SIDELINE CUT:The senselessness of the tragedy boils down to the fact that the fans at Hillsborough were not treated like human beings, even after they died, writes KEITH DUGGAN

ANYONE WHO followed Liverpool was watching television on that April Saturday, and, 23 years later, the haunting images from Hillsborough are more shocking and overwhelming than ever.

Maybe that is because when the first inkling that something had gone terribly and grotesquely wrong, it was impossible for most people to comprehend what was happening on their television screens on a sunny spring afternoon.

Liverpool’s semi-final against Nottingham Forest was only minutes in when the commentators began referring to the fans now appearing on the pitch behind the Liverpool goal. It happened so fast: at first a hubbub on the edge of the screen where it was clear that something back there was causing a minor disturbance.

But the match had kicked off!

All eyes and minds were on the ball. Then more and more fans were walking on to the pitch and the fleeting fear that the match could be postponed or even cancelled quickly was eclipsed by the compelling nature of the desperate, indignant pleas and gestures from the fans for someone in authority to do something, to try and communicate what was happening.

Alan Hansen, the Liverpool defender, would years later recall the moment when he told a fan to leave the pitch or the club would get into trouble and the fan looked at him directly and told him: “Alan, there are people dying in there.”

And it was clear then from the images of the fans on the upper tier leaning down to lift those people trapped in the crush of the lower pen to safety, working with remarkable purpose and efficiency just as the fans on the field used advertising hoardings to act as impromptu stretcher-bearers when the medical services failed to appear, that lives were indeed being lost before our eyes.

It didn’t take long for the scale of the catastrophe to unfold but it was hard to take in. How could people have died or be dying just yards from where a football match was taking place, just yards from where Bruce Grobbelaar stood in the Liverpool goalmouth, just yards from where Rush and Barnes and the idols of the day were running around the field?

How could the stewards and police not see what was happening and do something? How could 96 people go to an FA Cup semi-final being broadcast live on television on a gorgeously bright afternoon and have the last breath crushed from their lungs?

It seems unbelievable that it has taken more than two decades for those bereaved and traumatised by the Hillsborough disaster to receive a satisfactory answer to that question. But it wasn’t until Wednesday that a full inquiry at last confirmed what they had maintained from the first hour of the disaster: that people had died because of gross official ineptitude and an appallingly inadequate response from the medical services, that there had been a cold attempt by the South Yorkshire Police to manipulate statements and issue lies about the conduct of the Liverpool fans caught in the initial crush behind the Leppings Lane end of the ground, that some of the victims might be alive today had they received basic medical attention and that they were let down by all the authorities involved.

Trevor Hicks, who, along with his wife Jenni, lost both of his teenage daughters at Hillsborough, stressed on BBC’s Newsnight this week that plenty of individual police men had done everything they could do. But the actions of more senior officers during the tragedy and its aftermath may now lead to prosecutions.

It all boils down to the fact the football fans that showed up in Sheffield to watch that football match were not treated like human beings – even after they died.

It was such a needless, stupid and undignified way to die.

The fabricated reports in the days afterwards – that Liverpool fans had been drunk and aggressive, that they had looted the victims – were despicable and left the bitterest taste of all. If ever Liverpool felt second-class as a city, this was the moment.

It has taken 23 years for Kelvin MacKenzie, then editor of the Sun when the most infamous report appeared, to offer an apology – with the caveat that he was acting on information received in good faith.

The reaction of Trevor Hicks was scathing and dismissive as he described MacKenzie as “just lowlife . . . clever lowlife, but still lowlife”.

The apologies from prime minister David Cameron and David Crompton, the present-day head of the South Yorkshire Police, at least offered recognition that the authorities had badly failed the 96 victims.

But what if there had been no Hillsborough Support Group? What if people such as Trevor Hicks simply didn’t have the heart or the energy to persevere with the long, exhausting fight for justice?

The Hillsborough tragedy had a profound effect on the direction English football took in the years afterwards. In 1989, the English football league was still relatively local, and following teams was an affordable pursuit.

In 1989, you could pay four quid to stand on the Kop at Anfield, which was then the most celebrated football terrace in England. Last year, it cost £45.

Many of the grounds were basic, some were dilapidated and crowd control was rough and ready. Two decades later and the game has been transformed: football grounds are safer and place a strong emphasis on merchandising, footballers are phenomenally rich and the English game has gone global.

Clubs belong to their cities in name only now.

Since Hillsborough, Liverpool has struggled to replicate its football successes of the 1970s and 1980s, and, despite flickering episodes of greatness, its status as one of the jewels in the crown of English football has to do with its tradition and the enduring loyalty of its fans as much as it has to do with performances on the field in recent seasons.

But to go to a derby game between Everton and Liverpool or to see Manchester United at Anfield or Liverpool at Old Trafford is a completely different experience than it would have been 23 years ago. The football fans who lost their lives at Hillsborough would probably be stunned if they had the opportunity to see the Reds play their next home match against Manchester United. They would hardly recognise it.

This is the first season since 1989 that Liverpool club and the city in general can go through the Saturday rituals with the consolation of knowing that England in general knows the full truth of what happened at Hillsborough. It is a terribly small consolation in comparison to the price that those 96 people paid. But they have waited a long time for it and in Liverpool that victory matters more to many people than any of the great league or European glories.

And still, it is hard to fathom that this disaster actually happened even as the old images, played and replayed on television this week, brought the senselessness of that day rushing back.

Leppings Lane: the name almost sounds romantic.

They just wanted to watch a game of football.