The other e-book that I am reading (yes, I am hopping among a few books, switching from one to the other depending on my mood and condition) is Kenny Dalglish's autobiography My Liverpool Home, and I am now at the chapter in which King Kenny talked about the Heysel tragedy in which 39 people died because of fans' trouble in the 1985 European Cup Final between Liverpool and Juventus.
It was a match I remember well. I was already a Liverpool fan back then. I wouldn't miss my favourite team's second consecutive European Cup Final for anything, even though the match was broadcast live on Hong Kong TV at the ungodly hour of 3 am (or was it 3:30?). Some childhood friends of mine were also diehard Liverpool supporters. To share the imminent glory of our team, we went to the hair salon at which one of them was employed and watched together. We were absolutely stunned and gutted, more by what happened in the hellish 90 minutes of chaos on the dreadful night than by the subsequent loss of our team by a controversial penalty. The day had dawned by the time we trudged home in dismay.
Taken back to that fateful night by King Kenny's reminiscence, I realise to my amazement that it was an incident that happened more than a quarter of a century ago. Given that the lifespan of an average man is composed of about three quarters of a century, it means that there has been about a third of my life between that night and now.
I can almost see time slipping away between my fingers.