All quiet on the north-western front for Benitez
But an interesting truce developed. It was almost as if the partisans knew the Everton performance was not entirely worthy of celebration, whilst the witch hunters knew they’d sound simple if they carried on bleating after defeating the sock robbers.
So everyone silently simmered for vastly different reasons. There was no football match in no man’s land, maybe there will be at Christmas?
In the meantime I’d been invited to my friend John Mackin’s book launch. The superb ‘REDMEN; A Season On The Drink’ was co-written with Jegsy Dodd and is a witty, passionate, insightful account of 2008/2009.
I was surrounded by some of the most fanatical Reds on the planet. Riddled with doubts myself I tend to wilt in the steadfast glare of Belief. On occasion I feel quite jealous of supporters who can casually elbow The Almighty out of ‘In God We Trust’ and insert a boggle-eyed Frenchman or a rotund Spanish beardie in His rightful place.
Fortunately John wasn’t so ‘wellied’ that he’d start introducing me as the man who’s always having a pop at Benitez. I had visions of the music coming to a shuddering halt and every eye in the room burning laser holes through my treacherous skull.
Reading his excellent book in a couple of days filled me with irrational love for ALL things Red, reminding us all of how well we’d played last season, how close we’d come and the proverbial good time had by all.
This ardour was further fuelled by Blackburn’s feeble attempts at brinkmanship. Allardyce was always an unconvincing ‘bogeyman’. After the Hughes/Wenger playpen slapfest it can’t be long before we have WWF-style callouts before games; “Beeeeeeee-niiiiiiiiiii-teeeeeeeez! You’re mine, you mutha” etc. By the time Sam’s flunkie (an ex bitter Blue, naturally) had finished his wind-up I was ready to scream myself into a coma for the cause.
And then the match started. This is about the fourth consecutive December visit to Ewood Park. Blackburn is no pleasure palace in sunlight but when it’s cold, dark and satanic the miniscule mill town wraps a wet blanket around you like a colossal, depressive deadweight.
The players were especially affected. I’ve said it before this season, but that was the worst first-half ever. The BBC gave it 30 seconds of highlights, and were generous at that.
Granted it improved, how could it not? Riera was awful, so bad he made Rafa abandon his precious preparations and forced a much earlier substitution than normal. Rovers still had better chances, making the clutched straw of our improving defence as delusional as it sounded a week ago. The sheets may be clean, but only from a casual glance.
Our last ‘daylight’ match at this monument to the mundane was worthy of note for the strikers available to the manager; Fowler, Cisse, Crouch and Morientes. Though all were ultimately deemed surplus to requirements it’s still a stark contrast to the current choices.
Torres may be the jewel in an increasingly tarnished crown, but when he’s injured (and let’s face it we’d better get used to it) the damage borders on irreparable. No wonder Gerrard looks so hacked off.
It must be the bitterest of ironies for Rafa that the formation which gave us such a fantastic sequence of results from March 2008 to the end of last season is beginning to look like a massive millstone.
As for Aquilani his invisibility is making some fans speechless with rage. Those who want Rafa gone merely shake heads and shrug shoulders. They might as well have ‘told you so’ tattooed on their foreheads, but even his most vociferous advocates are beginning to fume and an appearance in tonight’s meaningless drivel won’t soothe things.
It’s all so unremittingly negative. On the few occasions Johnson does charge forward — what he was primarily bought for, lest we forget — he scares the life out of defenders.
It does not happen nearly often enough, and along with Aquilani’s excessive protection the stench of fear is overpowering. It goes against everything Liverpool FC used to stand for.
Afterwards the manager spoke of us “playing better”. All sniggering aside, he sort of has a point. A long journey begins with a single step, but is that really what you want to hear after five and a half years?
