THE SPECIAL - Liverpool at home

The first opening day match I ever went to was 37 summers ago. It remains my favourite.

In the midst of a boycott and 2-1 down at half-time, we somehow conjured a second-half demolition of promotion hopefuls Leeds. John Gallacher tore Jim Beglin to shreds - I maintain this was why he forever had such a chip on his shoulder about us as a commentator - and Micky Quinn made himself an instant hero with four on his debut. I never devoured the Pink with such ferocious glee as I did that day.

You’ll have your own favourites, I’m sure, not least because I'm a relative whipper-snapper compared to many of you, but I'll just pick out one more.

The effortless 3-0 win in the sunshine against Coventry on Sir Les's debut in 1995 was probably the most optimistic I've ever left a football ground. Truly, I didn't have a care in the NUFC world. We had a team that was the best I'd ever seen. And it was made all the sweeter by having queued at 3am outside the ticket office to get one of the handful of tickets available earlier in the week. The whole city was giddy with possibility. I wasn't going to miss out.

Of course, it's impossible not to look back at that match and reflect once more on the man who made that possible. He had rescued us through sheer force of personality and constructed a team with verve, ambition, and quality like no other. Those players came to Newcastle for him and him alone. The club and city united around him alone. We worshipped and adored him. Him alone.

In the last month I've found myself wondering how Keegan would have fared in the contemporary world of football and its incessant inane banter and click culture, one that so often tips over into vile and unnecessary excess. Judging by the “debate” around Eddie Howe, I fear it would not have ended well.

Of course, it's not that humanity has suddenly changed. Those views have always been expressed conversationally in pubs and workplaces, destined to disappear as soon as they were vocalised. The difference now is that they circulate in a different form, amplified by the algorithms and chatbots of big tech that very deliberately feed those base instincts for their own gain. As a wiser observer than me put it recently, it seems as though being proven right in those online arguments has somehow become more important for some fans than being happy.

My only encounter with such things is very much secondhand these days, as WhatsApp groups swirl with indignation over the latest transfer pronouncements from Romano and his social media enablers. Needless to say, the language of the accompanying commentary is unrepeatable here, and it's difficult not to feel that it debases us all. Is it too simple to suggest that instead of allowing ourselves to be constantly outraged, we might just disengage from it and starve it of the oxygen it craves?

In that sense, it feels like the Keegan era is a throwback to a more innocent time. And if that applies to his managerial career, then it applies even more so to that wonderful footage of his peak playing days for Liverpool, a Keegan that I dare say is largely unknown to many of us.

No wonder Shankly valued him so highly and no wonder they called him Mighty Mouse at Hamburg. A fizzing ball of non-stop energy, a wonderful reader of the game, and a brilliant finisher. To watch a Keegan header is to understand everything about the man - an improbable feat, a product of will rather than physiology, and yet incisive, inevitable, and utterly irresistible.

What we wouldn't give for that unstoppable force in black and white today. After all, our weaknesses are obvious enough: lack of leadership and niggle, a lightweight unproven midfield, and forwards who wasted more chances last season than any other team.

For someone whose ethos is high-intensity pressing, Matty J has overseen some distinctly low energy performances so far. The Weekender double-header format has hardly helped, tying the hands of the manager, unable to give a run-out to anything like a first-choice side. Can we scrap that, please? I'm sure I'm not the only one who thinks (or hopes) he's been saving their legs for the matches that really matter, not to mention perhaps a little tactical mystery.

But I also saw the distinctive identity of a Jaissle team taking shape at times against Strasbourg. We won possession high up the pitch on numerous occasions and moved it quickly forward through Bamba and Touré. When the whistle goes today, I fully expect things to be different. Driven on by the emotional charge of the day and by the positive energy of the new manager, we'll surely come out roaring, swarming and overwhelming the visitors before they know what's hit them.

In pre-season, the Scousers have been very open. Fuck it. My heart says 3-2, whatever my head might have to say in response.

And you know what? Why not? Because, today is the only day of the season we get to be wildly, foolishly, naively optimistic. We come unencumbered by league position or the weight of prior defeat. Those two summer days in 1989 and 1995 were glorious because, for once, the reality matched the imagination. It can happen. It does happen. Embrace that giddy possibility once more.

Football is a curious thing. It gives us a space where we unshackle ourselves emotionally, where we experience moments of intensity that simply can't be replicated. This afternoon will be one such occasion. It's a convergence of histories - personal, collective, and civic - that makes it utterly unique. A day like no other. A day not to be forgotten.

It doesn't bear rational analysis. It's not a day to worry about tactics and transfers, let alone boardroom failings or financial regulations. It's a day to simply give yourself over to emotion and let it take you with it. Completely and without reservation.

Thank you, KK. Welcome, MJ.

Let's fucking do this.

Matthew

TF - Preview - Liverpool (h)

TF Preview - Liverpool (h) 22 Aug 2026

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Aug 22

If you were to summarise the mixed feelings towards the impending 26/27 Premier League season into one song, I think it would be ‘Hello, Goodbye’ by The Beatles.

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The Special is dedicated to the memory of our dear friend and ally Glenn Ashcroft.

Art work by Peter Willis.