Monthly Archives: April 2012

Lord Fergie A Footballing Illness

On a sunny April day I had been invited to the home of former football manager Lord Alan Fergie, for what would be a frank and honest assessment of the Lord’s career – a step back in time. Where for the first time he would disclose how debilitating illness would dog him throughout his footballing life and the struggles he would have to overcome including a brutal fight with amnesia alongside personal addiction that would see him at one point during the 1990s spending £38.46p a week on chewing gum.

A man that now finds himself alone with just his memories rattling around his head, unable to make sense of any of them. This is a must read for any football fan or old age pensioner – a heartfelt tale that will bring tears to your eyes and possibly make you howl with laughter. One man’s personal story on his decline into dementia.

I would be led through the halls of Trafford Castle, a place where you can hear a pin drop, the silence would indeed be somewhat deafening. Pictures of Alan’s former protégé’s would adorn the walls, a testament to his tenure as Britain’s greatest procurer of footballing talent – Massimo Taibi….Gabriel Orbertan….David Bellion….Eric Jemba-Jemba….Jose Kleberson. I would later be informed that Lord Fergie likes to refer to them as his “Fabulous Famous Five”.

Silent & Bewildering Trafford Castle

On entering Alan’s living quarters one is instantly overwhelmed by an aroma – a harsh fragrance of spearmint with a hint of three day old urine. A huge overcoat would cover his frail frame as he sat serenely in a huge red armchair, reminiscent of a throne, on the left arm would be a packet of Werther’s Original, and a bottle of Vino circa 1986. On the right arm of the chair would be – lined up like soldiers – packets of pre-opened Wrigley’s chewing gum original mint flavour. Ahead of me would be a spittoon half full of freshly chewed gum and Werther’s wrappers covered in phlegm.

After the formalities of introduction, where Lord Fergie would confusingly refer to me as Geoff [I assume he meant Shreeves] and threaten me with knee-capping if I asked any questions in relation to goal-line technology – his Sky+ had stopped working at the weekend and this would set the tone – I would press record on my dictaphone and the interview would begin.

The following would all be Lord Alan Fergies own words.

“I suppose the warning signs were always there. I went to the doctors, and I think he spotted it straight away, and of course he then sent me to the specialist, and they did loads of tests on me. I remember what the Doctor said – and I will never forget his words – he said “It is confirmed Mr Fergie, unfortunately you are suffering from myopia” . Well I cried for three days and three nights until Big Sam Allardyce told me that it just meant I couldn’t see things that were further than a metre away. You see he had suffered with a similar problem; I think he called it bulimia. Since that day I have loved that man like a brother. Love him.

Noticeably soon after that diagnosis, I would deteriorate. It would get so bad that even if the BBC would show me a replay on T.V. of a blatant penalty that had not been given to our opponents, I would still not be able to see. In the end I had to stop speaking to the BBC all together – especially when they suggested my son Jason was slightly dodgy that time on Panorama….he wore glasses for Christ sake.

I would first notice that there was a problem in November of 1986 when I would join Manchester United Football Club as their manager. You have to go back to my childhood in Scotland; none of our family had watches back then so we had no reason to figure out how the bloody things worked. Why would we? Obviously part of the contract at United was they would provide a watch – I think it was one Ron Atkinson had left behind – a big gold thing with a huge diamond face. Well when I say gold, it was covered in green under the band. Ron was always bringing fake gold into training and selling it to the lads – Remi Moses told me that.

It made not a jot to me though because I couldn’t work it, no use how I tried. I could not understand how many minutes added up to 90. I knew what an hour was, but not two 45 minutes put together, but in those days the FA and referees were not bothered about genuine disability amongst managers; they would attempt to just ignore it back then.

After 3 years when we had won sod all, the lads and the supporters all chipped in and gave me a birthday present of a new Casio watch which they inscribed with the words “Times Up Fergie” which was nice, but even with that I still struggled to tell the time. It’s laughable really when I look back now – a grown man unable to work a tick-tock.

