This is a strange choice for a Chelsea fan, so associated as the song is with supporters of Liverpool Football Club - in fact, I can think of at least one United fan who will probably never forgive me for this blog post.
Yet, 'You'll Never Walk Alone' does perfectly represent that wonderful glory found in defeat, the triumph of hope over despair and life over death.
Although hearing 'You'll Never Walk Alone' ring out from the stands always has a tendency to raise the hairs on the back of my neck - the obvious emotional resonance of the Heysel and Hillsborough disasters never far from mind - it's another more recent, admittedly less significant, instance of scouse solidarity that scorches itself into my psyche.
In 2005 the Reds unexpectedly came back from 3 goals down at half-time to claim victory in the European Cup Final against AC Milan. It was an incredible match and an unprecedented turnaround. The following year, the two sides met again in the final but this time the Italian side deservedly and comfortably won out.
At the final whistle the Milan players celebrated as did their fans but, at the other end of the stadium, Liverpool's travelling faithful remained, not retreating quietly into the night to bemoan their misfortune but, to a man, woman and child, stood tall, scarves aloft, bellowing out the song that has become their standard.
Admittedly these fans had a very recent success to fall back on and Liverpool still are this country's most successful side, yet it seemed to embody that quality which is so rare in football - dignity in defeat.
In the same year, my maternal grandmother sadly passed away. 'Nanny 1' I used to inexplicably call her - not out of any preference to my father's mother but simply as the most clear cut method of differentiation (what 'Nanny 2' made of it I'll never know, although I don't seem to remember it ever being a cause for grievance; she quite happily signed off birthday and Christmas cards with that moniker).
The funeral was a sad if not tragic occasion. She was 93 when she died and had been ill for some months. It was no great shock when the time eventually did come.
My cousin gave an incredibly poignant speech about passing through life as if painting a long corridor from one end to the other, at the far end of which you turnaround to look back on a wonderful collage of memories before passing out of the room contentedly.
When the service concluded, we began to slowly make our way out of the chapel to the sound of what I initially took for some traditional hymn or other. A few bars in I realised it was, in fact, a choral version of 'You'll Never Walk Alone'.
As exit music of the most final kind, with all the new found associations I'd imbued on it, there couldn't have been a more appropriate choice.
Yet, 'You'll Never Walk Alone' does perfectly represent that wonderful glory found in defeat, the triumph of hope over despair and life over death.
Although hearing 'You'll Never Walk Alone' ring out from the stands always has a tendency to raise the hairs on the back of my neck - the obvious emotional resonance of the Heysel and Hillsborough disasters never far from mind - it's another more recent, admittedly less significant, instance of scouse solidarity that scorches itself into my psyche.
In 2005 the Reds unexpectedly came back from 3 goals down at half-time to claim victory in the European Cup Final against AC Milan. It was an incredible match and an unprecedented turnaround. The following year, the two sides met again in the final but this time the Italian side deservedly and comfortably won out.
At the final whistle the Milan players celebrated as did their fans but, at the other end of the stadium, Liverpool's travelling faithful remained, not retreating quietly into the night to bemoan their misfortune but, to a man, woman and child, stood tall, scarves aloft, bellowing out the song that has become their standard.
Admittedly these fans had a very recent success to fall back on and Liverpool still are this country's most successful side, yet it seemed to embody that quality which is so rare in football - dignity in defeat.
In the same year, my maternal grandmother sadly passed away. 'Nanny 1' I used to inexplicably call her - not out of any preference to my father's mother but simply as the most clear cut method of differentiation (what 'Nanny 2' made of it I'll never know, although I don't seem to remember it ever being a cause for grievance; she quite happily signed off birthday and Christmas cards with that moniker).
The funeral was a sad if not tragic occasion. She was 93 when she died and had been ill for some months. It was no great shock when the time eventually did come.
My cousin gave an incredibly poignant speech about passing through life as if painting a long corridor from one end to the other, at the far end of which you turnaround to look back on a wonderful collage of memories before passing out of the room contentedly.
When the service concluded, we began to slowly make our way out of the chapel to the sound of what I initially took for some traditional hymn or other. A few bars in I realised it was, in fact, a choral version of 'You'll Never Walk Alone'.
As exit music of the most final kind, with all the new found associations I'd imbued on it, there couldn't have been a more appropriate choice.
