What the ever living fuck am I supposed to write about today? TODAY. TO-DAY. The minutes are ticking slowly by, as the Champions League final approaches. The Champions League final that Liverpool are IN. Today.
Champions League finals are always must-watch affairs. One last flash in the pan to end a long, often tortuous season. One team left to lift the biggest club trophy of them all, while all the other supporters of other teams look on with jealousy, and then quickly turn toward transfer rumors and thoughts of next year.
That team could be us tonight.
I try to think about other things. Productive things. Or, if not productive, at least distracting things.
And yet, every YouTube search brings me back to Liverpool highlights. Every house chore completed mindlessly, as visions of Red glory go off like fireworks in my mind, blinding me to everything else.
I see images of Salah breaking through the lines and cooly slotting. I see Bobby discarding his shirt after a late winner. I see Klopp turning his back after a Liverpool penalty is awarded, and pumping his fist when the Traveling Kop loses it when the ball hits the back of the net.
One image in particular keeps my heart racing. I can see it so clearly. It is one that I first started seeing after the final whistle in Rome. I see Jordan Henderson. Our captain, Jordan Henderson. Center stage. Surrounded by teammates. Handed the European Cup. Old Big Ears. Taking it in both hands. And lifting it.
Shivers down my spine. Goosebumps. Tears in my eyes.
Jordan Henderson, our captain who was nearly sold for Clint Dempsey. Our captain who was derided as not being “fit to lace Steven Gerrard’s boots.” Our captain who fought through injuries to lead us to this place. Our captain who still gets overlooked. Our captain who has yet to lift a trophy, but very well could lift the biggest of them all as his first. Just like Gerrard did for his first.
I want to see this more than words can describe. I want this dream to become a reality. With each win in the Champions League, this dream, and others like it, have become stronger. More realistic.
Now, they are almost tangible. Almost.
But of course they can fade away again without being realized. Our dreams could be undone in a moment of breathtaking skill. Or a simple mistake. Or a freak deflection. Or a terrible decision.
I’m trying to steel myself for those possibilities. Liverpool is still an underdog. Underdogs usually lose. Real Madrid might be slightly more than coin flip favorites, but that still makes them (slightly) more likely to win.
However, no matter how much I try to give myself a reality check, the dreams persist. That deep desire to see us triumph cannot be rationalized away.
So for now, and until the final whistle, I’ll dream of Liverpool glory. And hope that those dreams finally come true.