20

Twenty years on from the greatest sporting day of my life (so far), Liverpool lift the league winners trophy for the 20th time. Synchronicity or something.

The photo is of the Liverpool fans walking to the Ataturk stadium before kick off in the Champions League Final 2005. AC Milan vs Liverpool. I’d fluked tickets in the UEFA draw, entering the ballot on the last day and miraculously securing a pair of tickets right on the halfway line, just behind the press boxes. Me and my mate flew out from Manchester airport, driving down the day before the game and staying in some grotty airport hotel. The plane landed at the military airport, and we got a special 24h visa stamp in our passport before being bussed into the city. By the time we arrived in the city centre it was already getting late. I remember buying a couple of cans of Efe beer from some lad selling them from a crate in Taksim Square and then trying to hunt down some friends who were also there. It was chaos - fans everywhere and no real organisation that I saw. The journey out to the stadium took forever. The traffic was so slow you could walk faster. People were getting out of their cabs, walking off to the side of the road for a piss, and then jumping back into the cab when it finally caught up with them. Once we could see the stadium - weirdly located in the bottom of what looked like a giant bomb crater - we just left the taxi and walked the rest, over a dystopian wasteland overlooked by a grim housing estate.

The game is pretty well documented. We should have been more than three down at half time. We contemplated leaving and trying to get back to the airport before the crowds. There was a bloke stood next to me with his grandson and we got chatting. He was crazily confident that we would pull it back. I thought he was insane. But we stayed. And then as the goals went in, I would turn to look at this old fella and he would just stand there, calmly nodding his head as if this was all in the script. That save. The penalties. I have a photo of the man and his grandson after the final whistle. Never did get his name.

Slept in Istanbul airport. Not that we managed a lot of sleep! Got a flight back to Manchester the following morning - they were just shoving people onto the first plane going to the right place. Absolute chaos again. I remember buying newspapers in Manchester airport because we needed reassurance that it was all actually real and we were not dreaming. It sounds stupid now.

My mate died a few years ago. I think of him often, and especially when Liverpool win something. I’m sad that he didn’t get to see this league title, or even the one before. But I will always treasure those two days.

20 years on, back on the perch.