Importance Score: 25 / 100 🔵
This article kicks off with a candid revelation. It’s a confession that I fear and feel somewhat embarrassed to share. One that my instincts advise me to reveal to a confessor sworn to secrecy or, at the very least, a sympathetic counselor. Certainly not to an audience of passionate football enthusiasts armed with strong opinions and keyboards primed for potential vitriol.
Brace yourselves, then: this week, I have been seen wearing a Liverpool jersey. And I am not a Liverpool supporter, nor a fan of football.
An Unexpected Indulgence
I am fully aware of the boundary I have crossed. For most of my life, I would have been the first to draw that boundary. I would have etched it into the pavement with a shrill squeal of chalk and dared anyone to defy it. This deviation from my usual principles began innocuously enough, and if you are inclined to be charitable, I will elaborate.
My mother was a lifelong Liverpool aficionado. She was not from Liverpool, nor is any member of my family. When my niece turned three, I discovered that the club sold a child-sized retro bomber jacket. I purchased it for her birthday, partly because I knew it would irritate her football-averse parents, but mainly because there is no sweeter sight than a little girl with a cascade of curls donning Shankly-era training gear.
Six years later, her younger brother is outgrowing the hand-me-down. While browsing for larger sizes, I noticed that the adult version was on sale. With a tap, it was in my cart. With a click, it was on its way. I had not yet considered the implications of wearing it. And then on Sunday, the very day it arrived at my doorstep, Liverpool secured the league title.
Unexpected Reactions and Deeper Meaning
My mum, who passed away in 2021, would have reveled in that match against Spurs. So, on Monday, it did not feel too wrong to don the jersey—over a navy jumpsuit, thank you for asking—in her memory. I was anxious that someone might inquire about Arne Slot’s tactical wing play or Trent Alexander-Arnold’s future. But I live in London, where engaging with strangers is tantamount to a social, if not literal, death sentence. What I did receive, when someone noticed the emblem, was a just-perceptible extension of eye contact and even the occasional smile. I smiled back. It felt rather pleasant.
The Scripts and Conventions of Club Colours
The unwritten rules dictating the wearing of club colors have always seemed quite clear—you simply do not wear them if they do not represent your team. The sense of taboo is understandable in football, where the wrong attire in the wrong setting can provoke altercations. For followers of any sports team that has endured hardships— and find me a team that has not—the jerseys and sweaters are symbols of allegiance, enduring loyalty, and steadfast support. Donning them without having earned the right, or merely because you appreciate the design, is seen as a profanity.
Navigating Conflicting Views
Wearing my Liverpool jacket for a second day presents more complex terrain. Am I still paying tribute to my mother, or am I simply enjoying the aesthetic appeal of the crimson fabric with my makeup? Worse still: am I deriving pleasure from the subtle acknowledgments on the street, the fleeting moments of recognition in people’s expressions?
I am still sporting it as I head to a gathering hosted by a Liverpool fan who was at Anfield on Sunday, so I watch the highlights en route to alleviate some of my misgivings. Possibly the polyester fibers are infused with a hypnotic substance, because when Alexis Mac Allister propels his left-foot shot into the net, my fist clenches in delight.
I ask my host if it is acceptable that I am wearing “his” team’s colors. He assures me that it is fine, and besides, isn’t it peculiar that an activity devised for enjoyment and leisure demands such rigid adherence? If you are passionate about cuisine or music, he points out, nobody expects you to confine yourself to a single genre.
His companion disagrees: he recollects the first Liverpool top he bought as a child. He would hang it on a chair by his bed and drift off to sleep gazing at it—that is what the shirt is meant to embody, not this superficial co-opting of cultural identity. And yet, every piece of memorabilia sold to a susceptible individual like me enhances his team’s brand, influence, and financial resources.
The Psychological and Social Consequences of Fandom
Is it not in Liverpool Football Club’s best interests to have as many people donning its apparel as possible, regardless of personal motivations? Occasional, impromptu purchases still constitute a form of support, a contribution to the cause. Then there is the enchanting allure of the jacket itself. Who knows how swiftly it could have me swearing allegiance to the Kop?
A Maintained Triumph
All this to say, I am still wearing it four days later—and struggling to regret it. Yes, I exchanged a feigned grin with a delivery driver sporting his Liverpool shirt at work, who waved to me from the roadside. And yes, wearing the emblem of a globally renowned team that has just clinched a historic title does bear a striking resemblance to glory-hunting, which is among the gravest sins in the sports realm, alongside the purchase of a half-and-half scarf. Besides, the fleeting moments of connection it’s offered me have been unique and moving, even more than the actual sports event. We often forget that in sport—more than perhaps any other field of public endeavour—underlying the rivalry and the jostle for victory is a deeper, sometimes barely perceptible, universal akin feeling contingent on a shared enjoyment. A brief, emotive glance of fraternity and mutual understanding in a sea of anonymity.
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