Farewell Old Lady: Everton season ticket holder says goodbye to Goodison Park

Evertonian Richie Elder looks back at his life-long memories at Goodison Park as a new era begins at the club

I can’t remember the exact date, I can’t remember the opponent, but I remember my first walk up Goodison Road. I was holding my Dad’s hand; it was freezing cold, yet the streets were lined with people. The chatter was incessant. Big men were blowing into their hands between sentences, and the common utterance of ‘fancy these today boys’ was everywhere.

The stadium itself seemed to appear from nowhere in front of me, a fortress adorned with blue and the Everton crest. The sheer size of it too much for a little lad to comprehend. The smells are another thing I’ll never forget. It smelled like the fair, the potent aroma of fried onions and hot dogs.

We turned left at the top of Spellow Lane and up to our main stand turnstile, the man on there giving us a friendly nod as we passed. We must have been high up, as I remember climbing many flights of stairs. Then, the most abiding memory of the day. A vision I’ll remember till my passing day.

The green of the Goodison turf.

Goodison Park — Credit: JSvideos / Shutterstock

To my young eyes, it was enormous. The most vivid vista I’d laid eyes on. It had been raining all day, and the grass seemed to sparkle, the rain dancing and jumping on the surface as the

groundsmen carried out their matchday checks. We got to our seats and I remember the excitement was so palpable that I could almost taste it.

I was going to watch my heroes. I’d seen them on the telly before, but I needed to see them in the flesh to prove they were real and everything I’d built them up to be. I’d pretended to be these guyswhen playing in the garden or at school, and now I would see them live.

I remember wishing I was closer to the pitch, maybe hoping to get a high five from one of them as they warmed up, although it was probably because I wanted to catch a stray sweet from the toffee lady doing her laps around the pitch.

The noises were incredible. Every thud of footsteps or clap of hands seemed to echo inside my head. It was a sensory overload but one I was instantly addicted to. I had found my place in the world. I worshipped this club and its players.

Goodison Park was my altar.

Us Scousers all have funny bones, but some of the sharpest wit I’ve ever been lucky enough to witness is at the match. Grown men lost themselves in unbridled joy or rage dictated entirely by the 11 heroes they had come to watch. Often, the humour is unwitting, but that does nothing to diminish its bite. The same men they worship as heroes could be on the blunt end of their ire in an instant or be the recipient of the offer of their daughter’s hand in marriage seconds later.

The Grand Old Lady, as Goodison Park is known in football circles, groans under the weight of the history it’s witnessed. I could tell you about it being the country’s first custom-built football stadium

or share the fact it hosted five matches during the glorious 1966 World Cup campaign. But these stats, interesting as they might be, are not what Goodison is about. Not to me, anyway.

This place has been my one oasis of escape. A place where, for 90 minutes on a Saturday, nothing else matters. A place where, despite the obstructed view, creaky wooden seats and blistered paint, I experienced sheer ecstasy and utter heartbreak in equal measure. Goodison has a personality of its own, a monolith that frightens opponents and inspires its custodians.

Change, though, is inevitable. And in the corporate, money-driven world that is today’s top-flight football, standing still is akin to dying. Stadiums like ours are becoming obsolete, incapable of delivering the revenue required. The parting of ways has been inevitable yet unthinkable for years now.

Around 4:45 pm on May 18th, the curtain will come down on our glorious home, the last dance will have been performed and the stands will empty, never to fill again.

Goodison, you will never be forgotten.

You’ve been home to hundreds of thousands of Blues. The pilgrimage we considered our honour and duty to make on a Saturday will now lead somewhere else.

We will love our new home – we’re still Everton, after all. We all still bleed blue blood and cry blue tears. Now, it’ll just be somewhere else. But don’t mistake my words. We’re not going to find a replacement for Goodison Park. One doesn’t exist. My heart will lie there forever, etched with images of my heroes.

Thank You Goodison. You were always there and never asked anything in return. We are the privileged ones who got to say you were our home. Your legacy will live through our songs and memories, and we will see you before we close our eyes.

Our Goodison, our home.

There is nowhere else I would rather have been.