The history of the interior of the Champions League's awesome Champions League parade in Liverpool

How do you describe a day like this?

I'm not sure it's even possible. This is why my phone now contains so many images and footage that it is completely secure.

These images will not do justice on Sunday, June 2nd.

It was enough to be there to see it, to hear it, to inhale it.

The Navigator pub. Sensational.

The junction of Jolly Miller. Sensational.

Childwall Fiveways. Sensational.

All of these places – usually reserved for discussions about the city's water points and tips on routes to follow – were scenes of utter absurdity while a crowd on the outside greeted the heroes of the Liverpool Champions League.

And it was everywhere in between.

It was a magnificent chaos, a magnificent carnage, a magnificent bazaar of shirts, flags, streamers and fireworks.

Entertainment began in front of the police training academy Mather Avenue, the meeting point of the parade that has become Liverpool's most secretive secret.

The press arrived first, arriving in a bus with tinted windows, greeted by enthusiastic fans who had a hard time believing that they were so close to what they thought were heroes.

The aisle was so crowded with fans that the photographers who were inside were forced to leave the coach and caused a great disappointment, while those who were looking forward were welcomed by Lentil experts, not a football.

The disappointment lasted a few seconds though.

Soon a second bus appeared – the tinted windows but Big Ears was perched proudly on the dashboard and shone in plain sight.

Everything then returned to calm in the parking lot of the academy.

The players were all smiles as they were leaving their coach for an open-top bus, but the ride was short, interrupted only by congratulations from mayors Joe Anderson and Steve Rotheram – and the hiccups at the incredibly cold sunglbades of Bobby Firmino.

Then it started.

Just before 4 pm, three coaches sporting six European cups and the words "European Royalty" left for the outside world, surrounded by police officers.

The press first, separated from the players by a truck that will become a mobile pyrotechnic platform. The friends and the VIP family were in the third bus.

After a first wave of excitement as the convoy was greeted by the crowd that had contributed up to the unofficial starting point, it was briefly quieted down.

This lull has created a false sense that the drive would take place by anticipation on Strand, the city center, as everything else would be a prelude.

This belief was quickly broken.

Allerton Road was crazy. Fans lined the street as the party turned to Queens Drive.

This was the first glimpse of what was coming: flares, banners and Anfield hymns. Dancing on sidewalks at the sound of music exploded somewhere in the convoy and the children with their mothers and fathers, who were with their mothers and fathers.

This set the tone for the rest of the hike.

At Fiveways, the scene was breathtaking. It was awesome. I have never seen anything like it.

The roundabout was filled with admirers.

The streets were filled with fans.

All possible points of view were filled by the fans and their ears were moved by the roar of those thousands singing loudly while Jurgen Klopp and his co-elevated the trophy.

Just as the triplet of the Kop became an Anfield ritual, today it was the hat trick of trophy hikes, each greeted with cheers.

It was the same thing over and over again.

Supporters were lined up on the Navigator's roof, Jolly Miller junction could be heard before being seen, and cherry pickers were taking families up on West Derby Road.

Red shirts everywhere. Happy faces everywhere.

Brave fans sat on traffic lights, speed cameras and traffic signs. No other day has seen so much street furniture actually used as furniture.

Today, it was not even what is most unusual: in Tuebrook, a fan dressed only in mankini was observed from the top of a ladder at the top of the hill. A roof.

The descent of Islington into the city gave a glimpse of what would happen when the celebrations culminated in the city center.

The road being closed in both directions, the supporters watching her at the top of the hill were following her, following the bus and mingling with the waiting fans.

Trent was sitting in front, Lovren pounding the side of the bus, the trophy would disappear and then emerge under applause of approval.

The telescopic antennas of the cameras on the roof of the press bus grazed the bottom of the Churchill Flyover before the parade entered Leeds Street, where the Pall Mark carpark had created spectators who saw the parade just before the Strand.

And then we got the Strand. We all knew what to expect. Everyone knew that these were images – heroes on a background of liver birds in a sea of ​​fans – that TV channels and websites as well as newspapers all over the world did not want only but were demanding from the beginning.

And everyone thought they knew what the crowd would be like. The giants have immobilized three times this artery downtown from Istanbul.

What is so special about this city is that special days are not so rare.

What is so special about Liverpool is that the biggest prize in club football is not foreign to Anfield trophy furniture.

But although the city council and the police are not strangers to the events that paralyzed the city, this was an additional thing.

Reaching the Strand was the culmination of one of the greatest trips ever made on the streets of Liverpool.

The crowd burst into a song that never stopped.

Tape, flares and flags filled the sky, Go, go, go, go plug your ears.

You will never walk alone was sung in the shadow of the building Liver and the atmosphere was electric, emotional. Everyone knew what that meant.

The air was heavy with pbadion and pride.

Fans circled the bus – face-to-face with traffic lights and descendants players from multi-storey car parks, construction sites and apartment buildings.

The players looked back, eyes wide and radiant.

It was a day dreamed of by all the little boys and girls who have always dreamed of kicking a ball.

And although they are now megastars millionaires, these players are also great children who wish it forever and they loved it as much as everyone else.

That day, no one will ever forget it.

It was jumping in smoke flares even though it would blur your vision and scratch your throat.

It was as if you never walked with your arm around a stranger until your lungs burst.

It was bouncing to Go, Go, Go until your ankles, your knees give way.

The party ended when the Strand reached Sefton Street, where the player's coach stood in front of the parade and one last time, Come on, Come on, Come on.

Then the players were trained until the sun set.

The fans stayed however. And the party continued.