The Allianz Arena: Inspiration for Merseyside?

Any negotiation on a subject as sensitive as an Everton/Liverpool ground share needs to be broached carefully and with sensitivity. Views amongst supporters of both clubs are deeply entrenched and a majority of Blues and Reds are probably against the idea. The commercial logic is, as they say, a no-brainer, but gaining broad-based acceptance of the concept is quite another matter. It is therefore highly significant that the first feelers in this latest round have come from Anfield and in the person of Kenny Dalglish, a man still employed by the club, and a man universally admired and respected by the Red half of the City. The view from the top at Goodison has always been that they would listen to any proposals and it is significant that Bill Kenwright has, with lightning speed, responded positively to Dalglish’s feelers. 

None of us should be against sharing a stadium with Liverpool, no matter how much our knees jerk against it. The rivalry between the Blues and the Reds is different from others; we are related. People forget that back in the sepia tinged pre-history of football, we sloshed about in the same primordial soup. For nearly thirty years we shared a matchday programme – with Everton and Liverpool Reserves one week, and Liverpool and Everton Reserves the next. There is a natural symmetry to a ground share with the Reds. One club sliced into two early in our common history. Now we could be grafted together like conjoined twins, once split but reunited again; still with our own identities but sharing living space. The Allianz Arena in Munich offers obvious inspiration; depending on who is playing there the whole exterior is lit up in blue, red, or white (a nice touch for a bid to be a World Cup stadium).

The commercial logic is as certain as death and taxes, it is cold, hard and brutal. Match-day takings at The Emirates Stadium average £3.3 mln., the equivalent figure at Goodison is £800,000 and at Anfield £1.3 mln. Both clubs are falling further and further behind; we are running barefoot in sand, Arsenal, Man United, City, Chelsea and (soon) Spurs are on a track, wearing spikes and taking steroids. Sharing a state-of-the-art stadium would, not only substantially increase match-day revenues, but also reduce  the stadium operating costs as born by each club, thus leaving both in a stronger financial position. A 60,000 seater stadium would cost close to £300m., however sharing would bring the distinct possibility that Liverpool City Council and the North West Development Agency would contribute. Additionally the fact that the stadium was shared by two top flight clubs would attract lucrative naming rights from the corporate sector.

For fans though, this isn’t about sensibly stated facts, it’s  about deep-rooted emotions. No Evertonian wants to say goodbye to Goodison because we worry that we would be waving adieu to all the legends and memories. Dixie Dean, the gluttonous striker who went from zero to sixty in one season. Tommy Lawton, our Brylcreemed assassin, shooting daggers at goal whenever he played or Alex Young, fine bone china skillfully sliding through a bull market of defenders. As these tales, and countless more, are passed on we still have Goodison to frame them. Both clubs have stellar histories – and the stardust must sit heavily on the shoulders of the  current players.  But what if we leave the Old Lady? The very real fear of many is that if we turn our back on Goodison we turn away everything that has made us great, and our history would float off into the horizon until it is a tiny speck. When baseball fans drive past the old Detroit Tigers ground, where Joe Dimaggio and Babe Ruth played, they wistfully pine for the old wooden stadium, forgetting about the glorious new one. History warps and twists in our hearts and perhaps occupies more space than it should. Matthew Syed has written about the “recency effect”, where there is a “tendency to weigh recent events more than earlier events” but equally we should not be ruled by history, a place where legends grow and the truth sometimes shrinks.

The barren interregnum between the mid-eighties and now, with both teams still striving for anything like the success they had back then, has clearly frayed nerves. The media leeches and ticks want to chime in, but this isn’t their debate – this is our decision, not theirs.

Somewhere along the line, the friendly derby took on a nasty tinge, and many fans sway against a groundshare between the two clubs. Even at its very worst though, the relationship between Blue and Red on Merseyside isn’t even close to Barca-Real or Rangers-Celtic; teams press-ganged by history into mutual enmity. This is neither Spanish morbo nor religious sectarianism nor Italian vendetta. This is sibling rivalry. There was a time when we sat together, sang together (“Merseyside, Merseyside!”) and dominated the league together. This changed. We hate it when our friends become successful. We are jealous because they didn’t miss the boat for the top four like we did. We now get under their skin because we are starting to catch up after years spent beached at the wrong half of the table.

Cabbies Jimmy Plunkett and Tommy Atkinson set up a mile of red and blue scarves, an umbilical cord from Anfield to Goodison after the Hillsbrough Disaster. After Rhys Jones’ murder, Z-Cars played at Anfield and the Liverpool Unites charity put Everton in purple shirts – mixing the colours of the two tribes. Does solidarity like this always have to come after tragedy? Special-relationship is an overused and cliched phrase, parrotted out by goons like Bush and Blair – but like it or not Everton and Liverpool do have a special relationship.

Some will shake their heads until this idea is shot down. Some Reds will scream until their faces turn blue, and some Blues will shout until their cheeks turn red. But to retain our history, a communal stadium with Liverpool, is the best idea for the People’s Club: fact. How can we guarantee that we don’t see our hard fought history flutter away? By combining with our historic rivals,  meeting across Stanley Park, by swallowing our pride and sharing with the enemy in a halfway house of Blue and Red. A stadium that befits the most successful footballing square mile in Britain, if not the world.

