Young Trent puts me in mind of something my Dad told me at a match many moons ago. It was a different time back then with different attitudes but I think the sentiment still has meaning in this day and age.
It was a warm late spring afternoon when I watched, through tear stained eyes, the gladiator that thrilled us every week for over 10 glorious years leave the arena for the last time.
There wasn't a dry eye in the house and I'd avoided looking at my father, half in shame at my own tears but also out of the privacy of his.
It felt wrong to look at him in his time of grief. Surely he wouldn't want his son to see him in such a state of upset.
It would hit him hard, no doubt. I could recite his prophecies word for word, "this scouser will be one of the best in the world" and "he will lead us to the Promised Land". I'd been hearing them for 15 years now.
He had been right on the money about the best in the world part, alas, however much I squinted at the Promised Land part of the deal trying to make it fit, I struggled.
While old prophesies are notoriously slippery,The Promised Land can only really mean one thing. And by that yardstick the prophecy was a bust.
Still, we'll always have Istanbul.
I looked down at my phone news by way of delaying action, Brexit still dominating the headlines, nothing there to help.
Well, I couldn't stay here for eternity, so I took one last look at a Steven Gerrard dimminishing into the cavernous maw of the players tunnel, girded my loins, and turned to face... my dad, dry eyed and looking at me slightly bemused.
'Whats up with you soft lad?!'he said sanguinely
'I..I..I thought he was the one Dad?' I squeaked out, betraying my inner emotion
'The one?' he quizzed
I felt knocked sideways, as if everything i thought I ever knew was suddenly under need of revision
'The one who would lead us to the promised land' I replied after subconciously checking that the sky was indeed blue
The laughter that bellowed out of him will stick with me untill the day I die, such was the embarassment I felt at being so wrong.
'He was good Son, but he wasn't the prince that was promised!!'he hissed at me.
And at that he ripped of a ruby necklace I'd never seen on him before and turned to dust.
Not literaly mind. He'd been the buffet star before the game and had the calling.
So If your up there Dad (wifi is sketchy at best in the loft), I think I've found him.
Arise Ser Trent! The Prince That Was Promised. Dilly! Dilly!
