Soccer: Hiding from Wolves and mixing with minnows

I OWE you an apology for lying on Christmas Eve. When I said that not even the current Liverpool could be scared of Wolves, I was being slightly premature.

No less a person than Ian Rush wrote, in his Liverpool Echo column, that the postponement was "a blessing for us."

It seems shameful to me that one of the world's biggest clubs can have anxiety attacks about playing anybody, but Wolves?!?

I'd have thought the players would be raring to go, given their shortcomings against Southampton, but it's an indication of our current standing.

And all the while, fourth place remains the pot of tin at the end of our black and grey rainbow. Results keep going our way (Southampton haven't won a point since), but it's all a smokescreen.

Keep your eye on the points. Last year's dismal 64 isn't likely to be repeated in May, but everyone else is hopeless too so that makes it okay, apparently.

When I was at school, bullies hung out with the class weaklings and gave them hell. They avoided the really hard lads like the plague.

New Liverpool remind me of that. The standards are lowered, inch-by-inch. A trickledown travesty.

By 2010, there'll be a lap of honour for finishing 10th, and we'll wonder how we ever got into such a state. Well, it began in the summer of 2003 when we did NOTHING.

If Wolves were a worry, Bolton caused palpitations. I'll be sozzled to the eyeballs if we even score at Chelsea, never mind win there like they did.

But our fears were groundless. Bolton didn't show up. A strange bunch of disinterested journeymen took their place.

Hey, that's fine with me! Big Sam went too far with his substitutions, though. Even as we sighed with relief that their stars were being rested for another day, there was a sadness to it all.

People can be too clever by half, and while Allardyce may be realistic he has a duty to anyone who pays good money to support Wanderers. It served him right that they didn't beat Leicester two days later.

Of course, a thumping victory was the cue for our man to come out of his shell. There he was on the touchline: pointing, cajoling, directing.

Was this the same boss who stayed seated throughout the Saints debacle, chin in hand, muttering away? You betcha.

With no rest for the wicked, off we went to Man City. Their new ground is mighty strange, it'll take some getting used to.

In the pub beforehand, the Mancs didn't take kindly to me calling it The Olympic Stadium. One should never miss a chance to prick Mancunian pomposity, but if they start growling it's time to sup up and leave.

The first ten rows of the away end got absolutely soaked. This state of the art stadium was designed for every eventuality except for the possibility that it might rain in Manchester.

What I will concede (and this also applies to United) is that you're allowed to stand and give your team proper support. That laissez faire attitude is most welcome.

However, we sat back down again after 30 minutes. Even within the shambles of the last calendar year, I can't recall a more inept first half display.

Cynics suggest that the recent glowing praise for Otsemobor was the deciding factor in his early substitution. Biscan fared little better at right back, while Riise was being tormented by Wright-Phillips.

But then it's easy to point the finger at Gerard for anything these days. He will justifiably claim that we got back on track in the second half.

That may just be coincidental. City's fragility was bound to resurface at some stage, and the Reds couldn't possibly get any worse.

The baffling decision to drop Sinner and bring back Heskey (for zero reward on the day, naturally) irked many, and a chant for Sinama-Pongolle began within minutes of the restart.

The fact that we chose to celebrate our new pocket-size poacher with the 'Allez' song normally reserved for Houllier, the chant that deafened Dortmund and Cardiff, did not go unnoticed.

Even when the obvious decision was made very late on, Sinner replaced Smicer and not Emile. It seemed wilfully stubborn, and this manager simply can't afford that now.

When his blue-eyed boy lost possession late on, City equalised as a result. Phil Thompson had to be dragged away from the ref, but many were hoping Heskey would be thumped.

Houllier's excuse for, ahem, 'resting' FSP was the boy's exhaustion. A teenager being exhausted after playing 30 minutes on the 13th and 60 minutes on the 26th defies logic.

Not that I'm expecting any, you understand. Logic packed its bags and left L4 long ago. The build-up to Yeovil was marred by bizarre requests for "respect" from the minnows and some bewildered sniping at Martin O'Neill.

Celtic's manager has already denied a move several times, but that hasn't stopped Gerard whining about managerial etiquette.

Which is a bit rich coming from someone who got into our manager's office before his predecessor had even packed.

It's hard not to imagine Roy Evans having a sly little chuckle to himself. What's that saying about a dish best eaten cold?

There isn't much to say about the cup tie. I do not share the British predilection for underdogs. I find the most affable fans of a 'tiny' club turn into monumental bores once a big club hoves into view, and Yeovil were no different.

It was a day where there was nothing to gain and everything to lose. Another dreadful start by Liverpool left us hoping the fog would get worse for some Wolves-style salvation!

We won, and never have two goals been greeted with so much ennui. It was embarrassing to see Kewell's belly flop and Murphy's "shush" mime on the video later. This was Huish Park, not Old Trafford.

Strictly small-time behaviour, but sadly not unexpected nowadays.