Dr Andy Hershon’s blog post from 2020 – a time when football was played behind closed doors because of COVID and we didn’t know when we would get back into Anfield…
I’m a 56-year-old bloke, of reasonable intelligence I’m told, who deals with life and death on a daily basis at work. I deal with families with cancer; I deal with those who are suicidal on a daily basis, my ‘special interest’ being Mental Health, so why oh why am I totally obsessed by a bunch of young men in red kicking a football around? My mood is football dependant – to some extent anyway. It’s not quite as bad as it was; in days gone by I could hardly speak for a couple of days if we lost. Now I’m just vaguely sad for a while!
One could say that it’s my escapism, my temporary route to a place well away from the pressures of working as a GP. That would suggest that this mental involvement is purely between 3pm and 5pm on a Saturday afternoon, or whatever time the powers that be get games played nowadays. That would be a vast, and totally incorrect assessment, underestimating what supporting this team means to me.. and does to me!
It’s more like an addiction, sitting somewhere fractionally below the mental surface a lot of the time. Obviously not when I’m in surgery, although I do have a picture of the 1990 team on my surgery wall holding the 1st division trophy at Anfield (yes, I was there of course..)
I’d like to think that my ‘addiction’ harms no one however. I’m obviously aware that ‘Football’ has caused harm over the years; I was at Heysel for example, the details of which are within my last blog. I also think football has been a force for good in my family. Going to the game with my lads has been an amazing opportunity to bond over the years. While my memories in the old days may have been based around the marvellous teams of old, we now have so many memories which we have shared together. Barcelona at Anfield the obvious one, but also the likes of Dortmund for atmosphere; Suarez’s four goals against Norwich stand out as individual brilliance which we marvelled at together.
So where did this all start? Is there anything in my past which drove this level of feeling which has stayed with me for so many years? I think there might be.
I grew up in a middle class Jewish family in Liverpool. I was a good little boy. I generally conformed and aimed to please, probably a little too much at times. I was described with adjectives such as ‘nice’ and ‘sweet.’ Although I did well at school and had plenty of friends, there were certainly times when I felt a little uneasy, usually when religion was foisted upon me. My parents decided against sending me to the local Jewish school, and to make up for that I was sent to Jewish classes (‘Yeshiva’) three times a week after school. I went here with all the kids from the religious families. If I was always near the top of my actual school class, I was basically the dunce here. I did learn quite a lot if truth be known. In Jewish tradition, there was a table tennis table upstairs, and here I learnt how to play the wonderful game. If you ever get the chance to read Howard Jacobson’s ‘The Mighty Waltzer’, then do so. It’s a brilliant read about his experiences playing Table Tennis within his Jewish community, so similar to my own; his literary genius probably a preferable way of reading about this rather than my ramblings! I did play Manchester League level table tennis years later, so it wasn’t a complete waste of time.
I used to be sent over to the Synagogue on a Saturday morning. I was the perennial ‘fish out of water’. So many seem to accept their religious ‘lot in life’, me not so. I just didn’t get it, and felt quite ill at ease, if truth be known. I actually had recurrent nightmares about walking into the synagogue without my skull cap, which we called either a ‘Keepah’ ot ‘Yamulke’ . The service actually went on from about 8am til 12.00 or so. The religious ones came for the start, and I generally got away with my folks drifting in at around 11.00. Sometimes there was a decision to be made. If the Rabbi’s sermon was just starting, you could be left outside for half an hour or so. So the choice was to stay outside, or sneak in quickly and quietly avoiding the stares of those around, trying to get to the family seat, sadly not at the end of the row.
Of course, being a Saturday, my thoughts were of the forthcoming game. When I was thirteen or so, I wasn’t allowed to go the game on my own. I say not allowed, but I’d never tried to address it. My parents went on holiday, leaving myself and my sisters at home with our grandmother. I used this window of opportunity to get the bus to the game. ‘Yes, grandma, I always go the match after ‘shool’ (synagogue). I somehow got away with it.
I picked up the 68 bus, and got off when everyone else did, and then followed them up the ground. I walked around the ground, my heart beating slightly faster than usual. I wasn’t sure where to go in, but then came across ‘Kop Stand 90p’ over a turnstile. That would do just fine. I walked up what seemed like a hundred steps, and finally came out at the very top of the Kop. What a view. What a feeling. I strolled down towards of the middle of the Kop, and found a ‘spec’ just above and on the right side of the middle. That was my spot, and would remain so for many years. I belonged in that spot, in that place, supporting that team like I belonged nowhere else. Those around me where my people, ‘soulmates’ – for that 90 minutes anyway. I had no teenage insecurities, no religion, no expectations of what I should or should not be doing. If I were to have a religion, a ‘raison d’etre’ , this was surely it.
I’m not saying it was all about getting mentally away from my life at the time. That would be far too severe a take on where I was in life, and who I was. I was basically a happy boy. I wasn’t too deeply affected by the religion business to be honest; in fact in retrospect not being at the top of the class in lessons may have in later life given me a little humility. Just imagine if I’d succeeded in everything! It was simply an annoyance; -that I was asked to perform rituals that I didn’t believe in.
