The thing about derbies is that no one actually looks forward to them. You can be the favourite to win the game, as Liverpool appear to be in this case on Sunday, and you still wouldn’t be wanting for the game to happen. This is the nature of the derby: high stakes, high emotions, high trauma, and above all the niggling feeling of what if we lose?
Neither of the two derbies this Sunday are going to be taken lightly. For the Northwest, it’s a game that will potentially decide the Champions’ League contenders. For El Clasico, it’s a race for the title. But it hasn’t always been this way. None of the derbies that United played last season, for example, could be considered particularly ‘important’, in the scheme of league positions and so on. And in the buildup to yet another big game there will always be people who deride the necessity of such things. You can’t help but see their point, in some ways; any game, not just a derby, keeps your heart in your mouth. Any game can be just as important, if not more so, depending on the table positions. So what’s the point of a making something as big as a mountain out of what seems to be a molehill?
To which I believe Gary Neville has something to say.
This was originally going to be a post about GNev’s best celebrations against Liverpool, but I’ve found that there aren’t a lot of pictures floating around, given he’s usually off celebrating somewhere else that’s not the team (Kop end, perhaps). Most of them, however, look the same – arms outstretched, euphoric screaming, lungs bursting with both hatred and heart. In every photo you can see what this means to him. And this is not just because he’s the man who ‘hates Scousers’; it’s because he understands exactly how important this game is. Derbies are not irrelevant, have never been irrelevant, and will never be. Maybe there are other games that could be title deciders, other games that could mean make-or-break relegation battles, but if you’re going to pick just one game to represent football, it’s got to be a derby.
The most important thing that sets a derby apart from any regular game is the weight of the history and tradition behind it. When two teams like United and Liverpool play against each other, it’s not just a football game. It’s hundreds of years of history going head to head. You’re talking about games that have had so many memorable clashes, so much depth of feeling that it completely transcends the mechanics of the game. Essentially, it’s like what would happen if England or Germany played France (hang on…). What, after all, is sports without tradition? A derby brings meaning to the game because there is so much unspoken, latent tension that propels the entire fixture forward. United has two famous derbies – against Liverpool and against Manchester City – but I would have to say that the one against Liverpool is far more tense, far more important. Manchester City was, for too long, nothing more than ‘noisy neighbours’, and there’s no real history or identity the way Liverpool have. With Liverpool, it’s 18 vs. 20. It’s the 70s and 80s vs. the 90s and 00s. It’s more than football – it’s rivalry – and that means something different for everyone involved.
With a derby, there’s something at stake and something worth fighting for. It could be a derby at the bottom of the worst league in Uzbeckistan, and it would still mean the world to the supporters. It’s not about the points, it’s not about the positions. Derbies that spring to mind include the Tyne-wear, which is Newcastle and Sunderland, which to the outside observer wouldn’t really matter, but is one of the most passionate, important, violent-almost fixtures in English football. And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Not the importance of the fixture, but the identity of the other club. I remember someone saying something about the ’99 FA Cup United-Liverpool game; how it was important to get through to the next round, but even more importantly, it was who we beat along the way.
When new supporters are inducted, if you would, into their football club, one of the first things they’d learn is ‘this team is the bane of the universe’. And in that odd, bizarre way, the team you hate the most comes to define you. I feel like you can’t really come to support a team until you hate your rivals with the burning passion embodied in your fellow fans. What’s an Arsenal supporter who hasn’t, at some point in their life, said “I really *insert expletive of choice here* hate Spurs”? If you’re looking for an analogy, it’s like Batman and the Joker – deep-seated rivals and arch enemies who are nevertheless almost incomplete without each other. I think the perfect derby chant is encapsulated in “Gary Neville is a red / he hates Scousers”. Yes, Gary was a red, but he was even more so a red because of how much he hated Liverpool (and to a lesser extent City). Derbies make identities. They make the club what it is.
In the end, that’s what it boils down to: the emotions and feelings that characterise football or indeed any given sport. Why do people like to watch these things? Because it makes them feel a roller coaster that’s simply unattainable anywhere else. In the 90 minutes of a game anything can happen. You can hit rock bottom at 3-0 down and then climb back up to pull 5 goals out of a hat and sweep the tie. And this roller coaster is a thousand times amplified in a derby game, because it means so damn much more. Choosing between winning three games in a row or beating your arch rivals might seem an easy choice to a rational, normal person, but I know a lot of football fans who’d be torn between the two. There is nothing in the world like – to use the words of the man who has featured in this post and indeed most United derbies very heavily – dancing on your opponents’ grave. Tensions flare, hackles rise, Things Happen. There’s been a lot of hoo-hah recently over no English club remaining in Europe, and Neville pointed out how the last big card we have is entertainment. Well, a lot of that entertainment stems from the passion that derbies bring. You’re never going to get that sort of fiery feeling – of joy, of hope, of excitement, of all out dread – anywhere else.
Tomorrow two derbies are going to be played, and the fixtures in themselves – not the league tables, not the points – have already determined that the footballing world will be glued to their TV screens for most of the afternoon. Derbies will never lose their relevance. Maybe the clubs will get smaller. Maybe the games will get less important. But it’s still the biggest fixture of the league that most players will get to play in, let alone dream of. It’s still the game of high-strung emotions, of absolute passion for the fans. It will always be the sort of game you sprint 50 yards down the touchline towards the enemy fans, screaming your love for this club to the world, pulling at the badge on your chest – the same one that’s been tattooed onto your bursting heart.
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