When I got my Knighthood from President Blair in 1999, Martin Edwards wrote to the FA to get them to make all our games last for 100 minutes, because then I could use an abacus. So they agreed to that, but some of the referees did not want to play ball. That Martin Atkinson he was the worst – disgusting man he should have been banned, never referee again, or deported for the way he used to blow his whistle bang on 90 minutes. You see I would be sat with Mikey Phelan thinking we had another 10 minutes, and that little s**t would be blowing his bloody whistle.

Luckily Howard Webb came along and he would be more sympathetic to those with disabilities. He has done a lot of charity work in and around the Manchester area, well around Old Trafford. Fantastic man he will always include any time we were sat chatting during half-time, on to the end of the match – sometimes 5 or 6 minutes. Great guy was Howard.

For my 100th anniversary as United manager, Roy Hodgson & Big Sam gave me a kitchen clock that would always automatically put on 6 minutes every hour. Jesus one week I lost half a day! My missus accused me of drinking it away, but I hadn’t a clue. Bloody clocks.

Things were to get particularly bad. I had always suffered from mood swings and had such a temper, forgetfulness and of course the eyesight would get worse. One day myself and Gary Neville were horsing around after a game and I tried to karate kick him up his boney backside, but rat like he swerved out of the way. My cowboy boot flew off and took out one of David Beckham’s eyes. His career at Old Trafford ended that day. Unfortunately I completely forgot about it the next day and was unaware that it had even happened apart from the fact that my left boot was covered in claret.

We loved playing Kung-Fu after matches in those early days; every Friday we would play during five aside games in training. Some of the lads would get great enjoyment out of those sessions, apart from that big girl’s blouse Owen Hargeaves who would turn up every Friday (Kung-Fu day) with a sick-note from his mom.

The physio used to use him like a guinea pig as a punishment.

Managing is all about building camaraderie , but these football lads are like children and there is always one who spoils the fun for everyone else by taking things a little too far. Eric Cantona, another foreigner, would ruin it for all the boys. I would have to dispense with Kung- Fu Friday after Eric started playing it on a Wednesday evening with a lad at Crystal Palace. As soon as the media got wind of that, we had to stop it.

Kung-Fu Friday would end after this incident

You will laugh at this, as an example of how it’s all affecting me but my memory has completely been shot. They told me that in 2009 there was me saying Eduardo should be banned for diving when he was at Arsenal. I can’t remember. Then we have that other bugger Suarez flipping diving and doing somersaults all over the pitch. I can’t remember that either.  You see my players were not like those foreign sorts, we had great players that did not need to dive – Ronaldo…Van Nistelrooy…the lad with the wig, Rooney – and Ashley Young who was also a fantastic swimmer by the way. He could have easily been a star of the high board in the Olympics.

In all my time in football I can honestly say that I have never seen a player I have managed dive. We would instil British values into our players. You go out there and play fairly and at the start of the game you shake your opponents hand and be respectful of each other and the officials. Well apart from that time that Scholesy and Roy Carroll refused to shake Patrick Viera’s hand after that French b*****d threw a plate of prawn sandwiches over my best mohair coat that the missus had given me for Christmas. The lads did me proud that day and Viera should have been banned for life and should have never played for Arsenal again. He could have caused a riot that day.

When I told our old goalkeeper Peter Schmeichel about Ashley Young’s high board diving he told me that black guys couldn’t swim – Funny guy Scmeichel was. Some called him a bigot and a racist because he had a wee argument with Ian Wright, and yes everyone remembers him calling Wrighty a black such and such but no-one remembers Ian calling him a big Danish lump with a girls hair-cut. The boys can be easily wound up out there and these things just need sweeping under the carpet, and between ourselves  the F.A. and the P.F.A. that’s exactly what we did. And good old Schmeichel ended on a poster promoting anti-racism .Even I would be accused of racism when I called them cheating Italians, but everyone knows they are a lying race. All I said was “ When an Italian says it’s pasta, I check under the sauce” …bloody fined me £5000 after that. Sepp Blatter. I think he was Italian.