I always loved football; not just watching it, but playing it. There was little in the way of indoor entertainment in the late sixties/early seventies when I was a kid. I just played football for hours and hours. Often on my own, I’d commentate on myself playing footy in the garden. Gerald Sinstadt had nothing on me. ‘There’s ten minutes left in the Derby. It’s 2-2, but Everton are looking tired’ ‘Here’s Alec Lindsay bringing the ball out of defence (me), he plays it down the line to Heighway (me). Oh what skill (by me). He’s gone past Lyons like he’s simply not there, and the ball comes across to Keegan (me again) What a goal!! I’d then celebrated by running to all four corners of the garden. Keegan indeed scored a thousand goals in Queens Drive Liverpool that very few knew about.
So through my teenage years, this was my life. I’m a big believer in how we as individuals define ourselves. I define myself in many ways now of course; probably my Twitter profile gives my list in my perceived order – family, doctoring, football, music etc etc. At fifteen, however, I was a Liverpool supporter. That was where I felt ‘at home’ and totally at ease with myself.
Football, and being a supporter- especially watching a team like Liverpool, brings so much. It’s not simply a matter of belonging; there’s so much more. Yes, singing tightly packed with others who are doing the same never gets boring. Singing YNWA before a big game, or in victory after a great result, or better still winning a trophy is an incredible feeling that reaches the very soul. Football is also a thing of beauty, whether it’s a ten pass move ending in a goal, or simply watching a John Barnes, Kenny Dalglish or a Mo Salah producing a piece of skill no one thought possible. It’s drama with no script being played out in front of you, with a 100 by 74 yard stage. If you’ve never felt the emotion while standing on the Kop when a goal, particularly an important goal, goes in –you’re missing out. I’ve hugged so many people (pre-covid of course) that I don’t know, but in that moment you know everything that matters about them…and them you. Every single one of them a soulmate of the moment.
Over the years, this feeling has never quite gone away. Although my life now is vastly more complicated, come match day my emotions tend to take over. If we’re playing and I can’t either be there or watch the game, I get more than a little edgy . There are times I’ve been in Restaurants and hardly concentrated on the food. I remember being in Singapore with my pal Raj on our way back from working in Australia. It was our last night, and Liverpool were on TV. We went out at 10pm!
All of my friends have come to the game with me. Any female who might want to spend time with me was put through the Anfield trial. It was rather packed in the Kop in the old days. Any neediness however and they risked being disowned!
My wife Gayna is amazing. Ours is an interesting relationship. We initially went out together in the late eighties. She even saw John Barnes and the team of ‘88 with me. She’s a real lover of theatre, and was astounded by the ‘theatre’ of the Chelsea Champions League semi-final in 2007. The atmosphere on the Kop was immense, and she lapped it up. Maybe that’s where her understanding comes from – if 40,000 others were emotionally charged like me they couldn’t all be wrong! She understands that I live all areas of my life with passion, and letting me mentally loose to enjoy my football obsession is part of that. Never any guilt trips, never ‘you owe me’. Having a life partner that not only tries to share in your interests, but understands and embraces your excesses (as long that it’s only football!) is amazing.
Football has been such a massive part in my life for as long as I remember. My choice of University was influenced by it –leaving home but being 30 minutes away. Obviously good times, like at the moment, are great. But the ‘bad times’ bring no less opportunity to feel the passion. The pleasure from winning the Spurs game last week felt so much intense after our recent poor form. As football supporters our currency is hope, mostly built around what would happen if you were to win the next three games! I’d like to think that my ‘interest’ in football is as strong whatever our wonderful club our doing. I find it so distasteful that so called fans encompass the good times, but as soon as the chips are down turn against the players, the manager, the board or whatever. Opinions are fine; that’s the life blood of the football supporter. Banter between supporters of different clubs is welcomed, and has always been part of the fun of being a supporter. The hatred goes along with the need to be polarised in everything we do these days, and I really don’t like it. As supporters, believe it or not, we have more in common that we would like to think
I’ve called this piece ‘A Love Supreme’ which, if you don’t know, is a rather good Jazz Album by John Coltrane. Jazz (this is one of my wife’s loves I’ve taken on board) is music which reaches a perfect balance via a mixture of harmony and resolving discord. That’s a posh way of saying the bad times make the good times that little bit more joyful- a bit like our team. The 30 years of hurt without winning the league was a bit of a pain, but there was so much joy and passion to be had during that time.
We’ve had a bad month and there are tears flowing. In the weird and wonderful era of COVID that we are now living in, we have to take our life fulfilment and joy where we can. Enjoy our team, and the passion it brings to us. My involvement with Liverpool FC has brought me so much joy, excitement and even wonderment over the 40 years since I first stepped into Anfield. You may say it’s my cultural, social and even religious home. I’m straining at the leash to get back, and miss it so much. YNWA
If you like Dr Andy Hershon’s writing, check out his book – 15 Minutes With You: Tips on Medical Consulation and Other Musings
