I've been following the Liverpool Football Club ever since watching them lose the 1977 FA Cup final on an old black and white television, around the same time I started playing soccer myself. Over the years, they've done a lot better than I did. And for all the times I've stayed up late listening to the BBC World Service, or waited for Match of the Day, or hunted down the latest jersey, or apologized to Mum for thinking she'd thrown away my LFC scarf when we found it after a decade, I've never once managed to see the Reds in person.
In 1980, we arrived in England just as the season finished. In 1997, my brother in law tried for tickets but failed, so we went to see Blackburn beat Chelsea instead. In 2002, I was in England when the World Cup was on in Germany.
But this year was my big chance. As luck would have it, the sole day off on my extensive music tour of the UK coincided with Liverpool-Bolton at Anfield, and I'd be in the right part of the country, too. For months I've been waiting for that moment about 12 hours from now when phone tickets go on sale, and I frantically call with Amex ready to go.
So I checked just now, to make triple sure I have the phone number right. And my face fell as I saw that they've moved the game from Saturday to Sunday. In one fell swoop, they've crushed the 30 year old dreams of an 8 year old boy.
Maybe in 2017.