Our supporters are some of the most knowledgeable in Manchester. They hate racism, but love a laugh especially with our Korean players. When they sang about them eating dogs, that made us all giggle [starts singing] “ Park Park wherever you may be, you eat dogs in your own country” …… aye that was funny. Sometimes the joke is lost in translation, you know  because these boys can’t understand the lingo.

Not like them flipping scousers. What that Nazi Suarez said to our little black man Patrice Evra, well that was disgusting – he should have gone to jail for that. And you have to ask yourself why on earth he never shook Rio Ferdinand’s hand, just because Rio likes all that boom-boom bang-bang music. There was no need for that.

Lord Alan and his addictions would only come to light in the later years.

Looking back now I assume I was always ill. People would call me a hypocrite, but genuinely I could not see very well, and my memory would be shocking. Three years after Roy Keane had left I would still put his name on the team sheet and many a time at the chemist with my prescription for my Wrigley’s – would you believe I forget I’m a multi-millionaire and tick the box that says I am on Job-seekers allowance so I get them for free.”

With Lord Fergie heading off on a tangent I draw the interview to a close. There are three less packets of gum on Alan’s armchair than when we started, and a now empty bottle that once held the vino lay disregarded on the floor.

Lord Alan Fergie stays seated on his throne whilst offering me his hand to shake. “Thanks for coming Geoff”  – I did not have the heart to tell the dotty old git that I was not Geoff Shreeves. I would leave with an impression that I had not seen Lord Fergie in a new light, more a confirmation of what I suspected all along.

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Kenny Dalglish Painter & Decorator – Or Silversmith

IN WHAT HAS been an interesting weekend in both a footballing sense with a trip to Wembley and the Hillsborough memorial, and with that has once again come a media interest in our club and its supporters – A dissection of an as yet complete season, and of course comparison to others, with a noticeable slant against us and our Manager in a way that only an objectionable and Machiavellian media would.

What really is most annoying and saddening is the way that some Liverpool supporters allow themselves to be hoodwinked and misled from a perceived more knowledgeable and well-intentioned media – Former professional players vying for an angle, a stance where opinion is assumed correct – Where the Sky Sports brigade will swallow that such opinion with an unmatched gullibility, with an excessive greed for more.

In a synopsis from the weekend media I would glint the following;

So Chelsea have managed to expertly manoeuvre themselves into a Champions League semi-final and F.A. Cup final – skilfully they have exerted every sinew, strained every muscle, perspired every ounce of sweat, given all for the cause, and their supporters, whom earlier in the season they had disregarded with such contempt – When personal glory would take the place of any apparent team work.

Roberto Di Matteo has done a wonderful and fantastic job in guiding a mass of expensive individuals, turning them into much more of a collective – Nothing mentioned about the price of that assembled squad, or the expectation of that return.

Roberto Di Matteo " Football Genius?"

Arsene Wenger is another manager who after an early season debacle which saw his Arsenal side dumped out of both English cup competitions, and another season where the clubs trophy cabinet would remain empty would quickly come to pass. The Medias response; a great run of victories to secure Champions League football.

Compare the above to Liverpool Football Club and their manager Kenny Dalglish who on reaching two Cup Finals in his first complete season, having already secured one Cup clearly having excelled in this sphere.

Unlike Chelsea who’s achievements have been described as SKILFUL – Dalglish would not be afforded such generous praise from those intent on division, commentators only interested in negativity would describe Liverpool’s achievements as purely papering over the cracks, and Dalglish compared to a dodgy decorator with a bucket full of paste in one hand and paper brush in the other, unaware of hidden cameras in a clear set-up, and an attempt to flush out another Builder From Hell.

Dalglish & Clarke Papering Over The Cracks.

