And when the famous terrace eventually emptied one hour ten minutes after the final whistle, the greatest tribute to the Koppites came from one of their own heroes.
"Our performance didn't match theirs. They were absolutely unbelievable," said Liverpool captain Ian Rush, who went to the Kop at the end to give a farewell salute. Koppites, many of whom will be back to fill the 12,300-seater stand which will rise on the site of their spiritual home, are aware of the massive reconstruction task thrust upon manager Roy Evans.
That was exactly what Liverpool faced when I last stood on the Kop during the club's Second Division days 34 years ago. The 1960s had just dawned and Billy Liddell, the thundering winger whose style is reborn in Manchester United's Andrei Kanchelskis, was still playing. So a lump came to my throat when the great Scot walked out in a pre-match parade of Anfield greats which included his former team-mate Albert Stubbins. But the loudest roar, one which shook the Kop roof in advance of it's demolition, was reserved for Kenny Dalglish.
His appearance prompted the Kop to re-word Al Jolson's song. "We'd walk a million miles for one of your goals, oh Ken-ny," they sang in blank refusal to allow Liverpool's abject display to diminish the last day of the Kop proms. "Get your boots on Kenny," was the cry from one frustrated fan. The man who quit under the pressures of Anfield three years ago and has transformed Blackburn into title challengers was moved to tears.
It was a towering re-affirmation that the Kop has full respect and sympathy for his departure and cherish the memory of his contribution as player and boss. But on a day when emotions pitched somewhere between carnival and wake, there was one notable exclusion from the Kop's final repertoire. Ex-manager Graeme Souness never got a mention.
In fairness, there was plenty to occupy the Kop patrons, the anxiety over their team's limp display blended with powerful reminders of past glories. "Shankly, Shankly" was the first concerted chant long before kick-off, in salute to the late folk hero who sparked the club's greatness. They shouted for his successor Bob Paisley, English football's greatest ever manager on trophies won, who was absent through illness.
The most touching moment came when Joe Fagan, the only English manager ever to land a treble, walked on to the pitch with Paisley's wife Jessie and Shankly's widow Nessie. "I know what the Kop's capable of but the reception surpassed anything we could have expected," said Fagan. Standing on that renowned terrace, where the accents, the classes, creeds and colours were multifarious as the flags and banners, was so evocative. The swiftly changing reactions were just as I recalled them, like: "Get stuck in Redknapp. What the bloody hell are you doin'? Oh, great ball lad!" Most, as always, are unprintable. But it is all part of the rich terrace heritage disappearing from our national game.
Goss' goal was received in stunned, stony silence until the Kop wit rose to the fore. "You're supposed to let us win," they chanted self-mockingly, followed by: "Sing when we're losing, we only sing when we're losing." Even Liverpool's defeat failed to reduce the volume of the Kop's goodbye and their vocal chords were employed with renewed gusto at the news of Everton's fate at Leeds.
Then, underlining their hostility to the Kop plan, they sang: "We only sing when we're standing." Norman Nelson, a retired bank manager standing next to me, quipped: "Everton have a new theme song: 'We're all going to Endsleigh'!" He added: "One of the first songs I heard from the Kop was in 1950 when I was here watching a sixth round FA Cup tie against Blackpool. When their mascot, a live duck dyed tangerine, waddled round the running track around the Kop and for some reason sang: 'Yes, we have no bananas'. It made me laugh then and it still does."
Now it is consigned to history and even match-winner Goss, who struck a sizzling 20-yarder, said: "I've got mixed emotions. I think of all the great goals players like Rush and Barnes have scored here and it would've been nice for them to score. There's a lot of history on those terraces and it was very emotional lining up beforehand. My spine was tingling."
His goal condemned Liverpool to their worst season since 1965 when they last finished out of the top six.
But the Kop applauded Norwich off the pitch and richly deserved the tribute paid when Roy Evans and the team carried a pitch-wide banner declaring: "From all the players, thank you. We'll never walk alone." The Koppites always win when they`re singing – From ''The Independent'' August 1999 IT REMAINS a rare pleasure to attend a match at Liverpool FC. The Kop makes it so.
