Fandom is a very difficult thing to nail down. Primarily because it revolves around the reaction of a single individual to something and the collating of said individuals into a group, bound by a common bond.
Human beings are complex and contradictory by nature, so the idea that even those who share similar interests will have similar personalities is not so much a fallacy as it is impossible.
Some connections resonate stronger than others, which complicate things even further. Pointless competition arises, whereby devotion to something is measured in a points system. Two people can be connected by one thing and yet at odds with each other by how much it means to them.
Glen Johnson, why…Joe Allen, can’t…Luis Alberto, no!
All these and more, readily and repeatedly within earshot. This was even before half time, when the Liverpool team had a two goal lead against Notts County. I should say that saying these things were mostly the rantings of one bitter, bitter man—but those that share his attitude and how it completely contradicts with mine is what I need to get off my chest.
Not one ounce of encouragement uttered within the entire game. He even had an extra half an hour to find it within him. I’m not asking anyone to blindly praise anybody, but to stop and think about things for a second.
Shouting “OH YOU…!” several times at a 17 year old lad who’s not having the best of times on a football pitch, what is that meant to achieve?
The important thing is not even how good or how bad his individual performance was, nor how it fitted in line with the team. Jordon Ibe’s progress will not hinge on one League Cup game; win, lose or draw. What he can learn from his game against Notts County is, and I’m certain that the coaching staff and Jordon himself will take something and move forward.
The last thing we want is that the next time he gets an opportunity he is afraid. That he would play anything other than his own, natural game, for fear of being derided.
Daniel Sturridge had been put through on goal. His shot hit the keeper and then bounced over the line and Anfield celebrates a goal like with the kind of joy and relief you wouldn’t associate with a second round League Cup tie against Notts County. It should have been—at the very least—the instant where red blushes were almost certainly spared. What had been a collective show of emotion gave way to something different entirely.
Chants of “You’re not singing anymore” directed from the Kop toward the Anfield Road end at the deflated Notts County fans were drowned out by boos.
As a precursor, I would like to point out that I was part of them, so I am not trying to condemn them. But did get me thinking. These were jeers not aimed at an opposition player or trying to intimidate the referee, but at a section of our own fan base.
Who needs enemies?
Football has often been likened to religion and the comparison is somewhat understandable given its emotional power with the masses. Emotion and rejoicing go hand in hand. Volume doesn’t matter because it comes from the heart more-so than the vocal chords. Especially at a football ground, where you’re very unlikely to hear anything pitch perfect. One voice can stand out and make a difference; for both the good and the bad.
Anytime you’ve ever really tried to sing—and even those of us without any real vocal talent have tried—you feel something deep down, that’s what it’s about.
I’d heard it all before.
The lone gunman, intent on picking apart every little thing about a certain player, or the manager. It’s happened before and it will happen again.
Being at Anfield is something I have always taken as a responsibility. You’re there as a supporter, to be there for when they need you. However, having listened to such vitriol—and become increasingly irate—with the mindless criticism around, in particular a complete assassination of Luis Alberto, came a realisation. I had been so worked up and deflated with what was being said, my voice had been missing as a counterpoint and so I was as much to blame as he.
Chances are, if Alberto heard one voice that night, it was mine. It wasn’t a great performance by any stretch of the imagination, but boy do I want him to succeed.
For that last half an hour when things went wrong on Tuesday, there was a sense of inevitability and that it had all been seen before. That mass acceptance shouldn’t even be contemplated let alone tolerated.
This isn’t to let any of the players off the hook, as there was a drop off which Notts County took full advantage of, but the idea, the very birth of that capitulation, came from doubt.
It spread like a disease and quickly led to frustration, which in turn led to uncertainty. As such, mind and body were out of synch. They didn’t regain much of that until Toure’s injury, and out of it rose a cloud of defiance. That doubt needs to be exorcised.
Opinions are not all equal. All that is valid is that you possess one, but that doesn’t prevent them from being superior or inferior. Everyone has their own personal bias one way or another.
It matters little how they arrived at such a conclusion.
Past judgements inform, but rarely illuminate. If anything they blind us to things as we are determined to see through our own eyes no matter how narrow the vision may be. Some would rather something goes wrong, or a particular player messes up, just for the sake of validation.
Being there isn’t just a badge of honor you wear for the sake of it. It’s part of a coming together. At the heart of it is a community. Football is, after all, so incredibly—feel it deep down in your bones—tribal and, perhaps more than most, the identity of what makes Liverpool Football Club is reflected in the people of the city.
This isn’t to invalidate anything or anyone outside of the city limits. That debate is tiresome and nonsensical, so long as you feel. You don’t have to embrace it (some of the people I know don’t like the city they were born in) but you do have to understand it and respect it. If you have it in you, nobody can take it away.
Come for the love of that team and leave your preconceptions at the turnstile.
Afterward, we can give an honest account of ourselves. Leave it to the opposition to undermine us.
Brendan Rodgers’ job is hard enough.
