Goodbye to Goodison Park: A long-distance love affair with Everton's beautiful place of belonging

My first sight of Goodison in the flesh came on February 24, 1996. I was eight years old and we tied the trip in with a visit to some family friends who lived not too far away. Nottingham Forest were the Blues' opponents, but they were no match for Joe Royle's men that day.

Memories at that age are hazy at best, but I remember visiting the club shop and, for some reason, seeing midfielder Anders Limpar outside, seemingly picking up some club merch. I followed his lead, getting my hands on a home shirt with 'Kanchelskis' on the back for the princely sum of £1 per letter, my parents cursing the fact that Craig Short wasn't my favourite player.

Duncan Ferguson, Dave Watson and Andrei Kanchelskis found the back of the net that afternoon, sealing both a 3-0 win and a perfect day for an increasingly football-obsessed boy who had never seen his team play at home before, let alone at somewhere as special as Goodison.

Looking back, that experience was the start of something much more. It's now more than 29 years since that day and my dad and I are still making the same long journey to L4, still taking in the majesty of one of football's great old grounds and still hoping Everton aren't rubbish.

When I occasionally ponder my Everton fandom - which is usually on the train after a heavy home defeat, having spent £150 and given up half my weekend for the pleasure - I realise just how mental it all is. The colour of Alan Ball's boots - along with him being a brilliant player - have effectively dictated a large chunk of my life.

I'd be lying if I said there haven't been times when I've cursed my dad for not following in his father's footsteps by supporting Leyton Orient. They're a lovely little club and, crucially, they're just half-an-hour down the road. I would've certainly been able to get to more games over the years, wouldn't have annoyed mates and girlfriends by disappearing for entire Saturdays, and wouldn't be paying a small fortune to Avanti West Coast Trains for the privilege.

But Orient aren't Everton, and Brisbane Road isn't Goodison. Despite the distance, 30-year trophy drought and everything else that goes into supporting a club at the other end of the country, my dad getting caught by the blue bug all those years ago - and then passing it on to me - just feels right, and neither of us would have it any other way.

As the saying goes: 'Evertonians are born not manufactured. We do not choose, we are chosen. Those who understand need no explanation. Those who don’t understand, don’t matter.’ I couldn't agree more.

My relationship with Goodison is a little different to most match-going supporters, those who can take a stroll, jump in the car or hop on a bus to arrive at the Grand Old Lady in 10 or 20 minutes once a fortnight, and are generally unaffected by TV kick-off times and games in midweek.

While I went up more regularly in my teens and early twenties, working weekends in sports media, regularly going to away games, becoming a father and developing a somewhat unhealthy obsession with golf have combined to limit my visits to five or six a season in recent years.

My dad's claim that he'll be unaffected on Sunday stems from getting to Goodison less regularly than most season ticket holders, but being unable to go every week has only increased my affection for the place. Every visit still feels special, even if the results and quality of football have often left a lot to be desired.

I've been lucky enough to get on the pitch twice, too. Both times, even if only for a brief moment, it felt as if my boyhood dreams had come true 10 years too late, and I was out there playing for the Toffees. Even better was seeing my old man having a kickabout and casually sticking one in the back of the Gwladys Street net. Just magic.

The thought of walking out for the final time, regardless of the score against Southampton, feels almost impossible to comprehend. How can we be leaving the only home I've ever known?

I will miss everything about Goodison. Walking up from County Road and spotting the giant Main Stand for the first time, chips and curry sauce - the type which stains your clothes and your insides - from the Blue Dragon takeaway across the road and pints in the tightly-packed Winslow Hotel and The Brick.

Wandering the top floor of St Luke's church as my dad haggles over more football cards to add to his collection, chatting with friends underneath the Holy Trinity statue and popping into the club shop just to moan about how expensive shirts are these days.

Looking out for legends from days gone by strolling down Goodison Road, those incredible coach welcomes - which left you covered in blue smoke but undoubtedly helped Everton survive in recent years - and the click-clack of the turnstiles on the Gwladys Street.

The walk up the stairs from the concourse and that first glimpse of sprinklers covering the pitch, smiles, handshakes and predictions with those we've sat by for a decade, the roar when Z Cars hits and the even bigger one when the boys in the royal blue jersey emerge from the tunnel.

The unmistakable criss-cross pattern on the Bullens Road, the unhinged response from all four stands when a 50-50 decision goes against us and the celebrations - played out to Spirit of the Blues and Forever Everton - when we get a good result. I will miss it all.

What makes leaving Goodison ever-so-slightly easier to handle is what awaits us next. Everton Stadium, as it is currently known, is our new, state-of-the-art, £750 million pound home on the banks of the Mersey. In many ways, it couldn't be more different.

Visiting the venue for the first test event in February did feel a little like being unfaithful to your childhood sweetheart. Goodison, sat there empty and alone, as 10,000 fans tried it on with a sexier, younger model, coming away excited for a fresh start somewhere new.

Despite a number of false dawns over the last 25 years and lingering concerns over the capacity, there can be no denying that Everton - and everyone involved in the project - have done an incredible job in delivering a stadium fit for a defining period in the club’s history.

It may never match Goodison for history, atmosphere or emotion, but it will be one of, if not the, best stadiums in the country once fully complete this summer. What more can you ask for?

Goodison will live on next season and beyond, but, putting aside all of the positives that will have for the women’s game for a second, perhaps the most poignant is simply that we’ll not have to witness soul-crushing scenes of the Grand Old Lady being bulldozed.

The distance to Goodison has meant I've missed plenty of its biggest moments - Big Dunc's winner against Manchester United in 2005, sticking four past Pep Guardiola's City and that Crystal Palace game to name a few. But there's also been the Lee Carsley derby, Mikel Arteta's thunderbolt against Fiorentina, James Tarkowski's late, late volley against them lot from across the park and so many more.

Those moments are etched into my mind. Not necessarily because of what happened on the pitch, but how they made me - and 37,000 other Evertonians - feel at that point in time. Sheer, unadulterated joy. Disbelief and relief rolled into one. Heartbreak, followed by ecstasy. The feeling of belonging at our home, Goodison Park, even for a lad and his dad from down south.

Thank God for Alan Ball and his white boots.