So let’s get it straight, from the start, I loathe football, I loathe it almost as much as I hate professional footballers. But I do love Liverpool Football Club; nothing has been more barren than the desert-like twenty four years that have just transformed into twenty five. Inch’Allah.
It has to be my upbringing in the heart of Toxteth, a neighborhood infamous for its 1981 riots, but filled with parks and architecture that is testament to Liverpool’s wealthy past. You can take the Liverpudlian out of Liverpool, but not Liverpool out of the Liverpudlian. I think it has much to do with the city’s devastating decline after the second world war and the infamy with which it was tarnished in the Thatcherite eighties; I have never met anyone from the city that will not defend it arduously and does not bear their badge of birth with pride.
And of cource there is football. My parents were so mad they let me take the number ten bus to Anfield on my own, aged eleven…and LFC’s success in the seventies and eighties gave some succour to a beleaguered city (or at least the half of it that wasn’t blue).
Yesterday was a day of devastation, the big money boys at Man City won the Premiership with just one Englishman in their team. Liverpool came second with three from Liverpool alone.
But the hardest part of all is that they choked. They choked agains Chelsea (how painful is that?) and they mega-choked against Palace. Sure, they have been magnificent this year, sure they out-performed expectations and gave the big money a hard run for the glory, but one harsh light of day, victory should have been theirs
Gloryless they are, second place is the cruellest blow., They choked when they should have won.