Plastic club.

Plastic club with plastic fans and plastic empty seats.

You said we have no history.

I’m sure you have no bias.

You said we should be charged.

You’re a legal hotshot.

Empty colours and an atmosphere suited to a library.

Did you ever leave your armchair?

You questioned where we were when we “were shit”.

You edited photos and videos when you weren’t bothered.

The Red side toppled, wobbled and roof falling down.

The silent Anfield roar, a copy and paste rhetoric.

You said it wasn’t about us but it was about us, about you, about us.

No bias intended, no one offended.

All the while, your former players bleated and tweeted.

Not about the white American owners.

Just the Arabs, Asians and outsiders.

The Russian one first, then less, when shady became barred.

Through this, we sat back and celebrated.

We inhaled the fumes of boiling piss from Merseyside, Old Trafford, and the Daily Telegraph.

Modest jealousy in print, on video, and all over the Internet.

We look at you, smile, yawn…

And we play on.

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