Monthly Archives: March 2012

Are Liverpool Football Club Knackered.

So that explains it then, the team were tired after 3 games in six days. Jamie Carragher falling to sleep once again in a dereliction of defensive duties caught yawning when he should have perhaps been straining every sinew to dispel away the simplest of headed clearance. Lately there are no excuses for the lack lustre displays of some of this allegedly tired team.

Jamie Carragher taking a well earned rest.

Is the throw away comment from King Kenny just a smoke screen of an indicative mood that is becoming apparent within an ever dropped point at Anfield, and on recent journeys away from the once invincible stadium? Dalglish is possibly correct in his analysis, players did look very lacklustre, but more in approach to their opponents, nobody joining the attack, not one player prepared to break necks to join the forward ranks.

As a team of point gatherers we have actually capitulated, when getting in a position to collect points we have struggled to finish teams off, unable to complete the task at hand, whether through a weakness in mentality, or more possible a lack of true winners in our squad, fighters who would die for the cause. Think who amongst our squad would you choose to represent us in a brawl, a scrap; Downing, Henderson, Enrique, and even  Maxi, these are not battling players, when things are not quite going for you, when you need fighters in the trenches, ours are lacking.

Those same players that Dalglish has defended with the tired excuse need to look at themselves, because for some it is just that an excuse, Luis Suarez having had a 6 week holiday mid-season, Andy Carroll being called upon every second Saturday, Dirk Kuyt having also found himself rested in the last month not to mention Messrs Downing, Henderson and Carra whom have also had opportunity to rest their sorry behinds on the bench recently.

Some should look toward their own performances, and instead of Kenny having to come out every week apologising for what are shabby individual displays, which ultimately are weakening the team as a whole, interestingly those players whom seem quick to come out and receive Man Of The Match champagne are not so quick to meet Geoff Shreeves after dreadful displays at Bolton, Sunderland and Wigan. That unfortunately is where we are lacking, not enough of those prepared to stand up and be counted, and too many I like to call Harry Kewell’s.

Too many Harry Kewell's

I think clearly these players have great ability, some greater than others, and at times this season we have as a unit looked particularly impressive, whilst we suffered defeats at home to Arsenal and in our visit to Queens Park Rangers as a team we actually looked quite strong, take away a few momentary lapses, we controlled both games, but clearly let down by poor finishing in the case of the Arsenal match, and poor defensive mistakes at Rangers.

We also played extremely well against Chelsea, United and Man City this season, in a sense Dalglish has proved we are capable of challenging and beating the top sides in the Premier League, this however cannot be the case when we are lacking certain individuals, and when the balance of the side has had to change through injuries.

The biggest change and most crucial to our backbone has been the injury to Daniel Agger whose partnership with Martin Skrtel which was an essential ingredient to our early season form. Follow that with Lucas also suffering injury and a pinpoint toward our inadequacies shows its ugly head. The replacements in those positions have not performed anywhere near the levels reached by the previous incumbents.

A lot has been made of our lack of fire power, or more to the point our lack of a clinical predator to pop the ball in the onion bag, for me this argument has just let our lack of creativity in midfield go un-noticed, if we believe that Jay Spearing is the answer to this lack of creativity, then I worry for our progress. Someone maybe Dalglish himself or Steve Clarke needs to tell Jay he is not Michel Platini!! He may well have a future of some description with Liverpool, but definitely not in this current position, too easily removed from possession of the football, constantly putting us under pressure when sloppy touch or passing lets him down. I understand this is his first full season and that experience will do him good, possibly the poor form of those around him have forced Kenny’s hand this season.

Clearly what has been shown from this campaign is the fact that our squad is not good enough and does not have the depth required to manage itself through injuries, and extra pressure put upon individuals, the players may well be tired, but some fans are also tired because supporting our men, and our King has become an exhausting experience this season.

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Liverpool’s Kop in Pantomime Season.

The Kop once famously renowned around the World of football, an institution the integral cog that would become central in construction of Shankly’s bastion of invincibility. Dragon like it would exhale fire to expel many a goal bound strike from an opposing team, only for later in the twinkle of a scouse eye to draw the ball into their opponents net whilst sucking the air out of the misty Anfield night sky.

