The celebration was for all the glorious yesterdays of the Spion Kop and Liverpool Football Club. Now the Anfield carnival is over and there's an empty feeling, a great sense of loss for the most famous standing area in the world and the most awesome playing power the English game has seen.
"No seats, No seats," shouted most of the 16,480 packed on to those terraces but they knew it was their last stand. "No team, No team," was the plaintive cry of those who turned their attention briefly to events on the pitch, the match well won by Norwich City with a superb strike from Jeremy Goss.
My minders at the crushing centre of the Kop, Aidy Reilly, his brother Greg, cousin James Cuthbert and mates from St Helens, certainly felt that way. "The atmosphere was great but the game was disappointing," said Aidy, a 21-year-old carpet fitter who first attended matches in 1980 with his good friend Mike Sheron, the Manchester City striker. "It's not only the Kop that should be going but some of the players as well."
They all agreed: "Before we had players who could respond to the Kop. Now they're not good enough."
James, studying to be a doctor, is worried about the cost of a season-ticket for a seat. He intends to be there - as does everyone else I spoke to, despite the deafening protests about seats.
I still find something strange in those protests. The Hillsborough tragedy of 1989 that forced the legislation for all-seater stadia cost the lives of 96 Liverpool supporters, most of them Koppites. "Not everybody sings that," insists Aidy. "Everybody knows there are going to be seats. But they start these chants and people just join in."
My big mistake was standing behind a crush barrier. It was painful and frightening to be squashed every time those behind pushed forward. The lads, youngest 16 - oldest 21, made up a much younger crowd than the one I stood among on my first visit to the Kop in 1963. They forced a space and I was able to duck underneath to the other side of the barrier. It was still very uncomfortable. I wondered how at one time 30,000 stood on those terraces. It was also very hot.
"I was starting my diet on Tuesday but I've lost two stones already," cracked one burly character.
Watching a game like this is for the young and fit, give me a seat any time. Oh, and I can confirm that those who can't push their way to a toilet use a rolled-up newspaper. They seem ready to put up with almost anything.
I did not discover the secret of getting flag poles into the ground past vigilant policemen at the turnstiles. "Where there's a will there's a way," said a fan waving one of the biggest banners.
They went through the full repertoire, ancient and modern, with the occasional adaptation - "You're supposed to let us win," ... "We only sing when we're losing," ... "We only sing when we're standing," ... "We'll be standing on the seats."
They displayed that legendary sportsmanship. "Great goal," I heard all round me as the ball left Goss' foot. They didn't know then, 10 minutes before half-time, it would be the last scored in front of the Kop.
I don't think I've ever heard a greater reception than when Nessie Shankly, widow of the legendary Bill, walked out on one side of Joe Fagan with Jessie Paisley, wife of Bob, on the other, and then when Kenny Dalglish was introduced.
"We've been pushed, pulled, squashed, we've lost our programmes and everything, we've lost the game but never mind. It's been a great day," summed up Aidy.
As for Roy Evans, a Koppite now the manager, he said: "It was about the Kop and all our fans. Pity we were not in the same class."
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