There has been something eerily desolate about the previous four years. When your team garners paltry points totals like 63, 58, 52 and 61 in consecutive seasons, there's a tendency for the head to drop, the shoulders to wilt and cruellest of all there's a lack of any interest in the world around you.
Manchester United needed a win to achieve their twentieth title? Honestly, I could not give a damn. If you'd said 20 years ago that this soul-destroying truth would spark little alarm in a 35-year-old Liverpool fan like me, or that such a record was even possible, you'd have been treated like an alien -- most likely the one that landed at Roswell.
There was just enough concern for Liverpool FC, and even that was beginning to dwindle slightly. Now it's gushing back again, and the main reason I know this is because the superstitions are starting to multiply. There was a brief period in Kenny Dalglish's rein when we reached Wembley three times and I dragged friends with me along a certain route to the stadium which had to be followed station by station, street by street. Just like the good old days...
Now Liverpool are back in the hunt so to speak, it's time to revive the voodoo magic that helped this club achieve so much over the years. Why didn't any of it work over the last few years, I hear you ask? That's something only a sane person can answer.
I always meant to do an intense study on superstition, whether it was the product of a gigantic ego that genuinely thinks the world revolved around itself, or (more likely) a chronic fear of the way the world works with its strangeness and random cruelty. All I know is that I've contrived now and again to lead Liverpool FC to some wondrous glories over the years.
There was the time one of my fanzine readers sent me a rather moth-eaten 80's scarf which I wore once to a cup tie in 2001. Liverpool won, so of course that scarf had to be worn at every cup game for the rest of the season. Not the league games of course. That would have been preposterous. The end result was three cup triumphs in one season. No need to thank me, it's what I do.
Because of a bus strike I had to walk 40 minutes to Anfield for a game in March 1989 and another 40 minutes back. The Reds triumphed, so you know what came next even when the dispute was resolved. Liverpool caught and then overtook Arsenal in the title race thanks to my hiking and the resultant 100 percent home record -- until Arsenal came and beat Liverpool in the final game of the season. Lady Luck must have her little joke, but at least I had thighs to kill for.
The superstition that attracted most attention from bystanders was the stopwatch. I had a chronometer on my watch which would be set to one minute and one second as the game started. When Liverpool scored it was set to 02.02 and so on. My personal record was 7-0 against York City. I was told on the night I had a screw loose, because I kept checking my watch as a top flight team hammered such microscopic fry. I flatly told them that I was the one responsible for this and many other great victories. Who was the idiot now eh?
My greatest triumph was in 2005 of course, when I continually made a prediction on a fans message board that Liverpool would lose their next European match 3-0. This didn't seem such a marvellous idea when AC Milan actually were winning 3-0 in Istanbul, but Liverpool got there in the end. To this day the club has still not recognised my efforts. Ungrateful curs.
An item of clothing worn to a frazzle, the decision to shave or not to shave, nearly everything has come in handy at some stage. The Anfield trophy haul may not be what it once was, but that if anything has only made my behaviour worse. Somehow it was my fault, and this sickness doesn't just happen for Liverpool matches: with other teams' results now affecting the Reds' fortunes for the first time in years, a week off for the players does not mean a break from the voodoo. There's no rest for the wretched.
There are different ways of doing this. A certain radio station can summon the required result, but it becomes complicated when you'd actually want both sides to lose! There was one method with teletext scores; the first goal for BBC 1 and the second for BBC 2, but since ITV (channel 3) stopped putting the latest football scores on their service that's become a limited option. The way the current Liverpool play for example, three or even four goals might never be enough.
The first game of the day was Arsenal-Everton. With no league points at stake, it meant siding with whichever team Liverpool most wanted to be distracted by extra football. That probably meant Arsenal, though Everton still have an outside chance of fourth place. There is also the small matter of local bragging rights, and the blues stretching their trophy-less period to 20 years meant much fun can continue to be had at their expense. A replay might have been better, which made hexing difficult. You can't just switch which team you will jinx mid-match. That's crazy talk. So I just watched the game and let the chips fall where they may. Towards Arsenal, as it happens. Never mind blues, there's always the next two decades...
At the same time the second important match of the day was taking place at West Bromwich Albion against Manchester United. I say 'important', it probably isn't in the scheme of things but with United it's better to be safe than sorry. Some would say throw a bone to Moyes because Liverpool fans want him to stay in the job a while longer. As I'm one of the Reds who stood in Old Trafford's away end in March 1990 singing "Fergie Must Stay", to my eternal embarrassment, I just want United crushed in every game they play and then deal with whoever comes afterwards... afterwards.
How could I jinx them? Listening to Talksport radio is usually quite good for the Mancunians. My personal best was United 1 Manchester City 6. There is a price to pay however in the form of Stan Collymore’s punditry. It's an experience once likened to watching somebody kicking a dictionary to death, but alas they were doing the Arsenal game too. Would the BBC commentary work? Not really, apart from trying to turn Marouane Fellaini into the new Paul Scholes (the amusing assassin) they were not influencing the score-line to Liverpool's advantage. Typing the word 'Albion' into Twitter search just made things worse. Oh well, you can't win them all -- or any of them if you're Pepe Mel.
The final match was Chelsea-Tottenham two hours later, and once again there was an advantage every which way for Liverpool. A home win and Spurs' chase for fourth would be dented. An away win and Liverpool's title chances were significantly increased. A draw and both of those possibilities were reasonably affected. By kick-off you knew what kind of Liverpool fan you were. A Bill Shankly-inspired, "first is first and second is nowhere" warrior who wants to see Jose Mourinho crying like a little girl again -- he's still banging on about Luis Garcia's goal, NINE years later -- or a pragmatic "hold what we have" milksop who is quietly content with fourth place.
Put me down with Shankly. Liverpool can still win this thing, but they need a lot to go their way and that means a few Chelsea defeats. I was powerless on this occasion however. I don't think Saruman The White could help Spurs win at Stamford Bridge, never mind me and my stopwatch. And I still had to listen to Stan Collymore...
So, you're saying to yourselves, what was the point of all that? Not a single result you wanted came up, by whatever means at your disposal. You could have gone out, met a few friends, had a few drinks or gone out for a drive and a meal with your charming lady, got back in the early evening and found out what the scores were.
Yeah, but where's the fun in that?