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“We won!” Florrie and Kairo ran into the locker room where the Liverpudlians were. Both of them wore red ribbons in their hair, tied in a sort of headband. “ And a clean sheet!”
Almost as soon as they set foot in the locker room, they were up in Alisson’ waiting arms. “That’s right, crianças, we did it! Although I definitely could’ve done without that yellow card. I like yellow, but the ref was just ridiculous today.”
Van Dijk nodded, slapping Konate on the back. “Yellow is so last year.”
"Why were the fans unhappy?" Florrie squirmed, wanting to be put down. Alisson obliged and let both the toddlers run free.
"Well…” Henderson hesitated, not knowing how to put this delicately. “Because of the King."
“Which king? Mo?” Kairo ran towards the Egyptian, who attacked the four-year-old in a full-blown tickle fight. “It's not very nice of them to boo a member of our family.”
Van Dijk chuckled at Kairo’s statement, rescuing him from Salah’s fingers. “No, Mo made us very happy today. They're talking about King Charles.”
Kairo still didn’t seem to get it. “Who's King Charles? Why aren't the fans happy with him? Why were they playing a different song and nobody sang along with it?”
Henderson was about to respond to that, but Elliott beat him to it. “Kiddos, come with me to the auditorium. Fabio, Lucho, you guys come along too.”
Van Dijk watched Elliott with a raised eyebrow. Nobody in the Liverpool squad was oblivious to Elliott’s predisposition to mischievous schemes. “What are you doing?”
Elliott grabbed a giant crate marked Harvey’s Emergency Comedy Kit. “It’s time we showed the kids how the monarchy works.”
*
None of the players had been too sure about putting on a show discussing the British monarchy. Elliott tended not to sugarcoat his opinion on things; and minus Arwen, who already knew the whole story of Merseyside, Hillsborough, and the monarchy, the kids were only four years old at most. Their concerns were only heightened when they saw Elliott lowering a paper crown onto Milner’s head, while Matip manipulated a wooden rod holding ten marionettes.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Children of all ages!” Elliott walked into the middle of the stage, wearing a hideous pair of green, pink, blue, and yellow bell-bottom pants. “Thank you for attending our theatrical production of why we Scousers hate the royal family. We start with the history of Merseyside and how they’ve got along with the royal family through the ages.”
Ten little marionettes dropped onto the set, which was an exact replica of the city of Liverpool. Members of the team, particularly the u18s, came onto stage dressed as old-style citizens, as Elliott backed off to the side. Alexander-Arnold stepped out of the crowd, dressed as an old-style page boy, and started to sing.
One, two, three, four
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh
Our Liverpool was born before the century's close
Our city came to life in the same place we chose
Sea hollies were fine for us, no need for London rose
But the Tories were just horrible
Their bad habits lead to families starving alone
Conversations with a minister we barely know
Swearin' this will be the last, but it probably won't
We have nothin' left to lose, or use, or do
Their bad habits lead to fans not getting their space
But the press has no control of the things that we say
Yeah, we are lookin' for a way out, but we can't escape
We came eighteen-ninety two, it's true
It's true, their bad habits lead to you
Henderson and Milner watched Alexander-Arnold from the front row like proud fathers.
“Wait until Adam finds out our little Trentski’s singing Ed Sheeran,” Henderson whispered, filming the whole thing with his phone. “Harvey’s got real talent here, I gotta admit. Randomly constructing this play for the kids…that’s something.”
Salah shook his head in disagreement, watching the “city” evolve from old-style buildings to newer constructions. “I wouldn’t bet on it. Apparently, Harvey’s been planning this ever since they announced the date for the coronation.”
“Who are the Tories?” Kairo asked, munching on a handful of Robertson’s popcorn. The rest of the team wasn’t sure how to answer that until Elliott cut in.
“There are two political parties in the UK: the Whigs and the Tories. Whigs want political reform and for the people to have power, while the Tories are against political reform and want the church and King to have power. Any other questions can be asked to Google because I hate talking about politics.”
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh
Their bad habits lead to you
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh
We took the long way 'round
Come today, guess who's singing now
“We’re singing now!” Arwen took Gakpo’s hand and thrust it high into the air, over and over again. “ And you’ll never walk alone…”
“ You’ll never walk alone!” The others joined in, even those on stage. Elliott shook his head in exasperation, turning up the background music as a hint to what the performers were supposed to be doing.
Their bad habits lead to families starving alone
Conversations with a minister we barely know
Swearin' this will be the last, but it probably won't
We have nothin' left to lose, or use, or do
Their bad habits lead to fans not getting their space
But the press has no control of the things that we say
Yeah, we are lookin' for a way out, but we can't escape
We came eighteen-ninety two, it's true
It's true, their bad habits lead to you
The curtain went down as soon as the last note played, leaving Elliott alone on stage. Some of the performers came down from the stage and joined the others in the audience.
“Needless to say, folks, the British monarchy and government wasn’t always our biggest fan,” Elliott continued, shuffling his notes like a university professor giving a lecture. “Thanks to Margaret Thatcher and some others purposefully plotting the decline of Liverpool, the hate is mutual. And it only got worse with the Hillsborough disaster.”
Jones and Alexander-Arnold shifted uncomfortably, the latter holding a blissfully unaware baby Ellie. The others seemed rather uncomfortable too; Fabinho pulled Firmino and Alisson closer to him, Milner laid his arm around Henderson’s shoulders, and Lijnders and Klopp held hands.
