Departure of God, 2003

What can one say about gods? Followers will assert that their particular deity is right and just and honest and fair - more so than the next god or spirit. But as for the God of Anfield? What to say about him, now that he’s gone?
The supporters of the Liverpool Reds have been treated to some of the greatest displays of football in history. Now everyone knows that Pélé is the greatest player of all time. In terms of goals, technique, international experience, World Cups, class, and honour, there is no-one to match the Man. Even on Anfield, there are superlative legends - King Kenny, who led the team to their first ever league and FA Cup double as a player-manager - and Special K, who led the team to their first European Cup before leaving for Hamburg to win two European player of the year awards, and then returning to England to transform Newcastle into a top-flight side.
Liverpool created the standard of English excellence by winning four European Cups in seven years. By always challenging and being competitive. After such a tradition, who could possibly assume the role of God? If Liverpool’s most dominant midfielder, most devastating player-manager, and even the highest goal scorer in English football competition, in the person of one Ian Rush, could not assume deital status, who could?
The answer lies in a little lad from Toxteth, one of the less affluent areas of Merseyside. A local boy who was recruited to play for Liverpool Schoolboys, he soon surpassed all scoring records in his league. He soon replicated that form at the highest level, scoring a hat-trick on his league debut with the Reds. He went on to score 151 goals for the club in 377 games, by far the greatest goals per game average by any LFC player. Along the way, he gained cult status among the fans by, amongst other antics, revealing an undershirt after scoring a goal against Arsenal which spoofed the “Calvin Klein” logo, by saying “Support the 500 Sacked DoCKers”, who were on strike at the time.
Robbie was, and is, a working class hero. He truly represents what John Lennon found noble, true and honourable about Merseysiders when he wrote the song. It is a sad day when we consider his career away from Anfield.
On a personal note, Robbie was always my favourite because he was a contrast to the other stellar talent on display in the 90’s - Steve McManaman. I loved watching Steve play. I felt tears well up in my eyes when I heard Sir Stanley Matthews say “That boy can dribble”. I relished every one of his goals. But Robbie was always my man. I could see Rushie telling him to track back and help the midfielders, even hear the Welsh Kop legend shouting at him to help the backs clear corners. And he always had a nose for the net. Not the most attractive nose, particularly when you consider the plaster that he used to wear upon it to help dilate his nostrils and allow him to breathe easier, but a nose with a killer instinct. Keener than Gary Lineker, sharper than Jimmy Greaves - that’s Robbie. Not the fastest. Not the hardest. But when you need the job done, there’s no other man more capable of doing it.
Good-bye Robbie. Good-bye God. The pantheon of Liverpool will be poorer for your absence tonight.