Liverpool Football supporters are amongst the most dedicated, steadfast in the game, they are renowned for it, loyalty is a given for most, to death and beyond they will defend their heroes, at time to the detriment of themselves and the famous club that they represent and hold so dear. Passionate people more than able to be constructive and gracious toward its particular adversary, the Kop being custodians of an etiquette which would be passed down by forefathers and the like-minded masses that would inhabit the kop.

It would seem lately that Anfield appears to have become disorientated, unable to reclaim its transcendent powers, once an arena feared by lesser foes. Where visitors would anxiously step out on hallowed turf with trepidation that would see them defeated before a ball would be kicked. David Fairclough like; this would be Liverpool’s 12th man.

The Kop in Full Voice

Fast forward a few trophy lacking years, and the changing face of football has now managed what many would think an impossible task; infiltration of the once impregnable Kop. But more importantly those foot soldiers who would stand shoulder to shoulder in defiance, in their belligerent battlefield, would today find themselves divided and somewhat conquered by adversaries, a new type of rival that would not easily be subjugated. Songs about walking through storms with heads held high, and the waving of scarves as engrossing and riveting in times gone by, for now finding its fascination has become less absorbing.

The problems encountered are not just pertinent to Liverpool, and experienced within all premier league and lower league grounds around the country. The Liverpool ethos would however sets itself apart from those lesser fervently followed clubs, having put itself upon a very unique pedestal, a reputation that would be singular to the club, and a bias toward success to boot.

Which now poses the question are Liverpool supporters really any different to those less educated, more fickle fans they have despised for many years.

The pantomime season at Anfield Road has started early, and is in full swing with the matinée performance due and audience participation a criteria for success. The booing and hissing that are synonymous with this genre will start well before the curtain call, through the medium of radio phone-ins, football forums, twitter and Facebook. With many believing that if they have purchased a ticket it gives them every right to have an enjoyable day letting off steam at the theatre.

Shouts and screams from the Kop aimed toward the once dependable Jamie Carragher “It’s behind you” as a second-rate striker beguiles him and pops the ball into an empty net, the first pantomime villain of the day. Whilst crowds bark out instruction toward Aladdin Dalglish to quickly make some magic happen with the rub of the electronic substitute’s board. Unaware that our heroes had turned into sleeping beauties poisoned by the exerts five days earlier with victory over Stoke, then becoming gradually sluggish at Queens Park Rangers as little by little the poisoned apple of three games in six days took its toll.

Having recruited heavily in the summer with a bag of magic beans from the good auld U.S. of A, fans expectation had been high, only to be quickly dashed at the realisation that a midfield more recently graced by the talents of Xabi Alonso and Didi Hamann, would now find itself occupied by their very own ugly sisters; Stewart Downing and Charlie Adam, add to the mix one of the seven dwarfs Jay Spearing himself a concoction of Sleepy, Dopey, and Bashful, and the booing and hissing gather apace.

Even the legendary Steven Gerrard has come under scrutiny from the Kop, a different role for our hero having an ever decreasing popularity from the mezzanine and the side stalls, with a memory of their very own Peter Pan the hero who would never age, flying through defences when he was big and hard, whilst passing the ball from 40 yards, the never-ending childhood ebbing away.

Dalglish Showing The Strains- "Oh no he isn't" "Oh yes he is"

Dalglish having unwittingly become the pantomime villain like a King gone bad, the target for those that are unaware of their very own roles to be played, that of the 12th man, supporters, fans and not that of agitators. The Premiership form of the club and players has been distinctly poor, and for every one of those highly paid professionals suffering tiredness, there are many a fan that are not just tired, but sick and tired of the poor performance of some, and rightly opinion can be put forward through intelligent debate.

My own opinion is that this has become a “Get it out-of-the-way” season, the sort experienced by many a top club or incoming manager in the first year of transition. Remembering Rafa’s first season in the Premiership he would encounter similar problems to Dalglish; the nuance would be our away form for Benitez. Kenny Dalglish has however spared us indignity of losing to a lower league club, something that was synonymous with Benitez and Hodgson in their first season.

