Liverpool is, in its totality such an assault upon the senses that I shall endeavour to blast out as much as I can before I reach the limits of my physical capacity. Please try to bear with me as I leapfrog from topic to topic.
Iceland Again
It suddenly occurred to me that all of the doors in public and commercial buildings open automatically. This has the effects of making you feel welcomed, ushering you in from the cold and damp, and giving you the creepy sensation that you're in some Scandinavian episode of "The Prisoner."
The Football
Having attended the match last weekend, I'll throw my analysis into the hat, so for those of you without any interest in the tactical nuances of the game, you should probably just skip down to the next topic header.
Sunderland, managed by much-maligned former Manchester United and Everton manager David Moyes, had arrived at Anfield with the full intent of stifling Liverpool FC's attacking prowess. his plan was to attack on the break as soon as his team acquired possession of the ball, at which point his speedy wingers would launch themselves down the sidelines, and his target striker would surge through the middle, supported by a number 10. If his team lost possession of the ball, those two wingers would drop back to protect the gap between the full-backs and centre-backs.
Since Sunderland rarely had any possession of the ball, that meant that Sunderland spent some 70% of the game playing a 6-3-1 formation, and basically kicked anything that moved toward their net. That was mostly the ball, as Liverpool passes and dribbles were punted into touch at every opportunity, but also included the smaller members of the attacking home team, like Phillipe Coutinho and Roberto Firmino.
It was a cynical defensive tactical formation, hoping for a fluke turnover to launch a surprise counter-attack against a superior outfit, but it ultimately could not pay off. Moyes had hope for over an hour, though, as his burly man-marking defenders scythed down one diminutive Brazilian attacker after another without censure.
Two things changed the match.
The first was Jürgen Klopp. Sensing that his team was getting frustrated of running into blind alleys and defensive walls, and angry that the referee wasn't making very many sympathetic calls, particularly in the case of Coutinho, who was stretchered off in considerable discomfort, Klopp called in reinforcements in the person of the twelfth man. Spinning to face the Man Stand (where I was sitting) he hopped about manically, frantically waved his arms, and shrieked in a manner only an irate German can. We responded instantly with a huge chorus of "The Fields of Anfield Road." In so doing, we shamed the Kop, who in turn had to launch their own song, or forever be dishonoured as having lost the traditional place of song-originating wall of sound that they had been holding covetously since 1965. Songs rang around the ground, and the players took heart before redoubling their efforts.
The second was the addition of Divock Origi, who replaced one of the injured South American wizards. The big Belgian battering ram baffled the Sunderland back line by hitting a shot parallel to the touchline across goal with such venomous spin that when it grazed the ground, it shifted direction and swerved around the hapless keeper to nestle into the far bottom corner of the net.
TL;DR
David Moyes and Sunderland played like craven eunuchs but couldn't compete against superior skill and support.
I helped Liverpool defeat Tottenham in May, 2009, but on this day it was Jürgen Klopp who provided the off-field spark to carry the match.
Full English Brekkie
So we sat down on Sunday for a big and expensive breakfast at the Philharmonic. The food was good, but nothing ridiculously palate-seducing. As usual, there was toast, bacon, baked beans, eggs, hash browns, blood pudding, sausage, and tomato. Nothing extraordinary. what did strike me was the Sunday menu. It was topped by bizarre heading title of "The Most Lavish Toilets in Europe." This claim is most assuredly true, as anyone who has been there can attest.
What's odd is to make that claim before describing the food that you are going to serve. It's a bit like a cross-country skier discussing the vomitus that will happen at the finish line, rather than the gold medal.
Contrast
The Philharmonic is on Hope Street. At the downhill terminus of Hope Street is the Anglican Cathedral, which has a weird, neon-illuminated commercialism about it. At the top of the hill, amidst the University District, is the Catholic Metropolitan Cathedral of Christ the King. Looking a bit like Tolkien's tower of Barad-Dûr, sans the Lidless Eye, the austere and spiky building cuts a unique silhouette against the city skyline. This is not a building of lavish toilets.
Liverpool is a working-class town that has known hardship and privation throughout its 800 year history. As a port city, it was hit hard by waves of the Black Death in the 15th and 16th centuries, claiming as much as 25% of the population at a swipe. In the middle of the 19th century, over 350,000 Irish are estimated to have debarked on Liverpool's docks while fleeing the great famine, creating chronic cholera outbreaks and starvation.
In J.D. Salinger's twin novellas "Franny and Zooey," Franny has a profound crisis of faith and has a nervous breakdown. Zooey solves the problem by pretending to be one of his older brothers and doing as he would do. In his analysis, Franny cannot reconcile the god she wants to worship with the god of scripture. In short, she wants Christ to behave like St. Francis of Assisi, and that is inconsistent with the Christian faith.
Everyone reads revelatory scripture with a certain filter. Some people key in on certain themes, like visual artistic depiction regulation in the Qu'ran or the haddith. Some focus on money in the New Testament, or slavery in the Old Testament, but everyone tends to key on what they see as the most relevant or immediate to themselves and their community.
In Liverpool, Christ the King is sublime because he is seen as the embodiment of divine suffering and endurance. The twelve stations of the cross in the Met Cathedral are a catalogue of misery and suffering, and the Catholics of Liverpool love and worship him because he shares their experiences and torments without succumbing to surrender or despair.
To see such extremes and contrasts on a single street in Liverpool only goes to show the intense diversity that underlies a great togetherness that has formed a cultural fabric as resilient as any in human history.
Until next time, stay safe and happy.
Good night England and the Colonies,
–mARKUS
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