da realsbet： Calling all Liverpool supporters, yes particularly you there wearing the ‘In Klopp We Trust’ t-shirt and fake glasses who is halfway through making another meme where your present boss is asking Shankly up in heaven how he’s doing so far.
da esport bet： This is an intervention. Do not be afraid or angry. It is done so with love and there are tea and biccies once we’re through. There might even be a hug so long as there’s no weird transference where you suddenly believe I’m the messiah to take your club from perennial underachievers to titles and glory. It’s been known but only on Football Manager.
You should note that this is a safe environment and that all your friends and relatives have been informed. This is done with their full compliance and all the relevant paperwork has been completed. They’re a bit worried you see.
They’re worried because it’s happening again. The delusions. The giddy optimism. The premature mania. All exactly like before and the time before that and the time before that.
[ffc-gal cat=”liverpool” no=”5″]
This Klopp fella has come in, steadied the ship and suddenly you’re going to win the league next year. Six games in and he’s already a nerdy grandson to Shanks and Paisley. The second dynasty is visible on the horizon.
Well, maybe. Probably not, but maybe. He’s certainly endeared himself to one and all in his pressers – for whatever that’s worth – and arrives with a fine pedigree. And there’s no question that he is potentially the perfect fit for Liverpool. It all looks rather promising.
But after Rodgers – and I know you don’t want to talk about that as it’s still very raw – we really thought some progress had been made. Learned behaviour broken. We really thought you’d all collectively had enough of setting yourselves up for a monumental fall, getting embarrassingly carried away and enduring the self-induced peaks and troughs that only ever result in humiliation and anger.
Perhaps it is necessary to revisit those recent times as painful as they may be. When you shrouded a snake-oil salesman in the clothes of the son of god and declared him the second coming, only to realise too late that he was flesh and bone. When you turned on him precisely for being made of flesh and bone.
Can you not see the parallels between your behaviour and that girl we all know; the one who dates unsuitable men due to her own insecurities, who then bores the rest of us stupid by maniacally pointing out his virtues, and how he’s definitely the one, and she’s going to marry him some day and have two kids and a cute dog with a cute name in a suburban semi. Until it inevitably crashes and burns, and she sets up a Facebook page declaring him an utter bastard.
Do you not see how cringeworthy that is? From a fanbase that used to pride itself on its dignity before this desperate obsession to create fresh mythologies and Twitter came along to facilitate this.
Remember what we discussed last time in our sessions about perspective? How it spares you not only heartbreak further down the line but can help realign the perception that you’ve gone a little bit insane these past few years?
And what about that workshop? Did that mean nothing to you? Where we invited all your friends to stand around you in a circle and gave you a tube of red Smarties. You predictably wolfed them down and loudly boasted they were the greatest confectionary of all time after tweeting memes of the red Smarties wearing little crowns and hastily composing lots of songs about said Smarties.
Then we switched them for light blue didn’t we? And everybody pointed and laughed and laughed and laughed not at the act itself but at your exaggerated excitement that swiftly plummeted to abject devastation with egg on your face for good measure.
It’s important you remember that feeling.
It’s important that you remember that feeling because we’re all laughing again at you now. More in anticipation than anything. Because undeniably Klopp is a diamond, and his gegenpressing and congeniality coupled with the bounce factor that follows every new appointment will probably take you back to heights you weirdly think you’re entitled to. But we all know that if the likable German experiences a season like he did in his final year at Dortmund, just how quickly you will turn. From one ridiculous extreme to the other.
See that middle ground there, where the rest of us reside? It’s very reasonable. Perhaps you’d care to join?
Or on further reflection maybe that’s expecting too much too soon. Perhaps baby steps are needed here? So once this intervention is done, and the biscuits are scoffed and the teapot emptied, let’s try this exercise for the short-term: Should Klopp secure a Champions League spot for the Reds this term and gets you firing back on all cylinders let’s try not writing books about it this time. Until at least, oh I don’t know, you’ve actually won something?
In the meantime temper those temptations to make far-fetched boasts based on nothing more than a spark of hope. And stop placing your managers on an elevated plateau they have not yet begun to earn.
Is that one sugar or two?
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