As a kid, I wasn’t too into football — my interest in the sport emerged in my pre-teen years, partly due to the underrated 2016 Euros and partly to share a common hobby with my football-obsessed brother now that LEGO had lost most of its appeal. The only thing I needed, then, was a team of my own.
As the result of a magazine article and an insane Champions League final in 2018, I developed an interest in Liverpool FC. I chose to cheer when Liverpool scored until, finally, it ceased being a choice and became a true conviction. I pavloved myself into supporting a club from a city I had never been to. I learned ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ by heart and discovered it was the perfect length to hold the plank for when at the gym. I got a Van Dijk jersey for my birthday and a Jurgen Klopp poster covered my wall, acting as a crude shrine to the smiling German, and I played more FIFA Career Mode games with the Reds than I care to admit. I was even lucky enough to travel to Anfield in 2020 to see a game live from the stands.
As time went on and I grew older, the familiar team I fell for nearly a decade ago changed, little by little. Icons like Georginio Wijnaldum, Roberto Firmino, James Milner, Trent Alexander-Arnold, Divock Origi, and Xeridan Shaqiri moved on to new clubs as replacements were carefully selected to step in. I am not so naïve to deny that change was inevitable, but the more the lineup changed at Liverpool, the clearer it became that I had caught feelings for a team of players, not the badge itself. However, the defining exit that permanently changed my relation to Liverpool FC was the early retirement of ‘the normal one’, Jurgen Klopp.
When Klopp stepped down from his role as Liverpool manager, it was as though my father had up and left, leaving my mother to try to convince me to call her new bald Dutch boyfriend ‘daddy’. Arne Slott clearly lacked his predecessor’s charisma and footballing knowledge from day one. Winning a league title on a wave of Klopp’s momentum did not fool me.
My lack of caring for last year’s Premier League winning season and the news that Swedish striker Alexander Isak was joining the club finally proved to me that the relationship was beyond redemption. Years ago, I used to dream of a Swedish player in Liverpool and brought Isak from Willem II Tilburg and Real Sociedad to Merseyside in many FIFA utopias. When the transfer actually happened, it was an egotistical and financial mess that left me with a sour taste in my mouth. I decided I had to leave this toxic relationship as soon as possible.
If this all seems sad and hopeless, do not fret. I am still nurturing a healthy and ever strengthening relationship with a club back in Sweden — the mighty Hammarby IF. This love is less manufactured and more natural in many ways. Hammarby is my local team from southern Stockholm, and standing in the stands feels, looks, and smells like home in a way I fear Anfield could never be. I’ve peered over the fence to their training ground to catch a glimpse of the star players — players I have later bumped into in the supermarket or while at work. My support for Hammarby is not a flirt, it’s passion.
I can never unlearn ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ and Liverpool will always be a big part of my formative teenage years. My feelings did not change from one day to the next, but faded away gradually. I hold no grudge and do not regret the years with you, Liverpool. It was good while it lasted.
Photo by Olle Skau for The Student