Heart As Big As Liverpool

I always thought of myself as clever for saving my money by not being a smoker, or going tanning, or getting my hair professionally done. But I now have a far more expensive habit: football.

Cost of driving to Minneapolis to watch games in Brits Pub: $50 per trip.
Cost of Liverpool Jersey: $50.
Cost of You'll Never Walk Alone Tattoo: $60.
Cost of getting to Liverpool: $120.
Cost of ticket to Liverpool-Man City Match: $274.
Never Walking Alone: priceless????

Out of Practice, Episode Two

Wow, this is problem is getting serious. I hemmed and hawed all day over the purchase of an official Liverpool Jersey. Elverys didn't sell one with Steven Gerrard's name across the back, which was what I really wanted. But it was for quite a decent price compared with what I've seen at Planet Soccer in the States. They've only ever got away jerseys anyway. At the end of the day I decided it was a worthwhile purchase (what if Gerrard's groin never recovers? Better to support the whole team than one player) and carried my brand new shirt down O'Connell St with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. I stopped at the General Post Office to buy some postcard stamps to the US and opted to write a few postcards there to get them sent off as quickly as possible. Postage stamps, you see, are cheaper in Ireland than in Germany. After popping them in the post box I continued homeward. It wasn't until I passed by the third Carrol's Gifts (And Cheap Tourist Crap) that an Irish Rugby jersey in the window reminded me of my new Liverpool shirt. To my horror, I realized the bag was not in my hand. I was, ironically, walking very much alone. This produced, I'm somewhat ashamed to admit, a much more severe reaction than the missing wallet had. I panicked, and praying I'd left it at the GPO ran the length of O'Connell back to the place where I'd written my postcards. The only thought on my mind: "Well thank God I can't lose the tattoo! At least that's not going anywhere!"


I arrived at the GPO out of breath. There it sat, Elverys Sports bag alone on the counter top, Liverpool jersey safe inside. Lucky girl, indeed. This better not become a pattern!

Twaiku

In the same vein as Twitterature (http://www.twitterature.us/) LFCTV hosted a Twitter Haiku contest. Mine was actually two haikus melded into one, but I still made it in under 140 characters.

"Pray for us sinners"
Rosary tight in my hand.
Gerard takes the kick,

Big and fucking hard.
Keeper hesitates too long.
Thine is the kingdom!

Summer Transfer Window

Yesterday caused a bit of emotional turmoil for two major reasons.

In the early hours of the morning, shortly after I awoke from the sound of rain on the skylight, I received a text message from the LFC Twitter page saying that today, finally, Liverpool Football Club would be announcing the fate of Xabi Alonso. This put me at great unease, and I drifted back into unsettling dreams in which I received a dizzying multitude of Twitter update texts.

It was day two of training for my new job, in which I would be a traveling photographer. After being laid off from Job 1, as a clerk for a poorly planned government project, nearly a month ago, I was lucky enough to get Job 2 just days later. Though I wasn't thrilled about the travel or hours of Job 2, beggars can't be choosers and the job itself was interesting and exciting. Midway through the day I got a call from my old boss at Job 1. Rumors that had been circulating around the laid-off staff were confirmed. They're hiring again. Emotional turmoil ensued, and the crushing necessity of making a fast decision on such a huge matter as one's job and livelihood.

I am often rash in my decision making, opting to think things over shortly and on surface level, make my choice, and only later suffer the agony of all the what-ifs and why-thens. Often things do work out for the best, or, if not the best (for one can never really know how the option one didn't pick would have turned out) than for the acceptable. But I loathe the prospect of being cornered by two major choices, two future paths, and knowing no progress can be made until a decision is reached.

The summer transfer dealings of soccer teams are similar, yet vastly different. Teams buy, sell, and loan players across oceans and cultures. There is much waiting, deliberating, negotiating, planning, agonizing, hoping, and praying. Fans, players, teams, managers are cornered in an endless cycle of rumors, training, deals, and contracts.

Alonso has been waiting for quite some time for his transfer from Liverpool to Real Madrid to go through. Myself, I was waiting for that call from Job 1 for nearly a month. When it came and I made my decision to go back to Job 1 and run the (admittedly high) risk of being again jerked around and possibly re-laid off by corporate in exchange for a job I'm good at in a place I like, an extreme sense of relief came over me. I am sure Xabi felt the same upon the announcement that he will be sold to Madrid for 30 million Euro. I am selling myself for far less: A bit above minimum wage with the potential for unemployment this time around, minus the mileage check Job 2 would have provided but with the knowledge that my sad little car (which would never have survived a collision with a deer on a narrow Wisconsin backroad) is that much safer for the time being.

The summer transfer windows for Xabi and me have been closed, the drapes drawn. We are where we want to be, the next season is rapidly approaching, and relief is in the air. Still, I must admit that despite the drama of having to choose between Job 1 and 2 after four short hours of stressed deliberation, I was more emotionally drained by the mid-afternoon text confirming Alonso's departure. It's lonely round the fields of Anfield Road.