We All Live In...

You can't explain to someone how you're in love. Sometimes you can't logically justify it. I am in love with Liverpool FC and I didn't realise just how much until the events of the past week. Obsessing over something iconic for more than two decades will more than likely cause some sort of mental upside-down Helsinki Syndrome (I know it's Stockholm Syndrome, but I stick by Die Hard, damnit) I guess.

You didn't need to love football to be enthralled by the takeover bids, the transatlantic court cases and injunctions and 'or-else' deadlines that invaded the news this week. You probably know it all already. How much of an effect it was having on me, however, I did not realise until yesterday evening when the deal was completed.

I was holed up in my room for the best part of the week. I sweated off all my recent exam weight. The days were spent in and out of a hazy consciousness. My heart started aching from a mixture of constant dehydration and my brain not registering hunger. This is what happens to most people when someone you love is ill and there's nothing you can do about it. I genuinely felt there was a real possibility Liverpool could go to the wall before too long.

Thankfully, it's not happened and I'm a couple of pounds lighter now. Will the future be brighter? That's for another blog post. For now, I'm remembering a friendly match Liverpool played against Villareal last season, when the yellow-jerseyed Spanish fans held aloft thousands of tiny submarines for their Merseyside guests, and I saw that they got it. We don't speak the same language, but understand each other.

They love football just as much as I do.