Terrace Talk: Liverpool - Every silver lining has a black cloud lurking

Hello, remember me? I’m the chap who used to write about Liverpool for the Examiner before some satellite TV flunky decided we’d make great Monday Night Heroes.

Sorry you’ve been missing my little rays of sunshine. Thought I’d just drop you a line before international week means another absence. I’ll keep it brief: Liverpool’s season and Brendan Rodgers’ tenure as manager are both over. See you next August…

OK, lowest form of wit and all that. I was feeling quite perky before the West Ham game. It’s incredible; after years of experiencing all joy being exterminated as soon as it rose above the clouds, I still never see the bad thing coming. We might have been a bit stuffy at Stoke and made Bournemouth look a bit too classy for comfort but we had six points and (apparently) that’s all that matters.

In the first half at Arsenal we’d even looked by far the better team without making it count where it matters. During a second-half siege Liverpool were still solid and, so it would seem, reliable.

So you get up early the next Saturday morning and by God — you’re whistling. You’re actually looking forward to a game. What kind of fresh hell is this? The kind that lures you in with the promise of candy bars and video games then locks the door behind you and growls, “did you REALLY think your life was going to get better?”

There are other kinds of reliable.

How do we keep falling for this? Every damn year. One goal after two minutes was enough to shatter every single delusion. It felt troubling when Rodgers selected the same team as against Arsenal. Did West Ham really merit a midfield of Lucas, Can and Milner in it with just Benteke up front? Turns out it wasn’t cautious enough.

Once Liverpool, for the first time this season, had to chase a game they looked shockingly ordinary. The lack of creativity was quite scary, and yet this was the same 11 that could have had two or even three goals in one half at the Emirates.

The urgency was lacking, certainly, which is vaguely understandable. They knew they had to be on top form for Arsenal, but isn’t that what separates the achievers from also-rans? Having the professionalism to realise you need to be up for it in every match? West Ham hadn’t won at Anfield in 50 years because of that professionalism, not your complacent arrogant bullshit.

Huffing and puffing became the norm after that, and then came Lovren. Ah, where have you been hiding yourself then, my lovely Bambi-in-leg-irons? This other fella, the impostor, had looked so, oooooh what’s the word? Competent, that’s it.

Defenders clear danger. They don’t swan around on the edge of their own box and wonder what magnificent dexterity they can pull off to get their team on the attack. It’s basic stuff. There was one Franz Beckenbauer and one Alan Hansen, the rest of you might just get to be a Tony Adams or a John Terry if you’re lucky. Do your job.

That was that then. The expected second-half charge merely charged down the tunnel alongside Coutinho. We can talk about Kevin Friend all you want, about that perfect blend of complete self-belief and utter incompetence which sends a referee all the way to the top.

What good would it do? Liverpool were absolutely dreadful. Black holes don’t suck this much.

Yet frankly I’m not sure why anyone is surprised any longer. This is what Rodgers’ three years have been like. You might get a few games in a row that are solid and secure — then back we go to Chaos Disneyland.

Thrills and spills. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry. Mostly the latter.