Leeds, Elland Road, Saturday afternoon. The away end is already a boiling sea of red when the cameras pan to one tiny figure standing on his seat, arms outstretched like an airplane, wearing a Liverpool kit two sizes too big and the proudest smile you’ve ever seen.

His name is Isaac Kearney, he’s six years old, and the shirt draped over his little frame carries just one name on the back:

BRADLEY 84

Not Salah. Not Van Dijk. Not even Trent.

Conor Bradley.

The same Conor Bradley who has been out injured since August, the same 22-year-old Northern Irish full-back who exploded onto the scene last season with that unforgettable Anfield night against Chelsea, only to spend the past four months fighting his way back from a brutal hamstring tear.

And little Isaac Kearney decided the best way to welcome his hero back for this weekend’s massive clash at Leeds was to become a walking, jumping, singing billboard for number 84.

The photo went viral in minutes.

You know the one: Isaac mid-jump, scarf above his head, mouth wide open in a roar, the giant BRADLEY letters stretched across his tiny shoulders. Someone slowed it down, added You’ll Never Walk Alone over the top, and within an hour it had three million views.

But the real meltdown started when Conor Bradley saw it.

From his hotel room in Leeds, still doing final fitness tests with the physios, Bradley reposted the picture on his Instagram story with four simple words:

“See you tomorrow lad ❤️”

Then he added a second story: a close-up of his own training top for Saturday with “Isaac” and the number 6 written on the collar in Sharpie.

Anfield Twitter collectively lost its mind.

Isaac’s dad, Michael Kearney, a lifelong Red from County Antrim (same neck of the woods as Bradley grew up in), told reporters outside the stadium that the shirt wasn’t even supposed to happen.

“We ordered a kids’ Bradley shirt the day Conor made his debut last January,” he laughed. “It only arrived yesterday. Isaac has literally slept in it. Refused to take it off for bath time. His mam had to bribe him with chocolate buttons just to wash his face.”

He went on: “Conor’s from Castlederg, we’re from just down the road in Dromore. Isaac’s only six but he talks about him nonstop. Says when he grows up he wants to be a right-back who ‘runs forever and scores bangers like Conor.’ I didn’t even know he knew the word bangers.”

Inside Elland Road, the story kept getting better.

When the teamsheets dropped and Bradley was officially on the bench, the Leeds stadium announcer gave Isaac a shout-out over the PA: “A special welcome to young Isaac Kearney in the away end, wearing the number 84 with pride. Conor says this one’s for you, son.”

The entire away section turned to find him. Six thousand phones went up at once. Isaac, suddenly the most famous child in Yorkshire, went bright red, buried his face in his dad’s coat, then peeked out and gave a shy little wave that somehow made grown men cry into their scarves.

By full-time (after Bradley came on in the 72nd minute, set up the winner with a trademark outside-of-the-boot cross, and pointed straight to the away end where Isaac was losing his voice screaming), the moment had already become Liverpool folklore.

Post-match, Conor made a beeline for the tunnel nearest the away fans, took off his shirt, signed it “To Isaac, keep believing – CB84”, and handed it to a steward with instructions to deliver it to “the little lad in row 12 who never stopped jumping.”

The steward found Isaac ten minutes later. The kid took one look at the shirt, looked at his dad, looked back at the shirt, and promptly burst into tears so hard his legs gave out. His dad had to carry him out of the stadium like a koala while six thousand Scousers sang “Conor Bradley’s Barmy Army” around them.

This morning Isaac woke up to find his original Bradley shirt framed on the living-room wall and the match-worn one lying on his pillow.

His mum posted a video of him staring at it in total silence for a full thirty seconds before whispering, “I think I’m dreaming.”

Conor Bradley replied to the video himself:

“Not a dream wee man. See you at Anfield next month. Front row, my tickets.”

Somewhere in West Yorkshire, a six-year-old boy is currently refusing to go to school because “I have to stay home and guard Conor’s shirt in case robbers come.”

And somewhere in Liverpool’s dressing room, a 22-year-old who spent four months wondering if he’d ever play again is smiling at his phone, saving every single screenshot.

Because on a cold afternoon at Elland Road, football remembered what it’s actually for:

One little boy in a too-big shirt, one footballer who never forgot where he came from, and ninety minutes where the only thing that mattered was making a six-year-old’s dream come true.

Isaac Kearney, ladies and gentlemen. The smallest giant Anfield has ever seen.