I look forward to Liverpool-Manchester United matches about as much as I looked forward to taking anti-malaria tablets as a child. These tablets were made from quinine, which is that stinging bitterness that greets you each time that you sip tonic water. What's more, these tablets were so large that you couldn't stop them touching the sides of your mouth as you downed them with drink or food. You had to taste them.

Liverpool-Manchester United is here again on Sunday and, as a United fan, I have to taste it. Years after my days of regularly playing amateur 11-a-side-matches, it reminds me of what competitive football is about: it is the one game about which I feel so keenly, giving me the same feeling as if I were strapping on a pair of shinpads myself. In the week of build-up to this most visceral of contests, I can again hear the clatter of studs in the dressing room, the right-back roaring to himself, the sharp stab of Deep Heat in each nostril.

I would rather not taste defeat; with 37 league championships between them, it is not a flavour to which either club is readily accustomed. That’s because when you lose to Liverpool, you always lose more than three points. You lose bragging rights, and you might lose momentum, which is very much what success in the league is about.

The results in this fixture are always worse than I remember: from the last 20 league matches at Anfield, Manchester United have emerged as the victors nine times, Liverpool seven. There have been four draws, only one of which, as long ago as September 2005, has been goalless. The problem, though, is that we haven’t won there since December 2007.

I shouldn’t reach for the quinine just yet, though. In the last 20 years, these games have yielded some 56 goals, which works out as 2.8 goals per match: the restless tempo of this encounter encourages openness, which Manchester United’s attacking talent is well-placed to exploit.

There will, of course, be an unusual poignancy to proceedings. This fortnight has been one of rare catharsis for the city of Liverpool, given the recently-published Hillsborough report and the utter vindication of its findings. We can expect the home crowd to be in rare voice. Sir Alex Ferguson, who himself inherited the helm of a club touched by appalling tragedy, will lead the away delegation with dignity. It is fitting that Liverpool can mark this moment in their healing with a contest against their keenest of rivals.

And so this match is upon us again: against Liverpool at Anfield, and again I can taste it, and I can’t wait. The dressing-room door swings open, and through it we all make our way: running up into the tunnel, and out onto the stage.

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