I remember my dad, who was a decent footballer himself, saying to my mum in 1973. "I'm taking our Andrew to the match on Saturday after I've played" and my Mum not letting me go. I was 7 and cried for ages. The problem was that my mum wanted me to be an alter boy and the training clashed with the 3pm kick off times on a Saturday. My Dad relented but promised me that in the 1974 season we could go all the time. Needless to say I resented going to church to do the alter boy training and rushed home to make sure I could listen to the radio as soon as I could, usually getting home for 3.15. In 1974, I ditched the alter boy malarkey and started going to the match all the time with my dad and my Uncle Mike. This consisted of my dad meeting my uncle in the Flat Iron, me getting a packet of crisps and a coke and them getting stuck into a few pints. The abiding memory was the quantity of ale being consumed, the heady cigarette smoke,the narrow hallway to the toilets it always packed and an incredible squash. But most of all the Liverpool memorabilia on the walls and ceiling. We'd then walk up to the ground where uncle Mike would give me a few pence for a Ribena drink, and some chocolate. After the game back to the Flatty for cold drinks, then home to a pan of scouse or some ribs (from St John's Market) It was a lovely, special time. At the end of the season, my dad came home with Cup Final tickets which he put on the mantelpiece. I was like Charlie, from Charlie and the chocolate factory, the luckiest boy alive. Of course we won. But the trip to London, the fellas who were with my dad saying "ey 'are lad, go and get yerself some sweets" as they pressed 10p into my hand, the twin towers and the Wembley pitch. From novice alter boy to Wembley in about 12 months......God had no chance!!! Shankly was the true Messiah