Prisoners of Nostalgia
The brilliance of this particular hobby of ours is it’s all about living in the present, if you can manage it. That is why there is no need to ever again speak of the ghosts of Tuesday, as every last step of the way of this now officially “lost” 2022-2023 campaign will carry some stain of Madrista blanco, no matter how many times it’s thrown in the wash.
It can also be what finally frees us from the prison of our own instant nostalgia, as what crept slowly into our minds since its first ugly appearance the first weekend of August in London has now been delivered with all the subtlety of a bus crash or a neon-blue cocktail with two straws, a warning label, and a discount coupon for a morning-after IV: There will be no trophies, no parades, no finals this year. Perhaps that’s good, as Liverpool looked every bit too old, too gassed, too inflexible, just not good enough – and, by far the worst of all, throughout the entire second half, simply not up for it anymore. (xG nerds who rightly point out that, yet again, Madrid lost according to the algorithm on the night will be reminded our xG for the second half was approaching absolute zero.)
To recall this merciless demonstration came after we went two quick goals up on our European nemeses is to be waterboarded after giving up our confession. It was cruel, and the class both Real and their fans demonstrated – like dinner guests politely helping tidy up, after breaking all the china, wiping their mouths with the table cloth, and shitting on the floor – just made it worse. It is almost enough to make you pine for that perfect villain Ramos.
Marching now into this wretched mind palace are Patrick Vieira and the Eagles of South London, who have tied clubs who’ve beaten us, who have talent, who – another sign of the trouble we’re now in – tied us in August after winding up Darwin Nunez. They are banged up, but they did enough right to keep Brentford muzzled for 94 minutes last week, a feat that was beyond our ken. Zaha might not play, but they have speed and technique. They don’t have the quality of a Vini Jr or a Camavinga, maybe, but they have something close to the potential. Thus, this little game has the potential to rescue the wrecked confidence of a Joe Gomez, or sentence it to the Championship forever.
Observing that this fixture against a mid-table club that hasn’t won in the league this year is massive is to make a declaration so obvious it would offend a four-year-old. But again, to the present. Smack Palace over the head or just escape the M25 with three points and we can forget about Tuesday – four points behind Spurs, with a game in hand! The season is rescued. The alternative is the torture chamber, a three-month windup to the exile of Thursday night Conference League fixtures in Moldova and a long, hot summer watching the transfer news (aka more torture).
“We have to do something in the summer, it is clear,” Jurgen said during his pregame press conference today. Many other paid stenographers of the obvious put it more keenly: this is a potential crisis, this is an inflection point. That means it’s also exciting and worthy of your time, and that’s not so bad. After all, we could be Chelsea.
