Since 2001, going to Anfield is all I’ve ever known. From the start of next season, though, I’ll be doing so from a seat I can finally call my own.
Next January will mark a quarter of a century since the first time I clicked myself through the turnstiles of one of football’s most iconic cathedrals.
A few weeks after that, my dad showed some foresight in putting both our names on the waiting list for a season ticket, blissfully unaware of the slog we were signing ourselves up to.
Much of Anfield and the football club as a whole have become unrecognisable as those years have ticked by. That the waiting list lives on and continues to be honoured – albeit at a snail’s pace – offers vindication for a select few and proof that perseverance can pay off.
Diminishing returns
Fluctuations in Liverpool’s modern-era ticket demand can be bookmarked by the two 21st-century European Cups.
While we will always boast a global fanbase to rival any, years in the wilderness preceding both demonstrated that access hasn’t always been quite as scarce as it is now.
We recently reached the 20th anniversary of Istanbul, a transformative night in the club’s history in so many ways. It seems unthinkable now that the Reds’ opening group game on the road to Turkey that season attracted just 33,517 to Anfield.
Something was building, though, and one of my early footballing memories includes queueing outside the ticket office to secure our spot on the Kop for one of Anfield’s greatest nights against Chelsea that May.
Remarkably, a season ticket alone was more or less enough to guarantee you a ticket for the showpiece at the Ataturk, worlds apart from the ballot anguish fans face whenever Liverpool make it to club football’s grandest stage nowadays.
Attending every home game en route to a final in this day and age merely lands you roughly a one-in-four chance of success in a post-Jurgen Klopp universe – though UEFA are also more than partially culpable for that. Winning ol’ Big Ears has been a common denominator in terms of elevating Liverpool fandom into new stratospheres.
I was able to book a ticket to the 2005 ball without a season ticket at the time, but any hope of reaping similar rewards via that exclusive club were drifting rather than drawing any closer.
Further false dawns came with the development of Anfield. The ground increased its capacity by around 16,000 with the expansion of the Main Stand and the Anfield Road End, nudging me and my dad – along with thousands of others – closer towards the promised land but still tantalisingly out of reach.
Hitting the jackpot
In amongst that, the decision was taken by the club to close the waiting list altogether. One would suspect there is a high chance it may never open again and this in and of itself adds another layer of mystique to the elusiveness of a season ticket.
At last check 12 months ago, we had roughly just 200 people left in front of us in the queue. And yet, the understandable reluctance of all active season ticket holders to relinquish their prized possession from their inner circle at the very least left us assuming that the end remained out of sight.
When I tweeted, off-the-cuff, a screenshot of my season ticket offer earlier this month, I was caught off guard by the volume of responses ranging from congratulatory to perplexity.
With the waiting list becoming a closed shop, let alone a season ticket itself, reaching the top of the tree has turned into an inherently fabled enterprise.
25 years later I can finally call myself a season ticket holder ? pic.twitter.com/5f0SoXx3Oc
— Adam Beattie (@beatts94) June 2, 2025
But in reality, this hasn’t been a journey of struggle. Following Liverpool as a member for almost a quarter of a century has been a privilege and being able to now do so as a season ticket holder is simply the icing on the cake.
Being able to watch the team you fell in love with as a toddler reach and win major finals year on year at close quarters is the stuff of dreams. Chelsea in 2005, Barcelona in 2019, everything in between.
Unknowingly, my life as a member ended in paradise. When Virgil van Dijk lifted the Premier League trophy in front of a packed house my football-watching life felt complete. Every wish fulfilled and every major trophy now seen with my own eyes in Liverpool hands.
What happens next?
Of course, there are plenty of things we won’t miss.
During the famous 2019/20 season we missed out on the European ‘autocup’ ballot, resorting to hospitality tickets to avoid the risk of dropping down the credit ladder and potentially missing out on future Champions League finals.
From a purely financial standpoint, it is perhaps not such a bad thing that Adrian chose to throw in a stinker that night!
It also saves the biannual scramble of the members’ sale for 13+ credit holders, but this all pails into insignificance when compared with the genuine struggles of fans trying to make their way in today’s merry-go-round.
Supporting the Reds in 2025 is a battle from a matchgoing perspective. A season ticket is the equivalent to winning the lottery and the decades fans spend waiting for the nod illustrates such.
Just three days separated the email from football’s answer to Willy Wonka and the process of picking a league seat for the final time, following a tease back in April hinting that this summer could finally be the end of the road.
The process involved in picking a season ticket seat was identical to any other sale, only more straightforward given the lack of ‘competitors’ in the queue.
Hitting ‘confirm’ on this occasion, however, was infinitely more liberating than usual. It would likely sound trivial to a non-football supporter but the meaning of having a place to call home every other week is difficult to quantify.
If you’re still on the list, keep the faith!
