8 months ago
150 
Photo by Clive Brunskill/Getty Images
Yeah, maybe you can go home again.
The saying goes that you can never really go back home. That the way we remember things is imperfect and often imbued by things that we refuse to hold up. That when we have to confront the reality of the people and places we think we miss, we may realize things weren’t as warm and gauzy as they once were.
In other words, nostalgia is one helluva drug.
I, for one, am a sucker for nostalgia. And I recognize the ways in which my penchant for looking back allows for the building of images upon faulty foundations. I’ve learned, over time, to be wary of how can construct paper tigers in my own mind that fold upon the faintest of scrutiny.
But, this weekend, I couldn’t help but be swept away in that sweet feeling. Because El Niño was back to scoring ways at Anfield, hitting that iconic knee slide. And, for a moment, it really did feel like I could go back.
To really explain why this matters so much, you’d have to know that Fernando Torres’ run in the 2006 World Cup was of extreme importance to me. Watching his powerful runs off the shoulder, it was exactly what I loved most in any striker. Though he only scored three goals in the tournament, he finished as Spain’s joint top-scorer. And I had a new idol to look after.
I wasn’t yet following club football; European leagues were hard to come by in the States. So international competition was what I keyed in on. The 2008 Euros were televised here and so I get to again cheer for Fernando. Watching him lift that trophy was a joy. And though, due to injuries, he seemed to be slightly less favored in the 2010 World Cup, I cheered heavily as he made it onto the field for a late cameo in the Final. When I finally decided to choose a club team, in earnest, I chose his Liverpool.
That’s how I became a Red and, unwittingly, a Child of the Hodgepocalypse. It was a rough season that was capped, for me, by my heroes departure mere months after I’d signed up to be a Liverpool supporter.
Watching him wear the Chelsea blue stung - not the least of which because blue is my actual favorite color (sacrilege, I know). But I couldn’t work it up in my blood to feel the extreme enmity that many felt for Torres at the time. And, secretly, I hoped that there might be an opportunity for a home coming.
So, to see that old image again - a conquering hero scoring in front of a delirious home crowd - it did this writer’s soul a lot of good. Maybe you can’t really go home again. But seeing that did remind me that neither do you have to stay away. That, maybe, time can illuminate a path that was once unseen. And, at the end of it all, are familiar faces eager to see you.