Long gone are the days when - assured of a prize per season (and a home win per fortnight) - that bank of Scouse passion might have been subject to accusations of only 'singing when they`re winning'. Only the relatively lean times test the strength of a support base. At Anfield, that base is strong and admirable. On Saturday, the colour, the noise and - most of all - the appreciation of footballing endeavour were magnificently vivid. Liverpool, meanwhile, lost 1-0 to the hot relegation favourites.
It is awkward when discussing the Kop - as it is with the Church - to know whether one is referring to a building or those who congregate in it. In fact, neither would be anything without the other - a few thousand bucket-seats on a sloped expanse of concrete and a few thousand football followers with nowhere to gather - but it is the people who give life to the building. What a necessary service those people did for the game last weekend.
At lunchtime, we had the continuing polarisation of Leeds and Manchester. Mrs Beckham was so hideously abused that her husband felt it necessary to make his distaste graphically public. Mercifully, by 2.30pm, like the intra-course sorbet that eliminates a bitter taste, the Kop was filling up.
Scarves head-high and horizontally-taut, the Kop`s first rendition of 'You`ll never walk alone' echoed with audibly genuine 'hope in the hearts.' It drew applause from the Watford fans and created a momentum of support that lasted for much of the game. Nobody booed when the Watford team-sheet was read out; everybody clapped when the Watford goalkeeper ran towards them for the start of the second half. Then at the end - and here was the highlight for anyone who clings anachronistically onto ideals of mutual respect, sportsmanship or simple decency - they stayed behind to applaud their victorious visitors.
Of course they are not perfect - what several-thousand-strong mass of humanity is? Acknowledgement is duly made of very noticeable recent impatience among some Koppites which flies in the face of their fabled unconditional support. Furthermore, there are, no doubt, some who would seek to recount less happy experiences of Anfield, and many more who believe their own club`s support to be comparably good.
However, what happened at the weekend deserves to be held up as an example. It was sufficiently good and sufficiently rare to draw an affectionate word from the visiting manager. Graham Taylor was right when he said: 'In these days of all the tension, hype and pressure of the modern game, it was good to hear fans do that. I know my players were impressed and will remember it. It is to those fans’ credit that they can do that. They weren`t saying we were better than their players, but they appreciated how we had played.'
I spoke on the subject to Ian St John who, having run out at Anfield more often and longer ago than he would probably prefer to recall, still rarely misses a match. He described such conduct as 'standard.' His was one of the early names to be singled out for chanting by the Kop. Like 'Dal-glish' in later years, he was fortunate that his two syllables offered just the right emphasis to follow a rhythmic handclap. That level of support added playing inches to a small man and the ethos of the Anfield crowd remains something of which he is proud. 'If an underdog comes up and plays the right way... with endeavour and organisation and without kicking lumps out of Liverpool, the crowd will appreciate that and they`ll be applauded.
'I recall a famous Cup tie against Swansea in the early 60s when we absolutely murdered them. But it was one of those games in which their goalkeeper made about 25 brilliant saves. I got concussed and was blacking out but, in those days, they made you play on and, by the end, I think I was probably kicking the wrong way. It was terrible... but the Kop were great to them. At Liverpool, that`s standard. It`s tradition.'
That tradition might have gone into decline after the installation of seats - (not, of course, that anyone at Liverpool objected to that) - and St John, like all devotees of the club, recalls the terraced Kop`s 'unique swaying and singing. After all, at rock concerts they stand. You do it better standing up.'
But, through the dark days of the trauma which necessitated those seats, the tradition has survived and the perspective has sharpened. On the Kop, they love Liverpool but they understand that, without an opponent, there isn`t a game. Without Watford and Swansea, and even Everton and Manchester United, Liverpool is a pretty pointless entity.
Pointless is precisely what Saturday became for Liverpool. Happily, the Kop offered that pointlessness some meaning.