Offside rule saved us, but it’s a joke

EVERYONE was on their best behaviour in Madrid thank goodness. UEFA were unavailable for comment.

We’d have settled for the draw beforehand. Fitness and the forthcoming ‘clash of the titans’ seemed uppermost in the manager’s mind, with the international players clearly feeling the strain. We often sit back on a lead in Europe anyway, but this was different and we were saved by generous offside interpretations.

In the rush to demonise officials no-one will admit the rule is archaic and impossible to enforce. It also produces a reward system entirely favouring defence.

The player in midfield must retain possession whilst being badgered by opponents. He then has to look up, see his forward, supply a perfect pass while the forward has to evade his marker, time the run to perfection, control the pass and finish clinically.

The defenders? Move up three yards, leave the forward isolated, raise your arm and await the flag. Job done. It’s an utter farce.

It can only work anyway if the official has lizard vision. He has to watch the passer (possibly 40 yards away), watch the movement of the forwards and defenders, then judge in a microsecond where everyone is and who’s active. Then tin-pot-god pundits freeze frames to their hearts’ content and bully them from a TV studio.

Don’t get me wrong. I was pleased to see Atletico moves continuously halted as we could have been overwhelmed at one point, but the law is an ass and serves no useful function. Speaking of Dossena… actually, he was a shining beacon of adequacy in the first half and was outdone for ineptitude by Arbeloa in that dishevelled second period.

Which is a shame as initially I thought we looked more like Rafa’s Valencia than we have for a while — until Sunday eclipsed it.

People said we should wait till we met a decent side before getting cocky, dismissing the United win as a bad day at the office for them.

So Sunday had a lot riding on it. But the Bridge is usually such a graveyard for red dreams that you practically prime yourself for disappointment. So with excuses handy and rationalisations packed, even a scrappy goal (will Lampard sue for copyright fraud?) left me more nervous than ever.

As the clock ticked and tocked during that interminable second half you expected fate to intervene.

We waited for the defining moment of cruelty, the one they always get. As the ball dropped to Cole in the box, we flinched. He’d only just escaped a blatant second yellow after all.

No, he sliced it wide. The only thing troubling Reina was a forearm smash to the chin. Things come and go in football but an England captain’s invisible protective shield will never disappear.

Every player in red did his job, ran the extra mile and Chelsea had no response. Each minute passed and still no deflection, no outrageous penalty. And then the final whistle blew. So what happens now? Is there a penalty shoot-out or something? Forgive the flippancy; this is only the second time in two decades we’ve left the Bridge with anything more than a scowl or a kick in the teeth, so apologies if I’ve forgotten how to behave.

And we definitely deserved it. Of course there was a ferocious rearguard action, as you’d expect of any Benitez team that takes an early lead, but we didn’t just surrender possession. We countered intelligently, and should have won more easily.

It wouldn’t be Liverpool if they didn’t make you panic right to the very end. It was sweet to halt their home run: another bit of “istoreee” to add to the collection.

Now can our title claims be taken seriously? I’ll confess to being completely confused. Caution seems absurdly out of place right now but pessimism is my default position. You know only too well how this game can punish the naive.

So just keep whispering; 29 games left, 29 games left, 29 games...

* Steven Kelly