nicked from another site
Originally Posted by this
Chances, cowards, cu*ts and charges. The cover would have a crude cartoon of Luis, League Cup in hand, watching as a series of items crashed against the frame of a goal. A rat with Liar, 3 printed upon its back. Bloated suits with charge sheets. The FA Cup itself, with Andy Carroll looking on from the wings. I would then go on to lament the injuries to Lucas and (to a lesser extent) Gerrard. The ridiculous prolificacy and fortune in front of goal. How many more points we'd have if we could just take penalties. How we lost our best player for eight games thanks to a liar and a shamefully bent governing body. How unlikely it was that we'd ever see this perfect storm of excuses ever again.
In the miserable shiver of the fallout from yesterday's news, I've settled upon a new title. Fu*k it all.
Three managerial changes in three years. The living embodiment of LFC forced to fly across the Atlantic to learn his fate - that fate being told by businessmen he is not good enough for us. The words Dalglish, sacked, Liverpool ringing across a million news feeds. When Luis and Kenny were forced to grovel some months ago - after Kenny being left to deal with the entire mess himself - I wondered aloud if the owners would ever know what it was to be part of LFC. Now we have it in a nutshell, for all the world to see: they do not, and will not. And will never, ever fully recover from this decision. But hey, as long as the money comes from somewhere...
He should have been given another year. Even in this era of instant gratification and (slobber, slobber) Champions League cash, there was enough promise - not to mention silverware - to see him into another campaign. Provided, y'know, if the owners had done what they didn't do in January, and, y'know, backed him. Had he then not delivered on whatever the money men wanted, I have no doubt he would have stood down. In his own time, with the proper opportunity to say his goodbyes, and to be reminded by the faithful just where he stands in our eyes. Kenny, those ba*tards don't speak for us. Ever. I hope and trust you know this.
Is it safe to assume that the players who fell even shorter than the manager will be seeing pink soon? No? What, do you mean there's something else, Lassie, like the owners never really wanting Kenny in the first place, but forced into the appointment (and then the contract)? There's half a dozen shithouses who should be holding heads in shame for the duration of the summer; I wouldn't hold my breath.
The damage done by this ill-informed ignorant judgement is beyond comprehension for any suit. Thousands of Reds old enough to know what Kenny is to LFC are cancelling season tickets, memberships and new shirt orders. For them, it's over, as the club they knew disappeared with this crass dismissal. And if they go, another piece of the club goes with them. While I don't share that final desperation, it would be impossible to argue with anyone who does. The last thing we needed was Kenny sacked. The next last thing we need is a civil war between those who leave with him, and those of us who simply cannot leave.
Any loss of life aside, it's hard to think of a sadder day in our history. It actually physically fu*kng hurts.
I'm not even arsed with the inevitable questions lurking in the smoke. Who will be taking over? How are they supposed to hit the ground running, knowing the changes that need to be made? Many are finished with "the franchise", but many of us are saddened and disgusted but going nowhere: it's going to take a hell of an appointment to claw back even a shred of what Henry & co. have just destroyed. I can all but guarantee being underwhelmed.
Many years ago at the Reading festival, I overheard a scathing drunken review of the Manic Street Preachers, with the amateur reviewer maintaining that they were now no different to the stadium rock bands they themselves used to mock. His bitterly ironic Manics-style summary is disgracefully apt for today, as we head towards clocking up four managers in four seasons. We have become the people we used to hate. Only difference is the man who gave us some of our brightest days and carried us through our darkest hour is trampled underfoot.
Fu*k you, FSG. Fu*k it all.
And anyone who can't grasp that needs to ***** away from the club I love.
