Gegenfreude Time
Manchester United’s win and Newcastle’s tie on Saturday means, in addition to grabbing all nine points from Liverpool Football Club’s three remaining games -- starting today with relegation-threatened, potentially dangerously desperate Leicester, and ending in just two short weeks at already-relegated Southampton -- the Reds’ chance of “success” in 2022-2023 is contingent on others’ continued failure.
(And though it’s thematic, let’s not even think, yet, about what to think and how to feel about the Champions League, beyond wishing for a Milano miracle and an (early, late, who cares) Divock Origi winner in June.)
You probably know the math by heart, but: In the league, four points currently separate fifth place from third. If gleefully gaffe-prone United drop those four points over their last three matches, Liverpool sneak into the top four on goal differential; if by some unlikely turn of fortune Newcastle lose two games (and one could see them getting thumped by the same Brighton who shoved the final cork in Arsenal’s bottle) or finish out with draws, we’re in on points.
This puts us in the odd position of very dearly wanting Chelsea, who play both, including Newcastle on that mad, joyous last day of the season, to succeed (we were always with you, Francie). We only win if others also lose. That’s how it works, that’s how it goes. Just ask Arsenal (sorry, Johan).
(And, again, since it is both overly hopeful and a little bit rude to pray that Bane appears at the Etihad this week and City and Real both fall in a hole and go away forever, banished to play Ronaldo and Leo and their Saudi sponsors in some faraway Super League, it also puts us the uncouth and ugly position of wishing failure on just about everyone. And we are too young and too beautiful to be so bitter. What are we, Millwall?)
But it also brings up some bigger, existential questions, like: is this it? Is this adequate? Is settling for a late Champions League push about all we can expect under the current regime in a league that, for all intents and purposes, is indeed MBS’s and his sportswashing project to lose, as was demonstrated this year and the last and every other year aside from the summertime COVID-time Premier League trophy that graced Merseyside?
Though the answer is no, and it immediately brings up bigger questions of ownership and identity, I also think the premise is faulty. Arsenal proved it this year and Liverpool proved it last year. It is possible to compete with a walking, talking Scrooge McDuck vault – and, even, defeat it. Todd Boehly’s great contribution to society may just be demonstrating you can spend like a sheikh and still end up with bupkis. Even unlimited resources (and “allegedly” violating the rules more than 100 times in order to bring those resources to bear) need canny management. Something to remember the next time Football Manager brain, armed with a few memes and some Transfermarkt links, enters the chat.
About that, and about the profound disappointment rather than unalloyed joy prompted now when “Hey Jude” comes on the Spotify (a touchy subject we may dive into later, if at all): For obvious reasons, attention has already shifted to the summertime transfer market and how to properly allocate John Henry’s money. That is obviously all necessary, for a sporting director and club management, but it is also an evil and unnecessary distraction for the players, the manager, and the fans for whom there are just 270 minutes (plus however much time Nick Pope flushes down the commode) of football left before the (albeit brief) summertime doldrums. We can watch the business play out later. For now, let’s just play.