This is not a pantomime; we are not Chelsea, Arsenal or other fickle followed clubs. No booing or hissing ladies and gentlemen for We are Liverpool Football Club, the Kop one of the World’s most famous iconic structures, now it is your turn to once again stand up and be counted.

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Kenny Dalglish & Liverpool, Crime Victims

ANOTHER RIDICULOUS week in the life of King Kenny, with both Dalglish and his team once again becoming the targets of pick-pockets, thieves, southern softies appearing harder than Liverpool’s less concentrated back four. Like Arsene Wengers band of merry men weeks earlier, Mark Hughes and his Rambling Rangers would commit grand larceny embezzling three points from the Anfield outfit.

Strangely for a victim of crime Dalglish and his team would not get much sympathy, in fact accusations that they deserved to be such victims, and were asking for it would surface, a naivety punished, prey like unable to make eye contact with the perpetrators of such criminality. Whilst crucially the offenders Mark Hughes and his woeful pack of players somehow get away scot free, without so much as a blemish on their characters, receiving praise and applaud from not only their own short sighted supporters but also some of Dalglish’s and Liverpool’s detractors.

The King and The Pickpocket.

Some of Liverpool’s immediate family and friends have suggested that in some way they deserved everything that happened to them, at a time when the victim of crime gets treated far worse than those who instigate and commit such hideous acts. I have to ask what ever happened to empathy toward our victims, the repercussions for those involved, the mental scars may last longer than it takes to pickpocket a pensioner on budget day!

Worst was still to come for our hapless hero, who within moments of the crime having been committed against himself and his crew, and crucially before he had even had a minute to assess exactly what had just occurred and the appropriation of points that moments earlier had been in his Kings bag, and on the way back to his Kingdom of Liverpool, the trauma of victimization still fresh in his crushed mind, and broken spirit by such a pillage, he would have an unsympathetic Geoff Shreeves shoving a microphone under his nose, and an enquiry into said crime would ensue.

Geoff "Touchline Terror" Shreeves

The self-styled “Touchline Terror” has a history all of his own when it comes to upsetting not only pickpocket victims, but those that may support the act of simulation. When asking Alex Ferguson a question regarding Cristiano Ronaldo being awarded (rightly) a penalty against Middlesbrough; Ferguson would question Geoff’s parentage and then politely telling him to F***k-Off; give that man another Knighthood I say.

King Kenny would not overstep a mark in the same manner as furtive Fergie, but his interview technique would once again come under the scrutiny of the footballing fraternity. We have a man who has just been a victim of a mugging, being asked to eulogise about the perpetrators of the mugging, nobody would take into account his posttraumatic stress disorder, the shock he would have felt, a numbness and of course, disbelief, denial and anger all symptoms experienced by victims of crime.

The biggest thing that Liverpool and Kenny require after this misdemeanour is the support of those closest to them, family and friends, an arm around a shoulder, a friendly tweet, a message on a forum asking regard the well-being of players who may have suffered injury during the heist, a stance of defence of our heroes, respectful and dignified approach to those on the undeserved receiving end of loss.

A sympathetic media is too much to ask, and at times I would think a good idea would be for Dalglish to send out his very own champion akin to Ferguson and his spat with the BBC, when he would not engage with them, neither managers are at their best in defeat and why would they be, they are both winners of the highest order. Imagine how a Shanks, Busby or a Brian Clough would be getting on in today’s hyper sensitive football society, it doesn’t bare thinking about. Geoff Shreeves would be chewed up very soon after having his appendage of a microphone popped into that rather insolent aperture that houses his teeth.

A blatant plug

Chris Morgan LFC Physio

For those fans that are unaware Chris Morgan our Liverpool physiotherapist and all round top bloke, is once again Running and Cycling for The Christie cancer charity, having raised over £20,000 for the charity last year. The following is a bio from his giving page.

Last year I chose the Christie as it was where my former colleague and Liverpool player Gary Ablett was receiving treatment for Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

Gary lost his fight with the disease on January 2nd 2012. Unfortunately, my Dad has now been diagnosed with a similar form of Cancer and is currently undergoing treatment at the same hospital (often from the same nurses and specialists who treated Gary).

