This is the year of the hungry man
Whose place is in the past
Hand in hand with ignorance and legitimate excuses
—George Michael, "Praying for Time" (1990)
I was never a child with high expectations. I'd ask me ma and da to get us a Nintendo for Christmas but would assume the yearly threat of oranges and coals for being a naughty child would come to fruition. The delight when I'd ravenously tear off the wrapping paper and a Nintendo, complete with gun and a copy of Duck Hunt, was unbridled.
What have George Michael and Christmas got to do with Liverpool Football Club, then? Well, we have a jolly, rotund man in charge, for starters; and our team usually enjoy early success before hitting a crisis halfway through and inevitably wind-up being caught with their pants off, sliding down the table.
That aside, supporting Liverpool FC the past seventeen years can be likened to the feeling you had throughout the winter months when you were younger. It was different for everyone, though.
Some kids always expected to get their presents on Christmas Day; but, as I've pointed out, I was different. Perhaps it was the footballing climate I grew up in.
I was three years of age when Liverpool last won the league championship. Growing up, the phenomenon of Fowler was sadly littered with the mediocrity of Matteo and Dicks; the magic of McManaman hindered by the banality of Phil Babb's defending. Even going to Wembley twice in three years was not enough to give me confidence in winning number nineteen.
I'd always listen intently to my granddad tell me of how we'd been so dominant in the 70s and 80s and how the league title wouldn't stay away for long. But I was just a wide-eyed child, a victim of Souness' sub-standard buys and eigth place finishes. I never believed him.
Of course, intermingled with my happiness of a Coca-Cola Cup victory over Bolton Wanderers and the subsequent documentary detailing our win on ITV, was the disgruntlement of the older kids. The kids who asked for the Nintendo and expected it; failure to deliver this would result in a swift kick to Santa's testicles; or in footballing terms, a "mutual termination" for Souness, Evans and Houllier.
It has always been a case of "one bitten, twice shy" for me. After the fantastic treble of 2001, I finally expected a Nintendo (by now, a PS2) within two years, only to be heartbroken as I unwrapped Diouf, Diao and Cheyrou. Never again, I said.
Even when Rafa brought us that fifth European Cup, I still didn't expect, despite all the other kids expecting what, now, must have been an XBox 360. Despite the mantra of it being "our year" reverberating around the famous old stadium, I knew the acquisition of Crouch wouldn't bring us the league, nor would Bellamy a year later; Bellamy thrived on space behind the defenders, something he wouldn't get at Anfield when visiting teams park the bus and the bus station in front of the goal.
Even a newly-signed Mascherano and Fernando Torres, complimented by an unbeaten record heading into December, didn't lead me to believe we would win the thing we all crave the most.
That elusive number 19 still hasn't come, thirteen years after my grandad told me it wouldn't be long. Football has changed but the one thing that hasn't is that "league championship" honour list on Merlin sticker books.
1 comments Last one added 11 months ago — Leave a Comment
Kimeshan Naidoo 11 months ago
Great article. I think it will depend on how Torres and Keane play together. If it works, then the title may well be ours.
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