Moving home was always going to be an extremely testy subject. The very idea of it swills around our mouths until we spit it out like particularly disgusted wine-tasters.

It looks like we have three options with regards to our footballing home. First option, which should Kirkby go belly up will become even more viable, is to stay at Goodison, attempting to remodel our beautiful and historic stadium. For those who hate change (and as an Evertonian, force-fed past glory but starved of modern day success, how can we be anything BUT traditionalists) this looks like the least painful option. We stay in our beloved home and try and redevelop not a seismic shift, but a comfortable makeover for the Old Lady.

The second option is to move to Kirkby and “leave” the city of Liverpool. I am undecided about this one, only a heartless and brainwashed Orwellian Premier League Party Member would wave goodbye to such a beautiful old stadium and with it a mountain of memories, careworn laughter lines and crows feet. However, we have to move a few painful thorns from this argument.

First of all, we are only “moving out of the city” on a very dubious technicality. Try telling Terry McDermott or Alan Stubbs that Kirkby isn’t in Liverpool. As much as the red side of town wants to believe that Everton are moving to a desolate atoll, we will in reality only be a handful of miles from Goodison. The other thing we have to realise is that we voted for this – this isn’t a decision being forced on us by a distant and vengeful oil-igarch – but actually the result of a pretty fair plebiscite vote. Lastly, we have to at least take this option seriously, and give it time to breathe without the “Tesco Kirbydome” tag being foisted on it at the first chance. A new, bigger stadium will ultimately bring in more money, and we are a million miles and four decades distant from our Merseyside Millionaires moniker.

If leaving Goodison for Kirkby is tough, then how about the third option? A ground share with Liverpool. The knee jerk reaction is “not on your life, not in a month of Super Sundays”…But take a step back, take a deep breath. This could make sense.

By sharing we can get a bigger and better stadium than Kirkby, that much is obvious. One end, presumably, will be Blue, and the other red. Warren Bradley and his acolytes may feel that this is the only option if Merseyside wants to be involved in England’s bid to host the World Cup – as neither Anfield nor Goodison compare to the two vast and modern stadia across the M62 in Manchester. To be honest, the idea of the city of Liverpool hosting a World Cup barely registers on my footballing radar – after losing one of our greatest young talents to Manchester, do we really care about a Mancunian stadium playing host to a World Cup game?

Of course, for many – including me – this isn’t about sensibly stated facts, its about deep-rooted emotions. No Evertonian wants to say goodbye to Goodison because we worry that we would be saying goodbye to all the legends and memories. Dixie Dean, the gluttonous striker who told a different story with each of his goals, even though every tale ended the same; with the meeting of ball with net. Or Alex Young, fine bone china skillfully sliding through a bull market. As these tales, and countless more, are passed on we still have Goodison to frame them. But what if we leave the Old Lady? The very real fear of many is if we turn our back on Goodison we turn away everything that has made us great.

There is a strange symmetry to a ground share with the reds. One club split into two early in our common history, and now we could be grafted together like conjoined twins, long since split but now reunited again; still with our own identities but sharing living space. Is it possible to share with the enemy?

Even at its very worst, the relationship between Blue and red on Merseyside isn’t even close to Barca- Real or Rangers-Celtic, teams pressganged by history into mutual enmity. There was a time when we sat together, sang together and dominated the league together. The answer to why this has changed lies at the bottom of Morrisseys melancholy caterwauling We hate it when our friends become successful. We are jealous because they didn’t miss the boat for the top four like we did. We now get under their skin because we are starting to catch up after years spent beached at the wrong half of the table, they can no longer put their feet up and relax.

We need to realise that we are two sides of the same coin, Beardsley, Balmer, Morrissey, and Abblett and yes, even Abel Xavier. We are Blues dressed as reds Jamie Carragher and reds dressed as Blues Leon Osman. In the blue corner we have the punch drunk Rocky Balboa and in the red corner they have Joe Louis piston fists

Was I really the only one who wanted us to win the FA Cup and them to win the Premier League with the sound of Merseyside, Merseyside bobbing and weaving through the crowd in a Wembley season opener? This is neither Spanish morbo nor religious sectarianism or Italian vendetta. This is sibling rivalry.

Some will shake their heads until this idea is shot down. Some reds will scream until their faces turn blue, and some Blues will shout until their cheeks turn red. But to retain our history, a communal stadium with Liverpool, is the best idea for the Peoples Club: fact.

How can we guarantee that we dont see our hard fought history flutter away? By combining with our historic rivals, literally meeting halfway in Stanley Park. By swallowing our pride, sharing with the enemy in a halfway house of Blue and red. A stadium that befits, pound for pound, the most successful footballing citadel in the country.

We are disappointed by the decision. Having spent more than two years working diligently on a project which would not only provide Everton Football Club with a new home but also regenerate Kirkby, we had hoped to avoid a Government call-in.

It never rains but it pours…