I Walk Alone
I’m on my couch. The TV is tuned to Peacock and the cat sits near my feet.
Sounds idyllic, yes?
For all that is holy, NO. Not idyllic. Not peaceful. It’s not at all as I intended the day to progress when I closed my eyes last night.
My sleep was blissful. Undisturbed and refreshing.
And then sunrise…
Match day.
I woke up and the excitement started to course through me as I grabbed jerseys from my closet before I pulled on my shorts. I was ready for the Reds—just had to figure out which scarf to bring. Then I’d be off to the pub.
Except it didn’t happen like that.
The cat sits near my feet—as we covered moments ago—and my feet are not clad in football boots or sneakers or even shoes.
Nope, these feet are clad in slippers.
And the reason for slippers, the cat, the couch and Peacock on TV is because humans don’t communicate.
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Humans Don’t Communicate
It’s true.
If I had less disdain for the telephone, I’d be in a different mindset. Maybe a better mindset. At least I’d have received crummy information in a timely manner.
So, let’s say we both made some mistakes—the pub I trusted to be my oasis, and me, the consumer who still thinks he’s right.
BTW, I take full responsibility for being relegated to the couch instead of enjoying a Guinness at a local bar…yet my laziness is only one of MANY mistakes that affected this day and my experience.
Mistake 1 — Mine
I didn’t call the pub in Portland, ME, to get match-day info.
I relied on my experience and what I had been told when I visited the bar in the past.
And in not contacting the bar, I was left scouring their website and Facebook account for the operational hours.
Mistake 2 — Mine Also
I TRUSTED that the information I was collecting from the digital world was accurate and up-to-date.
It was neither, and that’s where I stop blaming myself and start railing against a disconnect I see in the business-consumer relationship.
Especially as it relates to pubs and football.
Mistake 3 — Pub and Supporter Club Manager
It seems that too much enthusiasm for things that might happen has caused a ton of mixed messages coming from the bar and the OLSC manager/founder.
For example, on my visits early in 2026/27 on LFC match days, I was greeted by a clipboard, a smile, a handshake and the appearance of stability.
In any universe, you would take a look at this scene and toast to a long and amazing legacy as a Liverpool pub.
You’d see the pub staff rushing around and actually wearing LFC jerseys while serving. They were friendly and efficient.
And if you thought all was right with the soccer world, NOPE NOPE NOPE.
You’d be making a mistake.
For all that early-season bravado and faux organization came a slew of silence.
That’s right, not a peep about matches except for the two posts that were sent out early in the season.
The pub seems to have an aversion to email, voicemail and social media messages.
AND after skipping two match days and watching Liverpool at home, I gave the pub a call.
If nothing else, I’d be able to tell if the staff answering the phone was aware of the quest to be an LFC supporters’ location.
I don’t think so.
The Phone Call
So, on a Saturday afternoon I dialed the number, and here’s how the conversation went:
Pub: Hello, Pubpubpub. (Not naming them because I still might go there occasionally.)
Jeff: Hi, Pubpub. Can you tell me what time the pub opens for the Liverpool match tomorrow? The match starts at 10, so are doors opening at 9:30 or right at game time?
Pub: 11 a.m. We open at 11.
Jeff: Well, for matches it’s earlier, right? You said—the pub said—that you were showing all matches with sound. And the match is at 10 tomorrow.
Pub: I don’t know. We open at 11. That’s the regular hours.
Jeff: Do you know if the game is going to be on?
Pub: I don’t know. We open at 11 a.m.
I didn’t continue my interrogation, realizing it was happening all over again.
In a very small way—as I’d only gone to this pub for LFC games three times—I felt as if I had to move again.
From pub to pub hoping they have Peacock and USA Network.
From pub to pub hoping the staff likes, or at least will put up with, soccer on their TVs.
From pub to pub realizing that getting anyone to open for a 7:30 a.m. match is going to be an uphill battle.
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I Got Myself Into This Mess
I got myself in this mess by moving three hours north of my original supporters pub—LFC Boston and the Phoenix Landing.
I guess I didn’t know how hard it can be to convince seemingly intelligent humans that there’s a huge upside to hosting viewing gatherings.
In what other situation can a restaurant owner make a day’s worth of tickets BEFORE opening up for a weekend brunch crowd?
Even if the pub doesn’t serve food—just sells chips and snacks—they’ll still make a bundle.
Think about it:
- Two servers
- One bar
- Limited or no food menu
- Credit or debit cards only—no cash
- One other employee to show up 90 minutes after the start of the match to help clean up and start prepping for normal operation
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Taking Back Control
When it comes down to it, my shrink and I agree that I have a desire for more control in my life.
And to accomplish that, I’m stepping back from worry.
I’m no longer going to get uptight and anxious about match watching.
The matches are going to happen.
The players will play.
And the supporters will cheer.
That’s all.
I’m going back to basics because everyone hates moving and I’ve put up with enough change regarding pub-onomics.
Short of opening my own place and gathering the necessary people, I’m going solo.
I’m watching wherever and whenever LFC is on.
I’m poised to ask for the clicker in every bar I visit.
It’s a different sort of control, but the two things I have control over are my desire to watch LFC and the absolute control over my wallet.
I Walk Alone
Circling back to the pub mentioned up top, they will no longer benefit from my visits or income because they’ve ignored me.
Without me, there’s no tipping; there’s no food sales; and there’s two fewer Guinnesses being poured on match day.
Yes, I’m just one fan, but the fact I was one of six fans when the pub was most busy and LFC-focused shines a dark light on this particular pub getting Liverpool approval.
C’est la vie.
I really thought I had it solved this time.
The folks at that particular pub talked a good game.
My guess is by the end of the international break, they’ll have turned into a fancy brunch spot without televisions.
Moving day?
Not for me.
I’ll be on my couch or at a PROPER LIVERPOOL BAR.
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