Metal exchange

A swapped scarf from an Everton away day in Kharkiv

By LOU REED FOSTER

In October 2007, my dad and I took a flight to Ukraine to watch Everton play Metalist Kharkiv in the UEFA Cup first round second leg. With us we had an Everton scarf, some Ukrainian hryvnia and a cheap disposable camera from Boots. I should have been sat in a crumbling Portakabin doing a revision session for a mock French GCSE. Instead, I was enjoying 30p pints of Stella in bars with a seemingly lax attitude towards underage drinking.

Kharkiv didn’t seem to be on many people’s footballing radar, and that was what made it so exciting. Only the most committed were making this trip. We spent the afternoon soaking up the atmosphere, photographing the Everton flags that now adorned the city’s main square. The stadium was partway through a rebuild ahead of co-hosting Euro 2012 and it was outside its blue and yellow stands that we met some Kharkiv fans. We were approached by a young lad who wanted to trade his Metalist scarf for my Everton one.

His English was predictably impeccable and we swapped our scarves, shared a hug and a few words of good luck before getting a photo together. This was not the welcome much of the English press had told us to expect. Fear-mongering articles about Ukrainian hooliganism had done the rounds, while various media outlets advised against wearing club colours. A late Victor Anichebe strike secured a 3-2 victory on the night, and a 4-3 aggregate win for David Moyes’ side that took us through to the group stage. (Everton’s progress would had been easier had Andy Johnson not missed two penalties in the first leg.) Even at full-time, Metalist supporters were reaching over the Perspex screens segregating the stands to shake hands with travelling Toffees.

Together, my dad and I have travelled to ten different European countries to watch the Toffees over the years, from the Champions League game against Villarreal to UEFA Cup and Europa League encounters at Benfica, Standard Liège and Wolfsburg. They’ve all been memorable in their own way, but to this day, our 24 hours in Ukraine remains at the top of a very long list of our Everton away days.

It’s hard to believe much of that beautiful city may not be there any more after years of Russian bombardment. It’s even harder to believe that my memories of the place were created almost 20 years ago. Perhaps it’s the timelessness of the memory that invokes such nostalgia. I was a teenager with a face I’d not yet grown into. My dad, now in his sixties, had barely reached middle age.

This was not the welcome much of the English press had told us to expect – fear- mongering articles about Ukrainian hooliganism had done the rounds

And that is the point. Football has been the glue that has held my life together, and it has been the foundation upon which my relationship with my dad has been built. We’ve created countless memories following Everton wherever they may be, season in, season out. In a few short weeks, my own son will be born, and shortly thereafter his name will be on Everton’s season ticket waiting list. Three generations of Blues with a football lineage stretching back decades. In recent years, the young lad I met in Kharkiv has been on my mind and I’ve often wondered if he’s been as fortunate as myself. I’d guess we were around the same age, which means he’ll have been in his late twenties or early thirties at the time of the Russian invasion in 2022. I’ll likely never discover the fate of a person I had a brief exchange with almost two decades ago, but he remains in my memory. The common ground we shared, our mutual respect – it feels even more important in times of division and serves as a reminder that there are some things in life more important than football. Not many, but some.

It’s hard not to feel disillusioned with the world in 2026, and indeed with the state of the game we love. In those moments, there are items and memories that restore faith. The excitement of a European away in eastern Europe, the satisfaction of ticking a new ground off the list. Our scarves and shoeboxes full of matchday tickets from seasons gone by. They become heirlooms and a repository for our collective memory.

The Metalist scarf, and every other piece of football memorabilia that I’ve accumulated over the years, will soon belong to my son. One day, when he’s older, maybe I’ll take him to a peaceful Kharkiv with a decades-old scarf and a disposable camera in search of an old friend and a cheap pint of Stella.