Below I have attached the link to donate to what is a fantastic cause, which is also very close to my own heart with my own father having been successfully treated for throat cancer, at a time when money is incredibly tight, there is also the opportunity with every donations to WIN lots and lots of signed and worn Liverpool memorabilia, and match day tickets, just make sure you add email, or twitter details when you donate. And of course let all your LFC followers know.  Chris Morgan’s Just Giving Page where you can donate.!/ChrisMorgan10 Follow Chris Morgan on Twitter  The Christie charity page for an insight to the great work they do.!/TheChristie Follow The Christie on Twitter.

Thanks for reading and hopefully you will understand me using my forum to promote both of the above.

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David Cameron’s Country Thatchers Britain.

Thatcher’s Britain being regurgitated by the Tories in its new incarnation “Cameron’s Country” welcome to the new world and “The Big Society” apparently a flag-ship policy, like the Belgrano before it most surely a first-class target for a sinking, or at the very least a shot over its irreverent bow. Where Thatcher rode effortlessly over the miners and the ranks of the unemployed, selling off with will the countries processions without thought to the future, while showing an intolerance toward protestations, and an ineptitude only akin to the afore-mentioned Mr Cameron.

Thatcher and her prodigy stepping out.

Cameron would however ride upon a slightly different horse, Raisa would be saddled up and mounted in many a forgetful moment whilst out riding with his News of The World editor “Friend” and serial phone hacker Rebekah Brooks; no sorry he is not friends with her at all, it is her husband Charlie he rides with which of course makes a huge difference. So giddy-up David tramples over the countryside with a borrowed ex-police horse which had been housed by one of Rupert Murdoch’s chief of staff, well at least all that confusion is cleared up, eventually. You can understand his memory loss after all he has a lot of friends to keep happy in “The Big Society”.

I suspect that not only has Mr Cameron been riding the retired Raisa, but very soon he will have to apologise once more for Riding out with a certain Dick Turpin and Black Bess, soon to be seen galloping into your local NHS hospital, thieving and pillaging, holding Doctors to ransom “Your Waiting List Or Your Life”. Feeble apologies in a squeaky exasperating tone will not spin the truth about this ride into many a local Town or City, recollection not disguised by a convenient amnesia, whilst we all look on angered and bemused.

He would need some where to stash his booty, step forward The Bank of Former Contrite Conservative Friends, and all deposits welcome, with second-hand Knighthoods up for grabs; used but in good condition, one not so careful owner! “Recapitalise the poor instead of banks” suggested public school boy Dave, so what exactly does that kind of jingoism mean, well firstly it is a highly insulting suggestion that poor people need reorganising financially and that they should be separated from Dave’s Big Society, good old Cameron’s Country patronising the little people, like Maggie before him, before you know it his big wooden hooter will be getting us all splintered up, by poking itself into racism in football!

Does this refinancing of those who can’t finance themselves include not spending huge amounts of money if you happen to have a 60th anniversary coming up? Maybe take it easy on the jelly and ice cream in a time of austerity, perhaps the corgis can be feed slightly less, a better celebration would be to give the money to recapitalise pensioners in our Cameron’s Country.

Untruths delivered with a Thatcher like bravura, orated with Paddy Doherty and his band of merry men in mind, Cameron said of The NHS in 2007 “expect a bare knuckle fight with us over the next few weeks and months about saving district general hospitals as a key part of the local NHS”. I pictured David outside his newly erected if illegal caravan site, with torn vest displaying tattoos “Hate” “Mum” and “Thatcher” and Kappa tracksuit, fists held high in defense of the family name National Health Service, alas it was not to be and his “come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough” approach would just turn out to be nothing more than swagger.

Well We Did Warn You!!!

A guarantee of health spending increases in real terms one month before coming into power, quickly dispatched to an in-tray quickly followed by a removing to the Downing Street dustbin, as our hero began to notice a growing of his wooden boy made good nose, Geppetto would be proud of how incredibly well the boy has done.

Violence and unrest on the streets of “The Big Society” I feel like I have somehow been here before, striking teachers and health workers, Déjà vu. Detestation of this government continues apace animosity and loathing aimed straight at Cameron himself, his creation a more family friendly society, intent on selling the very roads he and Turpin have used for their Highwaymen business; from under us in true highway robbery.

