I
see no value to me or to others of writing for writing's sake, so my blog
posts, like those of anyone else who cares more about quality rather than
quantity, have become fewer in number over the years. On many topics I have penned
my thoughts and see no point in saying the same thing again in a different way, or in saying what
others can say more effectively than I can.
So
whilst I never think “What shall I write for my next post?”, every so often a
set of thoughts forms so strongly in my head that I feel that I must commit
them to the written word while they are so strongly held in my mind, and having
committed them to writing, it seems silly in the age of online connectivity not
to share them, even if only a few ever read them.
So
here we go...with a post inspired by a football match but actually more about the
joys of collectivism, and the inestimable harm that the Covid 19 Pandemic threatened
to do to us as a species. If that sounds like a contrived and pretentious leap
of reasoning, I apologise. However I hope that some will identify with what
follows….
Yesterday
evening, Saturday 7th May 2022, I had the good fortune to be present
at one of the true cathedrals of the beautiful game, Anfield, the home of
Liverpool FC, for a crucial fixture as the English Premier League approaches
its seasonal climax. A generous friend of mine, who has hospitality seats at
Anfield, had two spare places for a pre-match meal in the Centenary Suite
followed by a crunch match against Tottenham Hotspur, and he texted me a couple
of days ahead of the game to ask if I and one of my family fancied joining him.
For my son Nick and me, this was a gift horse not to be looked in the mouth.
I'm a lifelong active football fan, with memories stretching back to crumbling windswept terraces of Burnden Park, the home of my hometown team, Bolton Wanderers, where as a schoolboy I would pay my 15p admission and cheer on my heroes in white, then as now plying their trade in the lower tiers of English football. Supporting Bolton has brought many highs and lows, and in the not-too-distant past there were real highs, when in the first decade of this century Nick and I never missed a game as our team established itself as a Premier League force and evolved into a highly successful outfit, with Sam Allardyce attracting mavericks and misfits from world football like Jay Jay Okocha, Ivan Campo, Youri Djorkaeff, El-Hadji Diouf, Fernando Hierro, Bruno N’Gotty and Nicholas Anelka. Such superstars all bought into Big Sam's style and values such that for several years the team punched well above its weight in the League, and during the early 2000s, we saw most of the world game’s superstars at the Reebok. Moreover, the big teams were quite often sent home humiliated and outclassed by a Wanderers team that at its best in 2004-2005 mixed sublime artistry with bruising pragmatism.
Heady days indeed, but Wanderers' decline into the lower leagues, plus other commitments in my life and that of my family, have led to a decline in the number of matches that we attend, then the pandemic has meant that I hadn't been to a live match in over three years. So to be thrust back into the experience with a surprise trip to a top-of-the-table clash between two of the legendary teams of English football represented a quite stunning return to a forgotten pleasure.
The
pre-match buzz is better at Anfield than almost anywhere because the modernised
and expanded stadium still rises like a temple from the midst of the terraced
housing of the city whose name it bears. However wonderful the newly built
stadia such as the Emirates, the Tottenham Hotspur Stadium or even Bolton's
still futuristic Unibol, there is something special about Anfield, approached along
residential streets with street corner pubs crowded with raucous fans. I'd
forgotten how good that pre-match buzz is, as it assaults the senses with sounds
(distant chanting) sights (pilgrim like fans dressed in club shirts or colours)
and smells (burgers, onions and beer)
But
nothing prepared me for the emotional impact of the moment we emerged to take
our place high in the Sir Kenny Dalglish Stand. I've been to hundreds of
matches over a period of over fifty years, at many of the great venues of
football: Maine Road, Highbury, Old Trafford, Wembley old and new, even
Marseille’s Velodrome, as well as Burnden Park and the Reebok/Unibol, and many
times to Anfield. But not for a few years, and not since Liverpool’s current
team has reached such excellence under Jürgen Klopp's charismatic leadership. I
was unprepared for the impact of hearing “You'll Never Walk Alone” sung on a
perfect spring evening beneath the lights, and even though I was there as a
neutral, it was impossible not to join in with those truly inspirational words set
to that soaring melody. What must it feel like as a player to hear that choir
of 45000 singing with such gusto?
The
game was a 1-1 draw, not a classic, not a goal fest, but a chance to be
reminded of the stratospheric standards of the players now gracing the EPL. The
likes of Kane, Son, Van Dyke, Salah, Henderson, Alexander-Arnold, Thiago and
all the rest make even the premier league stars whom I watched a decade or so
ago look slow and pedestrian. The modern game, played at bewildering speed on a
pitch that looks and plays like snooker baize, is light years away from that
which I watched on the rutted sandy mud heaps of the seventies. Live TV does a
great job, but comes nowhere near to conveying the grace, pace, speed of
thought and lightness of touch of the modern game. These men ARE worthy of
their eye-watering wages, because people show up in their thousands to watch
them, just as others pay to watch film stars and musicians. Exceptional talent
is box office. And when a team of mercurial talents like this Liverpool side is
led by Klopp, a man of such manifest human qualities, including a sense of
proportion, the result is compelling. I genuinely believe that Klopp is one of the most impressive human beings in the public eye at present, and if I could meet one person from the world of sport I would wish it to be him.
But
above all, what I took home from last night's game was a renewed belief in the value and power of
a collective experience - the pleasure of being part of a crowd. I'm glad I am triple jabbed and have recently had a bout of Covid,
because I was able to relish the joy of a crowd, free for now of any worry of
what I might catch: the collective elation caused by a goal going in or by the
frustration of a misplaced pass or an unlucky miss; even the shuffling along in
a queue for the bar and the toilets, with unknown strangers breathing down ones
neck, felt somehow like a forgotten pleasure recaptured.
Lockdown
and isolation suited some, and brought its own benefits - a chance to slow down, even to stop,
listen and reflect, and we must not forget that. But we homo sapiens are social animals, and even those like me who
prefer quiet places and one to one chats rather than noisy parties, can find
joy in the collectivity which affirms a common identity, be it at a concert, a sports
match, or even a religious act of worship. And as is often pointed out, there is in fact very little difference between an act of religious worship and a football match - not least the singing of songs of praise to those whom we worship.
You'll Never Walk Alone? Well yes, I will often walk alone, and I'll enjoy it enormously, but to walk and to rejoice among a crowd of others is also a true joy.
