fyds est un de nos forumeurs.c'est lui qui nous certifie que kuyt viendra cet été.
il habite à liverpool.
il etait à hillsborough.voici sa réaction au récit de kenny daglish .
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I didn't cry reading that, I didn't cry at the time. I don't speak about Hillsborough much because I don't know how to phrase what I feel, felt, am feeling. On the day, like many I was there as I had been at Heysel - only here the circumstances were different, the outcome incredibly even worse.
I was down in the corner next to the Leppings lane end and have memories of seeing someone appear from nowhere, some early middleaged guy, gripping his ribs on the right hand side, his face white, his lips blue. He took a few wooden steps and fell to his knees, then on to his back just in front of the corner flag. This may have been the same guy Kev saw. I don't recall anything other than flashes of what happened next, once those of us in that corner could see something was going badly wrong.
Tearing at the fencing. Shouting 'For f*cks sake stay on your feet, stay on your feet!' Kids being almost thrown over and through gaps in the fence. Trying to remember St John's ambulance training. Wondering where my mate's lad was. Telling a Helmeted policeman to either help or f*ck off. It seemed to go on for hours and then, and then...
Then the shock. The unimaginability of it all. People everywhere crying, or like me staring at nothingness. No words. We came to watch a football match, we came to watch a f*cking football match, you terrible, terrible basta*ds.
I don't remember leaving the ground. I don't remember getting home, or when. I do remember my foster brother was waiting by our Flat door as he had no idea if I would be coming home at all.
I remember the pain. I remember my friend's pain when he buried his 17 year old lad a week or so later. That I won't forget. And I'll never forget what those basta*ds wrote about us either, and that I won't forgive.
Home 
