The makeshift reserved sign scribbled onto a tattered flyer sporting a moisture ring from a pint glass causes me to chuckle as Christopher and I take seats inside a crowded pub on the outer edge of Manchester. The crowd cheers at the football game on the TV as I observe a sea of red Manchester United T-shirts. Signs line the walls reading, “Nuke Liverpool” and “Liverpool – I’d Rather Walk Alone.” As Christopher removes his jacket, revealing his own Manchester United T-shirt, the motive for years of Liverpool wisecracks smacks me in the face.

Before Christopher can notice my facial admission of ignorance, an older, slightly rugged man, whom Christopher immediately faces at military attention, approaches. “All right lad, let’s see what we’ve got. Straight up. Not too shabby, but you're a little rough round the edges, just like you should. I suppose you're ready for battle.”