Dear Liverpool,
A trudge of 22 years of life, I fell in love with the Merseysiders at 6. The Red-siders. What to say? Did I choose the right one? I don’t know. More heartaches than joy definitely. More tears than laughter, more pain than joy but definitely, more hope in my heart.
My re-collections of the Reds were the fading heroes. That was the era of Manchester United, Newcastle and Arsenal. We were never title challengers. I would sit at in the living room with a small bottle of Ice Milo that Grandma made, enjoying the taste and looking glum whilst I look at the demolition of the great Red army. Guess I never knew how badly it hurt. Childhood memories are etched, I remember the shame, the agony. I remember my uncle, the man who showed me the light to the greatest club in the world. He would be sipping his ABC stout, munch on peanuts endlessly and curse and swear under his breath.
Enter Robbie Fowler. He was wearing No. 9. He makes me smile. He made the 7 year old boy smile. He put it the goals and promised the fans we’ll never look beneath finishing 4th. Robbie Fowler was like a hero to me. He was the hope and the one I was proud of. He was the sticker on my jotter book, and he made sure we’re not the joke. Just when things went downhill, a town boy came along. Michael Owen. He made me cackle! By then I was 12. He made a fat young lad cheer and sing ‘LIVERPOOL… LIVERPOOL…’ slip into a Carlsberg jersey and run around the neighbourhood. The 12 year old boy knew nothing about the anthem of the club still. Heck, I was too young.
Then we all know the story. Fowler left us. Owen went BUT Rafa came. He put hope in my heart. More hope than ever. All the names Manchester United called us? ‘Has-beens.’, ‘Fake Reds’, ‘Loser-pool’ and whatever, he was out to keep them quiet. Heck, they had their fair share of glory. We ain’t talking glory here, we’re talking passion, love and loyalty.
I never saw Liverpool win a major trophy till I was 17. That’s 10 years. 10 years of waiting. My uncle promised me they’re the best but I waited every single year. The 7 year old KS drinks the Milo and squeals ‘Liverpool!!!’, the 10 year old KS on a rebellious phase of life scraps out the names like John Barnes, the 14 year old KS who just learnt the anthem sings ‘You’ll never walk alone’ with passion. Every single phase of life, there’s a way I tell the Reds I love them. But the joy never came home, until I was 17. We won the European Champions League.
That was huge for me. I cried that night. When Dudek rebounded the ball off his foot, I burst into tears. My childhood promise came alive. We ARE the best in the world. My uncle was right. The fans in Singapore partied a whole week. I did not wash my Liverpool jersey for 1 week. I was ecstatic. We are the champions. Never in my life have I seen that. Rafa made it come true, he made me dream. Along with good ol’ Stevie Gerrard and Jamie Carragher, I saw the cup come home. I felt joy.
That’s once in 10 years. That’s how often William Turner gets to see Elizabeth Swann in Pirates of the Caribbean. I’m sure Gunners and the Devils tasted more glory and joy than I ever did. Do I regret? Looking back. No. I know why I love them. Because we’re the loudest in the world, because we sing even when we’re 3-1 down against Arsenal back in 2002, because we carry hope in our hearts even when we know there ain’t no hope, because we love Liverpool for who they are, not because they’re the winners.
It’s a cold night. I know our history, I know our previous glories and I know our love for the club. What I do not know is what lies ahead. Like the cold breeze, it hangs with a sense of mystery and suspense. Half with hope and half with fear. We still get mocked, but we trudge on. 19 years without the Premier League title. That’s OK. This year, whispers of winning are getting louder. Man Utd caught up last night, Chelsea did close up the gap. We don’t know what lies ahead. But if we throw in the towel now and lose out in the mind games, then Rafa and the boys know they’re not letting down the money, the owners or even the rest of the players. They just keep us waiting. The 6 year old boy has been waiting. Today, I’m 22. I’m still waiting. I point at the others and go, ‘Next year. You’ll see us. Next year.’ Sometimes, I feel I’m naïve. But it’s OK. What is 1 more year? I have waited anyway. 20 years of agony? Then so be it. I can take it. Pool matters way above the sadness.
So whilst the rest of the clubs keep their mind games running, putting an arrogant front, and we work our butts off to get back to the top, I will keep singing. I will still be sipping my Ice Milo. Haha. Liverpool is not just a club, it’s a love relationship. You never want to walk away. I reckoned that’s why our emblem says You’ll Never Walk Alone.
So, 2009 awaits. I carry hope in my heart. We want the title, but more importantly, we want real fans, real lovers, real passion. Chelsea can keep buying all the best players with the stinkey cash, Man Utd can keep talking big and bossing around, we sit and wait for the miracles. We wait for Gerrard to do the impossible. We wait for Torres to make us scream. Until then, I know they’ll still bring me let downs, but I even more assured to say the 10 years of waiting has sifted me to love Anfield for who we are. I love Merseyside, not the trophies in the Cabinet.
Until then, I keep singing. The songs of Anfield, the dead and the alive both singing in harmony rings in my heart. I know the light is at the end of the tunnel.
Yours truly,
KS – Just another lad who loves you to bits.
January 18, 2009
Categories: Liverpool FC, Rantings . . Author: nickolas87 . Comments: 2 Comments
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