Our ‘one-man teams’ provide prickly Roy some timely relief

YOU want some, eh? You want some? Sorry, we’re still in Napoli mode. Forgive the feistiness; after waves of woe all year, you’d have a heart of stone to deny us a few days’ frivolity. It’ll end in tears tonight, of course.

No one was getting too worked up about beating Lancastrian lightweights, despite perspective from Rovers matching Chelsea and Bolton thrashing in-form Spurs.

Tottenham perhaps benefited from the latest example of Rafa’s focus deficiency. He had every right to pop back at Hodgson but beneath the Bunuelesque vision of priests in sugar lay more caterwauling about net spend and legacy.

Apparently he was more conciliatory the next day, curiously none of that was reported. Hodgson also backed down (spanked in private, some say) so we were spared another pestilent news cycle.

A friend once asked me during Rafa’s “Mr Ferguson” phase when will Liverpool be managed by an adult. Not for a while longer, it would seem. Roy’s become even edgier of late despite the results, perhaps due to Comolli’s arrival. Poulsen and Cole have been big disappointments, Konchesky too though he was a bit better on Sunday and he still can’t stop messing Meireles about.

As the new owners put their own men in place, Hodgson is the last remnant of a disgraced, extinct regime. Small wonder he is taking every slight to heart and lashing out. Comolli’s record is iffy at best, though a week of Balemania upgraded his reputation somewhat.

As predicted there were numerous skirmishes before, during and after the Napoli game. I’m a big tub of yellow guts who’d run from a lollipop lady if she was mildly miffed, but there will always be a response when innocent Reds are picked off, home or abroad.

You hope keeping in a group and talking in loud voices will help avoid a random who-cares punch from the hunting pack. That happened to me once, coming out of a semi-final in Manchester; the fat lip healed, being mistaken for a United fan left permanent scars!

The game was decent, especially its astonishing finale. He’s done it so often that you just shrug now, and you know it’ll spark the dreary ‘one-man team’ accusations. We could and should have been level at least before then. Fact is, we weren’t, and the word ‘talismanic’ takes its usual battering.

Numerous players were rested for Chelsea of course, and a good thing too. We were exceptional in the first half, topped off by great goals from our standby one-man team.

Cynics suggest it merely puts another ten million quid on his eventual fee, but his overall performance was heartening and inspirational.

Despite those midweek precautions we deteriorated alarmingly in the second half. Of course the best teams won’t lie down and take it, but it was almost a training ground exercise for disconcertingly long periods.

Shades of 2005. Perhaps that’s why Hodgson was in his element, in underdog mode, and you can’t deny there were moments of pure luck in it too.

The resilience was encouraging however, in marked contrast to the May surrender. The away end singing ‘Campioni’ raised an eyebrow or two; it amazes me that we escaped a media mauling for that, especially as it denied the darlings number 19, but at least we were interested this time. That’s why you’re champions.

There was also unity in the stands. Petty grievances put aside for a greater good. The removal of Hicks and Gillett unleashed giddiness galore, but only in marked contrast to the atrocious form and poison preceding it.

Not out of the woods yet.