I’m offended! Why aren’t you?
How the Dodger Blues were swept away by a Mighty Red tide.
How the Dodger Blues were swept away by a Mighty Red tide.
It’s 4.47am UK Standard Time, and I’m offended. My brave boys in Dodger Blue have been vanquished. The dream is over. The World Champions are no more. A new King will be sat atop the baseball throne soon enough and “The Show” or “The Big Dance” as I call it, will decide it’s fate starting on Tuesday. The World Series will not feature the LA Dodgers. And I’m offended. Why? Because, with tongue firmly in cheek, we’re all offended these days aren’t we? And if we’re not offended by something we’ll construct that very something in which to be offended by. So I’m offended that America’s team, those plucky underdogs from Los Angeles and held in such high esteem by the American public and whom are held as close to their hearts as America’s other sporting team, the Dallas Cowboys, will not be partaking of the Big Dance this year. The Dodgers played incredibly well coming down the end of season stretch and were only bested by their rivals, the San Francisco Giants, to the best record in all of baseball. But they crept through a wild card game before despatching their Divisional foes the Giants en route to seemingly back to back World Series appearances and their fourth big dance in five seasons. But it’s not to be and these are not bitter words from an early Eric Gagne era Dodgers fan. They were terrible for many, many years so the past five years have been Alice in Wonderland territory but they were beaten by a better and more on form Atlanta Braves team who thoroughly deserve their shot at “The Show” against the Houston Astros. In years to come, as our American cousins are wont to do, this Dodgers season may be termed “Injury Gate” or the “Injury Season of ’21” as first Max Muncy hit an injury list rather than a deep fly ball over the fences and was quickly followed by talismanic field leaders, Clayton Kershaw and Justin Turner. The heart of the Dodgers team, and arguably two of their on field captains were sat in the dugout and unable to help but this would merely paper over the cracks of a tough but brilliantly winning season that ended one series too short. The Braves (and their annoying “Chop Song) won the first two tussles with 9th Inning walk off runs and going 2 up with 5 to play, and a narrative already being written in the baseball stars, the Dodgers were always likely to fall short. But I am tongue in cheek offended by the Atlanta Braves and the implied iconography of their association with Native Americans. If the Washington Football Team can shed their skins of red, surely the “Braves” are next? At the very least we could lose that annoying song! And don’t start talking to me about the Houston “Astros” and the implicit imagery of rockets taking flight into an Astral plane of outer space existence. Why won’t anyone think of the flat earthers? Does no-one care anymore? Have standards slipped this far in our human family?
I’m offended.
It’s now 7.27pm and a further fourteen hours on from being offended as I slunk away to bed at yet another silly o’clock time of the early morning, I’m still offended, perhaps even more offended than when the final Dodgers “out” was marked in the 2020–2021 season’s scorebook. The reason why I’m so apoplectically offended all these hours later is simple: my beloved and cherished Liverpool Football Club are currently too good.
I know bragging isn’t a good look but perhaps it isn’t bragging at all to say that currently the Mighty Reds of Liverpool are playing obscenely beautiful, enticing, otherworldly and physics defying PlayStation football. On the day of Spain’s “El Clasico” between Barcelona and Real Madrid and for some the biggest and most important club game in the world, THE club game in the world was taking place at Old Trafford, Manchester and apart from a 15 minute spell after James Milner’s injury when the Red Devils played some vaguely coherent football, they were “dismantled” by Liverpool, a quote taken directly from a distraught and bewildered Gary Neville after the final whistle. For they were utterly dismantled, out thought, out run and thoroughly and completed bested in every possible footballing department by a well oiled, hungry and driven team that also sweep the ball from defence into attack in a flash of one and two touch football that is reminiscent of a gamer with a PlayStation controller in his hands.
I was lucky enough to be at the 4–1 demolition in 2008/9 when Fernando Torres befuddled Nemanja Vidic into an early bath. Even Andrea Dossena scored! And early baths were called for all over Manchester as we sang with delight and awaited our departure from the Theatre of Dreams and dreamed heady dreams of overhauling today’s vanquished opponents for the League Title. That was special. The singing of victorious songs to an empty Old Trafford was special. Today was as surreal as any Dali melting clock. To win 5–0 at Old Trafford is centuries old history come to realisation, a hat-trick from the mercurial Mo Salah (a hat-trick at Old Trafford!) and just 75, near 80 minutes of Playstation football perfection. Sweeping moves, 40/50 unbroken passes as they continually probed and pushed and bullied and “dismantled” a Manchester United side on their own pitch. Ridiculous stuff at times and if the score had ended 7 or 8–1 to the Reds, it wouldn’t have flattered them. Ronaldo’s “goal” should’ve stood but it didn’t, but let’s not go down the farcical route discussion of VAR and the television invasion into our once “beautiful game” as it was tonight, beautiful, and too damn good! Salah will get the Man of the Match nods for his hat-trick and rightly so, but Jordan Henderson held a masterclass of passing tonight with barely a pass going to waste and his through ball for the fifth goal was delicious. Firmino roaming everywhere, Jota buzzing around for scraps, Van Dijk imperious, the whole team a cohesive unit, hunting for the ball, demanding the ball, cherishing possession of the ball. Jurgen Klopp will be one happy Manager on the coach home. As an all round display of “his” football, it was up there with the very best and very Barca like under Pep Guardiola (oh stop hissing at me! it’s true!). So why am I offended?
I’m offended simply because Liverpool, despite playing gravity and physics defying feats with a bag of wind on a field of footballing battle, they will have to get at least 100 points to have a chance of winning “The League”. It’s “The League” by the way, not the Premiership or the The Premier League or the EPL, “The League”. I foresee a season ahead whereby at least one team if not two more could breach the 100 points barrier and still not win the League. And that’s frankly unfair and I’m offended. My team of Mighty Reds deserve to win the League this season, and that’s all that matters, right? My feelings. So my feelings are offended that the universe could possibly deign such a mighty football team achieve such a record breaking tally of points and still not be guaranteed winning The League. It’s an outrage. Have you seen Mo Salah recently? His skipper, Henderson? This team playing PlayStation football? The League should simply ask the blue teams from Manchester and Chelsea to gentlemanly step aside, to not chase and harass these heroes dressed in Red. To bow down and show homage to Klopp’s Red Machine and concede the championship title now. I’m offended they haven’t already thrown in the towel and I’ll be offended if they continue this charade of challenging next year’s eventual League Champions.
It’s a fools errand.
But who shall listen to my gripes of being offended, as I unfurl my tongue from an overworked cheek?
After every Manchester United and Liverpool game I would call my Mother and we’d either jokingly fight over the day’s events or stay ominously silent and avoid the topic! She was as big a “Red Devil” as could possibly be and yet she raised a son in the correct shade of the Red faith. Suffice to say, it’s a long story. Mum would listen on the radio and we’d compare notes after the match and in my mind’s eye I can hear her saying jokingly that my team had got lucky, that Pogba was a waste of space and that “My Ronnie” was a “naughty boy” for his yellow card! She’d also say how pleased she was that my team had won despite the obvious meaning that hers hadn’t. I guarantee that Grand Old Lady would’ve called Cristiano Ronaldo a “naughty boy” and that memory makes me smile! Today was the first time we’ve not spoken after a game between our teams and I miss her and her voice on the phone every day. But she’s smiling tonight, wherever she is in the great beyond of the unknowable. She’s smiling because a “naughty boy” plays for her cherished team again, and her son is happy because his team are playing fantasy football from the stars.
And I can’t be offended at that.
“Just like the team, that’s gonna win the Football League (AGAIN!), We shall not be moved……..”
