I have often noticed the commonality between religion and football, and I have not been alone in doing this. Peter Evans, from the National Football Museum, once called football “the religion of the masses”, and it is not hard to see why.
My holy day is a Saturday, the service starts at 3pm, and I make sure I am in suitable attire for it. The gods of Rodgers, Gerrard and Suarez are worshipped, the hymns of Anfield Road and You’ll Never Walk Alone are sang, and I gather with my brothers as our icons attempt to create more legendary tales and stories.
Our football clubs are considered sacred to us. When we see somebody sporting one of their kits, we consider them a friend, when we contemplate a tattoo, our mind turns to our team, and when someone bad-mouths one of our teams players, we defend them to the hilt, despite having never even met them.