It’s highly likely I’ve been jinxing Liverpool all season.
Back in late August, while sitting in Brooklyn’s Monro Pub, a favorite haunt for Kopites in the Big Apple, I leaned into my wife. She’d joined me enthusiastically, just as I join her a handful of times each year at a few Sunday services.
This was my church, my religion, not that I’m well versed in the history of the famous club from Merseyside. I’m not going to remember games from the high times in the 70s and 80s. If I’m honest, I’m only a recent Kopite convert choosing the Temple of Anfield as the way I worship the beautiful game.
“This is the year we do it, Doc. We’re just that good,” I whispered, hoping that it wouldn’t be loud enough for the soccer gods to hear and then spin whatever machinations necessary to make it not come true.
At Christmas, in a text to a friend I said, “City dropping points to Palace and now Leicester makes this Liverpool’s to lose.”
He texted back something along the lines of “It’s still too early to tell.” Apparently, he wasn’t wrong.
When City managed to lose at St. James’ Park, almost a month after Liverpool lost that energy sapping match at the Etihad, there was a palpable sense that Liverpool just may pull it off after all. My friend and I had just decided to buy tickets for a trip across the pond to celebrate my 37th birthday and maybe even be present for the first top division title in 29 years. Understandably, I got caught up in the excitement.
Then a few weeks ago, bursting with hubris and a visceral hatred for the Mancunian Sky Blues (maybe visceral is too strong a word, but this is sports and we’re allowed a few outrageous sentiments), I tweeted out that we’d be celebrating a title after a win v. Huddersfield.
To be fair, I did add the hashtag for TooHotTuesday, but clearly it’s part of a long pattern of over-confidence.
And the coup de grace, the one that’s made me a bit more reticent for any future hot takes.
In a state of ceaseless optimism, I engaged in yet another crossing of the hot take line. This one predicted Barcelona, that ever dangerous side driven by arguably the greatest single player to ever grace a soccer pitch, would go down easily.
Again, I’d like to point to the hot take hashtag. That should have been enough for the great soccer puppet masters in the sky to not smite my hopes of a trophy this season. Apparently not.
But I’m not going to say all is lost or that there’s zero chance Liverpool hoists a trophy this year. What ever is left is but a glimmer, a thin sliver of light, a sniff or two of something delectable. If anyone can do it, it is Liverpool.
“We’ve been ying-yanging between two improbable championships,” Rob Gutmann from The Anfield Wrap said on the Post-Match Pint after Wednesday’s match against Barcelona. He’s not wrong. But at some point, we reach the end of the road and either the results we need will come or they won’t.
If someone had told us, though, at the beginning of the season Liverpool would be nearing 97 points by May 12th and in another Champions League Semifinals, we all would have thought that would have been enough for at least one trophy. Our enthusiasm—and let’s be honest, hubris—would have been understandable.
This season has been brilliant and while I’ll fully admit my hot takes were a bit premature (but isn’t that the point of hot takes?), I know that this campaign signals one important thing. It’s Liverpool’s shot across the bow of every damn club in the Premier League and Europe.
And next season, we go again.