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We went to Liverpool to watch the Champions League final and the Darren Till fight. It was wild.

Over the weekend, the city of Liverpool was gripped by two huge, sporting events.

Saturday saw the Champions League final, with Liverpool and Real Madrid duking it out thousands of miles away in Ukraine for the honour of being crowned European champions, and, on Sunday, local hero Darren Till was headlining UFC Liverpool at the Echo Arena, looking to cement his reputation as one of the stars of MMA.

I grew up in Liverpool. I know that scousers love their sport, and that they love a party. I wanted to see how the city would react to these two big events both taking place within a couple of days. 

Oh, did I mention that it was also a Bank Holiday weekend? Basically, it was going to go off and I wanted to be there.

Saturday. Real Madrid v Liverpool. Uefa Champions League final.

We arrived in the city centre for about 2pm, almost six hours until kick-off.

It was busy, not rocking. Yet. But it was hot. No parking spaces anywhere. 25 degrees. No AC in my car. 

Taxis and houses with red Liverpool FC flags were everywhere. I bumped into one guy proudly sporting his blue Everton T-shirt. That didn't feel like an accidental choice on the other team's big day. He explained that he was looking forward to being able to rub it in his red mates' faces tomorrow.

We milled around some venues. Spaces all over the city were doing ticketed screenings of the final, which sold within minutes of going on sale a few weeks ago. We spotted one guy with red marks all over his hands from handling flares. Another group wanted to have a sing-song with us. 

From there to Anfield to watch the game. We got there for about 5pm. It was carnival time. Mosh pits and flares. One mate dancing with a policeman in a stupid bucket hat. More flares. Another mate wearing a massive red kaftan, people bowing at his feet. Everyone full of nervous energy.

People generally gather in the garage forecourt on Breck Road before home games, and it's usually a good atmosphere. But today that space had been completely commandeered for a full-on festival. A massive, heaving, bouncing sea of red; "Allez, Allez, Allez" ringing out. People swinging scarves, hats, kids above their heads. 

Everyone was there to celebrate a big day out in the sun. You definitely didn't get a sense that people were feeling nervous about the game.

Remember, the game was in Kiev. People had just turned up to see the game on the big screen, but it was a better atmosphere than about 95% of home fixtures I've been to.

The match itself you know about by now. It was football as farce. Or tragi-comedy.

The early exit of Liverpool's great Egyptian hope at the hands of one of football's finest villains. An unspeakable goalkeeping howler. Despair. A belligerent equaliser. Hope. One of the most ridiculous goals ever scored. Another unspeakable goalkeeping howler.

As Liverpool's fate became more apparent, the atmosphere in the stands shifted to a stunned resignation. Everyone was still trying to just get their chops around what they had actually just witnessed. By the time a pitch invader ran on in Kiev during the closing minutes to halt a chance from Ronaldo, it almost felt funny.

Outside the stadium, "Allez Allez Allez" still rang out in some quarters but, mostly, people started filing out to go home. There were fireworks by the Liver Buildings. Perhaps they were for the Tall Ships festival. Perhaps someone just bought a job lot and wasn't going to let a loss in the final stop them. Perhaps they belonged to that Everton fan I met.

Sunday. Till v Thompson. UFC Fight Night Liverpool.

Given the previous night's drama, the mood the next day around Liverpool was always going to be a bit more subdued. At least for the red half.

There was thunder and lightning forecast. It felt about right. 

We arrived at the Echo Arena for UFC Liverpool mid-afternoon, and there were plenty of people there, but it seemed a bit sad and quiet at first. You know what’s good for when you’re feeling sad, though? Combat sport, that’s what. 

Darren Till had made a lot of the passion and fierce loyalty of scouse MMA fans before his much-touted fight with the American Stephen 'Wonderboy' Thompson, the UFC's number one welterweight contender.

For Till, and the city of Liverpool, this had been built up into a huge night. Till had been hyped as the UFC's next big star, as had the city as a hotbed for mixed martial arts talent. Now was the time for both to prove they deserved the talking up.

The previous day, whilst we were on our way to Anfield, news had come in that Till had missed weight by 3.5lbs. The fight was still on, but it didn't sound like the ideal preparation for Till's big night.

But as soon as those first strains of Sweet Caroline started to play as Till made his way to the octagon, the atmosphere became electric; like 2am on a wedding dance floor, everyone arms aloft, doing their best karaoke version of Neil Diamond’s 1969 classic.

Throughout a tense fight, everyone was on their on their feet. “Darren, Darren Till” being belted out to the tune of Boney M’s Daddy Cool.

It was cagey, but it was gripping. Then the crowd erupted when Till knocked Thompson down in the fifth round. He won the fight by unanimous decision. The roar from the crowd as his arm was raised was primal.

After the win, it was carnage again. The last days of Rome sort of vibe.

The space outside the arena turned into some mad, tribal dance floor. Some geezer got dropped off his mate’s shoulders onto hard concrete and just got up laughing his head off. I was worried for him.

This was sport as cathartic, group ritual – groups of men and women bouncing about, chanting repetitive mantras like "only one Darren Till” like euphoric shamans. After the trauma of the night before, Liverpool was top of the world again.

In the end then, a weekend of extreme highs and lows for the denizens of Liverpool. If there's anything I know about scousers, though, they'll have loved every minute of it.

I think it's beyond question that Liverpudlians love their sport. They have a fierce pride and loyalty to the teams and athletes that represent them, but scousers also love each other.

Sport is great and all, but it's largely a sideshow, for me at least. What it really all comes down to is a way to get together and have a party. Or to have your mate hugging a policeman, in his bucket hat, kaftan, or in his Everton shirt, goading those reds who fell short on their big night.

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