Rich – @jiveinthehive
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It has been a long and horrible year for a lot of reasons; however, rather than going through the usual litany of unprecedented times we have endured let’s focus on one – an empty Anfield. Many of us fell in love with the game before we really understood what the game was. We saw a pitch of vibrant green, the sea of colors and flags, and heard the baying of thousands of people. In many cases we heard You’ll Never Walk Alone, like a tribal drumbeat thousands of years past, and we felt something innately human awaken inside us. We looked around and saw the unification of our communities. We felt the energy coalesced from millions and millions all around the world. We saw men empowered by the shared experience of this almost ritualistic coming together and we saw miracles take place. It was a place of power. It was alive.
This past year the aliveness has been sapped from us, from the place, from the men it was meant to empower. It became sterile, it became inert, it seemed to die.
It turns out some things are hard to kill.
Today the summoning of these forces returned. The fans returned to their mantle to will on the representations of the communities they come from, the ideals they share, and they do it with dreams and songs to sing. It’s about damn time. Forever may it continue.
Andrew Devine
JFT97
April 4, 2003
That is the date Harvey Elliott, starting midfielder for Liverpool Football Club today, was born. Remember the Disney movie Holes? It came out fourteen days later. Also worth mentioning on the team sheet is Diogo Jota starting ahead of Bobby Firmino again (RIP my fantasy team), Jordan Henderson comes in for his first start of the season, and Andrew Robertson somehow is on the bench with half an ankle. Two goalkeepers as well, but don’t alert the transfer police yet, we will get to that.
The Match
I went into this match scared. Is it unreasonable to fear Burnley? Probably. Is it because Sean Dyche looks like the hard one out of the two detectives in a daytime television drama? Mostly. Did it also get worse when I saw Mike Dean as the buddy cop referee? Of course.
We were kicking the wrong way, Burnley had some early (offside) chances, and my nerves were escalating. I did have to laugh at Burnley time wasting on throws and goal kicks in the first ten minutes. Hopefully I’d still be laughing in the last ten. Because the two things go like bread and butter, Burnley also started casting the dark art spell known as “kick them a lot”. It was becoming more and more clear Dyche’s comments of an attack being the best way to beat Liverpool were more in line with karate than football. When Guðmundsson went down from a shoulder to shoulder holding his face, the trifecta was complete in the first 15 minutes of the match. More like Badmunsson.
Liverpool were also on the pitch, albeit having a hard time breaking out of a U-shaped passing pattern enforced by Burnley’s press. The ice started to thaw when Liverpool started getting joy with runs down the right and crosses to the left. Sound familiar?
I could feel Twitter seething as Burnley started getting more chances without even looking at it. But then, after another flop in the box by Burnley and a VAR check for laughs, Liverpool broke (more like cruised) down the pitch. Tsimikas crossed from deep into Jota who scored. Jota was standing with three Burnley defenders and won the header between two of them. 17 minutes. Happy Anfield. Happy me. Unhappy fantasy team. 1-0 Liverpool.
Burnley responded well and the theme seemed to be a bit of disorganisation in the central areas of the pitch by Liverpool. Burnley won a free kick in a dangerous area in the disarray but did nothing with it. This, like clockwork, allowed a Liverpool counter and forced the Pope to excommunicate the ball out for a corner. Also, like clockwork, Liverpool didn’t score from the corner, but you got the sense Liverpool were growing into the game. They just needed to clean up some of the shape, some of the trigonometry, some of the passing.
They seemed to do just that when Salah was played in beautifully for a goal, but VAR decided to intervene in what was ultimately a clear offside. The unclench would have to wait. At 30 minutes you had to give some credit to Burnley as they were very much lingering in the match. At 37 minutes it looked like they might turn linger into a goal, but Virgil van Dijk was calm and dealt with danger in front of Allison.
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Despite my anxieties, looking at the stats at halftime helped somewhat: 65% possession and 10 Liverpool shots to Burnley’s 3. Liverpool having 12 clearances and Burnley having 8 interceptions did confirm some reason for concern, but I was sure that could be cleaned up before the next half.
Liverpool did a great job of making me feel better by letting a goal in almost immediately that was thankfully offside. Burnley were coming to play out of the second half gate. Chances, corners. Less of this please.
