Anfield Bark: You’ll always find them in the kitchen at parties
There’s a new pup on the Liverpool website scene. Anfield Bark, the brainchild of Steven Scragg, @Scraggy_74, will cover all things Liverpool, but with a twist; there’s no transfer gossip, no analytics or statistics. Instead you’ll find “soul writing,” and you’re just as likely to read stuff about music, culture and politics; in short it’s about life, the universe and everything in between.
The site sprang in to life with a great piece by Steven Scragg, A Town Closed Down For Winter, a passionate perspective on that hinterland between the end of one season and the beginning of the next. There is also a brilliant piece from Neil Poole, creator of ‘We Are Liverpool’ fanzine, which explores Reds fans tendency to deify their managers. It’s a great read with a clever title; Liverpool Football Club and Personal Jesus.
Whether you’re from the great city of Liverpool, or not, if you have a Scouse outlook on life, this is a must visit site for you. What are you waiting for?
Here’s a snippet of my first article for the site below, along with a link to the full piece. I hope you pay it a visit. Enjoy.
You get your political education in the strangest of places sometimes. Of course growing up in a working class city in the North of England, and one routinely demonised for most of my adult life, there are no shortage of lessons around. However one of the most intriguing of my adolescent life came in a hotel in the Isle of Man. Intrigued? Good. You see I was away with a mate, following a local amateur football team. One night, quite late, and after a couple of sly pints, I’d got chatting to this Irish fella; something I’ve always found to be a pleasure and more often than not very informative by the way .
This guy had so many theories and most, if not all of them, were anti-establishment. Given that I was of a similar mindset, I was all ears. He told me that war, all of it, was just the ruling class’ way of keeping the population under control. My eyes widened. I wasn’t sure about this. After all don’t they need a big pool of sufficiently poor and obedient people to man their factories and plough the fields, I asked naively. Clearly I hadn’t devoted nearly enough hours, in my relatively young life, to thinking about this sort of stuff.
He looked at me, puffed out his cheeks and did his best to stifle a frothy wet burp, and he almost managed it too. “You’re thinking kid. I like that.” He said and then leaned in closer. “They do, but when there’s too many of us to feed, off they go and pick a fight with one of their mates.”