After three decades years of near misses, slips and tears, the Merseyside team’s wait for another league title is nearly over. So what does it mean to a scouser and lifelong fan?
I am three years old in the photograph, hugging a plastic, flyaway football. I am seven, arriving tentatively for my first training session at a local girls’ club. I am bounding back to my mother’s car, blowing hot breath on cold hands, beaming, the salt from the artificial turf embedded in the soles of my trainers.
I am eight and glued to the television, watching teen wunderkind and my
Liverpool hero, Michael Owen, score the perfect goal against
Argentina in
World Cup 98.