At 55 minutes, Liverpool have some control in Burnley’s half with Jota playing in Mane who got muscled off the ball. We have entered the “who is warming up territory” of the game. Bobby Firmino is the man and I would do it just to hear some songs again. A few more chances, Salah denied after a great Elliott cross and a couple corners, and the narrative is beginning to shift from “nervy” to “professional”. By 65 minutes I have stopped looking at warmups.
At 69 minutes, obviously never in doubt, Sadio Mane scores. He had been knocking on the door, and a after a few massive passes from Virgil, Elliott, and Trent the joy finally arrives. Let the Golden Boot race commence. 2-0 Liverpool. This is the part of the match where I have never had any doubts. You either? Right? Right.
Elliott is good at football and he wins another free kick in a dangerous area. The free kick leads to about 10 headed attempts at goal by everybody but Jurgen Klopp but no goal. Liverpool fully in control now through the 75th minute including a near miss by Salah that would have sent Anfield into orbit.
At the 80th minute I am thinking of a what a wrestling match between Klopp and Dyche would look like. They got close last time, let’s break out the steel chairs. Liverpool are also bringing players on up 2-0. Our depth is known to be bad, so Burnley are surely happy to see.. Bobby Firmino and Thiago? Sheesh.
T-AH-GO. T-AH-GO AL-CAN-TA-RAH.
Elliott goes down again for a free kick and I haven’t seen grown men this mad at a kid since Home Alone.
Around the 85th minute I am watching Liverpool like an adoring parent watches their kid who really wasn’t ever that bright graduating. You are bemused. Astounded. Proud. Shaking your head slightly. Taking in the fanfare. You always told them he had a big heart. That’s what you say when your kid is dumb.
Tsimikas goes down with what looks like a shoulder stinger, but if Robertson is running on no ankle you can finish the game with no shoulder. He proves this by taking on several rugby tackles with Gomez waiting to replace him and still winning the ball. About four hours later Virgil makes a great tackle in the box so Gomez can come on for Tsimikas.
When all is signed, sealed, and delivered it was a comfortable, totally not nervy performance from Liverpool. It is funny how emotions come in and tell you something other than what is actually happening. Liverpool absolutely dominated. For every one shot Burnley had, Liverpool had five. For every one shot on target Burnley had, Liverpool had four. For every one million nerves I had, Liverpool had none. 2-0 Liverpool, could’ve been 4 or 5.
BUT…
We know what is coming on the horizon. Chelsea. Shortly after that? The transfer deadline. No chance of this ending badly and with me throwing my phone into the Atlantic Ocean.
It is growing harder and harder to distinguish some supporters of Liverpool from those who do not online. As the pandemic forced us all to experience football through the lens of the internet our blood pressures have risen to astronomical heights. The Super League. Record breaking transfers. Our identities wrapped up in being the best, winning at all costs, wanting to be able to meme our counterparts into silence. “Your club could never.” “Small club.” “It’s going to be scary, but not for us.”
Liverpool are no longer plucky underdogs if they ever were in our lifetimes. Compared to a club like Burnley, never mind lower divisions, we are more Ivan Drago than Rocky Balboa. Even we, though, are the Italian Stallion when looking up at Man City, Chelsea, PSG, and yes, even Man United, despite their attempts to explain away their debts as reasonable. The dissonance this causes is troubling.
Liverpool, like where I am from in Boston, are blue collar. We work hard. We are looked down on by the echelons of society above us. The Londons, the New York Cities, the glitz and glamour. We identify with outworking the Ivan Dragos.
But lately some of the fan base appears like Rocky in the third installment. The big house, the fancy training sessions, and the robot. We want to be what we have fought against for so long because that it what winning has become to us. Well, guess what happens when we lose the sense of who we are and why we fight? We get knocked on our ass. Some, rather than out work the financial steroids being taken above us would rather take them ourselves. What have we become?
Think of the men on this team. Outcasts. Relegated. Counted out. Left behind. Think of where you are from. Does this match up more with who you are? Is this not the song you sing?
Let’s band together. Let’s stop wanting the shiny, fancy things. Just because we can, doesn’t mean we should. Let’s out work them. Let’s out heart them. Let’s support our values. Our ideals. On and off the pitch. Sustainable. Reasonable. Scrappy.
That is Liverpool. No matter what happens come the transfer deadline. Remember who you are. Remember who we are. Let’s beat them our way.
Rich – @jiveinthehive
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