An inclusive society where everyone has a share and something to say “We are all in this together” more jingoism from Dave, but hold on what about those who may be injurious to one of your bills; lets as an example say The Health Bill where the Liberal yellow bellies decided neither to oppose or support the bill, splinters on their sorry arses again. Mr. Cameron and Mr. Clegg seem to want to ignore those better placed professionals and of course hundreds and thousands of voters who oppose the bill.

The following were all against the bill, but were not invited to debate with “The Big Society”.

British Medical Association
Royal College of GPs
Royal College of Midwives
Royal College of Nursing
Chartered Society of Physiotherapists
Royal College of Pathologists
Royal College of Radiologists
Royal College of Psychiatrists

If only they had been bankers, they would have had a seat at the top table, if they had maybe had a horse to lend Mr Cameron, possibly he was averse to letting in the Royal College of Psychiatrists in case they asked him to lie down and relax “Tell me about your childhood” ………..”I can see a lady in blue with a black handbag, blue rinse snatching milk from primary school children” Alas he is beyond help.

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A Noose Around Liverpool’s Neck.

The Liverpool Way can be regarded in the modern age of Sky Sports and social media madness as somewhat of a noose around this great clubs neck, strangling it to its very core. An engaging media that has no time for such “Liverpool Ways” wanting instant retribution for any ill-advised activities. The blame culture where social conscience leads the baying pack toward its prey devouring “The Liverpool Way”.
Some believe that it was built on an ingredient of success and an insurmountable amount of glory, where the masses jumped in with both feet hoping that the silver prizes would rub off on them, forgetful that Bill Shankly would go trophyless from 1966 through to 1972 “The Liverpool Way” has not always been about winning, more about the conducting of one’s self on and off the football field.

The First Godfather Bill Shankly

Transfer targets would only become known to the masses upon entering the famous halls and corridors of Anfield, secrecy would be a byword of “The Liverpool Way” the crown jewel would be its fans, supporters pack like with a tribalism like nothing before, astonishing people fighting its corner.
The Liverpool Way would not just be about football, through the 1970s and 80s it would be a home for the masses of unemployed, people disenfranchised through Margaret Thatcher’s years in office, a Community Centre, a church to come and pay homage, their very own place of worship, they would kneel and pray toward Gods with feet of clay. The Liverpool Dockers strike would be the longest in British industrial relations history, supported by “The Liverpool Way” with Robbie Fowler wearing a supporting T-shirt which would be revealed during a goal scoring celebration.
Hillsborough and its justice campaign for innocent supporters, innocent children lost to a stadium disaster, would run red-hot through the very veins of this club, everyone to a man or woman would fight like they had been a parent to those 96 that perished from that day, “The Liverpool Way” would make sure they would not be forgotten, they would not allow them to be lied about, they would boycott The Sun whose lies would harm so many The Liverpool Way would be to seek justice and the truth. Hillsborough would be entrenched in the thoughts and minds of every Liverpool fan, and subsequently educating new followers of their responsibility to seek justice.

