In Defence of Trent Alexander-Arnold, Part Two
Being the second and third meditations on football and scapegoats, in reference to Trent Alexander-Arnold and his contract situation.
This is the second of a three-part series. It comprises four meditations on scapegoating in football with regards to Trent Alexander-Arnold and his current contract situation. Part one, containing the first meditation can be found below. It is probably worth reading before this part, as it sets the context for what follows.
In Defence of Trent Alexander-Arnold, Part One
When Trent Alexander-Arnold scored against West Ham United on Sunday 29th December 2024, he celebrated by jogging towards Liverpool’s away supporters and raising his hand to the side of his head. His fingers snapped open and closed to display the universally recognised hand signal for “people are talking about me—but to me, it is merely noise.”
However, this is not essential. For Meditations II and III, please read on.
II. Trent Alexander-Arnold: led like a lamb to slaughter
How much of the current situation is Trent Alexander-Arnold’s fault? How much of it is even within his sphere of control or influence?
It was not for him to offer himself a new contract. That was the remit of Liverpool Football Club, and until recently they neglected to do so. Neither was it his decision to submit a derisory transfer offer for himself six months before his current contract expires. That was a typical dickhead move from the heirs of Francoism.
“Clubs don’t submit offers without a wink from the player,” says every Ornstein-wannabe on X. Is it not possible Real Madrid made an exception to try and get what they want? This is their playbook—destabilise the relationship between player, current club and fanbase. When the Liverpool Supporter sees the offer and feels their heart start to harden towards Alexander-Arnold, this is the work of Satan Real Madrid.
Alexander-Arnold’s only remit has been to be boss at footy. By all accounts, he’s been largely marvellous at it. The only thing he did ‘wrong’ was play badly in the first match after Madrid’s bid. Inauspicious timing, no doubt. Poor optics, definitely. The player’s responsibility, unquestionably. But evidence that his head is turned? Oh, ye of little faith.
The assertion here is not that he wants to or will stay. It is that apart from Alexander-Arnold and his trusted circle, no one has enough evidence to know either way. Perhaps even he is not fully sure yet. As hard as it is for the Liverpool Supporter and/or general opponent of Fascism to contemplate, from a pure football perspective, he would be unwise not to consider the move. The fact that he has not publicly told Madrid to do one only means that he is intelligent and invested in his playing career.
One could argue that he should be more publicly opposed to the ghost of Franco and his anti-human ideology. But then again, let he who is without sin…
As it stands Trent Alexander-Arnold is just one talented young man caught between the competing desires of two powerful institutions. Real Madrid submits their offer becuase they are enemies of love. Liverpool leaked the details of Alexander-Arnold’s contract offer to signal that it is not their fault nothing has been signed yet. The older men sit back in their stately office chairs: “Your move, Trent.” Unfortunately, his very next move was to play a stinker. The scapegoat mechanism is now in overdrive, and The Satan licks his lips in anticipation of claiming its victim.
So much of how we consume elite football is organised to appear as though the footballers have the power. They are on display: “Look at how talented, virile, and wonderful are these young men! And so wealthy!” It is an illusion. Their wages can buy them more options and agency than the average person, but this is not the same as raw institutional power.
Young men, even rich ones, are vulnerable, wanting desperately to be loved. So often, society tells them that to be loved, they must be exceptional. It is a trap. And when the cage door slams shut, the pain of betrayal is immense. There is no love, only an exchange of one’s youthful energy for fleeting approval, and all in service to an agenda set by a cabal of colder, older, (overwhelmingly) men.
What does the young man do in this situation? That is the question Trent Alexander-Arnold must now answer. Spare a thought for this brilliant, beautiful young man, as he navigates this quandary before you attribute any blame.
And consider the Powers that presented him to you, a symbolic lamb ready for slaughter.
III. The GOAT: the first right-back to win the Baalon D’Or
“Optics are everything,” they say, adjusting the Instagram filter. “It is important to perform just right so that you know they know you know who you truly are.”
The impact of the internet and social media on humanity seems to be one of the most discussed topics by humans using social media and the internet. If one wants to delve into the intricacies thereof, it is not hard to find material. All that will be said here is this—eyes are everywhere, and everything they see gets interpreted within an inch of its life.
If this is true for the everyday citizen, how much more so for the elite footballer?
