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Dicko

Martin Wild: The Victim Without A Voice.

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Well done, Dicko. You've just given him a little bit acknowledgement by posting this.

 

Sadly that his family never got to see the verdict yesterday.

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19 March 2002. Most of you will remember it fondly. Liverpool 2 Roma 0. Houllier returned after his heart attack. He came down the tunnel and the noise level didn't change. It was already at 11, so fervent was Anfield. An auld fella I knew in work was a proper things-were-better-in-my-day type, a veteran of Inter and St-Etienne. His verdict? "9/10". A great night.

 

It was 10/10 for me, not just because it was my first (only) big European night at hte ground, but I met my wife. We were introduced by a mutual friend and here we are, still together. We spent the first decade basically enjoying each other's company to the max. Kids seemed like an imposition on that happy way of life.

 

By 2013 though things had changed. Biological clocks were probably the main reason, but another thing that had changed was the economic and political situation. Since 2008 the world was in the grip of a downturn and those who believed that all taxation was theft had seized their chance to shrink the state in the name of austerity. Work longer. Work harder. Earn less. Reduced job security. Fewer benefits. Fewer protections. There is no such thing as society, there are individual men and women and there are families. If this was the way it was going to be, I'd better set about getting me one of those.

 

(I think you'll also find the set of those who inflict austerity on us is an almost perfect overlap with the set of those who brought the Hillsborough disaster to the world. But I digress...)

 

So on 2 July 2013, we brought mini-me into this world. There have been plenty of moments when I yearn for those relatively carefree days when we could go to matches together, drink what we liked, stay up as long as we liked and stay in bed as long as we liked. But quite apart from the pleasures he brings now, he's an investment, isn't he? He's been helpless for so much of his life so far, but the day might come when I'm helpless and I hope he'll be there so I can get a return on that investment. 

 

Then I listened to that programme. Did Martin Wild's brother pre-decease his father? How did his dad manage after his 'investment' was taken from him? This is all very me-me-me, but I don't mind admitting the programme didn't just make me sad. It angered me, It scared me. I'm sure my boy will support Liverpool - his mother wouldn't have it any other way, if nothing else. Did Martin Wild's dad ever regret the days that Martin first got the bug, went to Anfield, went to an away game, went to a big cup match? I saw someone on one of the recent news programmes refer to the "hundreds" who died at Hillsborough. The suicides. The broken families. The broken hearts. Thanks for sharing, Dicko. Justice for the 96+.

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19 March 2002. Most of you will remember it fondly. Liverpool 2 Roma 0. Houllier returned after his heart attack. He came down the tunnel and the noise level didn't change. It was already at 11, so fervent was Anfield. An auld fella I knew in work was a proper things-were-better-in-my-day type, a veteran of Inter and St-Etienne. His verdict? "9/10". A great night.

 

It was 10/10 for me, not just because it was my first (only) big European night at hte ground, but I met my wife. We were introduced by a mutual friend and here we are, still together. We spent the first decade basically enjoying each other's company to the max. Kids seemed like an imposition on that happy way of life.

 

By 2013 though things had changed. Biological clocks were probably the main reason, but another thing that had changed was the economic and political situation. Since 2008 the world was in the grip of a downturn and those who believed that all taxation was theft had seized their chance to shrink the state in the name of austerity. Work longer. Work harder. Earn less. Reduced job security. Fewer benefits. Fewer protections. There is no such thing as society, there are individual men and women and there are families. If this was the way it was going to be, I'd better set about getting me one of those.

 

(I think you'll also find the set of those who inflict austerity on us is an almost perfect overlap with the set of those who brought the Hillsborough disaster to the world. But I digress...)

 

So on 2 July 2013, we brought mini-me into this world. There have been plenty of moments when I yearn for those relatively carefree days when we could go to matches together, drink what we liked, stay up as long as we liked and stay in bed as long as we liked. But quite apart from the pleasures he brings now, he's an investment, isn't he? He's been helpless for so much of his life so far, but the day might come when I'm helpless and I hope he'll be there so I can get a return on that investment. 

 

Then I listened to that programme. Did Martin Wild's brother pre-decease his father? How did his dad manage after his 'investment' was taken from him? This is all very me-me-me, but I don't mind admitting the programme didn't just make me sad. It angered me, It scared me. I'm sure my boy will support Liverpool - his mother wouldn't have it any other way, if nothing else. Did Martin Wild's dad ever regret the days that Martin first got the bug, went to Anfield, went to an away game, went to a big cup match? I saw someone on one of the recent news programmes refer to the "hundreds" who died at Hillsborough. The suicides. The broken families. The broken hearts. Thanks for sharing, Dicko. Justice for the 96+.

 

 

My auntie blames Hillsborough for my uncle dying of a liver disease in January. No-one else in the family has really mentioned it but she believes he hit the bottle after that (which he did) and that caused him to become an alcoholic. He got dry a few times and probably spent a good 10/12 years sober since 1989 (he was 24 at Hillsborough) but the damage was done. He used to follow Liverpool everywhere in the 80's. He went to about 6 football matches after that day. 

 

My cousin helped them sort his house out after it and his spare room was full of footy programmes, Liverpool scarves, Tickets etc. All from the 80's. 

 

All so sad. 

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Rest in peace Buddy. So sad reading that, i didn't think there was more that could surprise me and choke me up about this anymore but there is always one more thing... one more life cut short and all that entails...what could have beens and stuff... that's what these bastards stole. How the fuck do you measure that. I don't know how they look in the fucking mirror in the morning i really don't. 

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