This years most open heartbreak.
If there's a silver lining to tonight - and there really isn't, I'm clutching at straws - I have always wanted to use that Funeral For a Friend song title as a blog title but nothing ever seemed to fit. The downside of having such a contented love life, I suppose.
Make no mistake though, what happened in Kiev tonight really is this years most open heartbreak. Worldwide, millions of fans of this grand, old, wonderful, mythical and special football club are heartbroken. I would wager not many more so than me. And I have a need in my heart and soul to express and explore that, because left to its own devices, it might well drive me crazy.
I sent a text into my WhatsApp group chat with my friends earlier: "There is nothing like sport lads. We sit on the precipice. By the end of this evening, we will either have had the night of our lives or be inconsolably devastated". So I knew what was coming, but I still wasn't prepared. I don't want to care this much, I really don't. I just do.
I have explored my LFC heritage in enough detail that you, dear reader, are probably bored of hearing it - but the shortened version for those who are new here - I was named after an LFC player, my father & I had a bond that was largely over Liverpool, and at his funeral, LFC club song You'll Never Walk Alone was what we played. I had largely drifted from football in my teens, but 6 months after his passing, I caught the end of a Liverpool game and I was emotionally hooked in. I didn't know it then but as the years went by, I came to understand that the two were inextricably linked. When Liverpool won the champions league in 2005, I just thought about my Dad's face when he and I were at Wembley in 1995 watching us lift a trophy. I felt him. It was so healing for me. I can't articulate it any better than that.
So when people try and engage me in banter around big games like these and it falls flat, I hope they understand there is just no humour in this for me. It resonates too deeply. To give you some idea how deeply - I spent multiple hours in the late 00's talking to my therapist Tina at the time about the mood swings and emotional impact Liverpool caused me to experience. Unlike everything else we ever worked on together, we never did really make much headway on that. This spring when Liverpool had reached the last 8 of the champions league, I began a similar line of conversation with Erin, the therapist I've been seeing for the past year. I told her at the time that whatever happened from there, just getting to the quarter final was enough for me after a decade out of the knockout stages. It felt like a statement - we're back. However, once we got past there, that's when the problem began. Once you get to the semi's, and especially the final, you have to win. That is the brutal reality of sport. History is written by the winners. The agony is too painful otherwise. I spoke with her at length about how I wished that I didn't care so much. I went over everything I've done to try and lessen the impact, to cushion the blow. I try and immediately do something with the girls after a loss, move on. I'll make plans on days when we're on TV so as to prioritise my family over Liverpool. I'll try not to consume too much media in relation to Liverpool. But nothing works. Nothing makes the misery of a less any less or diminishes the joy of victory. And so I learned to stop fighting.
Look, I'm an emotional son of a bitch, let's just call a spade a spade here. I try very hard to manage myself and to be cognisant of my tendency to be up & down, to swing dramatically. And you know what? I think I do a good job. To the point I'd wager that if you asked people who only know me 2 or 3 years, maybe some of my newer work colleagues, they might consider me a relatively balanced person. But please, don't allow my mask fool you, I am a basket case. I see a therapist not because I like to spend money, or I like to talk about myself (although admittedly I do like to talk about myself) but because it helps me stay level. Erin helps me see the wood for the trees, so to speak. She helps me diffuse the seriousness from some of the situations I find myself in in life, to allow me see the positives in me that I would otherwise downplay, and stops me beating myself up too badly for my flaws (and there are many).
With all that in mind, context is king. I have the best life and I am grateful for that. The week we just spent on holiday in center parcs was without any doubt the best week I have ever had. Every single day was jam packed with activities that engaged my children. Their smiles beamed so brightly, their laughter rang loud in my ears. I am not good at a lot of things. But I will be damned if I don't make sure I am a good fucking father. Those girls are my sunshine and my sunset, my everything, and when I see how stable, contented and happy they are, it fills me with a level of joy and satisfaction that I simply can't express. Together with my beautiful, funny, supportive, kind and loving wife, we have put together this amazing little unit we call family. Being with them around the clock and enjoying their company, these are memories I will cherish for a lifetime. And because we had the time & space vacation brings, I was able to see that, to feel it. My entire life stretched behind me and I felt this amazing clarity.
