And Then There Were Seven

And they danced and they laughed; then they roared and they suffered. Whilst waiting for the seventh. Seven shades of glorious, seven shades of pain; of dance and laughter, of roaring and suffering.

Because that’s what they make you do. It’s not always fours, fives and sixes. Sometimes we have to suffer for it. That’s what makes it beautiful. And they did it. We did it. Seven of the best, seven in a row.

Halfway through the second half against Sunderland I thought this was heading towards a somewhat boring three nil. Then I laughed. Think about that for a second or two: a boring three nil. Liverpool are now capable of a boring three nil, if there is ever such a thing. We finished seventh last season. Eight the season before, before Brendan Rodgers arrived; before he started out creating his brilliant Reds. Brendan’s Brilliant Reds.

Barcelona do boring three nil’s. Bayern Munich do boring three nil’s. Liverpool FC shouldn’t do that yet. It’s bizarre. It’s too soon. I wasn’t ready for this. Didn’t get the memo. But the men in Red didn’t care. Brendan Rodgers wasn’t interested in waiting.

And of course, they didn’t do the boring three nil. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s still good. They’re still good. We are still good; still alive.

Some say this was an ugly win, but I disagree. This LFC don’t do ugly. At least not the ugly kind of ugly. Even their ugly is flirting with pretty, blowing gently into its ear, which pleases a football romantic immensely. If you die, then die trying; and if you do that, dying isn’t so bad. It’s all about the here, the now. Enjoy it. Enjoy them. Enjoy that thing they do.

Now, another seven awaits. Seven battles. Seven finals. That’s what this is now: a tournament. An intense cup run. The final curve just finished, now it’s down to the last sprint. The players can see the finish line but can’t look too much at it. Can’t think too much about it. Keep focusing on the job, the line won’t move. It’s still there, boys. Let us do the yearning and the suffering; from Merseyside to the end of the world and back. You just keep passing that football, Liverpool. You just keep doing that thing you do. Keep doing that thing you do that leaves me sleepless for all the right reasons.

We have no right. No right at all to be challenging for the title. Not this season. Not with this squad. But they don’t care. Brendan doesn’t care. He doesn’t wait. He just does.

Which is why this suffering isn’t real. We are now in bonus territory; everything good that happens from now and until the end is an extension of the pride and joy we have already experienced this season. Whatever happens next, our suffering will be worth it. There is nothing to lose.

Just keep passing that football; just keep doing that thing you do.

Because then they will dance and laugh some more. They will roar and suffer. All the way through the next seven – the last remaining seven.