No Quarter Finals Asked Or Given... To Leverkusen

Greetings, gentle readers.
In the wake of the monumental events of the past week, I thought that I should keep up with the footie world, as well as the turbulent currents of my soul, since footie is far more interesting. So here's what happened in the European Champions' League recently:
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Liverpool fans, having been officially declared the loudest and most enthusiastic supporters in England, took their ebullient road-show to Köln this week, and those that made the trip returned to Merseyside with their hearts aglow and with tales to astonish future and present children and grandchildren.
To start off, Tuesday evening was a night of festivities to rival those of great Red European adventures gone by in St. Etienne and Rome - with a twist.
A pair of scouse lads happened to pass by the Hyatt Hotel, where they spotted the Rafatollah himself - Rafael Benitez was just meandering out with assistant Pako Ayesteran and coach Alex Miller to try and find a quiet spot to watch the second half of the Chelsea - Barçalona match. The Liverpudlian duo, bedecked in Liverpool FC paraphernalia, promptly asked El Gaffer if he would come down the pub and watch the Manchester United v. Milan game with them. A bemused Rafa agreed, and trotted down to Jameson's Irish Pub, which was packed with a couple of hundred Red Scouse. Gasps of astonishment gave way to claps, cheers, songs, and an instant queue of punters with camera-equipped mobile phones wanting to have their piccies taken with the High Priest of Temple Anfield.
The Spaniard was struck dumb by the raw passion and emotion of the Liverpool crowd, and after shaking off the disbelief, a broad smile creased his face. As one, the heaving, chanting mass erupted in glee when Hernan Crespo hammered the nail in the coffin of Man United's European dreams this season. The song pulsed out:
"The famous Rafa Benitez went down the pub to see the lads,
The famous Rafa Benitez went down the pub to see the lads,
The famous Rafa Benitez went down the pub to see the lads,
And this is what he said: **** off!
Who the **** are Man United?
Who the **** are Man United?
Who the **** are Man United?
As the Reds go marching on!"

Personally, as I read about the event, I was humming the tune from Boney M's "Rasputin" and making up my own words:

"Then, one night, some kopites that were standing
In Cologne before the game
"Come down the pub with us", they kept demanding
And he really came...
Rah - Rah - Rafa B!
Manager of LFC
The night that Man United was gone
Rah - Rah - Rafa B!
Driver of the Red Machine
Through wind and rain, Liverpool carries on..."

*sigh*
Now there's poetry for you. Maybe I've been going about this poetry thing all wrong. I should be singing it from the Kop, not murmuring it Ted Hughes-style by a fireplace in a big leather chair with a snifter of cognac and a pipe in my hand. If anyone wants to turn my little ditty into a Kop song, please take up a collection for me to move to Merseyside. In case no one else has coined the term yet, I'll venture so far as to say that I'm anatoposic - I'm just stuck in the wrong place.
In any event, Liverpool went out onto the pitch the next day and despite my initial hesitancy about the 4-5-1 tactics and the negativity that seemed inherent in the system, rope-a-doped the increasingly desperate Germans until Stevie G put it into second gear and started spiking inch-perfect balls into the 18-yard box. By the time Liverpool were up 3-0, the travelling fans were in full song, and generous enough to applaud a lovely consolation goal from the hosts in the dying minutes of the game. Perhaps Rafa's little exposure to the raw, heartfelt commitment of the Red fans has given him that extra bit of insight and aplomb to stir the players into a higher level of dedication and graft. Stephen Warnock certainly demonstrated his desire for a regular first-team slot by making one of the finest tackles of the season, and the hope remains that the Spanish Armada can fuse with the Scouse Spirit and create something greater than the sum of its parts. One trophy left at which to shoot, and it's the big one, boys and girls. Fingers crossed. Knickers twisted. We await the next draw with trembling anticipation, not hesitant apprehension. Let the other teams fear a draw against us.
And so once more I bid a fond adieu to my loyal readers... whom I'm sure number in the single digits, and solemnly promise to post more often and perhaps even start serial-posting my novel, so that people can start giving me constructive feedback and hopefully accelerating the project along. Adieu... adieu... remember me...
Cheers,

-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^