Liverpool manager has overcome the challenge that has sunk every one of his predecessors – letting go of the past
In a way, it was one last joke at Liverpool’s expense. Right, you’ve won the league for the first time in 30 years on a baking summer’s evening: now everybody, stay at home! And of course, most did. They’re the ones you probably didn’t see. They stayed at home in Kinshasa and Kuala Lumpur, in Malmö and Manhattan, in Wallasey and West Derby. They gathered in WhatsApp groups and Zoom watchalongs and sat in their living rooms and bedrooms, quietly savouring.
Meanwhile, a few went out. They’re the ones you probably did see: the ones waving their red smoke canisters, holding up their replica Premier League trophies, tooting their horns. In recent weeks there was a strange pseudo-debate over the prospect of Liverpool fans descending on Anfield to celebrate their title win. On one side we were presented with the idea of football fan as brainless beefcake, drawn irrevocably to revelry like a fly to shit. On the other, the football fan as noble and pious martyr, whose intrinsic virtue must never be questioned, let alone impugned.
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