Brummie Rubbish.

Greetings, gentle readers.
So Liverpool have lost at home. For the first time this season. But that's minor when considered in the light that Emlyn Hughes has finally succumbed to a brain tumour and died at the age of 57. An old friend of mine used to say that in his experience, happy people never died. People with positive attitudes, and upbeat philosophies never died at an early age, and it was only when someone became despondent or lost hope that they passed into the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns. Well, here's the proof that his ideas were total horseapples. Whatever made him draw those conclusions from his experiences should be poured back into a bottle and returned to the Tijuana bar it came from.
Emlyn Hughes was the brightest, happiest, fizziest legend to ever emerge from Anfield. Other legends like Kenny Dalglish, are renowned for being taciturn, moody, dour, uncommunicative or unsociable. Not Emlyn. Quite possibly the most positive and outgoing player of Liverpool's long and illustrious history, the man captained the team to TWO Champions' Cups, two UEFA Cups, four top flight championships, as well as an FA Cup, for good measure. Along the way, he played 657 games for the club, as well as captaining England. The man just loved to play football, and his enthusiasm shines through the statistics to tell you just how much this man wanted to play.
In my experience, it doesn't matter how many pets you've got, or how perky you feel - when your number is up, you go down. My grandfather was still earnestly dispensing advice when he died. My uncle fought cancer like a tiger, but he didn't really have a chance. My grandmother had the spirit of a Teutonic lion, but eventually died, surrounded by those of us who loved her for the matriarch that she was. Emlyn was at the top of his spirits, alongside his wife Barbara and his two beautiful children. He had every reason to live, and the story of his life illuminates a man who would not go gently into that good night. All the more reason to mourn a hero, a legend and a champion who has been untimely ripped from us. Is the universe fair? No. I sure wish it would at least give the illusion once in a while, though.
So anyone that wants to do me a favour can, rather softly, and under their breath, sing a snatch of "Come on without, come on within, you've not seen nothing like the mighty Emlyn" on Wednesday morning. Really. It doesn't hurt anyone, and it pays tribute to a human being who didn't deserve to die.
Of course, all of this emotional gushing over my heroes of days past has left me somewhat verklempt. And I'm supposed to be posting my thesis on the masculine and feminine dialects of the English language. I'll get to that eventually. Maybe I'll scan it and thus save myself the hassle of redidacting the whole lot. If I've got any character recognition software... In any event. I'm going to head off and go on about the business of cursing an uncaring cosmos, and idly complaining about an existence I can't change or affect. Particularly not from Canada. Here's looking forward to Liverpool and Germany in 2006. Cheers, everyone.

Justice for the 96.

-mARKUS