A bad taste as Stevie G playing away from home

IS there such a thing as a 50/50 relationship, where both partners love each other the same way?

Or, to be cynical for a nanosecond, hold an equivalent amount of power over the other.

In my experience the answer is no. You either make all the calls or you avoid them. Even when you find Ms Perfect there’s always an unspoken agreement about who holds sway.

It’s Steven Gerrard who turned my mind to thoughts of love. Not an admission I’d like to be passed around — so keep it to yourself.

Last week our captain had his head turned by Steve McClaren. The slut.

Clearly Rafa didn’t want him to play, nor did any sane Liverpool fan. Our objections were simply brushed aside.

Who knows, maybe the toe healed suddenly and we won’t hear more about it. How likely is that though? Did Jesus return as a member of England’s medical staff? Surely that would have been in the paper?

It’s not the first time I’ve compared him to Bryan Robson. Importance to club and country is without dispute but when form or fitness disappear we’re both expected to collapse.

Beating Derby by six proves nothing.

It was only after Alex Ferguson found other focal points and sidelined his once-greatest asset that he ended United’s interminable wait for top spot.

It may be lunacy to suggest Liverpool do likewise but questionable mental health never stops me pontificating. Ince became their new kingpin, a controversial signing from West Ham. Just like Mascherano, to continue the tenuous theme from last week! Friends accuse me of refusing to forgive our captain for two coquettish dalliances with Abramovich.

They have a point. Rafa’s use of injections to get the lad into the Chelsea game hardly dealt a winning hand in the poker game that followed.

It’s the eternal conundrum for club bosses. Like all great players Gerrard is restless and ambitious. Being the star in one arena will never satisfy the hunger that drives him on and thus propels us forward too.

It may baffle and irk us — but the fact remains that Anfield is not the only stage.

This was also a demonstration of power. Ask if Crouch would act in the same manner — his Liverpool career would be over, if it isn’t already.

Ferguson claimed that Rooney asked for injections weeks ago but was refused. After the biased Heinze verdict they hardly need to be so fastidious with the FA but whatever happened, the chubster was clearly going nowhere near the England camp.

Those who view the world through a paranoid lens might also question the absence of Lampard and Hargreaves, given that our place in the pecking order has been fiercely debated of late.

So we had to watch another tedious international, this time through our fingers, flinching each time he kicked the ball or more worryingly still, was kicked by an opponent.

As if England games weren’t painful enough, being expected to sit there and yell “come on Gary, John, Rio, Frank, Becks, Joe, Wayne, etc” whilst your lunch fights for the right to resurface.

It’s one of the few times we concur with our Mancunian brethren. Passion for another team, especially one so routinely sprinkled with failure, seems superfluous.

It’s not as if the mantra “no injection necessary” was in any way reassuring — especially as he hobbled towards the touchline. Cramp, they said. Hmmm.

It will be weeks before we put aside all fears of an aggravated injury. Even then, are we sure Rafa will forget? In Gerrard’s preferred position we are ironically quite strong, and with renewed competition for places on the flanks it’s not beyond possibility we could have survived without him in the short-term.

Benitez has spent the majority of his tenure trying to find a suitable role for our undeniably greatest talent. The nadir of this search came in Athens when neither player nor coach nor spectators seemed to understand the stratagem.

Ultimately it’s a team game, the sum of its parts. Liverpool without Gerrard may be unthinkable. But they said that about Bryan Robson too, didn’t they?