The curtain went up, revealing a much simpler set. Instead of the bustling and vibrant city set, there was a simple, large dark red, wooden flame behind the club’s black baby-grand piano. To everybody’s surprise, Gakpo sat at the piano and started to play.
“How does he even know this song?” Van Dijk whispered to Matip.
Matip shrugged, holding the marionettes closer to him. “I don’t know. All I know is that Cody educates himself in important things and that Ed Sheeran’s ‘Perfect’ is a universal song.”
It was April fifteenth
Reds playing Forest in a FA Cup scheme
Semi-finals in Sheffield so sweet
Who ever knew this would be the site of tragedy
“Nobody knew,” Robertson muttered under his breath, hugging Alexander-Arnold in a side hug. “They just thought they were going to watch good football, nobody prepared for this.”
Elliott joined in for the chorus, sitting in a chair next to Gakpo.
They were just fans, but then they got crushed
Not knowing what peace was
It was in Hillsborough that time
But the truth spread too slow
Lies were all that they'd know
Thanks to the S-asterisk-N
SYP
Left us in the dark
Blaming us for it
It's their gross neglect
Suffering their monstrosities
Justice finally prevailed
Showed us they're in the wrong
And they deserved it
We got the truthful verdict tonight
Milner nodded resolutely, holding Henderson closer. “Indeed we did.”
Florrie and Kairo watched the show, wide-eyed. They didn’t understand all of what was said, but from the bits they did understand, something terrible had happened and people had lied about it, making the people who were hurt look like they were at fault.
Newspapers printed
More lies than we'd ever know
They changed our tale, but eventually, we told our own
The government
Hid too many dirty secrets
We bore the pain, we bore the trauma on our own
“What’s trauma?” Florrie whispered. She held Klopp’s other hand, the one that wasn't already held by Lijnders.
Klopp instinctively ruffled Florrie’s hair, not daring to make eye contact with her. “It’s when a bad memory or experience changes the way you act or your well-being. It can continue to make you feel different for a long time—which is why we should talk to each other if something bad happens, okay? Don’t keep it inside, promise?”
Florrie nodded seriously, her bunches flying behind her. “Promise.”
They didn't believe us, but on we went
We knew we were innocent
They didn't believe the victims, yeah
Government lied and blamed
Made our image a shame
Oh, I'm so glad that justice came
SYP
Left us in the dark
Blaming us for it
It's their gross neglect
Suffering their monstrosities
Justice finally prevailed
Showed us they're in the wrong
And we deserve the
Truthful verdict tonight
SYP
Left us in the dark
Blaming us for it
It's their gross neglect
Suffering their monstrosities
Now ninety-seven watch from the sky
Knowing the story's right
The honest people wrote it
Things are perfect
We saw so much, but
Now it's perfect tonight
The curtain dropped slowly, and Elliott once again stepped into the center of the stage. The Surrey native respectfully withheld some of his usual vigor and excitement as the scenery was pushed away…but it wasn’t meant to last, as Elliott went right back to his usual loud and boisterous self as soon as ten seconds had passed.
“My fellows of Merseyside, the government and papers were adamant on drowning out the truth from the survivors, condemning them to a sentence of silence! But we rose, we rose high above the fog of confusion and misinformation, and into the light of clarity and truth.”
When nobody even responded, Elliott tossed his notes to the side, ripping off his suit jacket. “Come on, at least clap! I spent two freakin’ months of my life on this speech, you could at least say something!”
Milner hurled Elliott’s notes and jacket back to him, along with a rubber ball. “Just get on with it, lad!”
“Fine, fine, fine.” Elliott put the jacket back on but refused to take the notes, pacing around the stage. “Anyways, Queen Elizabeth passed away and Prince Charles became King Charles III. Honestly, I couldn’t care less if he was the three millionth Charles that England ever had—and it seemed like our dear fans agree with us!”
The curtains opened again to the tune of a loud, vibrant jazz number. Robertson and Alexander-Arnold popped up on stage in the new kit for the next season and horrendous matching bell-bottom trousers, dancing with the youth players and Matip’s marionettes.
You can kick your royal family to Qatar (clap clap)
You can kick your royal family to Qatar (clap clap)
You can kick them out of here
And we really will not care
You can kick your royal family to Qatar (clap clap)
You can blast your royal family to Mars (clap clap)
You can blast your royal family to Mars (clap clap)
You can blast them to the stars
And we won't search for where they are
You can blast your royal family to Mars (clap clap)
You can stick your royal family up your—
“Aaaaand that's enough for now!” Somehow, Klopp randomly appeared on stage, taking over the microphone from a protesting Elliott. “I think we’ve all learned a lot today, show’s over!”
Klopp yanked the string for the curtain. The hem of the curtain fell to the ground—followed by the entire upper half of the stage crashing to the floor. As usual, chaos erupted.
“Where’s the broom?”
“Is everyone alright?!”
“Keep the kids away from glass!”
Some of the adults brought the younger children away from the scene with the excuse of putting them down for naps or feeding them, but it was clear to see that they just wanted to get away from the madness. Florrie and Kairo wanted to help reorder the stage, but Klopp parked them on a chair. That left the toddlers in the middle of it all, watching their teammates laugh, tease and bicker with each other.
“Well, then…” Kairo turned to Florrie, pointing to the stage. “I learned something new today.”
Florrie nodded, holding up Elliott’s discarded notes. “When Moana, Cece, Rietta, Tristan, Ellie, and Auntie Chan’s baby are old enough to hear the story, we’re never going to let Harvey tell them through a musical.”