Footballers do not simply have football careers anymore—they have ‘brands’. Sure, this is not new. Technically, Bobby Charlton, comb-over and all, had a brand whether he intended to or not. And David Beckham, who fully intended, became a pop icon before Facebook and Twitter et al. But the current global digitisation of football ‘content’, fueled by the insanely ubiquitous presence of cameras, has undoubtedly made everyone hyper-aware of the optics of everything. And social media gives players some meaningful agency in managing or influencing their own. While this gives them some agency in how they manage their brand/career, it also traps them in the gaze of everyone everywhere all at once, and the endless recursive interpretive discourse. When every gesture is a move in a 4D chess game, most everyone is turned into a mere pawn.
Do not hate the player, hate the game. But we are the game. The fans who follow and read into the players’ every action, word, and image, both on-pitch and online, also maintain this process.
Thus, this is the meta-game, the digital drama, being played. Until it leads to the inevitable collapse of civilisation. Thus it is so refreshing when a player appears so oblivious and/or indifferent to the bullshit, and so clearly plays for the love of the actual football game. Even in the post-apocalyptic wilderness, Cole Palmer will prolly still be good for a kickabout.
When Trent Alexander-Arnold speaks, it is clear he is intelligent and self-aware. It is also clear that he is ambitious. At times, he is certainly capable of performative confidence, which some interpret as arrogance. These are all things, alongside his footballing talent, which make him so worthy of love and admiration.
How then to understand his public statements? He wants to be the GOAT right-back. The first to win the Baalon D’Or. If one is destined to be a scapegoat, why not be the greatest ever? Sincere ambition, or 4D chess to maximise the brand and earning power?
“You won’t achieve that at Liverpool”, says everyone. Liverpool produces heroes who win things, but Real Madrid creates gods who conquer the globe. Rightly or wrongly this feels true and is a sign that the football world has bought into Madrid’s narcissistic gaslighting. They get first dibs on the Baalon D’Or, apparently. Rodri notwithstanding—and he belongs to another dark power—The Satan is winning. But there is still time for a late comeback.
Arne Slot likes this kind of ambition in a player, but others detect a hint of unhelpful main character energy. “No player is bigger than the team.” We all know it’s not that simple, but the golden rule is that the player in question must never even suggest they believe it. “Shut up Trent, and learn how to defend.”
If Alexander-Arnold is in the business of building a brand, a grandiose self-concept, playing for Real Madrid will be good for business. He has won everything at Liverpool, and some believe he has won everything he can at Liverpool. Winning trophies in red might have been a boyhood dream, but winning them in white would be a rung closer to global godhood.
But this might be the road to perdition and misery. Medals, trophies, and the like are made of metal, hard and cold. What does it profit a man to gain the Baalon D’Or but forfeit giving your best years to your boyhood team? This is Trent Alexander-Arnold’s question to answer, his decision to make. His Gethsemane. His number is 66, one more 6 and he carries the number of The Beast. Perhaps The Satan has already claimed him, perhaps Alexander-Arnold has sold himself for twenty pieces of silver. #PrayforTrent.
Or perhaps there is a path, straight and narrow, which he could walk and still win it all—cold Madrid metal and warm Anfield love. Leave on good terms, go win everything, and return a still-loved hero. Rightly or wrongly, this seems unlikely—to aim for that would be highly ambitious. To start walking that path, he will certainly need to perform excellently on the football pitch from hereon. To which point—Trent, my sweet brother in Christ, for someone so clearly self-aware, could you not see that not running hard to get back in position against United at Anfield was, at the very least, bad optics?
For Alexander-Arnold, one assumes his current terms of employment present to him a true dilemma. A crisis point—two equally great or equally terrible options between which he must decide. These are the moments that define the main characters in stories. They become a hero or villain based on their choice. Making a sincere choice in good faith; this is true main character energy.
The Liverpool Supporter does not necessarily have a right to judge or resent Alexander-Arnold for his decision, but neither do they have an obligation to keep him in their heart. Red indifference might be the painful consequence Alexander-Arnold would face if he left to Real Madrid for free. It would hurt, just ask McManaman and Owen.
It is for him to judge whether he can live with hate and/or worse. Or whether he feels he needs to hunt love at a different club. One hopes he knows exactly what he is choosing between.
What would you choose, if you were Trent Alexander-Arnold? The question is not what do you want him to choose, but something closer to home. Think carefully—eyes are everywhere.