Fowler Supporters The Dockers

Tasked with this impossible assignment Kenny Dalglish like others before him has been found wanting, an institute well practised with keeping cards very close to its liver bird chest, where in-house would mean exactly that. A Cosa Nostra with its very own values and rituals, where fans would have to take a code of silence, brothers in red arms with family secrets that would be forever clandestine. Its first Godfather Shankly would give it his own brand of meaningfulness.
“Well the Kop’s exclusive. The Spion Kop at Liverpool is an institution. And if you are a member of the Kop you feel as if you are a member of a big society where you’ve got thousands of friends all roundabout you. And they’re united and loyal.”
Its ingredient would be more Fanny Craddick than today’s less tasty if more modern Jamie Oliver, an unquestionable loyalty in a theatre of atmospheric greatness, where scarves would be raised above heads full of footballing integrity with a dash of knowledge, supportive to its very bone. With songs to sing with words that others would steal for themselves, loud and boisterous would be added to the dish, slices of belligerence roasted with its very own humour, a side dish of humility. The Liverpool Way would be an honest way, where truth could and would be accepted, passion would not get in its way.
This banquet however would become far less palatable, but some would keep the appetite for this new dish and consume with the same intensity whilst unaware the ingredient had now changed, a modernistic plate, with its integrity questioned its former ways challenged once lauded and extolled, would now be abused and accused leading to a new Liverpool Way.
Strangulation of Liverpool Football Club would come with an inability to react to the modern way, it would have to battle with its demons, the veracity of its history, acceptance of its part played on 29th May 1985 in the deaths of 39 football fans as bitter as any feast it had been fed. The Liverpool Way was to protect and fight its own corner, but it would not win this battle, the modern fan may well try to defend the indefensible, believing in some small way they are protecting the club, they are not, they are furthering its unacceptable face, intolerable in its stance.
Wearing t-shirts supporting sacked dock workers would be replaced with those pertaining association with an alleged racist, this would not help the modern Liverpool way, and it would become all to consuming for the modern fan, believing defense with all-out attack was an appropriate recipe. Where once they could hold their own court the avalanche of media driven rhetoric would need feeding more regularly; than owners, managers and players were used to, and negativity thrust upon this once great institution had begun to make inroads, divided it would be conquered.

Fans Paying Homage At The Church Of Anfield.

Fans had found an insatiable appetite for what they perceived was their right to a once given success, a hunger they cannot stomach, replaced realism with dreams of grandeur above its station, patience thin to its hub. How “The Liverpool Way” had manifested itself into the modern church goer whom no longer just came to pay homage, a wanting of satisfaction from its demigods, an expectation of excellence from those who would fail to deliver. The Liverpool way would become just a distant memory talked about and regaled in moments of reflection.
I was raised on the diet that was “The Liverpool Way” an innate sense of what was right, a footballing paradise, where pass and move were watch words, recognition from eyes that would behold this spectacle; our way. When our castle on the rare occasion was penetrated we would applaud our conquerors with a gratitude that only our way knew. Defeat would not be met with rounding on heroes and custodians of our institution. We would sing “You’ll never walk alone” and we would mean it, frivolous and erratic support would be for others, it would not be “The Liverpool Way”
Its history will not be decided from within Anfield but more from outside, its fans, the media driven vitriol and Mr. General Public who will decide to believe headlines over content, where social media rage replaces sensible dialogue, my fear is its epitaph is written.

R.I.P. “The Liverpool Way”

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My Liverpool Gang Will Never Walk Alone

When I was young I followed the biggest gang around, the most powerful, auspicious group imaginable. My posse was run by the greatest of gang leaders, our very own Godfather Liverpool gangster William “Bill” Shankly, and later the baton would be passed down through like minded folk, commissioned with an assignment, a brief to bully, to impose greatness upon our foes. We would expose weakness, landing critical blows, all would be legal and above-board, but also ferocious, a brutality with a football at its feet, quick minds with ingenuity, geniuses to a man.

They would have  preference and bias toward Silver, becoming hoarders with each new piece of swag accumulated, with all our defeated opponents suffering a malaise of jealousy. This would be what would draw me to a converted follower kneeling and praying at my Gods alter.

Our First Gang Bosses Bill & Bob

That’s my excuse for becoming a disciple a hanger-on to Liverpool Football Club, how my heart would become lost to those that refused to walk alone, a red army, where foot soldiers would hoist scarves above their heads and loudly sing about hope in my heart, and how when I walked through a storm I must hold my head up high, their hymn for this great church.

After many years being the biggest bully in our footballing playground, we would slowly lose our Godfathers, through Bob, Joe and Kenny sparkling jewels would be pillaged, we would not question them, believing they knew best, we were not worthy, our guides through the storm were at the head of the pack toward the sound of the sweet silver song of the lark, we were but followers toward an acceptance that the dark would change to light.

When things changed, the new members of our gang would be less supportive, less principled constantly within moments of overthrowing our incumbent pack leader, as time went on and our gang would acquire less and less booty, membership would not be magnanimous not as tolerant, they would assume a position of louder more boisterous if less educated stance.

