L is for LIVERPOOL

He was a saint and he scored the winning goal, with a diving header, near the end of the first period of extra time. I don't recall much else about the game but I remembered Ian Saint John and I never forgot his team. It was May 1st 1965, the FA Cup Final, a tournament I had only discovered a year earlier when a West Ham team, containing the soon to be famous Bobby Moore and Geoff Hurst had overcome Preston North End and a young number nine called Howard Kendall.But my destiny was never to be wrapped up in the claret and blue. Instead the all red, even on a black and white television, inspired me and I became an instant fan. That Liverpool team was made up of four Scots and seven English and their opponents, Leeds United had the only foreign player on show, Albert Johanneson who was also the first black player to appear in the final.

After that triumph and the following year's league title, my new found heroes kept me waiting for another six years during which I unashamedly shed tears on more than one occasion.Yet I remained faithful, for that great Messiah on Merseyside, Bill Shankly, said the good times would return and, more importantly, his players believed him. By the time of our next league triumph in 1972, I had acquired my first Liverpool, all red skip. Not , you understand, like the replica kits that fill our sports shops and club stores today, but a plain red jersey, almost matching red shorts and eventually a pair of red socks. By the time, mum had finished sewing on the badge that could be bought separately, I was more than ready to face the world, which at that time consisted of a few friends and a kick-about at the local youth organisation. But I was proud to wear the badge. I had no number and no name on my back, but I was every player except the keeper at some stage in the match and I had outgrown the skip long before it had got tired of me.

Nothing in sport beats the thrill of seeing the mighty Reds. Not even revision for a university exam the morning after the first European Cup triumph. Endless and lengthy phone calls to secure tickets, hours on motorways in the middle of the night, sea sick ridden journeys on overnight ferries and more recently, the continuous taunting from the not so friendly neighbours up the M62 and their clan of followers. All these and more count for nothing when another trophy is hoisted. And the names Shankly, Keegan, Paisley, Dalglish, Souness, Hansen, Rush, Gerrard and so many more all conjure up another little memory, another triumph and cement my love for the club even more.

But great as my heroes are, and wonderful though the triumphs have been, they all pass and like every sporting team or hero are soon confined to history. And they don't compare with the thrill of knowing Jesus, whose presence never dies and who is always faithful. He is the real Messiah and He has said that He will return and, more importantly, I believe Him. Paul , in his letter to the Christians at Philippi, says, 'I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things.' And while in this life, we continue to be 'imitators of God', some day when this covering has worn out, I'll get the real skip from the Captain himself.