We sang some songs, and rather inconveniently, the buggers still won’t budge. Shouldn’t they have surrendered by now?
It wasn’t my idea to have my photograph on this page. I don’t really want to be identified as the foul-mouthed red-faced lunatic hurling abuse at the manager when Crouch came on against Villa in the 80th minute. A little anonymity, please.
It shows how much faith I’ve lost in the guy that the tirade merely increased after the equaliser. Others might have praised a substitution that salvaged a point, but I confess: I’m beyond the point of fairness.
During the eventful cup-tie at the weekend there were times when Liverpool fans turned on each other and it’s sad to see.
I love my city and feel a certain pride there is no Goliath we won’t fight, but sooner or later we’ll have to recognise the situation we’re in.
We may clamber out of the frying pan even yet but it will be no cooler should DIC gain control.
People are disappointed and it’s understandable. Up to a point. An unpleasant experience it may be, but put yourselves in Hicks’ shoes.
In their shocking naivety what have many Liverpool supporters demanded? Money to buy out the previous ‘owners’; a huge transfer slush fund for a manager who can’t even summon a title challenge; a shiny new stadium.
We’re talking in excess of one billion dollars (feel free to impersonate Dr Evil). Oh, one more thing — don’t put any debt on the club itself.
And if you could get around to curing cancer in the next five minutes, that would be just peachy.
If Hicks wore a purple coat and top hat and sang a few bars of ‘Pure Imagination’ the situation could not be any more fantastical, even if The Kop calls him something that only sounds like Wonka.
So let’s settle down a little bit and realise what has happened. Last year a decision was taken on our behalf that changed Liverpool FC forever.
No one should blame Moores for this, despite his dubious and doubtless coincidental decision to sell to those who offered him more money. He and Parry had been screeched at for years about finding ‘investment’.
Yet in the Dictionary Of The Gullible that word has now come to mean ‘massive, string-free handout’. We’re talking about two American billionaires here. ‘Dallas’ wasn’t fiction; it was a documentary! Many people over here also read the column and I received a few e-mails refuting that I was in a small minority regarding Benitez.
We’re getting to be like a secret society, because dissent to the majority view provokes a Tasmanian Devilish response.
A poll in the local press suggested the manager had a 94% approval rating, which frankly is baffling. Then you think about the damage caused by the Klinsmann episode, and wonder how a secret meeting became public. He’s been martyred whilst still alive — a neat trick.
Had it stayed 1-2 on Saturday he may not have had to wait much longer. Some people take thesethings far too seriously. We’ve often struggled against minnows; on one particularly nightmarish night in the Souness era we trailed 3-0 to Chesterfield.
But this was Havant & Waterlooville with their collection of bricklayers and binmen, their dreadful, joke-friendly name lying 120 places below ours.
The newspapers had a field day, gloating and punning with equal vigour, and even the predictable outcome couldn’t change things. This was a no-win situation.
There’s no point getting irritated, it’s like arguing with children. The very fact you’re doing it reflects poorly on your character.
The romance of the Cup? Whatever. Our sheer awfulness at times beggared belief. There may have been worse debuts than Skrtel’s but I have thankfully scraped them off my memory circuits.
One headline beforehand read “Liverpool were left reeling by news of Voronin’s injury,” written by somebody whose comedy genius is yet to be appreciated by the rest of the world.
Benayoun up front had a nice look to it, so some good may come of Saturday. The dispute with the Americans will drag on and we Havant a clue what happens next.
See what I did there?