Hardly have we got past the events of the weekend and it’s almost impossible not to be thinking about the next game… because it is something of a landmark as well as offering up what many are hoping could be a rare opportunity to take advantage of perceived weakness in the old enemy.
Next Sunday, Liverpool will make their first-ever visit to our iconic new stadium on the banks of the Royal Blue Mersey. I hate derbies personally, and do my utmost to treat it just as any other game in the Premier League. But that means bottling away the years of hurt and blatant injustice that have poisoned any ‘relationship’ with our nearest neighbours and former offspring.
For those of a certain vintage, the sight of the hideous red shirts walking onto our pristine new turf at the Hill Dickinson Stadium doesn’t just evoke sporting rivalry — it triggers a visceral sense of what was stolen.
We are often told by the media to “celebrate the city,” but how can you celebrate with the execrable shower who burnt your house down?
In 1985, Howard Kendall had built a side that wasn’t just the best in England; it was arguably the best in Europe. We were poised for a dynasty. Then came the fans of Liverpool and what they perpetrated at Heysel.
The tragedy was despicable — a dark stain on the game underlining an era of the most atrocious and shameful football hooliganism, but the subsequent blanket ban on English clubs playing in Europe became a targeted execution of Everton’s golden era after we had just lifted our only European trophy in the calm and peaceful atmosphere of Rotterdam.
We became the totally innocent bystanders, handed a life sentence for the recurring sins of the Devil’s Spawn, with media and referee bias unaccountably protecting them through a painful litany of oft-repeated injustices on the pitch.
While they spent the late 80s adding to their trophy cabinet, we were left to rot in domestic isolation, watching our world-class squad fragment because the pinnacle of the sport had been barred to them.
They didn’t just cost us a trophy; they cost us a decade. They cost us the momentum that might have changed the trajectory of the club forever.
The move to the Hill Dickinson Stadium was meant to be our rebirth, a physical manifestation of our “Nil Satis Nisi Optimum” mantra. But there is a poetic, if slightly nauseating, irony in having them be the ones to “christen” a major milestone in our first season here.
The “Friendly Derby” is a myth that died in the 80s and was buried at Heysel. Today, it is a fixture defined by their staggering arrogance and our justified resentment. They will arrive with their usual sense of entitlement probably undented despite Slot and his lot going through a slightly rough spell, expecting the shiny new surroundings to bow to their supposed superiority.
Despite the historical baggage, there is a scent of blood in the water this week. This isn’t the invincible Liverpool of years past. They are creaking. Their transition is stuttering, and for the first time in a long while, the gap between “The Best” and “The Rest” feels bridgeable.
The acoustics at the Hill Dickinson are designed to be a bear pit. If we can channel decades of accumulated spite and hatred into a wall of sound, perhaps we can rattle them before they even finish their warm-ups.
We need to make this a miserable experience for them. No hospitality, no warmth — just 90 minutes of high-intensity pressure from the kick-off.
I don’t want a “celebration of Merseyside football.” I want a clinical, cold-blooded dismantling of a club that has spent 40 years pretending they didn’t ruin our greatest ever side.
Saturday isn’t just about 3 points. It’s about finally showing the “old enemy” that, while they may have stolen our past, they won’t be allowed to contaminate our future. It’s time to make the Hill Dickinson Stadium a place where their spawny luck finally runs out.