Unwitting dupes of a mad scientist experimenting on us to see how far patience will stretch, with Klopp as his eager Igor.
“Lose against Stoke?” No, they’ll expect that. “Albion?” No, that too. “Palace then?”
Yes; home game, low enough in the table, perfect. Go a goal in front too, then let the striker that did bugger all for them last season get both goals.
“From corners?” