'May these special memories inspire the team to make more'

Those words are not the only thing Harry Maguire got right on Sunday.

I didn’t see his interview until much later, when the adrenaline had worn off and only the euphoria remained, but I’d lived them. In the Anfield away end, memories are made.

The joy of following your team on the road is that, when necessary, you can convince yourself that the result isn’t everything. When you’re surrounded by mates, and you bump into more along the way, and you’re in the middle of the highlight of your week, only for defeat to come, you can easily say, ‘well, we’ve had a good day aside from the game, at least.’

But such an ability to ‘cope’ with the pain of losing is only partially carved out by an enduring faith in Manchester United. It’s also brought to life by these special memories. You can live off these for a long time.

United’s players can’t live off these. They need to follow this up with another strong performance, showing a similar equilibrium of grit and quality, and then another, and another. But it will help them. They gave it everything. The result is a just reward, a vindication of the effort and the bravery with which they played. As for us fans, you can bet that there’ll be one topic when we Reds meet up again on Saturday lunchtime, before United host Brighton at Old Trafford: those memories.

The modern world has reduced a great goal celebration to just one word: SCENES. It’s appropriate enough. When you’re inside it, what a scene it is — worthy of a thousand words and more.

It begins with your eyes scanning, moving from the penalty box, where Bryan Mbeumo’s shot had been blocked, to back outside, where the ball was dropping to our captain. Some let out a slight groan, thinking Mbeumo’s shot had been destined to go in. But before they’ve even finished exhaling, Bruno Fernandes showed the quality that made him so beloved within a few minutes of his debut half a decade ago. He’s a risk-taker.

“I’d say 99 players out of 100 would have controlled that,” said Roy Keane, whose praise does not come lightly.

“If Bruno doesn’t get that right, we’re sitting here — all of us — going ‘you’ve got to take a touch’ but the top players will take risks. It’s fantastic.”

The sighs at Mbeumo’s blocked shot still fading, Bruno hit it first time. And then the ‘scenes’ begin, like a painting of a medieval battle, filled with small moments that for each person will live a lifetime. The intake of breath is the real start. It’s as if, for less than a second, the whole stadium has been submerged in water. The incessant sound of a Liverpool-United fixture suddenly muffles, and then we all come back up for air…

‘GO ON!’

‘HEAD IT!’

The stomachs of the home supporters lurch with concern. The bodies of the away fans surge forward in anticipation. You might lose your step or hit your shins against a seat, but your eyes can’t be drawn from the goalmouth. There, Maguire rises, riding the cries of hope from the supporters behind that goal, and heads…

‘YERRSSSSS!’

The defining sound of English football. Maybe less primal than the European ‘orrrrrrr’, more a consequence of how we talk ourselves through the game — ‘go on, yes…. YESSSS!’

Euphoric.

Every United goal is great to see, but to borrow the words of our Anfield foes, some just ‘mean more’. Sometimes one head of a ball causes involuntary leaping, hugging and screaming. It’s animalistic and what we love football for. It’s all a blur. Wrapped in someone’s arms, your vision and hearing disappear before you come up for air to see joy all around. Leaping, hugging, screaming. Limbs flailing, mouths opened to smile wider than you could imagine, and a guttural noise which slowly transforms into five songs at once, eventually converging on one, to be belted out around Anfield and seep into the ears of every home supporter.

The noise dissipates, and then surges again, and again, until eventually — finally — the final whistle blows, and the celebration begins once more.

You bounce around inside Anfield as the home sections empty quickly. You watch the United players come over, pushing Maguire — the hero — forward to receive his due adulation. You watch them head back into the dressing rooms and you don’t move, you just carry on singing.

In the concourses, figures flock down the staircases, friends who had been stood apart spotting each other and bursting to one another to celebrate. Slapped handshakes, big bear hugs, more screams of delight. You might bounce across Stanley Park, some making phone calls to friends and relatives not there. The sky is dark, but the world seems bright.

You’re soon on a train back to Manchester, with Reds sat on the floors or standing squashed up against one another, but happy nonetheless. Some are full of praise for Amad, De Ligt, Mount or Yoro, as well as Maguire, and others for Lammens, Mbeumo and Cunha. That’s the sign of a good team performance, but it’s fair to focus on the latter three. We know the players United sign have talent, but to wear that shirt, you need character, too. There’s no better test of that than at Anfield, and they passed with distinction.

While some dissect the game, others are still singing, relishing the day.

It’s only a game. And this was only one game. But Harry Maguire knows the drill. Those are special memories. May they inspire the team to make many more.