But it has also been a year since I want to my first football match, and since I went to my first Liverpool match. i twas pretty awesome, though I do remember the disappointment I felt when I realised that Fernando Torres wasn't playing. I may or may not have cursed Olalla for having to give birth on that specific day. Because really, all I needed was one day. But no, and so I was never going to watch Torres play in that red Liverpool shirt. I didn't realise that at the time, i think if i had known, I would have cried my eyes out to be honest. But anyway, this post is not about Torres. It is about my first trip to Anfield- also known as the most magical place ever. Seriously, nothing can compare to it, nothing. Perhaps a match at the Bernabeu... Because Wembley didn't have half the magic.
I remember how excited I was, how nervous and just how panic-y I was when out train ended up being delayed because of "the snow"... I was seriously freaking out. And for those of you who have been so fortunate to be travelling somewhere with me when i go into a state of panic, know how fun I become. jajaja!
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| Yes, I know... I look like Rudolph... |
But we did in fact get there in semi time, I'd of course prefere to be there a lot earlier then that of course. I think we got there half an hour before? Seriously, 2 hours is perfect time for me. No stress then, and you get to watch the players do the warm-up which is almost the best thing really if I 'm to be honest. Yum yum all that bending over and streching... teasing is a better word for what they are doing. but yeah, we got there in time to sing "You'll Never Walk Alone", which is an experience that never stops giving me gooes bumps. Wow, you guys, it is just so amazing.
Um what else... OH, half-time was well fun as well! Because Ida and I had to keep warm (it was bloody freezing) and they were playing Black Eyed Peas' "dirty bit" and Ida and I just went a bit mental, doing all of these weird moves. poor Pia who had to be seen with us! Ida and I also ended up screaming out heads off when John Carew (I really really really hate the way the brits say his name... John Caruuu. And they you try and teach them the proper way and they go all like; mate, that is not how you say it. it is john caruuu. and then you go like: MATE, Norwegian in the house. its john carew, bitches. but they don't care. Well annoying. GET IT RIGHT PEOPLE!) came on as a sub during the second half. He didn't really do much, I understand why he isn't playing in the PL atm tbh. <- yes, I did just do that. What now, bitches?
Oh oh ohhhhh! Xabi Alonso was at that match! I didn't see him, i didn't even know that he was there, but he was! I has a gif, see:
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| It was so fucking cold! |
Okay, so it doesn't want let me put the gif in here... i'll just put the one where he is sharing the mint then, whatevs.
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| Oh Captain, My Captain! |
Um, I think that was it really. What was worth telling anyway. So again, i'd like to wish Leo Torres a happy birthday and say, that there are no hard feelings. jajajaja!
Som kanskje de fleste veit, så er ikke Preston verdens mest spennede togstasjon. Men er togstasjoer noen gang det? Og dere vet jo hvordan jeg er nå er først blir stressa. Jeg blir litt eh... on edge, kan man jo si. Heh. (eller hva, Anneilen? *hostkøbenhavn turhost*) Og jeg må innrømme at jeg sto vel kanskje litt for lenge å så på de små vinflaskene som sto i kjørledisken da Pia kjøpte frokost på WHSmith. Jeg endet opp med å kjøpe meg en baguett i stedenfor. For jeg var sulten (ingen tid til frokost) og hadde lyst på egg (kjøpte en eggebaguett). Selvfølgelig så hadde jeg klart å overse den pittelille skrifta som sa at det var en beguett med egg og tomat samt mayo. Ugh, hva er det med disse britene og den majonesen dems? Ew.
Jeg ønsker jeg hadde gått for flaska med vin istedenfor.
Det neste toget til Liverpool Lime Street was due to arrive at 10:15, noe som ga oss knappe 30 min til å komme oss til Anfield. ÅhHeisús, jeg hadde et mindre angst attack når jeg satt på toget. Men jeg fant frem Simmel (jeg blir overanskende bare mer og mer glad i han jo mer jeg leser hans essays) og begynte å skrive i blokka jeg tok med.
Da vi kom til Lime Street var det bare å løpe bort til taxi køen hvor Pia ble kjørt på av den dumme taxi mannen og vi ble kjefta ned for å bruke mer enn ett sekund på å komme oss inn i taxien. Smh. Taxi mannen sa at han måtte slippe oss av litt før for politiet hadde stengt av veien borte med stadiumen, og vi sa det var greit. For seriøst, det å gå mot Anfield, og se alle menneskene gjøre det samme, alle med skjerf rundt halsen og sporting a red shirt... There is nothing like it.
Vi kom akkurat i tide til spillinga av "You'll Never Walk Alone" and I swear, if anything, that never fails to fill my heart with pride and it's simply impossible to explain. Det er bare noe man må oppleve. Det gir meg gåsehud hver eneste gang. There is no place like Anfield. Sure, det er ikke den største banen i verden, langt fra, Anfield er utrolig liten, jeg finner at jeg fremdeles blir overasket når jeg drar dit, men stemningen og magien er så stor og overveldene, at alt annet blir ubetydelig. 
Pia og jeg er også overbevist om at vi hørte dem synge: "Steven Gerrard. Steven Gerrard." Noe som ikke gir mye mening siden Stevie er ute resten av sesongen (sigh, when will I get to see this man play?!) og siden, eh, han spiller på Liverpool. Who knows... Gorgies...
Ofc, LFC had their own chants like:
"Du du du dururu du du du dururu Luis Suarez!" (personal favourite, this is.)
and
"Maxi. Maxi Rodriguez runs up the win for me. Druru durutu duru durutu" (tune: Heartbeat fra dene derre Med Hjarte På Rette Stadan elns).
Og 'Fields Of Anfield Road' could be heard as well, samt "Dalglish. Dalglish."
Men vet dere hva som var like bra som our win? Når kampen var ferdig og spillerne begynte å ta av seg skjortene. Åh, for the love of San Iker og Jesús Navas. dere aner ikke.Pia og jeg bare droola all over the place. Meireles, Carra, Johnson... it was almost too much. And then they started hugging and grabbing each other. I HAVE NO WORDS. I just wish Pepe and Skittle (yes, that's my nickname for Skrtel, okay?) would do it too. Can you imagine? I might have been charged for assult or something.
And as we walked back to Lime Street (takes about 30 min or something), Pia and I happily talked about how we're going to Stamford Bridge next season and watch a match and after (and this is the best part ofc) we'll stand outside the player's entrance (oh my mind!! It's to dirty for my own good. Seems I've been slashing it up too much lately) and wait for Nando to come out (if he's still there after the transfer season. It doesn't really matter, we'll go to where ever he is, really) and I will faint and Pia will keep him from leaving so I get to have a picture taken with him and tell him that he is fucking amazing and and he'll blush and those beautiful freckles of his will stand out even more and I'll die on the inside because gosh, is there anything more adorable then a blushing Fernando Torres with a slight smile on his face?
(the answer is no, if you were wondering.)