The date, the time the moment and the team. Déjà vu?
Liverpool Football Club’s Instagram feed on Thursday had a short video of the process of the embroidering that will go on each of the jerseys the players will wear in Saturday night’s Champions League final. It will go in the middle of the chest, in between the team badge and the sponsor’s logo.
It has the date, the time, the place and names of the teams. That sounds like an introduction I wrote some years back. I can’t remember who it was for, whether a team or a player.
“Mark the date, mark the time, mark the moment and mark the name,” I think I wrote.
I hope it wasn’t about someone called Mark, and I hope that I didn’t jinx whoever was the subject of my mark.
Which is why I will make no prediction for Saturday night. Down at Giles, my local, John the barman told me this week Madrid would lose by four goals. One beer later he had changed his mind. Liverpool would win 2-1. John is a fan of sports betting. He has given me five tips in the last two months. Just one has come off.
I no longer listen to John’s tips, nor do I tip him anymore. Instead I will listen only to Pholani, who is a Liverpool fan and thus has been rolling with the same emotions as I have these past two weeks.
Anticipation, doubt, hope, excitement, expectation and careful belief.
I’ve been counting down the days. On Facebook, where everyone knows your name and pretty much everything else, Liverpool have been giving us the countdown. Five days to do. Four, three and on Thursday, two. They posted a picture of the European Cup (it will always be the European Cup to me) with the caption: “Good morning, Kiev”. I read it as Kev. I’ve always felt that Liverpool speak directly to me.
I’ve been a bit of a mess this week. It wasn’t helped by an LFCTV insert featuring the Liverpool greats who had won the European Cup. Kenny Dalglish, Alan Hansen, Phil Thompson, Terry McDermott, David “Supersub” Fairclough and Phil Neal.
I hero-worshipped Dalglish, one of Liverpool’s greatest signings. The club broke transfer records in those days. Dalglish was one of them. He wore No 7, which is my lucky number. I was born on the 27th in a year that ends with seven and was two months premature, so only spent seven months being formed. There are those who would tell I’m still trying to catch up on those two months. This week has felt like it has been two months long.
I’ve read just about every bit of analysis. From The Guardian, a piece on Liverpool’s decision on how to use Mohamed Salah. Does he sit a little deeper to help Trent Alexander-Arnold with defence, or does he push up high and look for the space behind Marcelo?
Madrid’s Toni Kroos says Liverpool will be like “11 animals” on Saturday. Neal told his former team to “frighten them to death going forward”. All good and well, Phil, but it’s the frightening me to death bit that I am worried about.
The Times of London believes Liverpool can exploit Madrid’s “marauding full backs”. Rafa Benitez has been interviewed on his memories of 2005. The Times and The Guardian reminded us of the night after Liverpool lost the Europa League title to Seville. Jordan Henderson marks that night as the start of Liverpool’s journey to Saturday’s Champions League final. In the team hotel, Jurgen Klopp grabbed a microphone and spoke to his players: “It felt s**t three hours ago and it still feels s**t now,” he began. “But we will be back.” He then started singing We Are Liverpool.
It was Klopp’s first season at Liverpool. He gave them belief that night. It’s belief that will carry us Liverpool fans tomorrow. I’m absolutely bricking it. But there is something about this team that makes me believe and hope.
Thompson, the first Scouser to lift the European Cup as captain, had this to say to Henderson and his men:
“My message to the players is to believe. Believe in the manager. Believe in your teammates, believe in the fans, … in the club, and you will win.”
Perhaps, after Saturday night, we will mark the date, the time, the moment, and the team. We can only dream. That is sport.