RED WATCH: Still nothing quite like the derby

Oct 18 2007 by Andy Proudfoot, Liverpool Daily Post

JUST how important is the derby game?

There’s many a haughty Red who will tell you it’s just three points at stake, same as any other game; while vexed Evertonians will often criticise their colleagues for placing too much emphasis on the game, accepting mediocrity across the rest of the season as long as they triumph against the old enemy.

While there’s no doubt that the increasingly cosmopolitan make-up of the two sides has lessened the physical intensity of the matches (think Tommy Smith and Mick Lyons), attempts to play down the significance of the event belie the incredible history of this conflict and the emotions it stirs in the hearts and bellies of genuine fans.

Any supporter of a certain age will be able to remember the almighty queues outside Anfield and Goodison when tens of thousands of tickets were put on general sale, an experience repeated at the match itself when turnstiles struggled to cope with the sheer numbers, and standing spectators arrived early to attain their favourite ‘spec’.

The advent of all-seater stadiums and high proportions of season-tickets have done for all that, and that’s probably no bad thing.

More properly mourned, however, is the loss of camaraderie between the two sets of fans which has seen the more traditional exchange of mischievous insults replaced by harsher and spiteful invective. To be sure, things ain’t what they used to be.

Yet, for this supporter at least, the away derby in particular is one of two fixtures approached with anticipation and trepidation in something like equal measure.

Like the visit to Old Trafford, it’s impossible to contemplate the ecstasy of victory without the corresponding dread of defeat.

There’s even an innate discomfort about entering and inhabiting the ground, akin to watching your wife or girlfriend give birth: you know you’ve got to be there, but you’d rather be somewhere else.

Losing these games is not just about ‘bragging rights’; I’m largely immune to this, being exiled in the south, where Evertonians are almost as rare as Chelsea fans. Yet the pain is just as great, whether you’re skulking down the motorway or surrounded by jeering Bluenoses in your local pub. It’s just the nature of the committed football fan to treat triumph or despair against their closest rivals, be that geographic or in stature, as more important in the scheme of things than against lesser opponents.

Just in case this should be read by Evertonians and misinterpreted as an indication of anxiety over the particular match on Saturday, let me say here and now that I fully expect the Reds to emerge victorious and reinvigorate their Premier League campaign, leaving Everton to focus on their UEFA Cup campaign having seen off Metallica Kharkiv.

Good luck in your glamour ties against AZ Iron Maiden and Zenit Black Sabbath boys. (Just being mischievous).

Wake-up call for Babel

A TALE of two Bab(b)els.

This week Markus Babbel, a stalwart of our record-breaking 2001 season, reaffirmed his love of Liverpool and how he would love to manage them one day, having just started his coaching career at VfB Stuttgart.

Babbel, you will recall, had his playing career curtailed by Guillain-Barre syndrome, a condition so debilitating that he could not get out of bed for a long time.

His near-namesake, Ryan Babel, also had difficulty getting out of bed last week, though his reason was more prosaic: he overslept, missing a Holland team talk, and his place in the team as a result.

Ryan’s young, so let’s hope that he learns the lesson of this week, and never again takes for granted how fortunate he is to be able to do what he does for a living.