TERRACE TALK: Liverpool fears of Stephen’s Day massacre eased at the Lane

What the hell happened there then! I’d spent Saturday shuddering about what City might do to us on St Stephen’s Day.

Initial suspicions were it wouldn’t be any different from what happens to English batsmen or turkeys at Christmas.

And now? It might be the height of recklessness to exclaim “bring it on”, but it can’t hurt.

On another day we might be discussing the amount of control Rodgers has — and I don’t mean those ugly rumours seeping through the moral twilight of Twitter.

The sight of so much sedentary wealth on the bench at Hull sparked talk of whether the manager or some shadowy ‘committee’ dealt with transfers these days; like we haven’t had enough of that during Rafa and Kenny’s time.

A bullet to the temple sounds more tempting than wading through all that nonsense again.

It’s not just the footballer trade that causes concern. Sturridge’s blatant disregard for Brendan’s opinion and wishes irked many, and we have tangible proof that Gerrard shouldn’t be playing so much football.

The whole game against Hull, the whole game against Norwich, an hour against West Ham; then kapow. Who saw that coming? Well, everyone. Guess it’s hard to tell a legend what to do and since we didn’t have anyone to come in that’s nearly as good, more than face would be lost if the team suffered in the captain’s absence.

It’s only one game’s evidence of course, but maybe we can rest him with a little more confidence after yesterday? The ease of Spurs’ European progress was an uneasy watch, sparking squad envy. We might have another continental campaign given our good start, but what happens then? The return of loan players would barely begin to cover it and the significant investment needed to take the Reds on to the next level seems beyond these owners’ will or capacity, even if the manager (or his ‘accomplices’) spent it correctly.

Tottenham had their own bout of bullyitis to contend with; no victims bigger than Swansea. It gave us hope that of the tough away games to come these three points were the most realistic target of the lot. Rodgers might otherwise have been crucified as just another Moyes, a terminal victim of high-altitude travel sickness.

Fair to say he’s delayed such talk in one swift, almost violent stroke. We got into Spurs from the off, and although there was the odd spinal shiver five goals didn’t flatter us in any way. Coutinho relished his central role and Henderson played without pressure; only an idiot will claim Gerrard’s absence contributed to such performances, but whispers will become mutters, and if we get anything at City or Chelsea they may turn into shouts.

Some wanted to make a big deal of Suarez getting the armband, as if life wasn’t short enough, but the indisputable correlation between a rampant Suarez and a successful Liverpool makes such talk tedious and wasteful.

Either Sterling actually tormented a defender so badly that he needed to be hauled off at half-time, or they’ve strengthened my meds. After Flanagan scored I was convinced of pharmaceutical skullduggery. All over the pitch there was quality. True, Sakho couldn’t help but inspire blind panic just before half-time but that’s the sort of idle gossip five goals can camouflage.

We are still far too open, but more performances like this and the “we’ll just score more than they do” theory won’t just be the fall-back of the hopelessly naïve red chauvinist.

It’ll take more than battering Spurs to convince grizzled grouches like me that we’re on the cusp of something special, but it’s getting easier to admit that such pessimism is borne out of mere habit now.

Don’t you just hate it when that happens?