Do it for Liverpool

The more people try to tell me I must not base every thought that occurs to me on football terms, the more convinced I become - that I should not talk to those people anymore. In fact, I should cut them out of my life just like I have managed to toss away the Manchester United acquaintances. I have begun to think that that may not be the end of my attempts at pruning my life of such phoniness, and if Liverpool don't get a move on soon enough, isolation from all shall have to be the solution. No one will be spared.

The plan is to adopt a JD Salinger-like separation from the world of happy football fans, and instead obsess and wallow alone. The day the Premier League is won, I shall emerge, pheonix-like, proud and happy. That is for the long term, but what of the present crisis at Anfield?

In these times of trouble, Nick Hornby's Fever Pitch is the only thing that speaks sense to me. The last week has been spent with a pencil carefully marking out sentences I have read so many times before, but they never get old. The only problem with applying the football-as-metaphor theme to life is that when your own ain't going so great, the added football depression makes it just that much harder to bear. So in another desperate stab at taking control and winning over the football gods, I decided to first put my affairs in order, and then hope my club can do the same. They do look like they need the inspiration, even if it's from all the way over here.

After agonising over quitting a job which seems to have lost its feel for around 15 months now, I finally pulled the plug this week. The cold feet and nervousness which took over my brain and the pit of my stomach every time an opportunity for discussion arose were laid to rest by one simple self-blackmailing sentence: "Do it for Liverpool."

And I did. Insanity, I agree. But I'm afraid that's the way it has to be.

It feels like the right decision, but apart from the all-important peace of mind, I'm expecting a change in fortunes in Merseyside too. It's all connected — football, work, life and its lessons. The pattern makes it seem like it was just meant to be, I realise it now.

Nearly four years ago, at the interview for the job I just quit – my first and only so far -- I was asked to describe the last sporting moment that made me go giddy. In my mind, I still remember, the image of Robbie Fowler celebrating his return to the Reds with his first goal since transferring from Manchester City in the 5-2 win over Fulham (2006) came to mind, and I spoke about it with a silly smile on my face, the kind they say you get when you fall in love.

That one was an important result, coming as it did at a time of indifferent form, made even more special by the identity of the goalscorer, and as for new beginnings and revivals, it's that football result I associate with the celebration of getting my first job.

Back to these hard times of today, four years on, where every Liverpool match is watched with doors closed for fear of the curses being too audible.

The latest heartbreak as people continue trying to prepare me for the blow that fourth place may not be achieved after all - the 1-0 agony against Wigan. The moment the goal went in, I indulged in a bit of excessive tear-shedding, a reaction to the horrible workday and the terrible end it had come to.

The next day, I knew it was time, that sickening display of football had explained it all to me. Within 20 minutes of entering office, the resignation had been processed. It was the end of an era. I want the sad football to end too. Just contemplating another season in the Europa league brings on a panic attack.

This voice inside me says it will all change now, since I have uncharacteristically taken the first step.
I deserve it.