My problem with the average “I hate modern fans,” “I hate modern football,” “never been to Anfield or XYZ Stadium,” “not from Liverpool,” “fucking wool” types, is that the pure disdain they feel for foreign fans always shines through.
And that is ironic because, take Liverpool, my club, for example; when we call out the names of Liverpool legends, fans and players alike, most names on those lists are non-Scousers. Take a look at that beautiful stadium, Anfield. It is a stadium expanded and upgraded by Americans, FSG. It is a stadium whose most recent successes and trophy celebrations were orchestrated by Klopp, a German; Mane, a Senegalese; Salah, an Egyptian; VVD, a Dutchman; Arne Slot, a Dutchman; Bobby Firmino, a Brazilian; Alisson, a Brazilian; and Origi, a Belgian of Kenyan origin, etc.
Taking it back to the past, Dalglish was Scottish, Paisley was from North Durham, Shankly was Scottish, Ian Rush was Welsh, and John Barnes was born in Kingston. It seems Liverpool Football Club, as it is today, would not exist without out-of-towners, “wools,” and foreigners.
Every other weekend, these people who despise foreign fans so much, and whose first rebuttals or responses to arguments are “Never been to Anfield, have you, lad?”, “Wool,” and “Support your local,” sit in a stadium upgraded by Yanks and cheer on players and a coach from places like Africa, Europe, South America, etc. They enjoy the benefits of the TV money from all over the world, the jersey sales, and the world tour ticket sales.
From the numerous interactions I have had with them, it is appalling how people who expect a kid from Cairo, Egypt, to know everything about Liverpool— from Bloody Sunday to Thatcher’s disastrous policies, to the negative effects of containerization, to Hillsborough (with utmost respect to the 97), to why they boo the anthem, to the city’s socialist roots and history, and to why they hate The Sun —know so little about the world. They know so little about the countries, cities, and continents where the superstars whose names they eagerly cheer on every weekend come from.
If they did, they would probably understand that for an upper-middle-class child growing up in Lagos in the early 2000s, it was much easier to form an emotional attachment to Liverpool than your local football team because your country's league was not being broadcast on TV at the time, the stadiums where they were played were not child-friendly, and if you didn't have parents who were avid supporters of your local club, going to a match was impossible. They would understand that it is easier to watch Liverpool from the creeks of the Delta, or from an IDP camp in Borno, than it is to watch your local team. They would understand how elated you felt whenever you played with Liverpool on your PlayStation as a kid, when you did not even know the name of your local team yet. They would understand the role that beautiful football team played between the chaos and turmoil of trying to survive in a developing country. They would understand what it means after two and a half decades of bending over backward to watch Liverpool on your cheap smartphone, your cable TVs, or your grimy, sweaty “football centers.” They would understand that after spending your primary school years getting bullied by United, City, Arsenal, Madrid, and Barca fans, getting into fights defending Stevie G’s legacy as a child, running to hug your Mum after you won the league in 2020, and crying yourself to bed so many nights as a kid because Liverpool lost, there are genuinely very few things or people you love more than that gorgeous club thousands of miles away. But they do not. And rather than try to know, the best that can be gotten from them, is condescension, insults, and a tinge of xenophobia for good measure.
They would understand that some Liverpool fans come from countries so poor that people are forced to survive on less than £0.76 a day, and in times of darkness, that precious football club is all that lights up your world. But there is nothing that shows their unawareness of the world around them more than the question, “Have you been to Anfield?” They do not understand that it costs thousands and thousands of pounds, multiple humiliating visa interviews, and weeks or months of visa waiting periods.
They would understand that snidely asking people from countries that were directly or indirectly impoverished by theirs if they have ever “been to Anfield” is just as bad as the poverty chanting they hate so much (and rightly so). But they do not. They live in their little shell, demand respect from everyone, and yet disrespect and mock every other person. They never miss an opportunity to remind you that it is THEIR club, not OUR club or YOUR club, while directly or indirectly telling you to “know your place” as a “wool.”
In all of this, it would appear that not even the great, “all-welcoming” Scousers are resistant to the English bug of always structuring societies in hierarchies of race or places of origin. Neither are they resistant to the English bug of loving foreigners when it is comfortable or beneficial to them, but manifesting a strain of xenophobia at the slightest discomfort or disagreement.
