TERRACE TALK: Liverpool - Defeat at Southampton won’t cut short Europa high

Still loads to do, isn’t there?

You could sympathise if tiredness triggered the second half collapse, but really there were so many chances to seal it in the first even throwing on that chronic burden Skrtel (where the hell was Kolo?) shouldn’t have mattered.

There was little chance of getting fourth place anyway, but it’s gone now. Benteke predictably missed a sitter but the tide was turning before that. Was Allen’s goal really offside in the first half? Doesn’t matter, when the old complacency still won’t go away.

It’s a flicky, ill-disciplined squad with numerous passengers, careless in possession and…you know what? I can’t be bothered with all this.

Be honest, you’re not still reading for what happened at Southampton are you? Not while the small matter of knocking Manchester United out of Europe remains fresh in the memory.

I missed a column because of our FA Cup shortcomings, so we never got a chance to chat about the first leg. It grated when everyone wrote about how bad United were, but it’d take Mr Magoo’s eyesight not to notice it.

They were dreadful. As much as you want to claim Liverpool made them look terrible, taking candy from a baby seems Herculean by comparison.

Yet it was still only 2-0. They somehow still had that thing hanging over us. You know, the ‘thing’; where it seems they just turn up to win because…well, we’re us, they’re them and that’s how United-Liverpool stacks up.

I had aches in my stomach and head for 10 days straight. Why? This wasn’t a cup final. Imagine what it would have been like in those Champions League finals both clubs chickened out of in 2007 and 2008. I’d have had a stroke.

Why do we (as if I’m the only one) put ourselves through this? When the penalty went in last Thursday it felt like doomsday nearing. So this is how it ends, not with a bang but with an exit from the Europa “Round of 16” (eurgh).

Darkness descended; a voice not unlike my own screamed for Coutinho’s dismemberment because of a few misplaced passes and a free kick given away. Then it was heard wondering if medical science was advanced enough to have his babies as he scored the equaliser-cum-clincher. All tension evaporated as we knew United — THIS United — weren’t coming back.

Even when they’d gone down to 10 men in the past you couldn’t trust them. They were football’s Michael Myers, bogeymen who wouldn’t die. They’re an awful long way from home nowadays.

Speaking of dying, there was the usual gripe about the usual grotesque balladry. Mostly from United, but a smattering of aeroplane crap too. Needless to say UEFA want a word with us, not them. Even sweet triumph can’t quite dilute our disgust with authority’s selective moral compass.

I’ve stood and listened to this filth for nearly 40 years and can just about tune it out now. “You bastards sang about Munich for years and you’re not getting away with it” they hiss.

And I get that, I honestly do. All I’ll say is that at some point you need a sense of self. Manchester’s one of the most Leftie cities in England, yet people hold up “Vote for Boris Johnson” leaflets (because he hates Scousers) or sing about The Sun being right (because they reeeeeally hate Scousers).

A bitter man rots from within. Surely for self-preservation you examine your soul and ask WHY you’re doing this. A game of football? Seriously?

Then again I’ve stood there while my kind revelled in a psychopathic pensioner-killer and all you can do is go home and run a hot bath. None of this is ending soon.

Dortmund will probably be the end of the line but at least the line did not end at Old Trafford. The season is going to limp into April after all.

It’s no Istanbul, but it’ll have to do for now.