THE media’s wilful misinterpretation of Liverpool as the nation’s champions while Manchester City barely feature, their villainous superpowers assumed, makes perfect business sense.
Liverpool supporters lap that up and there are plenty of them to do so. The rest of us meanwhile react in puzzlement and appallment, and that leads to a whole lot of clicks and exposure too. Even so, even with that in mind the penultimate weekend of the season saw the broadsheets in particular overegg their false narrative to the point of losing their collective minds.
The Guardian alone went with six pages celebrating the plucky, virtuous underdogs; immersing in so many Liverpudlian tropes that it can only be surmised that each writer binged on Carla Lane box-sets beforehand. Community was trumpeted while the more conceptual traits of hope and heart were also at the fore and all of it was designed to echo the erroneous, arrogant and downright offensive idea promoted by the club itself that ‘this means more’.
FIGHT 'TIL THE END ⚪️
City v Leicester
Premier League
Etihad Stadium
20:00 UK#MCILEI⚽️ #mancity pic.twitter.com/e090TEggw8
— Manchester City (@ManCity) May 6, 2019
Should you be new to football and delved into the pull-outs on Saturday you would be under the impression that Liverpool are a merry band of men, cobbled together on a shoestring, taking on the despotic, soulless billionaires with nothing but a song on their lips and a dream in their soul. They are Jon Snow and the Starks against the White Walkers with their malevolent laser blue stare. They are Leicester City of 2016 incarnate.
As for City their singular mention ahead of a momentous week was an article from Paul Wilson insisting that even the securement of an unprecedented, historic domestic treble come May 18th would be considered ‘bittersweet’ because of a Champions League loss to Spurs. Seriously, this was written. By a journalist. In a national newspaper. With a sixth league crown in 125 years of existence within touching distance, a feat achieved through footballing transcendence that short-circuits logic, this was the take.
It was a running joke among Blues that when – not if – the ridiculous quadruple quest ended the season would consequently be deemed a failure and here it was, the overt and petty spite made manifest and made all the worse by the fact that it was surrounded by half a forest’s worth of zealotry towards a club that hasn’t won a sausage for seven years. Because this means more.
There are a good deal of things to unpack here and feel rightfully aggrieved by but what jars the most in the completely contrasting portrayal of Manchester City and Liverpool’s title aspirations is from a fan’s perspective. Because this really shouldn’t need pointing out but clearly it does. Again. So for one last time here goes.
Remembering The Kippax terrace at Maine Road which was used for the last time 25 years ago today #mancity pic.twitter.com/uEIZRjQJ9S
— Manchester City (@ManCity) April 30, 2019
Blues are not billionaires. That’s the club. Blues are not part of a ruling class of a state with a highly questionable human rights record. That’s the club’s owner. Blues are loyal, predominantly working class, funny and decent. In short, they are just like any other fan-base in pocket and sensibility.
Switching to the personal my grandad was a Blue all his long life. He idolised Roy Paul and Bert Trautmann. When I was a kid I recall him writing to City on a matter and when they didn’t respond he was angry, telling me they had always been a community club with a deep and special connection to its fans. He wrote again and this time they replied full of apologies, including autographs from the players for his ten year old grandson. He would have loved Pep. He would have been dumbfounded by this season and last season’s successes. It would have meant the world to him.
As for me I have stood on decaying stands watching countless hours of dirge and comedy; absorbing the club into my bones. For most of my life I haven’t had a pot to urinate in yet still I scavenged together enough money to buy season tickets. I have previously written about how the club salvaged me from depression such is the hallowed capacity of support and writing this twelve hours before tonight’s Leicester game I am terrified, animated and utterly consumed.
My story doesn’t differ from anybody else’s, only the details vary and whether you’re blue or red these past few months have been tortuous and exhilarating and these next few days will amount to everything and then some.
To suggest that it means more to one club over the other is a ludicrous notion. To suggest that it means more to one fanbase over the other is nothing less than an affront.
