the world's greatest drama

At approximately 9:40pm on Tuesday night, my phone experienced an earthquake.

This was no disaster, however. It was a seismic rush of uncalculated expression charging through an array of group chat feeds. WhatsApp, Twitter and iMessage notifications cascaded into eachother. Unfamiliar vowels and consonants came face to face for the first time. Everything was in capitals. Nothing was spelt right. No-one cared. Football was on stage, and it just hit the top note.

In the stalls, anarchy ensued. Drops of lager sprayed the dried memories of the summer. Tribal divides were broken. Jaws dropped. Neanderthal semantics rose from extinction. From the ashes of genius-induced defeat in Barcelona, Liverpool's phoenix was soaring into the Champions League final.

"Did you see the game last night?" The question reverberated around work spaces, classrooms, playgrounds, lecture halls, kitchens, everywhere. Every football fan wore a glint in their eye, one that showed the pride of witnessing something special. Marvelling at Trent Alexander-Arnold's genius, smirking at Divock Origi's heroics, admiring the Kop's noise. As relentlessly as tribal forces contracted, it was difficult to hide a smile at Liverpool's achievement.