In my childhood, I went through hell & back between my mother's affair, my parents split, my fathers brain damage, and his untimely passing. But I am who I am because of it. My priorities are what they are because of the road I walked to get here. And what could be more meaningful than a life dedicated to creating the best possible platform for my two beautiful little souls to go out and make their way in the world? I am an inherently selfish person but one who feels great empathy for others, and that juxtaposition has been a hard reality to live in these past 34 years. But I believe fatherhood has provided me, at last, the balance to be more selfless. That's what Carra and Bayley give me every day. They get a good Dad and I get to be a better person. Win win.
Life is grand then, right? Why does a game of football matter so much? I will tell you why. Plan and simply - it matters so much, because it matters so much. Some things just are. This just is. I love to communicate but I learned a long time ago that all the intelligence & articulation in the world can't override emotion and feeling. In the 24 hours leading up to this game, I barely slept, I felt dizzy and nauseous, and I spent hours on the toilet because nerves and my stomach don't mix well. I was doubled over with anxiety all day. So here we are. It all went wrong. And you know what? I'm fucking gutted.
Before kick off, I got a text from my Dad's brother Terry. This was rare. When I say rare - my Dad died 17 years ago. I've seen Terry once since, and spoken to him maybe 5 times. He lives in Canada. "Sitting down to lunch watching Liverpool. Thinking about you and your Dad". I welled up with emotion. He connected LFC, me and Des in the same way as I do. Inextricably linked. "We're gonna win this" I thought. I knew it. I just knew it.
When I got home after the game, I unlocked my phone, and there it still was, staring at me. I burst into tears. Not little ones rolling down my cheek. Head-shaking, sobbing, painful as fuck, deeply unhappy, inconsolable tears. As I type this I am sad. I am really, really sad. It really, really hurts.
But I am not arguing with that anymore. I accept it now. I can't reason with it, I can't argue with it, and I can't change it. I am who I am. You may consider me crazy, strange, weird, melodramatic, hyperbolic, self indulgent, solipsistic, some or all of the above, or any manner of other adjectives. But one thing you can't accuse me of being is inauthentic. This is me and I don't feel the need to apologise for it.
Make no mistake though, what happened in Kiev tonight really is this years most open heartbreak. Worldwide, millions of fans of this grand, old, wonderful, mythical and special football club are heartbroken. I would wager not many more so than me. And I have a need in my heart and soul to express and explore that, because left to its own devices, it might well drive me crazy.
I sent a text into my WhatsApp group chat with my friends earlier: "There is nothing like sport lads. We sit on the precipice. By the end of this evening, we will either have had the night of our lives or be inconsolably devastated". So I knew what was coming, but I still wasn't prepared. I don't want to care this much, I really don't. I just do.
I have explored my LFC heritage in enough detail that you, dear reader, are probably bored of hearing it - but the shortened version for those who are new here - I was named after an LFC player, my father & I had a bond that was largely over Liverpool, and at his funeral, LFC club song You'll Never Walk Alone was what we played. I had largely drifted from football in my teens, but 6 months after his passing, I caught the end of a Liverpool game and I was emotionally hooked in. I didn't know it then but as the years went by, I came to understand that the two were inextricably linked. When Liverpool won the champions league in 2005, I just thought about my Dad's face when he and I were at Wembley in 1995 watching us lift a trophy. I felt him. It was so healing for me. I can't articulate it any better than that.
So when people try and engage me in banter around big games like these and it falls flat, I hope they understand there is just no humour in this for me. It resonates too deeply. To give you some idea how deeply - I spent multiple hours in the late 00's talking to my therapist Tina at the time about the mood swings and emotional impact Liverpool caused me to experience. Unlike everything else we ever worked on together, we never did really make much headway on that. This spring when Liverpool had reached the last 8 of the champions league, I began a similar line of conversation with Erin, the therapist I've been seeing for the past year. I told her at the time that whatever happened from there, just getting to the quarter final was enough for me after a decade out of the knockout stages. It felt like a statement - we're back. However, once we got past there, that's when the problem began. Once you get to the semi's, and especially the final, you have to win. That is the brutal reality of sport. History is written by the winners. The agony is too painful otherwise. I spoke with her at length about how I wished that I didn't care so much. I went over everything I've done to try and lessen the impact, to cushion the blow. I try and immediately do something with the girls after a loss, move on. I'll make plans on days when we're on TV so as to prioritise my family over Liverpool. I'll try not to consume too much media in relation to Liverpool. But nothing works. Nothing makes the misery of a less any less or diminishes the joy of victory. And so I learned to stop fighting.
