he gilded impression of the Saturday 3pm kick-off is absolute nonsense and so is everything that goes with it. The handwringing, the notion that something about football is lost if a game doesn’t kick off at 3pm on a Saturday, and the idea that it means something deeper and more significant. Saturday 3pm is sacrosanct, enshrined in law to protect the noble game and the noble time from the ignoble broadcast.
Well, I hate Saturday 3pm. I absolutely hate it. It is rubbish. Saturday 3pm is the worst time, of the currently available times, to watch football at Anfield, with the possible exception of Sunday 12pm, which is horrific.
Saturday 3pm is nothing; it allows you to neither stick nor twist. A laid-back post-match interlude knocks your Saturday night off course. It’s now 7pm, you’re five post-match pints to the good and whatever you were doing that night now seems a long way off. Saturday 12.45pm is incredible. Go hard and heavy from 11am or ease into the ground terrifyingly sober, but that afternoon opens up. So much room, so many choices.
Saturday 5.30pm: wowzer. Town. Match. Town. Dancing. I doff my cap to the half five. I quietly reckon half six might be better again, give you more afternoon to play with, but whatever.