,
The start of an unbelievable dream.
When we entered the ground it was rocking,
A cauldron of unbearable noise,
I asked my dad “Where are we?”
“This son” he replied,
“Is where they sort out the men from the boys.”
I had never seen anything like it,
A vibrant crisp pitch all green,
And then the Red men ran out of a tunnel,
They were the most amazing sight I had ever seen.
They were giants and fierce and fantastic,
And my ears were exploding with the noise,
The man wearing black was called Bar Steward I think,
And the team in the blue were the boys.
My dad’s not around now to watch us,
Times change and people pass away,
But when I visit our matches at Anfield,
I look at my son and I say,
“This son is where they sort out the men from the boys.”