by Anthony Stanley (TTT Subscriber Dannyluke10).
In a post earlier this morning, Duck328 praised yesterday’s Transfer Issues debating on TTT:
What an outstanding, informed, passionate, reasoned and purposeful discussion on this thread today. One of the best threads I’ve ever read on here.
One of those he singled out was Dannyluke10‘s “emotionally effecting rallying cry, a timely reminder of who and what we are”.
This is one of those occasions when we were impressed enough by a post to re-run it as an article. Here it is; a reminder that though we may have differences over many issues, as here in the immediate aftermath of the unsuccessful Mohammed Salah transfer, that which unites us is far greater. Cheers, Dannyluke.
Transfer merry-go-round, Twitter meltdown, gnashing of teeth, howls of rage, righteous indignation, ‘Ian Ayre is a twat’, fucking Chelsea, TRANSFER WINDOW…wait.
Take a deep breath. Consider.
This time four weeks ago – almost to the hour – was a fine time to be a Liverpool fan. I was sitting in a pub with my sister (just home from Australia), basking in the tingling buzz of close family and Christmas Guinness. I was also basking in the glow of a performance of incredible ambition, verve, moral courage and no little skill. Coming, as it did, less than two weeks after Spurs had been routed in the Lane had the result of me seriously comparing Liverpool to a heavenly hybrid of Borussia Dortmund and 1970 Brazil. What can I say; Irish Guinness has a unique place in western culture.
It was, even in defeat, a magical night and one of many I have experienced as a Liverpool supporter. You see that’s the point really; I was surrounded by family and close friends, enjoying the festive banter and anticipating the next day’s hangover (which at this stage was to be genuinely feared) and yet my abiding memory of that night was Liverpool. I was content, excited, and infinitely hopeful of the voyage ahead. I could hold my head up when talking to Manc friends, could nod sagely and allow myself the moral high ground as I, in mock self-deprecation, told friends and acquaintances that actually I still had my doubts that we’d be playing in the Champion’s League next season. Four weeks later what’s changed? Absolutely nothing.
We are Liverpool.
Every one of us on this site has memories of supporting the Reds; memories of which – if we are completely honest – aren’t far off the seminal ones of normal people’s lives. Wedding days, the birth of a child, graduations…events that make us feel blessed, that make it worthwhile to be alive. And then we compare them to Istanbul. Sophie’s choice if you ask me. Because we are a special club.
We are Liverpool.
I’m sure all fans, of every club, consider themselves ‘special’. After all, the club that they support go through all manner of trials, tribulations and, every now and then, victories are special so they – by extension – are too. But of course, they are not. Not even close. It pains me to admit it but only one club in England, perhaps Europe, comes close to Liverpool and that’s the Mancs. The smorgasbord of triumph mixed with tragedy, inherent in both clubs, has created legends, has ensured a vast swathe of undying and undulating passion which no other club can even live with. It’s a tale of generations, of father and son, of vicious heartache and poignant victory. It’s our story.
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