Are you adrift on an undulating sea of football-based emotion? Are your thoughts oscillating uncertainly between bleak despair and manic attempts at forced positivity? Perhaps, you’ve long-since settled at the bottom of that metaphorical ocean and developed a fevered interest in, let’s say, sea anemones. Well, that just makes you a Liverpool fan, my friend, and your experience is shared by us all.
In what some folk condescendingly dub ‘the real world,’ there is currently such deep-state-induced chaos at play, such unnerving exposure of what some of us feared had been lurking beneath the veil, that many of us had already developed an unhealthy reliance on the distracting power of football. “Total immersion in the Redmen,” we reasoned, “that’s the ticket!” Alas, for Liverpool fans, the timing of that attempt to escape creeping dystopia could not be worse, for just as the sane denizens of Earth peek through their fingers at the horror-clown in Washington, the Reds’ form has taken a dive off the steepest of cliffs.
If it wasn’t for bad luck, we’d have no luck at all. Right? Does that sum up the sum up the despondency? Is that the narrative?
“It’s all f***ed , mate. Same old story.”
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