Look, I'm an emotional son of a bitch, let's just call a spade a spade here. I try very hard to manage myself and to be cognisant of my tendency to be up & down, to swing dramatically. And you know what? I think I do a good job. To the point I'd wager that if you asked people who only know me 2 or 3 years, maybe some of my newer work colleagues, they might consider me a relatively balanced person. But please, don't allow my mask fool you, I am a basket case. I see a therapist not because I like to spend money, or I like to talk about myself (although admittedly I do like to talk about myself) but because it helps me stay level. Erin helps me see the wood for the trees, so to speak. She helps me diffuse the seriousness from some of the situations I find myself in in life, to allow me see the positives in me that I would otherwise downplay, and stops me beating myself up too badly for my flaws (and there are many).
With all that in mind, context is king. I have the best life and I am grateful for that. The week we just spent on holiday in center parcs was without any doubt the best week I have ever had. Every single day was jam packed with activities that engaged my children. Their smiles beamed so brightly, their laughter rang loud in my ears. I am not good at a lot of things. But I will be damned if I don't make sure I am a good fucking father. Those girls are my sunshine and my sunset, my everything, and when I see how stable, contented and happy they are, it fills me with a level of joy and satisfaction that I simply can't express. Together with my beautiful, funny, supportive, kind and loving wife, we have put together this amazing little unit we call family. Being with them around the clock and enjoying their company, these are memories I will cherish for a lifetime. And because we had the time & space vacation brings, I was able to see that, to feel it. My entire life stretched behind me and I felt this amazing clarity.
In my childhood, I went through hell & back between my mother's affair, my parents split, my fathers brain damage, and his untimely passing. But I am who I am because of it. My priorities are what they are because of the road I walked to get here. And what could be more meaningful than a life dedicated to creating the best possible platform for my two beautiful little souls to go out and make their way in the world? I am an inherently selfish person but one who feels great empathy for others, and that juxtaposition has been a hard reality to live in these past 34 years. But I believe fatherhood has provided me, at last, the balance to be more selfless. That's what Carra and Bayley give me every day. They get a good Dad and I get to be a better person. Win win.
Life is grand then, right? Why does a game of football matter so much? I will tell you why. Plan and simply - it matters so much, because it matters so much. Some things just are. This just is. I love to communicate but I learned a long time ago that all the intelligence & articulation in the world can't override emotion and feeling. In the 24 hours leading up to this game, I barely slept, I felt dizzy and nauseous, and I spent hours on the toilet because nerves and my stomach don't mix well. I was doubled over with anxiety all day. So here we are. It all went wrong. And you know what? I'm fucking gutted.
Before kick off, I got a text from my Dad's brother Terry. This was rare. When I say rare - my Dad died 17 years ago. I've seen Terry once since, and spoken to him maybe 5 times. He lives in Canada. "Sitting down to lunch watching Liverpool. Thinking about you and your Dad". I welled up with emotion. He connected LFC, me and Des in the same way as I do. Inextricably linked. "We're gonna win this" I thought. I knew it. I just knew it.
When I got home after the game, I unlocked my phone, and there it still was, staring at me. I burst into tears. Not little ones rolling down my cheek. Head-shaking, sobbing, painful as fuck, deeply unhappy, inconsolable tears. As I type this I am sad. I am really, really sad. It really, really hurts.
But I am not arguing with that anymore. I accept it now. I can't reason with it, I can't argue with it, and I can't change it. I am who I am. You may consider me crazy, strange, weird, melodramatic, hyperbolic, self indulgent, solipsistic, some or all of the above, or any manner of other adjectives. But one thing you can't accuse me of being is inauthentic. This is me and I don't feel the need to apologise for it.
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