Before I ever set foot in Cambridge, the one thing I knew I was going to do in my brief time in the UK was go to a Liverpool game. I didn’t know when I would go, but I was going to go, come hell or high water. Then a few weeks ago I found out that I might be able to get tickets to a Liverpool vs. Everton match, the Merseyside derby. And, with that, I promptly left Cambridge for Merseyside.

I have been a diehard Liverpool supporter ever since I laid my hands on FIFA 10. It was here that I discovered the revolutionary tactic of Steven Gerrard punting the ball over everyone’s heads and Fernando Torres chasing it down and scoring with a sublime finish. Or whatever you call mashing the B button repeatedly.

Even though I was aware of their proximity, the first thing that struck me as fellow Varsity writer Raiyan Azmi and I drove into Liverpool was how close Everton and Liverpool’s respective homes are. Goodison Park is barely a mile away from Anfield, with only a park and a few houses separating the two rivals. Despite arriving several hours before kick-off, the streets were already teeming with fans in both red and blue shirts.

The tension was palpable. Not just because of the match, but because Raiyan is actually a Manchester United supporter. I thought we might be viewed as the enemy, or that we might be an easy target for the Merseyside angst that was hanging in the air like an English drizzle. So he kept his allegiance closely under wraps as we made our way into the stadium.

Entering Anfield, we were joined by a procession of Liverpool fans, most of whom walked directly from their house to the game. It was a scene familiar to sports fans the world over, almost identical to the hundreds of baseball games I’ve attended in the States.

But as we took our seats waiting for kick-off, things slowly started to change. I realised we were sitting quite close to the away section, full to the rafters with Everton fans. The inevitable verbal sparring began. It was difficult not to get wrapped up in the jibes coming from the Liverpool fans; ‘F***ing w*nkers!’ and ‘Blue and white sh*te’ seemed to be the two most popular. Then there was a taunt about Everton’s failure to win a trophy since 1995, which seemed comparatively tame. Facts have no place in arguments about sports.

Now I was well aware of the fact that football is referred to as a gentlemen's game played by hooligans. But having spent most of my time in the UK in Cambridge and London, it was still a culture shock. And I loved it. In my mind, too many sporting arenas in the US have become corporate and family friendly. While obviously it’s important for kids to feel welcome, these stadiums have lost some of their all-important soul and, as a result, their intimidation factor. What is the advantage of playing on your home pitch if you cannot scare the opposing team? If the away side is not trembling with fear as they walk out onto the pitch, then something is wrong.

But nothing was wrong with the atmosphere at Anfield. The hostility between the Liverpool and Everton fans was enjoyable, even if I got on the wrong side of one Liverpool fan by showing too much blue on my joint Liverpool-Everton scarf. Regardless, hearing 40,000 Liverpool supporters belt out ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ was a truly amazing experience. My only regret is that this kind of fiery local derby is something of a dying breed.