The sweet silver lark would be replaced with a P45 which would be waiting at the end of any slight shower that may darken our golden skies; dreams that were once tossed and blown had now taken on nightmare proportions. There would be no hope in hearts broken by defeat to Sunderland or Bolton, they would sing the song but not walk the walk, that had become a lonely walk.

Maybe the more modern fashionable supporter of today has no interest in gang culture which in itself is surprising given where society finds itself at this moment in time, where glory has no meaning beyond its inception of a Wembley weekend, quickly forgotten replaced with talk of revolution and the masses drown out the old with a new song, a song without words; an instrumental made up of throats regurgitating boos, with only a chorus of “What a load of rubbish”

Success Has Many Godfathers

Storming the castles of forums with their right to opinion, compassionate support with volleys of crass indignation toward the institution they are followers of, with illegal punches, rabbit and below the belt with the lowest of blows, why I find myself the self-appointed referee in this illegal underground scrap, as they try to legitimise their brand of keyboard killings within the ropes of the social media ring.

I can’t understand why anyone wants to follow my team these days, one tiny miniscule trophy that wouldn’t raise a smile from a pawnbroker, in the space of six barren years, tactics that would only cause a shaking of the head, players that are over-paid for the under achievements, signed for millions by those who should be held responsible, taken outside and shot, and no goals being scored “We need a goal scorer”. Does that resemble the team you follow? Well it does not mine, my team are mighty men in red, passionately striding toward a new era of greatness, where the Godfather has returned to reclaim his gang and put them back at the top, it is a different kind of scrapping, and we need to learn those fighting skills, it may take time but we will get better.

Those new members trying to change the tune need not look to me for change, they need to look for a change within themselves, or ultimately find a new gang. I remember the words to that song when I was initiated into the gang “Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart, and you’ll never walk alone, you’ll never walk alone”


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Kenny Dalglish Stole Our Childhoods.

It was 1978 the 13th day of October, a cold evening and with this soon to be 12-year-old boy seated high up in the main stand at Nottingham Forest’s City Ground only adding to how incredibly cold I was. This was The European Cup first round, a knock-out competition in those days, excitement had filled my body for weeks after the draw was made Liverpool v Nottingham Forest, luckily my Uncle John had some close contacts within both clubs through his work, he had told me how we were to go to the game with tickets provided from an insider at Liverpool, it was as if he actually played for the Reds in my mind, in those days if you knew a player or even talked to one, its importance would have a copious meaning for a 11-year-old boy.

It has to be remembered that these games were not shown live on T.V. highlights would be the only avenue to viewing such occasions, Sky Sports would only be a twinkle in our eyes undelivered manna from a not yet produced footballing heaven. The previous season Forest had made me cry when firstly at Wembley in The League Cup Final they held us to a stalemate 0-0, winning the replay at Old Trafford 1-0.

In the first game I ended up with an elbow to the eye, Kenny Dalglish having a goal ruled off-side whilst all around me believing we had scored jumping up ending with one 11-year-old boy crying and with a black eye Henry Cooper would be proud of. It would not be my last black-eye at the hands of our latest combatants we were beginning to have quite a history with Brian Clough’s Nottingham Forest, mainly resulting in pain for me.

This Bunch Would Ruin My Life For Three Years.

All my school friends were very envious of my trip to the City Ground to watch my heroes, we were European Champions so in my mind, unbeatable, peerless we had unparalleled success in our corner, the whole World knew we would not lose to Nottingham Forest, more importantly I knew, Uncle John had said we will meet the players after the game in The Jubilee Club next to the changing room exits, a renowned and famous place in Forest fans folklore, which was where all the players would meet and drink after all Forest’s games, I am not sure I can explain exactly what the feeling inside me was, knowing I would meet my heroes, and in particular Dalglish.

From the game itself I remember very little, I do however remember how a hot chocolate would warm my frozen fingers and a steak & kidney pie would have a similar effect on my stomach, it was a foggy and freezing evening. How a certain Gary Birtles would open the scoring with his first ever senior goal for Forest, this would be followed by a second goal toward the end of the match at a point when I no longer cared as frost bite had set in, my feet immobile and hands motionless, my sleeves covered by the constant wiping of a dribbling nose. Yes I was disappointed but this paled in to an insignificance compared to my ensuing death due to hypothermia.

