Following Liverpool's 3-3 draw with Crystal Palace last week, in an almost theatrical display, we saw Liverpool's defensive struggles catch up to them in a matter of less than fifteen minutes. Liverpool squandered a 3-0 lead, and in the process showed us all that perhaps we were simply watching a modern adaption of an Oedipus Rex-like Greek tragedy play out before our very eyes.
To some, the tear jerking fall of a noble and overall good character, and to others a more euphoric experience of cathartic pleasure, The ironic foreshadowing of which is celebrated in a parodic manner. Therein lays the tragedy inherent in not only this season, but the last twenty four years of Liverpool F.C.'s existence.
Liverpool Football Club possess the ninth most expensive club fielded in the BPL. Yet through what is an economical disadvantage to nearly a third of the league, Liverpool still sits top of the league, and was in the leading spot prior to going to Selhurtst last Monday.
Helped along by a struggling Manchester United, a offensively impaired Chelsea, and one of the most inspired performance from a player seen in the Premier League in years from Luis Suarez, Liverpool gave us all hope. Hope that the "good guys", the underdogs who had not won a league since the eighties, could overcome the "bad guys", the accountants in football boots paying the expenditures of a small island nation in order to field the best team possible.
For a moment, if only a brief while in the stream of sporting history, we were all shown that perhaps it wasn't about money. Perhaps Football, the beautiful game, our beautiful game could be played on a pitch again. A pitch filled with footballers playing for the love of sport. Playing for the indescribable elation that comes with scoring a goal, and winning a game in front of the crowd. Not played in a board room, where instead of supporters there are old rich men in suits, and the players are but sheets of paper being filed in and out of other old rich men's board rooms.
For that brief moment, we were shown a group of men who had finished out of the Champion's League playing the game as it should be played, with passion, with grace, with reckless abandon, and most of all with hope. Through their hope, we were shown not just what football could be, but what football should be. That in itself should be considered a greater victory than any we may have once won in the past twenty four years. Though outpaid, and perhaps outmatched, the men of Liverpool F.C. played a season worthy of any squad they have fielded in their existence. Through that brief moment of euphoria, we dared to dream.
We dared to dream of championships come and past, of more prosperous times. We dreamed of a championship long over do, and one that is in truth only two wins away. One win by Liverpool, and another by West Ham.
The only thing we, as fans, can do is keep that dream warm. It is up to the men on the pitch to see it through.
I have faith that they will.