We must ask ourselves where the precipitous dislike of Dalglish and Liverpool has come from, if it were from an isolated area, we could comprehend such loathing. The footballing public at large are not enamoured with Dalglish and his charmless interview technique, a constant battle ensuing, belligerence toward a foe intent on drawing Dalglish toward confrontation with a policy to annoy – Far too often The King has been found wanting amongst such battle hardened antagonist, and a turning of the cheek mid interview has been a familiar response.

Having become great fodder for a media, whom Dalglish had always had an uneasy relationship with, something clearly needs to be addressed regarding that relationship, and new rules of engagement put in place – We are suffering because of the constant disingenuous articles which have a perspective toward both bias and clearly attempt to rile a man who has found himself the target for those in need of self-fulfilment, on the back of such derision.

When next we are told to assume that Dalglish is stuck in his very own managerial time-warp, maladroit and clueless, having seen the speed train of the modern game pass him by at a rate of knots, left behind choking on a trail of its Premier League smoke. You may want to rub your eyes, clear your head and consciously arm yourself with the knowledge of what he has achieved in his first full season – Something other managers who would later be knighted for their footballing achievements, would not manage in their first three years of management.

Rather than have an opinion of him being a dubious decorator – I myself like to think of Kenny Dalglish as more of a silversmith making new history for his team and its followers – Whilst carving its name upon silver trophies, in an obvious resurgence of glory hunting, soon finding himself travelling first class on that very same speed train.

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Who is Liverpool Keeper Brad Jones?

Bradley Scott Jones is Liverpool Football Clubs 3rd choice goalkeeper, who after Tuesday evenings red card for Alexander Doni at Blackburn looks likely to be catapulted toward the starting line-up for their upcoming F.A. Cup semi-final against City rivals Everton.

After a less than inspiring, if incident packed Premier League debut Liverpool’s £2.3 million pound purchase now finds himself thrust into a game that days ago he could only dream about, and the boyhood ambition of playing at Wembley fulfilled.

Making your first team debut for any club can be a nerve-racking experience, but the circumstances that the Australian found himself tasked with were by no means conventional – gloves on, boots laced and prepare to save a penalty son with your team having just been reduced to 10 men, oh and add to that playing for one of the World’s greatest footballing institutions and maybe you can slightly begin to comprehend the clearly nerve-racking experience it must have been.

Brad Jones Points To The Heavens After His Penalty Save

This week has been not only been a fantastic week in footballing terms, with Jones saving the Blackburn penalty and then giving away a penalty himself after a mistake, and gifting Yakubu the opportunity to equalise, which he duly would take.

It would be extra special that Liverpool supporters would get the opportunity to welcome their new hero toward the very goal they were congregated behind, that goal which Jones would save a penalty with his first touch, fairy-tale complete.

Born in Perth, Western Australia, his dalliance with English football would see him spent a decade with Middlesbrough, which would include having a number of loan spells with many lower league clubs. Roy Hodgson would make Jones one of his signings during his ill-fated managerial term with the reds splashing out £2.3 million in March 2011 when purchasing him from Middlesbrough. Soon after Liverpool would loan their new recruit to Championship side Derby.

His manager at Derby; former red Nigel Clough would publicly criticise the stopper when an early mistake against Bristol City would add to a 2-0 defeat for Clough’s rams, and Brad Jones would soon after return to Anfield. The Jones family would however have a greater battle ahead.

Brad & Partner Dani Supporting a Cancer Charity.

On the 18th November 2011 Brad Jones would face up to every parent’s worst nightmare when his  five year old son Luca would lose his brave year-long battle against leukaemia, and an unbreakable bond with the Liverpool fans would be set in motion, this is a club that understands grief like no other, with many having buried children of their own, a kinship and an empathy would result in those supporters having an infinity with Brad and his partner Dani.

