I do wish however things could calm down a tad. theres a lot going on that could hinder our title bid, a bit of unrest with certain players and some odd decision making which the media is doing its best to stir up much more than it appears.
Welcome to modern day football.
I'm going to do my best to stop myself from digressing, but football amazes me. And not in the good way. Not in the way of when I see a Cruyff turn, a Ronaldinho elastico or the Zidane roulette.
When it emerged that the two clowns from across the Atlantic were lying, odious wretched c*nts, it would have been easy to call it a day on football. It could have been and probably was the final nail in the coffin for many reds. I said I wouldn't step foot inside Anfield until they no longer own the club myself. I said I wouldn't put a single penny in their pockets. But, unfortunately, I lied to myself. But then again, the price of the pound has fallen so I claim a moral victory. I'll celebrate by crying into a pillow with self-hate spinning madly inside my body.
I've been to five games this season. Twice in the league (Portsmouth and West Ham), once in the cup (Crewe) and twice in the Champions League (PSV and Marseille). Anyone over a certain age will tell you that going to the game isn't the same anymore. And it isn't. There are less laughs, there is less banter, it is generally less fun and the smell of smoke (and weed) has been replaced by BO and farts. But this season is the first time we've really been in it. Properly in the mix for a change. And you know what? It's a fucking nightmare.
Being at the top of the table is where you get to flex your muscles. When you're as big as we do, you don't make a meal of it. We're not Newcastle. But at this moment in time, we are the best team in the country. This is fact; solid fact. No buts. Etch it into a piece of wood and date it. But I don't sense that many people view this as a time to celebrate. This isn't a culmination of all our hard-work over the past five years. This isn't payback time for all the heartache and pain we, the fans, have felt over the years. Oh no. This is where every Tom, Dick and Harry part-timer comes out of the woodwork. And for any of you that are interested, in the thesaurus, under "part-timer" you will see other variations, such as "bell end", "whopper", "c*nt" and "glory-hunter".
While we all have our own view of what a "part time" or "glory-hunting" supporter is like, they are actually rather complex and strange beings. And you can't pigeon-hole them either. There's the harmless "Jim from the office" character. The one that suddenly starts taking an interest - he has Benitez on his desktop wallpaper and now drinks from an LFC mug. He even turns up in a replica top on dress-down Friday. Bless him. Then there's the other type. The more sinister ones. The Freddy Krueger, the Darth Vadar, the Frank Booth, the Captain Videl.
They're waiting round for the late movie on Saturday and they catch the end of Match of the Day. The league table shows Liverpool are sat top of the table. This is phase one. Phase two ensues as an advert for an upcoming Champions League tie comes up on ITV in the ad break during The X Factor. A quick montage shows Liverpool scoring goals, close-ups of Carragher and Gerrard, a millisecond shot of the Kop surfer. It's lodged firmly into the glory-hunters sub-conscious. Bit by bit, this creature becomes more engrossed. More intriuged. He hears tickets are roughly £30. He has a cushy job; £30 means nothing to him.
Weeks pass and he takes his seat in the famous Kop. But things don't go to plan. We don't hammer our opposition by a cricket score. The game is nervy. The players need the support of the fans. Suddenly £30 does seem like a lot of money and he begins to berate the team. He knows little about them; he probably doesn't know many of the players' names beyond Gerrard and Torres. But he still feels his opinion should be heard. Liverpool fail to win, he boos, fucks off down the motorway in his Saab convertible and feels no disappointment or frustration when he wakes up the next day ready to head down to the office to tell people called things like "Gav" about this great experience. Gav is then sat at home one Saturday night waiting for the late night movie...
Now I'm not saying there aren't old-school Kopites that act like whoppers. But what I am saying is, how will we teach the sort of person I described the proper way? People no longer get their education from The Kop. The school has shut down and people are now questioning why people are failing the exam. "RTK" set out to rekindle that old spirit. Recapture what it was like during the glory days. Well, the lads on the pitch are doing their utmost. It's about time we should too.
