Never Give Up: Lessons From a Lifetime of being of Red.

Like so many Reds before me, this club has shaped my life. Just a few memories that tell the story.

Born Red

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? No, not Liverpool winning the league. That was far from inevitable.

We’ll get to that in a minute though, and as of writing that’s not yet wrapped up. No, it was inevitable that my first post would be about this football club. A love affair that will have lasted 50 years come November.

Another inevitability was me being a Red, despite being born in a different country. My Dad was a Red, his Dad was a Red, and his Dad was a Red. My uncle played for Liverpool Colts, and it was said by Bob Paisley that he could be the “next Duncan Edwards” (ask your Grandad) if he put his mind to it. At My Uncle's wedding, Mr Shankly himself said in his speech: “The only thing that mars this day is that Vic isn’t playing for England.”

I was bought my first pair of football boots when I was still in nappies, my second pair when I was getting potty trained. One of my first ever memories was my Dad taking me to the grounds outside the Bullring (context: we lived in Spain at the time) and trying to play football with me. Maybe there was hope that I’d show the same footballing prowess as my Uncle Vic, but alas, it wasn’t to be.

Ironically, my first footballing memory is of being taken to Goodison Park to watch Everton vs Norwich City in the second leg of the FA Youth Cup final. My Uncle Danny was a Blue, and maybe part of him wanted revenge for my Dad turning his own son into a Red. Everton lost.

I remember standing on the seat and clapping those plucky young b̶l̶u̶e̶s̶h̶ blues.

One of my first memories of Liverpool Football Club themselves is when I was staying with my Aunty and Uncle's - they lived just around the corner from Anfield - when my now dyed-in-the-wool, die-hard red cousin went to watch Manchester United, and my Aunty wouldn't let me tag along. I cried and screamed at the front door.

It was the Eighties, and Liverpool vs Man United games weren’t the place for young boys - apparently. I’m not bitter… like I said, I’m a Red. ;)

From Glory to Drought (and Back Again)

So yes, I’ve been lucky enough to be alive to see the Reds win more than a handful of titles, but also unlucky enough to see that lot down the East Lancs dominate from my teens until now… well, not now - 12 years ago - but still, it was a long, torturous time.

Admittedly, "torture" for Liverpudlians involves seeing the Reds lift three FA Cups, four League Cups, a UEFA Cup, a Champions League trophy, and two UEFA Super Cups. I imagine there are at least 87 clubs throughout the Football League who would love to experience a "drought" like that.

Then came Jurgen. Then went Jurgen.

And with the charismatic Normal One's departure, went our hopes of lifting the Premier League. Or so 'they' thought.

“Arne who?” was the desperate cry of a lot of Liverpool fans. "Arne who?" was the surprised reaction of a lot of non-Liverpool fans, often accompanied by a stifling of giggles.

Now, I don't want to be the person who says I knew it all along. Of course I didn’t! But the trajectory of Arne Slot's career had been similar to predecessors like Rafa Benitez and Jurgen Klopp, albeit in a reportedly worse league, so it felt like a tried a tested strategy; also-ran club breaks the stranglehold of dominant power(s).

And the more I heard about this Slot bloke, the more optimistic I became. I heard ex-Liverpool players waxing lyrical about his man management, and constant comparisons, putting his style of play somewhere between Pep Guardiola and Jurgen Klopp.

Not bad managers in their prime themselves.

I’m not going to lie: like all Liverpool fans, I wanted Xabi Alonso. Like much of the LFC Lisboa contingent I’m part of, Ruben Amorim appeared to be a solid second choice. Slot’s name only really started getting mentioned after Xabi was ruled out, and it did seem a worry that Amorim was hardwired to playing his system. Slowly but surely, I was getting excited about Arne.

Though a virtual clean sweep of the new Champions League format, finishing top, was not on my bingo card.

More Than Just a Game

People who don’t understand say football is ‘only a game.’ It’s not only a game. It's a metaphor for life.

We’re one month away from the 20th Anniversary of that night in Istanbul - that night where top Red and top journalist Brian Reade grabbed his son, pointed at the scoreboard that said 3-3, and declared: if you’re ever behind in life, this is your lesson never to give up. Against all odds.

Whether it’s that game against Milan, Olympiakos, Dortmund or Barcelona, there have been many in my lifetime where, when the chips were down and everyone thought we were out for the count, Liverpool came back like Jean-Claude Van Damme from the brink of death. The Reds have done it time and again, mostly as the plucky underdogs.

This time it’s different. We go into this game against Spurs 12 points ahead. It’s April and we need just one point from our next five matches.

This is a different type of pressure. This is expectation.

A New Beginning: Draft.Script.Go

Whatever happens over the next few weeks, whether we lift another trophy or not (please God, Allah, Buddha, all the gods in fecking the book don't let this one slip) one thing's certain - Liverpool taught me never to stop believing. Never to stop building. Never to give up, no matter the odds.

That’s the same spirit I’m bringing into Draft.Script.Go. A new beginning, shaped by fifty years of lessons from the greatest football club on earth.

Here’s to new chapters. Here’s to never giving up. Here’s to believing, even when the world thinks you’re done.

Yes we are - Yes I will.

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