I’ve supported Liverpool FC for as long as I can remember. Not forever; there was a time, although I hardly recall it, when I had no favourite team. I was very young then, could hardly walk or think straight. My older brother liked Arsenal, so I had to find a different team to root for whenever English League matches were shown on tee/V. For a while I fancied Wolves, more for their smart gear than anything else (they played a nice game back then as well), but it wasn’t love. Man U would’ve been the obvious choice—they had Best and were the top dog in the League—but I don’t like doing the obvious thing, it’s boring. Besides, United were obnoxious in the way they kept winning constantly, arrogantly like. Not dissimilar to today’s Chelski squad...

How do you explain these things? We spent a summer in England, 1973 and visited Liverpool one day. I can’t say what it was but the city grabbed me. It shouldn’t have, it was rough and worn, a tough city by the looks of it, a dangerous place in a way, yet it did. Grabbed me. I remember my dad got me a Liverpool scarf. I remember the feeling of walking around in that worn-down city with my bright red token of belonging— and I did. Feel like I belonged.

I’ve been a supporter of Liverpool FC for as long as I can remember now. Especially since that day in 1973. The scarf’s long gone, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t need the token of belonging, now. It’s in here: hardwired. Rooted.

“Walk on / Walk on / With hope / In your heart / And you’ll never walk / Alone”