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Blinds open, sheets are changed, pizza boxes are folded up and tossed as that exfoliate you've been ignoring glares at you from that corner of the shower. Must be the end of the 2015 summer transfer window. Before braving the world you've been avoiding until the international break, know this: your beloved Liverpool FC did some good business.
Liverpool's window has long since been tallied, dissected, and discussed. Lathered net spends are being rinsed as predictions for league position. Predictions providing scant comfort for the hyposober among us clinging to the inexorable dream of a 19th title. It is that exposed nerve of fanaticism that convinces us that transfer windows shouldn't be measured in dollars and cents, or pounds sterling and shillings. They should be measured in something more important. Something more relatable.
Football. Conditioned ends. Textured side parts. Matte finish gentle holds crimped into careful irreverance--these are the real commodities being traded here. And the real question being posed: where have all the wild coifs gone?
First thing is first, Liverpool lost their most dynamic head of hair this summer when they decided to accept Manchester City's millions in exchange for one Raheem Sterling. Trading haute coutoure for a net return of around 35m pounds may seem like good business to some. To others it was like hitting mute on the hearing of colors or biting one's tongue at the first taste of love.
Objectively speaking, Sterling's sale ranks behind only Andre Agassi's wig reveal, and Britney Spears' ill fated date with some clippers on the list of all time greatest crimes against luxuriant locks. Sure, Liverpool the football team have lost their on deck global superstar. But that is utterly inconsequential compared to the devastation of Hairspray losing its Poster Boy. Yes, we are sh-sh-shattered.
But why dither when more drama lays at hand? Drama like suggesting the reportedly unilateral rejection of last year's move to Sunderland was completely out of your hands, while you unilaterally reject a move to West Ham, Fabio, da fuq.
Sebastian Coates was supposed to be the next Martin Skrtel for LFC, before the quantumly maligned Transfer Committee realized Martin Skrtel is bald and doesn't try to graft ankle hair onto his chin in his free time. In fairness, at least the return is almost exactly half bad.
Tiago Ilori--wait, Whoago Ilori? Glen Johnson went from this to this, and was worse off for the latter before being cut loose. That could be something to complain about, if only his replacement wasn't the living embodiment of Area 51. We know his flank is there, there's just no corroborating evidence to prove its existence.
What about Captain Fantastic, you say? Well, he's looking good. Nay, looking damn good. Apparently, the best part of Steven Gerrard's MLS adventure is not that a ravenous American fanbase finally gets to sink its teeth into a skill set that it is genetically predisposed to the Big Hits, Big Passes, Big Tackles, and humble boot game. The best part is Steven Gerrard now has Hollywood stitching his threads, puffing his make-up, and clipping his locks the way they were supposed to be done. Sorry, haters. This one is exactly what it was meant to be.
And then a ton of fluff. Too many outgoings with too many names and too many medium or long term implications. Not enough of the now. Football fans can work themselves into a frenzy over anything. But not without that headshot. Not without that hair. Know nothing about that twentysomething prospect from the Portuguese league, do you? But you do know whether his mohawk is bleached, or wrapped. You know whether his locks flow or are tied into a man bun.
Seen through the lush prism of style, this was a rough window. The long and short of it is Liverpool lost the jewel of a crown that hadn't yet been molded to it's promised polish. From the word steady on, Brendan Rodgers was tethered to the neverending permutations of Raheem Sterling's potential. No more. Now just the walking on. Now its the moving forward. Bringing in others, and finding oneself excitedly embracing that change. What we have lost we may have gained. And as long as that transfer window is, it encompasses only one season on the coutoure calendar, honey.
Buckle up, for Liverpool Football Club signed some wild coifs this window. The King is dead, long live the King?
