Anti-Suarez crusade stinks more than ever

THAT Suarez, eh? Excuse the flippancy.

If you’ve looking for impartiality you’re on the wrong page and there’s no point pretending otherwise.

I don’t trust the accusers, the reporters or the impending jury. Of course you don’t abandon principle or propriety just because the little fella’s good at footy but I didn’t buy it from the off and still don’t.

Admittedly there was a silent sigh of relief when United’s press poodles followed orders last week; “negrito” looks like being the most researched word in human history, with enough nuance and ambiguity to allow all parties to get out of this fiasco and save some face if that was their intention.

Evra though spoke of “a certain word”. It was obvious what was meant; the venal, despicable word.

We put it down to obligatory Manc mischief; Finnan’s racism, Smith’s besieged ambulance, the Chelsea groundsman, Rafa’s ‘game over’ hand jive with Allardyce and Carragher ending Nani’s career (for 10 days) to name a few.

All par for the course we thought, until the FA went and charged our boy.

You can tell who’s desperate to fit Suarez up for a white hood when they accuse him of cunning or stupidity but still draw their own conclusion no matter which. Even Reds thought he was cracked when he claimed Evra’s team-mates uttered the same epithet. It later emerged that Hernandez once used it for a mate in Mexico. Well, I say ‘emerged’; the press, surprising no one on this side of the county, gave it no coverage whatsoever.

Maybe it is different for friends and colleagues, who can tell any more, but surely it was news at least? Absolutists always demand zero tolerance I suppose, but something about sledgehammers and nuts springs to mind here.

Once the evasively-worded charge was announced we began to fear mob rule. It was bad enough when people went poppy potty. With Blatter offering his own wisdom and the England captain embroiled in further dirt, Liverpudlians began to mutter darkly about ‘scapegoats’.

Our own hysteria was unleashed not only by love but also a fear of dependency. The team isn’t doing too badly but there’s no doubt who the shining light is, and were it to be extinguished… Which made Stamford Bridge all the more pleasurable as he had a minor role in the victory.

A good first half and woeful Chelsea defending helped, but again we didn’t reap a just reward for our early endeavours. Predictably we faded alarmingly in the second half and were caught out by our own narcolepsy rather than opposition genius.

We rallied late on and even squeezed a goal out of it. Once the celebrations died down, it seemed churlish to question any deterioration in fitness and performance. Old habits and all that.

Team selections raised eyebrows. Over €70m was on our bench and God knows how much Chelsea’s cost. Indicative of the squad game in the 21st century? Or conclusive proof that football has gone quietly but lucratively insane? One Monday headline read “clock ticks for AVB”. Seriously? I thought he went headline hunting with those late subs, but few Reds saw a goal in us so their manager was entitled to concur.

The irony of an ex-player scoring the winner did not go unnoticed either. I’ve just seen the scummiest tabloid having a pop at Suarez merely for winking at John Terry. They won’t be happy till they get their pound of flesh. I didn’t think anything could diminish the buzz of beating Chelsea.

Naïve, really…