RAWK's Round Table Season's review.
Posted by Hinesy on May 11, 2014, 05:25:32 PM
To be a fan is to feel. Anything less and you're not really a fan. Of any club. I'm a Liverpool fan and they make me feel.
Over the last few weeks I've been angry. Frustrated. Elated. Surprised. Pleased. Fucking delighted. And proud.
The eternal argument of whether you're allowed to be pissed off with a team or not, makes you some sort of superfan is bollocks. But there are people who have had less perspective than a Tory benefits minister. Its ok to be fucked off and proud simultaneously. Its ok to want to kick the cat and jointly know this was a good season. For me, to feel is
football. I don't support football. England, foreign teams (ok I have soft spot for Scunny), I'm a Liverpool supporter. And so yes I'll grumble about bloody Glen Johnson, but I'll back him to the hilt. And I'll refuse to read the papers after a defeat but know we're nearly up that hill.
Its an interesting statistic that the majority of tacticians and analysts are male. Because we like it as a hobby, as a job, an interest. Or a series of hard facts to hide behind in times of difficulty, and we don't like to be emotional ever do we? But whilst you can be a fan of LFC and a tactical analytic genius, you still have to feel
. Explaining why we lost is interesting, informative and certainly useful for the players, and perhaps for us a shield of justification, rationalisation as to why we didn't pump the other side 29-0. But its not being, feeling, letting yourself just be.
Its not the reality of being a fan. The reality is shown in every and any commercial for the game. You never see an advert for The World Cup that has 4 lads round a whiteboard with magnetic markers. You invariably see them spilling their pint in slow motion. We are all right now, emotional and emotional wrecks at that.
This isn't me having a go at our home grown pundits at all, I love reading their stuff. But it is a 'go' a 'dig' and poke and whatever else, at those newspapers, and online 24hr news hungry rumour mongering desparadoes who can 'explain' why the club, my club, (our
club not fucking yours by the way); fell away, lost it, didn't win, didn't do the deed.
I've often said that I'm not in any way skilled at noticing the finer nuances of our play. Feelings not facts for me. So my season review starts with this: I want you, as a fan, to sit back when the dust dies down, with your dram, and smile and let the pride bubble up. Because we have had one hell of a ride.
This season has been about the moments. Those moments
of such small detail. Winning a set of early season 1-0's instead of losing them, or drawing them. Mignolet saving a pen against Stoke, fouls not given, shots inches wide, chances taken for a change and the early season put us up top. And how we laughed at the preposterous-ness of it all. But what's interesting for me is that we went on to be taken seriously and for many of us, take it seriously We could win. We might win. We believed
To be honest, we didn't lose the league this last week. A defeat to Chelsea? Not really earth shattering news. A draw against a Pulis side who'd beaten and taken on the rest of the best? Not amazingly unusual. The manner in which the results were achieved, maybe so, but we all know the league was lost at Hull, where we were rotten; at Stamponluis Bridge when penalties were scandoulsy omitted; at home to Southampton, drawing 2-2 to Swansea, these were the moments where the latter pressure came from.
So my season review is very simple: others will happily, extensively and properly look back and calmly discuss this season, rationally, factually perhaps.
Me? I'm just thankful I could watch it, be part of it, take such joy from the highs and feel the hurt of the lows. Emotion makes us know we are alive, and this year, that beautiful sleeping giant that is Liverpool Football Club, came alive once more and ripped through some teams like they were properly shit.
Suarez's goals against Norwich at ours. Just wow.
The first half against Everton, no, Spurs, no I mean Arsenal, no fuck it, Utd, er all of em.
MichaelA and I travelling to Shank's grave on the anniversary, the day we beat Man Utd at ours. A proper day out. With meaning. Emotion. Feeling. oh, and Coutinho's goal at Anfield against City.
Frustration and disbelief at times until the reality kicked in: We would all, every single one of us, have taken up the simple offer of this: At the end of the season, you could still win the title on the last day. Up for that? Yes.
When someone cooks you a wonderful meal, you don't immediately say after the last crumbs have tumbled off your fat belly onto the dog, "Well, the gravy needs looking at". You relax and enjoy the moment. You don't say"Well, the potatoes weren't as good as the one's next door but they cost £40 more than ours so I'm not surprised" So whilst yes we can say we came 2nd to the most expensive team in sport, and yes look how much they cost and we've come on, right now, I'm not really bothered as much as I'm just proud.
I'm proud to be a fan, a Liverpool fan and out of all the many seasons I've seen us succeed and fail, this is up there. Not for some grand failure melancholy gesture but really truthfully because we enjoyed our days out. We developed a style, a elan, an elegance. Make us dream. That shiver you get when you think of that phrase. That's why we watch football, that's why we watch our team. The reason banner saying 'Make Us Dream' works at a football match (because it should be plainly nonsensical) is simple: It provokes an emotional response. It makes us smile, and it makes us like kids on Christmas morning, excited. To be alive to be aLiverpool fan.
Well done to my team, our team. Apparently there are other teams available but I wouldn't swap mine for anyone. Right now, I feel proud, knackered and excited. Frustrated a little sure, but most of all, we can hold our heads up high and know that we support, feel and are fans
of the best fucking team in the world.
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