Try as anyone might, there are no words, no matter how eloquent some might be able to arrange them, that can completely put the top hat on what it felt like to be at Anfield on Sunday to acclaim the clinching of Liverpool’s 20th league title.
Nothing was going to derail the unfolding of footballing fate during the visit of an always benevolent Tottenham, a team that no other club could have offered us up opposition as perfect a fit for the scenario in front of us.
Adventurous, foolhardy, entertaining and hopelessly flawed, the visitors were never going to be able to keep a clean sheet, and even the opening goal falling to Dominic Solanke was no more than a crease in a script that was going to be easily smoothed out.
3-1 up by half-time, the sun shining, pyro smoke swirling in the air, a buzz of the inevitable coming to fruition, yet anticipation still being high, every song in the repertoire being given an airing, the pot simmered along nicely until the explosion of joy at the final whistle.
The release came with some velocity.
This was the pressure valve finally letting loose after 35 long years, one that should have blown five years ago only for a global pandemic to deny us the chance to embrace fully the joy of the Jurgen Klopp-powered Premier League success of 2019/20 in the manner in which we had envisaged.
Sunday brought an outpouring of emotion, noise, colour, love and vibrancy that was as much for the celebration that got away as it was for this latest glory, the glory that puts the famous Liverbird back on her perch.
Anfield, the stadium itself, was the epicentre, but the pyro cloud stretched far and wide, with thousands more than those who had a ticket to gain entry descending on the area, many to try their luck on tripping across an unlikely spare ticket, while others were simply just grabbing themselves a spot in one of the nearby pubs to watch the moment and share in the experience.
At the back of The Sandon, the spiritual birthplace of the club, many supporters watched the game on the big outdoor screen, within earshot of the match unfolding in the stadium, from where the sound of the roar of the goals hitting the back of the Tottenham net reached eardrums before the eyes saw them scored.
It must have been a gloriously surreal and disorientating experience.
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What it was like in the stands
In the Main Stand upper, there was bedlam, as black-market ticket, big-spending newbies, who had clearly never been to Anfield before, came with high expectations of certain polite etiquettes – the types of which they might be afforded at the cinema or theatre – only to find themselves swept along by the footballing primordial soup, where the actions and reactions of the long-initiated are dictated by the ebb and flow of matters on the pitch and the surge of whichever feeling or emotion is running riot internally at any given time.
For me and my Dad, this day was dreamt of for so very long, with the 30-year title drought having taken a toll on hope, the party of 2019/20 snatched away by Covid, and a couple of 90-plus-point campaigns that were denied the title, due to the doped-up achievements of a footballing variant of Ben Johnson and Lance Armstrong.
For ‘Four in a Row’ also see: 9.79 seconds at the 1988 Olympics and seven Tour de France in a row from the late-1990s into the mid-2000s.
Almost 87 now, although dementia and Alzheimer’s have dispossessed him of the finer memories of them, my Dad has lived 16 of the 20 league titles that Liverpool have won.
This fella is almost 87. He’s lived through 16 of Liverpool’s 20 league titles, and something I’ve learned today is that Mixed Dementia is no barrier to bouncing around to Free From Desire. The absolute legend. These moments will hug my soul forever. pic.twitter.com/SM1LaB29GA
— Steven Scragg (@Scraggy_74) April 27, 2025
Yet on Sunday, none of his daily struggles were enough to hold him back from bouncing around to Freed From Desire, as he grabbed this latest one by the scruff of its neck and danced with it until fatigue got the better of him.
On the way home, we had Radio Merseyside booming out as our soundtrack, and he was asking every couple of minutes for confirmation that we are the champions, as the after-match analysis raged onwards into the evening.
My Dad will have woken up today to find out about it all over again when he switched his television on, and again when he bought his newspaper. He’s cursed by nature, but he also gets to win the league over and over again, in the days, weeks and months to come.
For the wider, collective celebration, when you add into the recipe that this time it’s No. 20, a success that represents a return to title-winning parity with a decaying Man United, it meant that the party ran on and on, and on and on and on.
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Four weeks – and a whole summer – to party
The good vibes won’t stop all summer either, with a trophy lift and an open-top bus parade to be embraced too, as winning the league early gives you three parties for the price of one.
Out on the pitch, and on the touchline, Arne Slot let his metaphorical hair down, swept up in just what it all meant to the Anfield congregation, while those players who remain of the 2019/20 title-winning squad basked in the warmth of reconnecting with a familiar feeling, except experiencing it this time with the stands full.
Then you had those players who were winning the Premier League for the first time with us, absorbing a knowledge that will have the domino effect of them being able to help pass the teachings they have been handed on to the next wave of new signings, in Slot’s bid to create a replenished and refitted side that can go on and win the prize again in the years to come.
When it comes to the supporters, it works in a similar way.
Yes, those of us who were knocking around back in the day of league titles being won on a near-yearly basis by Liverpool have loved this return to the top.
But more importantly, for the generations that experienced the joys of Sunday for the very first time, you now have the knowledge of not only what it takes, but finally how it feels to be part of it too. You get to teach future generations what its all about.
Up the Red Champions.
