She was an Everton fan. I was a Liverpool fan. This is likely all the back story you need.
"Get off our pitch!" she shouted at me.
"Our boys never walk alone!" I yelled back, thinking myself clever.
I was young and full of bile and sperm. She was similarly charged, for her team.
We had a bad run that day, and what a shame.
We met again, by luck of the draw, the next month.
"Get off our pitch!" I shouted at her.
"Right after we kick your arses!" she yelled back - much more inventive than me as it turned out.
Down the pub afterwards, I got drunk, which helped me explain the finer
points of why my team is so much better than hers. At the same time, she
got drunk and that helped her explain the finer points of why her team
is so much better than mine.
"But we beat you," I told her, which obviously made us better.
"Home advantage," she replied, but I was having none of that.
We went home and left our friends to argue, though our tongues still
fought on the way home, in their own way. Our formations were tight,
with excellent wing play and some smart tackling at the back.
"Three - one!" I shouted at some point during the night.
"Home advantage!" she shouted back.
I let her have that one.
It was another three months before we met again.
"Get off my pitch!" I shouted.
"My turf's always better, boy - wish your entire team was buried under
it!" she shouted back. She was definitely more inventive than I was.
When half time came around, I called her up and asked: "Want to have a few minutes on the run from my centre forward?"
"At Anfield?" she said. "You'd get more arousal out of a chicken."
It's a shame Everton won that one, but I still love derby games.