Football fans, the national anthem and a battle for who controls the public space

“W e’ve fought wars,” pleads Peter Shilton, his voice breaking with emotion. “People have died to protect our national anthem. Every country has its national anthem, and they’re very proud of it. And, you know, we’re one of the top ones. It’s sad that a small minority feel they have to do this.”

Alas, I was abroad over the weekend and thus missed out on most of the piping hot coronation discourse that many of you will have enjoyed. As it happened I was in Germany: in many ways the royal family’s spiritual home, even if – in Shilton’s reading of history – it did launch an unsuccessful attempt to invade the national anthem in 1939.

But I did watch Liverpool v Brentford, an undistinguished encounter enlivened immeasurably by the scenes that preceded it. As God Save the King piped over the Anfield sound system, met with a predictable concerto of scouse disdain, the Liverpool players arrayed around the centre circle found themselves trapped between two equal and opposing forms of awkwardness.

Different players reacted differently. Mo Salah, game face on, staring flintily into the middle distance, utterly unmoved. Fabinho: just baffled. Andy Robertson: gaze fixed firmly downwards, as if trying to laser-burn a hole in the turf through which he could mercifully plummet. Trent Alexander-Arnold trying, John Redwood-style, to mouth the anthem without singing it.

Why do Liverpool fans boo the anthem? Well, to borrow the words of Louis Armstrong when asked to provide a definition of jazz: “Man, if you gotta ask, you’ll never know.” All football fans have their nemeses. For Liverpool, it’s the British establishment and its associated pageantry. For Manchester City, it’s Uefa and the Champions League theme tune. For England, it’s