Jones would point to the heavens when saving his penalty, and those very fans would know exactly who Brad was acknowledging

This week has become even more important to Brad Jones and his family with girlfriend Dani Lawrence giving birth to the couple’s new addition, son Nico Luca Jones.

Brad commented after the team’s victory over Blackburn Rovers-

“It’s been a difficult 18 months and the result was thanks to the fans for their support. With the birth of my son, Nico, on Wednesday, this has now been a good week”.

Bill Shankly would suggest that football was more important than life or death, but my guess would be that neither Brad Jones or his girlfriend Dani would agree with such sentiment, but when Brad steps out on the hallowed Wembley turf this Saturday with sounds of the sweet silver song of the lark and you’ll never walk alone ringing in his ears, he will once again raise his eyes to the sky in knowledge that he is not alone, with little Luca holding a Liverpool scarf above his head and singing along….WALK ON DADDY WALK ON.

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Liverpool Football Club Distracted By Glory

WHAT ON EARTH has happened to the reds after winning the Carling Cup?  Defeat after defeat after draw in the Premiership since that sunny day in February, when after a barren spell of six long years Kenny Dalglish and his troops would once again collect some much-needed silverware for the Anfield trophy cabinet.

26th February 2012 would be the day that a new history of Liverpool Football Club would once again begin, when supporters could  again dream of a side capable of challenging for the holy grail of The Premier League, add to that Champions League football. Liverpool fans would be intent on taking a place at the top table of a football feast, where they would with gluttony fill their stomachs.

Unfortunately the league form has like a hurricane, blown away the positive disposition that Liverpool fans found themselves in after their visit to Wembley; a colossal bump back to earth has left the red’s fans questioning everything that its giant of a club is doing.

Questions are being asked of the Liverpool hierarchy

The questions being asked of an institute that has never found itself under such scrutiny, have become incessant and incredibly antagonistic from a media that smells blood and clearly would like its pound of scouse flesh. Add to this a generation of followers intent on a roller-coaster ride of vitriol toward its heroes on the down ride, whilst quickly fluctuating during a verse of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” on a rare occasion the roller-coaster cab is at the top of the tracks.

For those that have a sense of perspective it becomes incredibly clear that problems obviously exist, but throwing a dart and seeing where it lands will not identify those problems, and in effect will only highlight smaller issues that are unimportant and possibly exist within most football clubs and sides.

One of the greatest issues with playing for Liverpool is just that – Playing for one of the World’s biggest football clubs, in front of what are generally regarded as supporters who know their footballing stuff, they are not easily pleased, and recently know a poor player when they see one, having had many peddled as “The next best thing” over the green grass of Anfield, only to quickly realise that once again they have been fobbed off with a clearly sub-standard product.

Compare that to producing a home-grown hero who will always be given that bit of extra support, a guiding hand from the family on the Kop to its new child.

Give them a hero of any description from any corner of the footballing globe and the support offered will be unequivocal a new leader a patriarch for the tribes, he who can do no wrong. The problems occur when a new hero comes along and its older more experienced foe is disregarded by the young of the clan.

This season has seen Liverpool supporters turn on its players, manager, coaching staff and owners; even the cat having attracted some criticism. With supporters having to defend and fight on every corner turned, having to experience ridicule and derision from opposing fans across the country, it has become increasingly more difficult to stomach, and with that they have turned upon their own, causing division within the ranks.

Kenny Dalglish & Steve Clarke must sit an end of season written exam.

Silverware has never been a distraction for Liverpool, well certainly not in a negative way; it has however been a constant source of how they judge success within the corridors of Anfield. The biggest distraction is from outside the club, constant stories of player unrest , owners apparently demanding written reports from students Dalglish & Clarke which will make up for 10% of their overall mark for this semester.

After a discarded £100 million of John Henry’s money, if the papers are to be believed Dalglish and Comolli will only be entrusted with some loose change from the Anfield canteen in any other pursuits of new recruits, along with a disregarded buy British policy which is to be replaced with a similarly buy Uruguayan policy.

