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“The soul that has conceived one wickedness can nurse no good thereafter.”
— Sophocles
The Macro
A ticket for a free pint. That was all that separated me, and my son, from an act of villainy.
I had travelled to Liverpool from May 24 to 26 with my son (currently studying in the U.K.) to see the parade celebrating the Liverpool Football Club’s historic English Premier League title. My rationale for enduring the cost of the trip, and the physical demands of attending the event, was twofold.
My son and I share a love of LFC and being able to experience the parade together was the chance of a lifetime.
And, given my beloved Toronto Maple Leafs posed no immediate threat to host a championship parade, I felt it was better to seize this opportunity now rather than say I never had the experience.
For those who may want to attend a future championship parade for a U.K. or European soccer team, be warned: these gatherings are a concentrated blend of the unbridled passion, toxic tribalism and poor impulse control that often tarnishes the beautiful game.
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We arrived in Liverpool city centre around noon, roughly four hours before the parade was to arrive on Strand Street, the broad waterfront thoroughfare that features many of the city’s most famous buildings. To ensure we had some relief from the elements, I procured tickets to a parade viewing party at a restaurant on Water Street that faced the Strand.
Fighting our way through the dense crowds and police barriers, we ducked into the viewing party around 1 p.m.
A quick burger and a couple of pints later, we decided to try and find a spot to see the double-decker bus carrying the English Premier League trophy and all the players.
The crowd on the northbound lanes of Strand Street was so densely packed we couldn’t get closer than about 40 metres from the southbound lanes where the bus would be passing by.
For the next three hours, we huddled in the rain and wiped red-flare smoke from our eyes. And then, after hours of driving rain, it was over in the blink of a smoke-filled eye. The bus ambled by, blaring club music and largely obscured by the smoke.
As is the case with many events like this, all of my planning went into how and when to get there. I hadn’t really thought about what to do afterwards. And then I put a hand into my pants pocket and found a soggy ticket for two pints.
Nodding in agreement, my son and I snaked our way through the packed crowd to the restaurant. For some reason I can no longer remember, I snapped a picture of the crowd on Water Street where, post free pints, we would have to make our way up and out of the city centre.
Water Street in Liverpool (Dan Lett photo)
About 20 minutes later, people started rushing into the restaurant in a panic, claiming someone had driven a car into the crowd. We donned our rain gear and headed out to a scene of complete pandemonium.
Dozens of cops in high-visibility yellow jackets were running along Strand Street towards the intersection at Water Street. They were screaming at people to stay back. Farther up Water Street, you could hear and see a throbbing mass of people struggling with police.
It turned out a mob had surrounded a dark grey Ford minivan that had inexplicably driven down Water Street towards the Strand, plowing through the dense crowd. At last count, more than 100 people had been injured.
The minivan had come to rest about 20 metres from the front doors of the restaurant where we were taking refuge from the rain.
As the mayhem unfolded in front of us, I looked at my phone and saw it was just a few minutes after 6 p.m. Then, I looked at the time stamp on the picture of Water Street I had taken before ducking back into the restaurant: 5:47 pm.
If we had departed right after the parade, maybe we would have been clear of the intersection where the van turned down Water Street. Maybe not.
Days later, we would learn this wasn’t a deliberate act or politically motivated terrorism. It was just a guy in a car trying to drive down a street where he shouldn’t have been driving, panicking and leaving a trail of carnage in his path.
Given the amount I travel, and some of the exotic places I have been, perhaps it was inevitable I would eventually experience a brush with infamy like this.
Attacks involving vehicles are becoming more and more common all over the world. Go anywhere there are going to be big crowds, and I guess you run the risk of experiencing this kind of terror.
I’ve replayed the order of events in my mind over and over again. I’ve repeated my quiet thanks to whatever deity or agent of fate conspired to keep us off the street when the van turned down Water Street.
And I’ve never been so thankful I’m not the sort of bloke who turns down a free pint.
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