Carra: My Autobiography by Jamie Carragher, Kenny Dalglish Read Free Book Online

the halftimes were announced and I made the mistake of giving him the thumbs-up to show my approval of the Everton score. Had they been paying any attention, a few thousand Liverpool fans in the away end might have seen how happy I was too. It wasn't the most diplomatic way for an up-and-coming player to curry favour with his own supporters. I could see from the way my dad's face turned a rather unattractive shade of beetroot he was livid. 'I could be ducking football boots again when I get home,' I thought as I headed back to the changing room.

He was far less diplomatic in his use of language than Dave and Hughie when he caught up with me, but even then the message was only partially accepted. Every true football fan will tell you how hard it is to shake off those feelings you have for your team. Most of us never have to do it, and even for those of us who succeed, it certainly can't be achieved overnight. I had to go through a prolonged spell of enforced indifference before I deserted Everton. My first taste of Liverpool first-team involvement at Boro was a tentative step in the red direction.

That didn't mean I stopped treasuring childhood memories of following the Blues. Giving them up was not part of my Liverpool 'transfer'. There are Goodison legends from the golden period I still admire and copy today, many of whom I've since had the good fortune and pleasure to meet on a regular basis. They made those early football experiences magical.

The first League game I ever watched at Goodison was at the start of the inspiring 1984–85 season, at home to Tottenham. I was six years old. We were comprehensively beaten, 4–1, and I don't remember anything about the game other than seeing Harry Cross, a famous character from the now-departed Scouse soap opera Brookside , leaving the ground early. Judging by the faces of everyone around him, it was the only decent cross anyone saw at Goodison that day. He'd seen enough, but even though we lost, I was yearning for much more.

My dad started taking me to away games that season. On the train to Ipswich – which must be the ground furthest away from Bootle in the country – he introduced me to all the most famous Evertonians, like Eddie Cavanagh. Eddie ran on to the Wembley pitch when Everton won the cup in 1966 and had earned himself iconic status ever since. Meeting him was like a coming-of-age ceremony. The nod of approval from Eddie was an acknowledgement you were now a true Blue. I wasn't just a home-game regular but part of an away-day elite.

Being seen on the pitch, particularly if you were caught by the television cameras, was like a medal of honour. One of the most recognized Blues in the city was Eric Crainey, who jumped on Graeme Sharp when he scored the famous winner at Anfield that season. Later there was Jimmy Sanders, who ran to Neville Southall when he was involved in his halftime sit-down protest against Leeds in 1990. It takes some courage to run on to that hallowed turf, and a bit of fitness too: you have to be an Olympic hurdler to avoid the rugby tackles of the stewards and policemen when they chase you off. I also heard many examples of my dad getting on the pitch. At one time the players must have thought he was the physio. 'I'll get on there one day,' I'd say to myself, and I wasn't necessarily thinking it would be as a player.

That season was captivating from start to finish. I was lucky, or maybe it was fate, to have such an exceptional Everton team as my introduction to top-class football. They didn't simply beat virtually everyone home and away, they tore them apart, playing high-quality football. I didn't go to games fearful we wouldn't win, I'd be guessing the margin of victory. So confident was I of our success, I'd already be thinking about how our rivals would do before a ball was kicked, and how far ahead we'd be in the table by the end of the afternoon.

Match of the Day became the second most important event of the week, after the game