Andy Robertson revealed how he tricked his team-mates into believing he would wear the Chelsea shirt the night Liverpool were confirmed their Premier League title.
The Reds met coach Juergen Klopp And his coaching crew on Thursday evening, June 25th, to watch Chelsea play at home to Manchester City.
Robertson and his teammates knew that if City dropped points at Stamford Bridge, they would be declared England champions for the first time since 1990.
As the team gathered at the Formby Hall Golf Resort in Merseyside, when they hoped it would be a title celebration, Robertson brought up the idea of attending the Chelsea group.
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In his new book, It will be released later this week, Robertson explains how he pulled the sweatshirt out of his wardrobe that day, before a series of unflattering WhatsApp responses made him think twice.
And Captain of Scotland He detailed what it was like on the night Liverpool’s 30-year wait for the No. 19 League title ended.
This is what he wrote:
What should you wear if you are a Liverpool player preparing for what could be the greatest day of your football career yet? Easy – Chelsea shirt.
While the rest of the boys were preparing for a barbecue we were all hoping it would turn into a title-winning party, I went to my wardrobe and pulled out the shirt that Billy Gilmore gave me a few months ago.
Wearing it, it felt a little warm but was choosing the color, not the fit. A quick selfie followed and I posted the photo to the group chat right away.
Hey guys, what’s the dress for tonight? I asked and a series of unrewarding responses and emojis sent my phone to boost the speed. I thought “shorts and shirts”.
Not that I was being serious anyway. I just wanted to give the boys a chance to enjoy pop music but there was no doubt that for one night and one night only, everyone in Liverpool would support Chelsea. All they need is a tie and we will be champions.
At this point it was only a matter of time, however. Even if City win at Stamford Bridge, the question is still a question of time rather than whether we will finish the job. But after waiting thirty years to win the league, no one linked to Liverpool wanted the delay continued.
Yes, we were in a luxurious setting and if all we took out for the night was some decent food and drink, none of us would complain about us, but when the cup is so close that you can reach and touch it, you just want someone to push it in your arms.
I didn’t say this to anyone else, but I had no doubts tonight was going to be. Fate and I felt this way from the moment we walked off the field after we beat Palace.
The hope was that we would win the league at Anfield, or if it didn’t, the fans were telling us it would be a good idea to be champion on the ground of one of our competitors. But from the moment we got together at the Formby Hall, expectations have increased for that to happen there.
We are used to watching matches as a group but usually it is in a professional environment and there is definitely no yeast in the show, so I once felt like we were just a group of guys enjoying a game in the bar.
We all sat in rows, watching intently, and there was some conservative celebration as Chelsea took the lead at the end of the first half. We were all a Chelsea fan all night long but it was still too early to drift.
Things got a little more exciting when De Bruyne equalized because that heightened tension and we were all a TV adviser whenever a decision was not made in our way or a Chelsea player missed or missed an opportunity. We really got involved in it all – you’ll never hear forty men silent like we did whenever City came forward, especially when Sterling hit the post.
For the first time, I realized what I am putting into my family when I play a big game. May God help them. Being a player can be stressful, especially when there is a lot at stake, but at least you are very much in control of your destiny.
As a fan, all you can do is hope other people deliver on your behalf which is why we spent the second half urging Chelsea as if our screams from Formby could be heard two hundred miles away at Stamford Bridge.
I actually owe Tami Abraham an apology for having been damning him when I wasted two chances to give Chelsea the lead. The ball was bouncing into City’s six yards and Big Tami had to score but the ball somehow didn’t get in. And it was only when the rematch appeared that Fernandinho used his hand to stop him.
It didn’t even occur to me that anything unwanted would happen. I shouted “penalty kick.” “You have to give that.” During the VAR intervention, we saw two other angles that showed just how terrible it was. “He must go!”
At that moment, we were like anyone in the Red Half of Liverpool, screaming at TV and trying to shape events with sheer willpower. There wasn’t much tension, it was completely irrational.
Regardless of what happened, we still have seven games in which we can draw the one point we would need if City wins. But football is not rational. We feel it and when it really matters the emotions take over.
That’s why we were all a tipster on a broadcast of a match we couldn’t influence on a night when only delaying the date, not denying it. Which is also why we celebrated as we were in the same cup when Willian scored the penalty kick after it finally counted.
Not only were Chelsea ahead 2-1, but City fell to ten men due to Fernandinho’s dismissal. All that remains is for the minutes to run and we will be heroes.
I headed straight to the toilet. It wasn’t nerves, it was a tactical decision. I knew if Chelsea continued the celebrations would be huge and I didn’t want to miss a second.
I was sitting up front next to Hendo and until Willian scored a goal, I was having a little fun at his expense, telling him to start grooming his checkered feet – until he put me back in my box. He said, “Do you shut up Robo.” “Yes No Problem.
That’s what I was told. ”If Siti had gone ahead, I think he might have killed me there and then, so I didn’t do it again. There was no chance I could take any chance. I didn’t feel any nervous, but it understood others were.
Ali got in for the last ten minutes because he couldn’t stand watching. My father was probably the only person in the world who would have been more nervous than him at that point.
I’d been messaging with him, mom, Rachel, and a few of my friends throughout the match, but as the seconds went by I was focusing so hard on what was going on on screen to disturb me with my phone.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . “Champions. Champions. Ole Ole! Champions.
Champions. Ole Ole ole … ”
Robbo: You’re Gonna Believe Us Now On Sale Thursday, September 17th accesssportshop.com At a discount of 25%. E-book also available, audiobook soon.
