By: A lifelong Bluenose, with a Tear in His Eye and a Smile on His Face.
Let’s get one thing straight: leaving Goodison Park is going to hurt. I’m talking about the proper, lump-in-the-throat, can’t-quite-speak kind of hurt. The kind of ache you only get when something that’s part of your very soul changes forever, or when you lose something that has lived with you your whole life.
But before we all drown in sentiment, let’s lace up our boots, take a walk down Memory Lane, and have a chuckle while we’re at it. Because if there’s one thing we Evertonians are good at – besides spotting when the opposition is imminently going to score – it’s finding warmth and humour in even the most bittersweet of moments.
My first game? Oxford United, 1981. I was barely tall enough to see over the head of the fella in front (who, to be fair, was probably wearing a hat with a bobble the size of a grapefruit). Sat in the Main Stand beside my arl fella – my hero, mentor and fellow Blue – I was hooked from the first whistle.
I had an Everton scarf tied around my wrist, not because I was trying to look cool (though I definitely thought I did), but because it meant something. It was a badge of honour, a statement: I belong here.
I remember the walk up to the ground, that growing buzz in the belly. The click of the turnstile, the smell of the hot dogs, and that low murmur of anticipation before kick-off that never left me, and the way your senses kicked in as soon as you hit the steps – the whiff of cigars and pipes as older fellas puffed away. That smell meant it was matchday. That smell meant everything.
And what a ride it’s been since. Two league titles. Umpteen victories over that lot over the park. Big Dunc’s header against the Mancs. The Great Escape against Wimbledon and Barry Horne’s screamer. The 4-4 Cup games vs Liverpool. The FA Cup marathon with Sheffield Wednesday in 1988.
Doucoure’s goal against Bournemouth and the heart palps thereafter. Rooney’s arrival with the winner against Arsenal. 4-0 against Man City. Jagielka’s thunderbolt. And more recently Tarkowski’s equaliser.
The finest team in Europe (even if Uefa bottled it and stopped us proving it). Bayern Munich in 1985 – that night was glorious. The Old Lady shook like it had a soul of its own that night, and maybe she did. I swear Goodison lifted off the ground. She wasn’t just rocking; she was roaring. You don’t make all those memories in bricks and mortar alone. You build them in roars, in cheers, in chants echoing off the blue, cold steel beams.
But she didn’t just serve up the highs, did she? Oh no. There were the terrible nights too – soul-sapping, gut-wrenching, why-do-I-put-myself-through-this kind of nights. Games where the air turned cold with misery and you trudged down the stairs wondering if you’d ever see us score again, let alone win.
But even in those moments, there was something strangely comforting. Because you weren’t alone. You had your dad beside you. Your brother muttering under his breath. Your uncle shaking his head and making you all laugh. Your cousin telling you that, “Next week is the big one.” Your mates assuring a victory the following week.
There’s something uniquely Everton about the Archibald Leitch stands, with their criss-cross ironwork and their proud, no-nonsense posture – though they’re etched into our memories, It was the people, the family. The generations of Blues who lived and breathed every minute with you.
It wasn’t just about football. It was about shared lives, shared laughter, and shared heartbreaks. Even the clock in the corner felt like part of the family – always there, always ticking, even if the football wasn’t. Seats were put in over time, the old girl got a bit more modern (just a bit), but she never lost that edge, that soul. She never became something she wasn’t.
And now, as we prepare to move, I find myself full of thanks more than sadness. Because I’ve got the memories. I’ve got the cold nights, the warm goals, the smells, the scarf around my wrist, and – most importantly – I’ve got all of it wrapped up in the people I care for the most.
And that’s what we’re saying goodbye to; not just a stadium, but a living, breathing piece of our identity. Goodison has heard generations cheer, groan, sing, and swear – sometimes all within 30 seconds of one another. She’s been the backdrop to first games, first goals, first pints after the match, and first ever real sporting heartbreak.
But here’s the thing: The Grand Old Lady isn’t vanishing. She’s evolving. Like your nan moving into a posh new bungalow – it might feel strange at first, but give it time, and you’ll see the same warmth, the same stories, just with better toilets and no obstructed views.
The mgnificent Everton Stadium at Bramley-Moore Dock will be our new home, and soon enough it’ll have its own echoes, its own legendary nights, and – if there’s any justice – its own Bayern Munich moment. We’re taking her spirit with us. The songs, the banners, the sense of defiance mixed with dry Scouse humour. All of it’s packed up in the metaphorical boot of the car, right next to your lucky scarf and half-eaten Sayer’s sausage roll.
Yes, leaving Goodison Park for one last time will definitely be very emotional. There’ll be tears. There’ll be photos snapped and bricks touched one last time. But there’ll also be laughter, stories shared, and pint glasses raised. Because this isn’t just an end; it’s a new chapter for The People’s Club.
We’ll carry Goodison in our hearts, in our voices, in our stubborn loyalty and gallows humour. And wherever we go, we’ll carry the Grand Old Lady with us. In our hearts, in our chants, and let’s be honest, in our grumbles. Some things never change.
So, here’s to The Grand Old Lady. To the joy, the pain, the pipe smoke, and the scarves. To my dad, my brother, my uncle, my cousin, my old and new friends – and to every Blue who’s stood side-by-side, arms aloft or hugging strangers after a goal, and those also dared to dream to same dreams as me. We’ll miss her. But we’ll never forget her.
See you at the new place, lads and lasses. But one last time from the bottom of my heart; thanks, Goodison. You were unquestionably magic.