From The Return of the King to The King's Speech, every subtle and unsubtle film, book, historical saying, song and sea shanty phrase has been used to proclaim Dalglish's return to management. Every creative use of the word that was ever written has turned up on someone's post and thread and banner and flag of late.
Now lets be honest, we're a sentimental lot at the best and worst of times. No denying it. Not self pity city but real sentiment (though we're a right shower of bastards when we lose and its been a lot of showers recently) and the one single thing that Kenny could guarantee was an outpouring of emotion upon his return.
And when it comes to creative writings, what better proof that football is truly stranger than art. Kenny's first game v MR Alex Ferguson at the theatre of rubbish (with a beautiful swan dive from the ballerina Berbatov to cap the artistry off).
The noise we made there told you that in quiet corners of our sentimental nostalgic red tinted specs, that Liverpool might be looking once more at that hill to come up. Not coming up it yet though, a day trip to pleasure beach was anything but and then the derby against that other shower across the park reminded us of the reality that is the mire we're in.
You see, what most other fans of other clubs don't get about us is this. We're not fatalists like Manchester City fans, we're not glory boys in blue and bitter bitters who only believe the worst. But nor are we the purely sentimental emotional backward looking idealists that most media and misunderstanderers would have us be. Pete Wylie may tug at our heart strings but you don't live in a port only looking inland.
Liverpool fans love their history - as much as others do. We've long memories, but then so have Spurs fans - "I tell yer mate, we played some right proper football in them days" and never mind the Geordies - "Wear still a big cloob man", but as much as the press and pundits would love to have it, Reds are more than romanticists, we're realists too.
And that's why the noise for Kenny may have reminded us of past atmospheres, but it was for something more real and futuristic than that.
It was a noise of a waking giant that said we're trusting one of our own to rouse the slumbering red men and take us up that hill and once more, if nothing else, get some fucking passion into our players.
Someone on here said they'd seen Fernando smile for the first time in ages on Sunday. Well I know this, there were players at OT that were unrecognisable from previous weeks, like shackles had been released from their ankles and blinkers from their eyes.
But whilst that sounds like Mills and Boon for footballers, we all know the truth is out there. Kenny has one very difficult job on his hands, and I'll be honest, I was very very worried about his return. Because I (and everyone else lets be honest) knew he alone could rouse the players and unite the fans, repair that fracture between club and supporter. But could he actually manage the team…
So far the red reality is this: He’s not won a game yet, and the facts are there to see, we’re in a mess at the moment. The defence is wonky, the midfield unsure and our forwards less forward than a nun at a trappist dance night.
But I’ve been reassured by a couple of things. Firstly the appointment of Steve Clark, an astute move that said Kenny accepted he might need new outside blood, not circling the wagons but extending the hand of invitation. Secondly, his press conferences, not defensive and mumbling and full of reasons but reality and bite and wit – what we expect from a Liverpool manager. And finally and perhaps the most tenuous and emotional of all, but one I expect reds to understand (and frankly the rest can fuck off) – a sense of purpose.
In all our games confidence has been low but we’ve played and more importantly tried to play the Liverpool way of passing and moving and playing to our skills and enjoying the football as best we can. Our first half v Evershit was some of the nicest fastest movement and support for the front men I’ve seen in a long time.
Whisper it boys, its that sense, that urgency and desire and most importantly that unity between player and manager and fan that is somewhere growing, that is somewhere slowly but surely rising in voice and deed. Whatever happens the rest of this season, I’m suddenly once more a Liverpool fan bonded and interested and part of that surge, the swell and song and shout and the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
Realistically we’re a romantic bunch. But we’re a right shower of realists too. And if for nothing else, Kenny Dalglish gets my support until the end of the season at the very least, to start to get it right and nurture back to life, the Liverpool that I love.
