The Kop (standard:humor, 1417 words)
Author: scouser	Added: Feb 18 2003	Views/Reads: 3324/2160	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Watching football from the terrace of the famous KOP at Anfield, Liverpool Football Club

The Kop 

Every boy's dream is to mix with the men, and I was no different. After
spending my first five years supporting my beloved Liverpool from the 
confines of the ‘Boy's Pen' the time had arrived for me to be 
liberated. No more hanging from the wire mesh grill like a monkey in 
the back corner of the Kop, I wanted to be in amongst it, at the front 
line, bayonet attached. If I was to be part of the ‘Red Army' I had to 
be prepared to put my life on the line, go where no boy has gone 
before, yes become a Kopite. I knew all the songs, I had travelled to 
Main Road (well almost) and I was aware of all the rituals associated 
with being a member of the Kop. For example, don't place yourself in 
front of a barrier, position yourself close to the steps in 
anticipation of crowd surges etc etc. Unfortunately I made one poor 
decision, I decided I would invite a girl I was trying to impress (well 
I was 15) to come along with me. I've since learned that football is 
football and girls are girls and both deserve to be treated with 
respect and each should have my undivided attention. Still, having made 
the arrangements I met my date Geri outside the Arkles, and she was 
dressed to kill Liverpool scarf and knitted bobble hat. It was quite 
obvious she'd done this before. I just had my scarf my mum knitted for 
me. The only problem with it was it never went red, white, red white 
mine went red white, white, white, red, white, white and more bloody 
white and was about six foot long. I don't think she knew how to cast 
off! As well as being a little light on red wool her spelling wasn't 
the best lets face it Ian St Jun and Roger Bunt never played for 
Liverpool, still the thought was there. As we headed towards the ground 
Geri informed me she had never been in the Kop before, she usually 
watched from the paddock with her Dad.  But I assured her that 
everything would be fine and that there is nowhere on the planet better 
to watch the Red's from (obviously not letting on I was an escapee from 
the Pen). The place was buzzing as we approached the ground people were 
queuing at every entrance, it was quite obvious that the game was going 
to be a sellout. We joined one of the queues for the Kop, and I bought 
a ‘Pink' from the paper man. “What do you want a paper for, you won't 
be able to read it in there?” She said not understanding the importance 
of having your own copy of the Echo at matches, it's a ritual she'll 
come to understand soon enough. We amused ourselves over the next 
couple of hours waiting for the gates to open by listening to the 
religious fanatics with their sandwich boards draped over their 
shoulders promising ‘hell and damnation' to the thousands of sinners 
unless they repent. “The lord is coming to Liverpool” one screamed 
“what will you sinners do then?” he asked, and from out of the crowd 
came the usual response “move St John to the wing you tosser”. It was 
nearing one o'clock and the gates were being opened around the ground. 
The place was swarming with Spurs supporters giving it the old ‘knees 
up mother Brown',  “We'll see who's got a lovely bunch of coconuts at 
twenty to five” I said as we scrambled through the turnstile and 
climbed the steps up to the Kop. We stood at the top of Kop for a few 
moments soaking up the atmosphere and I could see the look of disbelief 
on Geri's face as she glanced around the ground, I knew what she was 
feeling. It still lives with me to this day. It doesn't matter how many 
times you visit Anfield that moment of entry from the Kop literally 
takes your breath away. It seems like the whole population of the City 
of Liverpool is crammed into the ground, a sea of red and white bodies 
swaying and chanting as one, it's an incredible feeling of belonging. 
As we made our way through the crowd to our position behind the goal I 
felt like a soldier joining his comrades at the front line ready to do 
battle. It was now a quarter to three and we were eagerly awaiting the 
enemy when out of the tunnel the mighty reds appeared, the crowd 
exploded with delight into a deafening roar as big Ron Yeats led the 
team towards the Kop end. Geri, and myself were swept along in a surge 
of bodies down the Kop steps as people clambered to get a closer view 
of their idols. The adrenaline was pumping as we staggered back up the 
steps to our original positions, then out came the enemy to a crescendo 
of boo's, the toss was made, first blood to the reds as Big Ron won and 
decided to defend the Kop, the battle had begun. We spent the next 
forty-five minutes ‘oohing' and ‘ahhing' as the reds stormed down the 
pitch raining crosses into the Tottenham goalmouth only to be thwarted 
by the agility of Pat Jennings and the woodwork. Half time had arrived 
and the score was 0-0, but the crowd was optimistic, after all we would 
be attacking the Kop end in the second half and everyone knows that's 
worth at least one goal.  The usual analysis of the game was being 
discussed during the break, which usually centred on whether the 
referee's parents were married or not. When Geri asked, “how do you go 


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