Distraction has many faces, as does division, the key is to not allow either to take way from what is clearly a long-term plan that the club has in place, being critical of shoddy performances is acceptable, but joining the ranks of our very own detractors is just adding to an otherwise unhelpful debate, the foundations that the club are building may well need to be reassessed each season, with the ground being possibly the one greatest challenge that the owners face, this needs to be given priority over all other decisions, for that will ultimately decide exactly what Liverpool Football Club is being built upon.

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Who Is Aboard The Liverpool Football Club Exodus

IF WE ARE to believe the latest round of Liverpool Football Club related news or hearsay of Chinese whispers, the club is to experience a mass exodus of players and possibly include in that some none playing staff, at the conclusion of this current season.

So in preparation I would arm myself with a one man tent (second-hand from the Occupy London campaign). I would wash down a beach footstool which had not seen the light of day for the lack of summers since 2008, and of course a flask and multi-coloured blanket, being one never to trust the British weather. Add to this a pocket full of Dollars and some much-needed YouTube footage I would then camp myself just outside the Shankly gates in anticipation for the alleged Sale Of The Century.

Hopeful that the early bird would indeed get my bargain of a worm, bargains galore having been promised via an advert from The Daily Mail and subsequently peddled as fact across the internet. I would plonk my bottom and camping attire firmly at the head of a soon to be extremely large formed queue.

Sale Starts Soon

I have seen such an exodus before when Xabi Alonso and Havier Mascherano  would evacuate Anfield for migration to Spain, and would soon be followed by Fernando Torres who would depart the shores of the Mersey for a yet to be realised glint of gold.

The choice of that word exodus being linked with this impending sale can most surely be questioned in as much as the three musketeers above – all having chosen to put themselves in the Anfield sale window, a true exodus. The forthcoming sale however will surely not be of a choosing from those individuals being traded, we need to replace the word with Clear-Out.

I am under no illusions that to find any true bargains I will have to rummage through the odd box of junk, which will clearly be marked up with portrayal of none truths and sales spiel that many a football manager will have fallen for in the past. Having been fooled finding themselves with a product that clearly trading standards would have a field day with, but these chaps don’t come with a 28 day refund policy, unfortunately.

So on to the bargains I have my eyes on.

FABIO AURELIO This is one item that I am actually expecting to pay no money for – yes a free sale item, mainly due to the fact that it has been returned faulty on numerous occasions. I am just hoping that if I take him, he does not end up being a waste and after a couple of weeks ends up under the bed with that exercise stepper I purchased from Argos last Christmas.

MAXI RODRIGUEZ The type of product that looks fantastic aesthetically pleasing, where you end up convinced that it can find a place within your home, only for it to disappoint with its irregular contribution. Possibly a great bargain for some other shopper though.

DIRK KUYT This however could prove a real bargain, my hours of queuing through rain and the wind and that damn sweet silver song of the lark (Song in there somewhere!) could just be about to pay off. This item does what it says on the tin, no fancy sales rubbish needed to sell this. With 12 months left on its guarantee the price may well be the stumbling block.

ANDY CARROLL We have all been taken in with one of these so-called “Bargains” where retailers just put an incredibly ludicrous RRP price on the product, purely to make you think you are getting yourself a real bargain, where we fail to grasp that even the sale price is too high for such an item.

Was £35 Million Now Slashed To £15 million Yes just made up figures, I hate this type of product and would be asking why has it been reduced so much, or if in fact it was ever worth £35 Million in the first place, I won’t be purchasing this one, reminds me of one of those Jack Russell dogs that no matter how much you do for it and look after him, he will soon turn on you barking and biting.

So once again and typically I have been unable to find such a bargain, all hype and no substance, I feel deceived and bamboozled by such talk of exodus from those headline makers, not with any intent on supplying us with actual sporting news, a depiction of falsehood wrapped in fancy headlines that are much closer to a lie than any sincerity.