As someone who indeed knows the history of Liverpool, I have no doubts that Scousers are some of the most welcoming people in the world, but relentlessly basking in that, alongside their unionist history and recent socialist past, has probably been the biggest log in their eye. When you put it to them that they are being discriminatory or xenophobic, they are quick to whip out the welcoming history of their city as if that is a magic wand that immediately rids them of all forms of discrimination and prevents them from ever being xenophobic. Because of this, they refuse to take a hard look in the mirror. They forget to ask themselves if Paisley or Klopp or Shankly would be happy with them telling lifelong fans of the club from places brutalized by poverty, bombing, foreign interference, corruption, and hunger to “get out” because they have never been to Anfield. For a lot of them, the history of the city is a magic shield: a perfect umbrella beneath which xenophobic and discriminatory statements can always be sheltered.
You’ll Never Walk Alone… Well, except if you are from Kenya, Thailand, Nigeria, Egypt, or Japan, etc. In that case, you have to “get out of MY club,” “you know nothing about MY club,” “you’re a fucking wool,” “you’re a glory hunter,” or “the state of these foreign fans!” But that apparently, will not stop them from screaming “Mo Salah, Mo Salah, running down the wing, Salah la la la la the Egyptian King” on the last Anfield game of the season, in praise of a man who was once a poor kid from the village of Nagrig, who supported Liverpool as a kid, played with Liverpool on his PlayStation, and gave his all to the club. Why? Because as I mentioned earlier, foreigners who help them are welcomed. You present a slight inconvenience, and the discriminatory statements start flying.
And what leaves a bad taste on the tongue is that they do so for pretty flimsy reasons. The first time I was asked if I had ever been to Anfield, it was by a boomer in 2020 who was apparently disgusted after I pointed out that going into the season with only one fit and reliable center-back in VVD after Lovren left would be a big, pointless risk, considering that Gomez and Matip were injury-prone and the slightest injury to Van Dijk would cost us the season.
At that point, my mother was treating cancer; she had shut down her booming business, and every penny in our family was going into taking care of her. I had only just discontinued my university studies in North America about two years prior and had been forced to start all over again in a far less prestigious university in Nigeria; Liverpool was the only beacon of light in my life. I ended up being right, but I guess it was okay that some boomer who thought he understood football better because he was born a few housing blocks away from Anfield got to “put me in my place.”
I keep an eye on geopolitical events, partly because I am an avid lover of history and geopolitics, and also because the world is at a dangerous, divisive crossroads. In the 2024 general elections, it was apparent that Reform was starting to gain a foothold in Liverpool, and a few of the Scousers I follow were genuinely shocked and appalled by this. But as someone who had been regularly told to “You’re not from Liverpool” and had been snidely spoken down to by these so-called locals, it was not surprising. Not at all. I laughed sardonically and somewhat pitifully and told my brother that they had it coming, and it would only get worse if it was not nipped in the bud.
For people who claim to believe in the miracle and magic of football so much, it appears they believe that the miracles stop at the borders of Liverpool. After decades of aggressively marketing Liverpool to little kids around the world, accepting the globalization of British football and the immense benefits that came with it, and cheering on foreign, global superstars and singing their names, they still cannot bring their minds to accept or believe that foreigners can love the club as much as they do. The miracles? They seem to only believe in them when it benefits them. Not the club, but “them.” Because if anything, globalization has benefited the club immensely, even if they are unwilling to admit it.
Sometimes, I am struck by the Faustian allegory of men who sell their souls to the devil for wealth and fame, only to eventually loathe the very riches they traded for once the novelty wears off and the weight of their demonic debt dawns on them. The club has been thoroughly globalized; it has taken the TV money, tapped into the football franchise model, and thus tapped into the immense benefits of foreign capital, players, sponsors, and coaches. The club was even saved by Americans. Yet, many local fans abhor the idea of global, lifelong supporters loving the club, or having the temerity to assume it is as much "ours" as it is "theirs." "Scouse, not English" is the mantra, but such gatekeeping feels like a quintessentially English contradiction, doesn't it?
And should this ever cross “their” eyes, do not expect to have a logical conversation with them. They, as always, will revert to labels and buzzwords: “wools,” “foreigners,” “telly-clappers,” “daytrippers,” “you know nothing about my club,” “can’t wait for Salah to fuck off so he can take Player FC with him,” “reality TV,” “never been to Anfield,” “Yankees,” “Australia,” “Lagos, Nigeria,” “Abuja,” “Nairobi,” “Ghana” or “Support your local.” They do not wish to learn. They do not wish to listen. All that seems to interest them is reminding foreign fans of the hierarchy of fandom in Liverpool. It seems like they are forever basking in tropes that center around the good old, ‘we are the "REAL" fans, and you are only slightly better than glory hunters.’
And while I implore Africans, Asians, etc., to not make everything about race, it is really difficult to do so when the locals regularly fling prejudiced statements and sentiments about. When you are discriminatory toward people, they tend not to trust that even your purest intentions, motives, and statements are not prejudiced.