Liverpool, goddamn it, it’s been 20 years since I was goaded into supporting you by a maniacal metalwork teacher-slash-Arsenal supporter at intermediate, and though you rewarded me with a league championship the very next season (emphasis on next: the season I was dragged into the idea of soccer as a game to actually watch, rather than mock, is the one famous for the final game, where Arsenal needed to beat Liverpool by 2 clear goals to leapfrog us and win. Cue the last-minute goal from Michael Thomas and cue the metalwork teacher getting on the intercom Monday morning and mocking relentlessly the small cadre of us who had chosen to trumpet all things Liverpool because they had looked unbeatable for most of the season), I’m getting a little impatient. I’m getting to the age now where the wife will probably not appreciate me getting totally smashed drunk and/or naming our first child Scouser in honour of another league win. You’re wasting away my youth. Get it together. Stop bloody drawing.
Master of the 1-1