Rain hit just about everything in sight. Droplets bounced off the top of the car, I felt it pounding on the hood which thankfully covered my head, and hail stones hit my brother at full force as he bent over the open car bonnet, forcefully and willingly trying to fix the engine beneath. The sky was dank and murky; the clouds swirled and mixed confusingly with the miserable back drop that was the derelict shapes of the Pennines. My energy was slowly disintegrating, just as my brother’s patience was on his piece of shit car.
“I swear to fuck,“ he growled and slammed down the bonnet. He then sat on it; almost as a sign of surrender.
“Don’t worry Frank,” I called to him. The rain was that depressingly heavy that he hardly heard a word I’d said.
“Jaz, you get in the car, okay? You look shattered. Get some rest. I’ll try and get a signal to call out the AA,” Frank hitched up the collar on his bomber jacket, tightened the red scarf around his neck and started to trudge up the road. I begrudgingly shook myself off and got into the passenger side, sighing as I closed the door.
It had been the ideal day. The sun was glistening this morning when we’d left Merseyside; it had kept me warm on the journey to Hull. We’d had our scarves hanging out the window and blowing into the breeze as we passed other commuters. Saturday afternoons were my favourite day. For those we passed in the car, Saturday was probably just like any normal day for them– the start of their weekend. Whereas it was a lot different for me and my brother – it meant travelling to watch our beloved Reds. Wherever they were in the country, home or away, we were always there beside them at every match. We had our season ticket to thank mostly, but also our dad had connections at the club. Myself and my brother had never missed a game for the past few seasons now and today was no different. Liverpool were playing away to Hull City and the KC Stadium had been our destination on a rather temperate day. All had been great, the journey was brilliant, getting there and meeting up with the travelling Kop was sweet and the game was just pure bliss. 3-0 and Daniel Sturridge taking home the match ball topped off an insane day.
However as we were sat in a jam about half way out of Hull’s tight city centre, the clouds began to reign over, depicting the mood of about every Hull fan making their way to the pubs to drink their sullen emotions. It had been an overly emotional day, and I always seemed to get extremely tired whenever my brother began to drive home from matches. However because of the noise and longevity of the weather, I’d been unable to close my eyes and take a nap. But I may as well try, I thought. I don’t want to be brain dead when the AA men come and pick up the car and take us home.
My eyes fluttered shut, and I slumped a little lower in my seat, smiling to myself as I pictured Sturridge doing his dance in front of us after he’d scored at the away end. I’d now drift into a world full of Luis Suarez nutmegs and Philippe Coutinho dummies.
***
The scoreboard read 11-0. A rapturous Anfield was going crazy as Kolo Toure had bagged the 11th goal in the 3rd minute of stoppage time. Each player (yes including Simon Mignolet!) had made it onto the scoreboard today. I could hear them all celebrating with each other, they were right in front of me; I could almost touch Daniel Agger. They were laughing and joking. My vision was swimming. Maybe I was about to faint? But that happy image of their group hug celebration was definitely disappearing now…
Until my eyes popped open to find a smiling Daniel Agger sat in front of me, Martin Kelly sat to his right and Jordan Henderson sat opposite him on my left. My ears weren’t deceiving me. Heck, my eyes weren’t deceiving me either. I definitely was having a dream about the team at Anfield but the noises of their laughter and the fact Daniel Agger was right in front of me was definitely real.
