What does Liverpool mean to me?
Liverpool is that feeling when you buy your first red jersey, and you slowly run your hand through the material, eyes closed, and slowly run through your favourite moments as an endless playlist.
Liverpool is that wondrous feeling of joy when a match is won in front of the home crowd. It is the feeling that presents itself slowly at first and then as an unstoppable, indefatigable force. It is the feeling akin to the rising voices of the fans, which starts off as a gentle murmur and rises to an insidious crescendo.
Liverpool is that irritating feeling when a match that was to be won slips away from an unattainable reach.
Liverpool is that nauseating feeling when the word slip is overemphasized, overused, and over-articulated in every possible scenario.
Liverpool is that longing feeling when a quest for an elusive win is on. That feeling will metastasise when the wait becomes long.
Liverpool is that patient, waiting feeling when success is that elusive, forbidden damsel, who seems ever so out of reach.
Liverpool is that unforgiving, gut-wrenching feeling when you see someone whom you hold dear to you, leave, and never to come back.
Liverpool is that irreversible feeling when a handsome, brave and ruthless #9 is let go, and another equally or more talented is never recruited.
Liverpool is that childishly insane feeling when you see Liverpool, whenever and wherever you see RED.
Liverpool is that feeling when fried ice cream goes into your mouth, pops open, and an incredibly happy feeling overflows: that feeling is intoxicating, and never quite leaves you.
Liverpool is that feeling which sparks off a whole range of emotions in you.
Liverpool is that inflammable feeling when you glow like the full moon when you see the Liver bird.
Liverpool is that incomprehensible feeling when the manager makes some incompatible signings.
Liverpool is that furious feeling when the club fails to perform upto expected levels.
Liverpool is that painful feeling when a loss is carved up against bitter rivals.
Liverpool is that cunning feeling when a victory is snatched from the jaws of victory. It is a sheepish, enraging feeling when a loss is snatched from the jaws of victory.
Liverpool is that stupid, heads-down feeling when an extremely talented centre midfielder is sent away from the club, to pastures anew in Spain, when his presence was much needed and coveted, back where he left: #14.
Liverpool is that ecstatic feeling when a comeback win is notched up. It is that feeling when the air vibrates with the traffic that anything, anything, is possible.
Liverpool is that lost feeling when a player who was taken up under the wings of the club and the fans, misplaces all that faith and loyalty, and lets the club down. (He is he who bites the dust.)
Liverpool is that feeling when you want to shout at the players for misplacing a pass, for shooting wide; it is that feeling that transforms itself into unabashed joy when the pass finds its intended target, and the shot finds a cosy spot with the goal.
Liverpool is that outrageously ridiculous feeling when Champions League matches come calling. Liverpool dons on a whole another avatar then. It almost feels as if the Champions League is a home away from home.
Liverpool is that indigestible feeling when Champions League football is no longer on the menu.
Liverpool is that hyper-excited feeling when Champions League is back on the menu: it is not a buffet, it is on the bloody main menu.
Liverpool is that surging, infinite feeling when you hear the fans singing at the top of their already hoarse voices, to support a team that is three goals down at half time, to lead them to the finish line.
Liverpool is that endearing, encouraging feeling when you see the team get embellished by the roar of the fans, and proving their loyalty to the club and the fans.
Liverpool is that awe-inspiring feeling when the Champions League is won. It is a feeling like none other. It is a feeling that is infectious and colossally contagious.
Liverpool is that gleeful euphoria when the FA Cup is clinched. It is a feeling that emphasizes the beauty that football is.
Liverpool is that defeated feeling when a lovely screamer is scored against the team, during the dying minutes of the game. It is that feeling which tries so hard to convince one that things are over.
Liverpool is that shocking, ostensibly ridiculous feeling when a screamer is scored in the last minute, to clinch important, important victories.
Liverpool is that happy feeling when the scorer of such a screamer is one Steven Gerrard.
Liverpool is that feeling to feel a pure, unadulterated joy when the true son of Merseyside, Steven Gerrard, performs well.
Liverpool is that satisfied, proud feeling to be led by a certain Steven Gerrard, through ‘dark storms’, through the wind and through the rain.
Liverpool is that intense, instantaneous, infinite feeling that reverberates through every living facet of one’s soul, when Steven
Gerrard celebrates by kissing the Liverpool crest.
Liverpool is that gritty feeling when the squad is ravaged by injuries and the bad time seems content to stay put for a while before passing on to another team.
Liverpool is that feeling of impending, onrushing dread when you see money being splashed, but only throws back dirt at you, instead of the results that you crave for.
Liverpool is that feeling when you decide irrevocably to stand behind the players, irrespective of form and fame.
Liverpool is that almost feeling when the team finishes second in the league. Having their noses up ahead of the rest for the better part of the season and yet finishing as second best, is a feeling that is all too familiar, but it is one that never fails to throw on the sour and bitter flavour.
Liverpool is that feeling of jarring silence that follows a shocking loss.
Liverpool is that feeling of muffled horror when things repeatedly go off track.
Liverpool is that feeling of a symphony beginning to play, when things slowly, steadily fall into place.
Liverpool is that feeling when a violin surreptitiously begins striking all the right chords, and at breakneck speed, all a mesmerizing melody to the ears and eyes.
Liverpool is that expectant feeling when the crescendo is just around the corner, when the ensemble orchestra is just about the hit the best notes.
Liverpool is that feeling when I feel like wanting to stop watching football when the title skittles away from trembling legs.
Liverpool is that spine-tingling feeling when you realize that the fans are still singing, that they have still not left, and that they will never leave.
Liverpool is that feeling when you realize that you can never stop loving the club, never stop following the club, never stop admiring the club.
Liverpool is that feeling to walk heads raised high, brimming with pride and passion, to be walking behind and for a club unparalleled.
Liverpool is everything.