Befuddlement on pitch, bemusement in stands

Back to reality, then. Some of my fellow Reds live in a permanent state of fury, but for me the anger’s over. Maybe it’s because of Kenny, my first entirely emotional involvement with a Liverpool manager having become coagulated with an ageing fan’s virulent nostalgia.

Or is it that the season is so weird, so far beyond the grasp of rationality that the words have not yet been invented that can fully convey its lunacy? When the media’s cowardice and bias descends into a debate about whether Ashley Young ‘may’ be getting a ‘reputation’, I just sit and wait for the next Suarez or Maxi tumble and despise everyone in a sport where cheats excel.

I can’t even raise a fume or two about the United-City clash of the century that has all the authenticity of American wrestling.