I'm a Liverpool fan. have been since I made the decision in 1985 that, according to the copy of Shoot from 1974 that we had, that Steve William' kit was just a little to stupid looking for my liking. that said, it was still a close call. I think I regret the decision, and I'm going to tell you why.
Since before Michael Thomas buried Liverpool's ominous 1989 season, I have had my heart broken more times by my football club than all the humiliations of asking girls out in my teens ever could. First it was John Aldridge having his penalty saved by Hans Segers, the first penalty to be saved in an FA Cup final, then it was Souness replacing Kenny Dalgliesh, and replacing a team of genuine beauty with one as pretty as the face on Paul Stewart's head.
if you're married to a club, then mine has been a loveless marriage, until those frilly tarts in Arseenal started pirouetting around Highbury to the tune of Thierr Henry's sexy football ethos, I didn't know how to get turned on about football at all.
And then last night it happened again. Goal after goal, they couldn't find the killer punch, or learn how to outwit ARashavin or the supply he had to the goal.
The bottom line is: I want the Premiership. I want to love my club again!
