When I was eight or nine, I saved money all summer to buy a red Liverpool shirt and shorts. My brother and I saved money when doing favours for relatives, helping people in the neighbourhood shop, clean the house and collecting bottles everywhere. When we had collected almost enough money, we sent in the coupon from the back of a Donald Duck magazine, and waited. And waited.
Two weeks are like a year when you’re 8.
The day when we got the shirts/shorts was like christmas eve. We put in the shirts veeery fast, went outdoors and played football for hours.
Some years later the shirt was small, and about to be retired. The shorts were still ok. Magnificent quality.
My father was a fisherman. He worked from 5 or 6 in the mornings until after we had got to bed in the evenings. Taking his boat to the dangerous seas outside Northern Norway to catch fish, and bring it to the harbour.
So my mother took care of the house, and did most of the housework. Until the day when my father found out the some modern behaviour were to be introduced in our house. HE was going to wash our clothes.
If I knew what would happen, I would have taken the fuzes in our house. And thrown them into the sea.
My father filled up the washing machine: His navy blue working clothes used when fishing, my brother’s and my sweaters, my mother’s underwear, bedwear and the Liverpool shirts and shorts. And the red socks.
Then lots of washing detergent (lots of!), and the temperature on 90 degrees Celcius (194 Fahrenheit).
After that our Liverpool shirts were more like Aston Villa shirts. And two numbers smaller. No offense, Villa fans, but where I lived, in the 70s, Aston Villa didn’t cut it.
Tonight is the Champions league finals in Istanbul. Liverpool will beat Milan. And even if I don’t care so much about football as I did in the 70s, when Kevin Keegan was as our hero, it will be fun watching Liverpool win something important for the first time in years. Go, Riise!blog comments powered by Disqus