From Steven Gerrard's new book:
I have never known hatred like Manchester United's and the poison dripping from their fans never ceases to shock me.
Growing up in Huyton, I was taught to loathe United, their fans, players, manager, kit-man, mascot — everyone associated with Old Trafford.
And during 90 minutes of football I want United to die.
Everton fans have grown to despise me because I score against them so regularly and because I keep saying I love beating Everton.
They loathe me but I think they respect me as a player. At Old Trafford it's different. Everyone there hates me because I'm Liverpool. Visiting Old Trafford is like negotiating an assault course as it rains vitriol.
A winter's day trip there in 2000 was no different.
Liverpool's coach was belted and the United fans were jumping up at the windows, their faces contorted by sheer hatred.
We got the full welcome: V-signs, w***** signs, knife signs. "F*** off, scum!" they'd shout. "We'll f****** kill you!" And they sang: "In your Liverpool slum..."
S***, the United fans really loathe us. Bang! A window splintered and a brick nearly bounced off my head. Here we go again. I ran for the dressing rooms. I almost couldn't hear the first whistle because of the booing. "F*** me." I thought, "This is show time. Get on my game or get f*****."
As a kid I once wore a United shirt with Bryan Robson's name and seven on the back.
I detested United with a passion and loathed the idea of putting on one of their strips, but this was different.
A mate of mine owned this Robson top, the old blue-and-white one with dashes. I asked him whether I could be Robson.
I put on the Robson one. It felt fantastic. I wore it for an hour, charging all over, flying into tackles, scoring brave goals, pretending I was Robson. Because the shirt had Robson's name on it, I forgot about the United bit.
It didn't seem like treachery, more homage to an England god. Unfortunately, Dad looked out the window and went ballistic. "Get inside now!" he screamed. Scarcely through the door, I ran into a right grilling. What the hell are you playing at, wearing a United shirt?" he asked.
"But Dad, it's Bryan Robson's shirt!" I explained. Dad couldn't have cared less. "You should know better," he said. Dad was not having any son of his dragging the Gerrard name through the Huyton gutter. What would the neighbours think?
Honest to God, I thought I was going to have to move house! I was only a baby, but was convinced Dad would kick me out for putting on that shirt. At 14 I put on a United shirt again! I wore the red of United in two trial matches.
After doing well in those games, United offered me a three-year pro contract.
But almost 20 years of being conditioned to hate Man U went up in smoke on my first England call-up. The other Liverpool boys introduced me to the rest of the squad. The last table I visited belonged to Manchester United. Phil Neville, David Beckham, Andy Cole and Paul Scholes looked up and smiled at me.