Liverpool fans booing Trent Alexander-Arnold is a raw, emotional reaction – don't police the pain

In his piece for The Telegraph, Carragher wrote: "My response to that is who is really the naive and deluded one when analysing how fans feel about such transfers?" and questioning whether Man Utd, Chelsea or Arsenal fans would be happy to see one of their favoured sons departing for a European heavyweight.

He continued: "If that image of the homegrown talent living the dream is an illusion, people feel let down ... Fans are obviously going to be upset ... By leaving Liverpool, Alexander-Arnold is making it harder for his own club to win their 21st league title and seventh European Cup. That is bound to stir emotions ... With Monday’s statement, the unconditional support Alexander-Arnold enjoyed from the Kop when he was fully committed to Liverpool has gone."

Carragher, a one-club Liverpool legend, spoke with the emotion of a native. And he was right. He didn't call for boos, but he seemed to understand, with precision, the sadness of watching a homegrown hero fly the nest.

That was Monday, then Sunday came.

"I was shocked... don't boo your own player!" said Carragher on Sky Sports Super Sunday after Alexander-Arnold was subjected to hostility by a significant portion of the crowd at Anfield as he was substituted onto the field.

"I'm surprised how many. For me, I don't believe any player putting on that red shirt who goes on to win trophies should be being booed. Booing one of your own players while they're playing is not for me."

On Monday, Carragher judged the mood perfectly, which makes his Sunday surprise jarring – where did he expect that raw emotion, that hurt, would go?

At this point, it's worth stating, as a football fan, I agree with Carragher's sentiment. Booing your own player is not a particularly clever, edifying or productive use of oxygen, but if that's how some choose to vent their sadness, their sense of loss and betrayal, who has a right to police the outpouring?

You can't help but fall in love with the notion of the one-club, homegrown footballer. That's how football should work, right?

Football should be about the young lad daydreaming of Anfield at school, knee holes in his eighth pair of school trousers this term, the bane of his mum's life, a pair of Clarks' finest black shoes scuffed and battered from clipping a prime Sports Direct Sondico against the wall outside his home, rudimentary goal posts chalked, scratched or marked with jumpers on either side.

He doesn't see the red bricks behind the goal, he sees the Kop. He's not himself, he's Steven Gerrard. He's not having a kickabout with his mates after maths, it's a Champions League final. They're in Croxteth, but they're in Istanbul.

The bright young thing goes to a half-term football camp down the local leisure centre, there's a scout there, who drifts over to the boy's parents for a chat. First contact. A decade passes, the lad has captained every rung of the youth ladder and finally breaks into the first team to rapturous applause from his own. It's all he ever wanted, and now it's everything he has.

That story has been replicated across the land in every generation. Fans love it because their story ended at the camp. The scout didn't call back. The phone never rang. The locals' daydreams are imputed to those for whom the dream lived on.

Homegrown players are often the most celebrated in the good times and most criticised in the bad times – or when they leave.

Fans only ever dream of playing for their club, their beloved, and because 99.99 per cent don't get the nod, they're stuck perennially fantasising about pulling on their team's shirt, they don't progress to wondering how they'd feel playing for that boyhood club after a decade, after hitting virtually every target, after lifting every trophy.

Humans always want more; our lot is never enough. Alexander-Arnold has spent 21 of his 26 years in the Liverpool ecosystem, won the Premier League twice, and added triumphs in the Champions League, FA Cup, League Cup, Community Shield, Champions League, Super Cup and Club World Cup to his CV.

With that lot in the cabinet, it's hard to ignore the appeal of a few years in Spain: playing for arguably the biggest, most successful club in the history of world football alongside several of the world's brightest stars on one of the world's grandest stages... with a bit of sun thrown in for good measure.

But for those fans who understandably can't yet see beyond the betrayal, it hurts. They're getting nothing in exchange for one of their own. Their favourite player, a local lad, is being exported to a direct continental rival, for free. What are they supposed to do? Cheer?

Of course, when the keyboards stop clacking, Trent's legacy as a Liverpool all-timer will be solidified, he will be remembered for more than one quick-thinking corner versus Barcelona. And he's even young enough to come back. The prodigal son returned after all.

But for now, don't police the pain. Don't sanitise it. The Premier League has fostered an increasingly sterile culture that demands non-celebrations from former players and nauseatingly inauthentic "RESPECT [clapping emojis – and remember more emojis equals more RESPECT]" for likes.

Booing TAA is a raw, emotional, even uncomfortable response – but don't try to suppress it.

Check out more of our Sport coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.