They suggest exodus but name three players, so in effect there must be an exodus at every football club in the country supposedly, a choice of words to once again be disparaging toward Dalglish and his club, which has been the theme for many a journalist this season. I do however believe that Kenny Dalglish and Liverpool seem to be giving individuals the bullets, who then load their guns, take aim, and FIRE.

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A Letter To Kenny Dalglish About Bromance

April 1st 2012



It is said that you never forget your first love and that nothing is quite so painful when ultimately that love ends, well my first was with a guy called Kevin Keegan in 1974, and for the next three years I would follow his every move, like a love struck puppy, he could do no wrong in my eyes and the eyes of many others intent on displaying such affection in the hope that such appreciation would be equally reciprocated.

I would however be unaware that this was in fact an infatuation rather than real love. Kevin would leave for Germany in the pursuit of another love and in the process break my heart. I would take that pain with me through the subsequent years; I would never forgive that man, ever.

On the 10th of August 1977 I would set out on another love affair that today would be a bromance, I would be just 9 years old, but I would also know this was indeed the real thing, since that life changing day I have never fallen out of love with you Kenneth Mathieson Dalglish. I cannot say that for other loves I have had along the way, some less deserving of such idolisation.

Even when younger prettier models would come along, yes they would catch my eye, but I would not stray, they would never fulfil my requirements as you had. I would remain faithful in my own way. I would share the pain and anguish of both Heysel and Hillsborough, the fact it was an unrequited love would not diminish its value to me.

February 1991 and particularly 11 O’clock on the 22nd day of that month would be when I realised that I along with others had taken you for granted, I had not seen the signs, the hurt in your eyes, the stress that you had suffered since 1989 and Hillsborough. Like Keegan all those years earlier you would leave me, but unlike then, you would not break my heart, instead I would be filled with guilt when I would see a man I would hardly recognise a beaten man, broken, shattered and dispirited. We would love you so much we would set you free in a hope that one day you would return to our adulation.

For the next 20 years you would however flirt with those who would seduce you and lead you on with their affection, but they would not deserve you with their unfaithful ways, their fondness would not last through fickle times. I would look on from afar hurting when those affairs would end in acrimony, my love would not fade.

Many would forget that smile that would light up a football field after gloriously turning an opponent inside out then casually stroking the ball into the top corner of the goal, magician like with both hands held high. I still see that smile today it’s embedded in my thoughts when I think of my happiest days and the truly great memories that loving you gave to me.

The reason for this letter; was in some way to show you how I feel today, how I have been forced to question whether after all these years, indeed whether the love was in fact infatuation. The truth is I don’t like some of the people you choose to hang around with, you always had a great eye for things like that, and I think some may be taking advantage of your protective nature and possibly they are undeserving, it makes me mad.

The media have tried to demonize you which has made me truly miserable and unhappy, when you are interviewed after we have lost games, which is many times this season, I find myself getting despondent even before the interview, in a sense I know what is coming, these people have found your buttons and just keep pushing them. Your response at times has made me sad, but I suppose that’s what comes with loving someone like you.

I keep getting in to virtual fights with my imaginary friends when they call you names, some I have even stopped being  friends with, they don’t understand what you mean to me, they don’t know you like I do. Maybe you are not the only person hanging around with the wrong sorts.

When you left me the first time, I was sad, but understood, and I knew it would be best for you and your family. I fear that people may make you again think about leaving, walking away, please don’t. I have tried to look at this situation with an open mind, but find this incredibly difficult, I try to negate the hate and disillusioned vitriol from those that don’t quite have the understanding of real love, and more importantly what loving Kenny Dalglish really means.

Sorry I have written this letter as I know you don’t like this type of lovey dovey stuff or  to get emotional, but I had to let you know how I feel, I kind of know what you will say “everything will be alright” and of course I believe you, and will continue to support you through good and bad times, I just want you to consider my feelings once in a while, and maybe let some of your new friends aware about how I feel, that would be good also.

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