The difficulty I had walking around the ground with feet and digits I could no longer feel, momentarily forgetting about my heroes who would be waiting with open arms, and hopefully signing my now screwed up match programme, it would seem like the longest walk, fans rushing everywhere similarly wanting to get out of the cold. On eventually making our way to the players’ lounge I would have to wait what seemed like an eternity until Dalglish turned up, as we approached him to get his autograph, he swept past us almost knocking Uncle John over, which was a job in itself as he was twice the size of Dalglish, and with that the yet to be crowned Dalglish was gone.

That was my first introduction to the greatest Liverpool player I ever had the gratification to see play, and my first moment I was brought down to earth with a bang by my assumed Gods, an ordinary man, ignoring me in a way my Father did when I wanted to play rush goalies in the park, and all he wanted was to sit down after a heavy days labour. Was I hurt? No I was devastated. Luckily at home I had a poster from Shoot magazine with his signature on it, and with a piece of tracing paper I would have my signature, and proof I had met Kenny Dalglish and shook his hand, and how he had spoken to me, jealousy is a terrible thing, and so are lies.

When Dalglish in 1991 was to resign his managerial position after suffering from stress and physical illness post Hillsborough, in under six years as Manager we won 3 League Titles and 2 F.A. Cups, including the illusive Double in 1986, but the day when Dalglish quit can go down as one of the saddest days in my life. What Dalglish did for this club, for this City should never be forgotten.

The Stresses Of Hillsborough Have Taken Their Toll.

Somebody said the other day we were “stuck in a time-warp of greatness” how somehow we have not progressed under Dalglish part deux, yet after being trophyless for six years, we can now shake the dust from our cabinet with the incoming League Cup, leaving it slightly ajar in case its cousin The F.A.Cup turns up in May.

My biggest fear is that Dalglish will walk away from the project in the summer, maybe going back upstairs, some suggesting arrogance, and a stance where he is bigger than the club he has always stated is more important than individuals. Well this is being said of a man who I will always remember with his head in his hands, tears in his eyes, after attending his FOURTH funeral of the day for other innocent victims of Hillsborough, only for two days later him and Marina attending another THREE in a day. How many funerals have those people asking for his head been to? I like Rafa Benitez but younger fans and some who should know better go on about £96,000 being donated to HJC as a game of comparison, who is more worthy, it is disgusting and repulsive, those fans know nothing about Hillsborough or our Manager for if they did surely the treatment he receives would be very different.

They say why should Dalglish be treated any differently to Roy Hodgson, or Rafa Benitez, lets deal with Roy a man who had won precisely nothing of note as a manager, and unfortunately was the wrong man at an even worst time. Rafa Benitez however was an excellent proven manager who had won Trophies in Spain and then at Liverpool, and he was rightly given SIX years at Liverpool, but again with owners that did not support Rafa he was on a hiding to nothing, and those same fans shouting “Bring Rafa Back” were the same asking for his head on a waiter’s tray!!

The Two Great Men Together At The Hillsborough Memorial

Kenny Dalglish should certainly be treated differently, we are a club at the start of something, a blueprint for a trophy haul, and it has begun. Liverpool Football Club do not want to go down a Chelsea road, hiring and firing every season, you have a manager with proven pedigree, a man who has won four titles with two different teams, has he made mistakes, of course he has, but the players have let us down also, the Suarez incidents have cost us in concentration and made it difficult to prepare properly, focus has been lost by not only our team, but its supporters.

I did not want Dalglish to return as Liverpool Football Club manager, because as is being proved, our fickle fantasist fans are turning on him, and somewhat changing his status within this club, I did not care for these people re-writing Dalglish’s history, twisting and turning what is written in stone, for some of us, we will never be deceived by such clueless individuals, but others less educated jump on board.

I never ever got a Kenny Dalglish autograph, although I have been lucky enough to meet him on a few occasions, but he has more than made up for the lack of his scribble on my bedroom wall, I can’t remember the man who barged past me in 1978 but I do remember Eight League Titles, Two F.A. Cups, Five League Cups not forgetting Three European Cups, if you are looking for man and a manager who wins trophies; look no further than Kenneth Mathieson Dalglish.

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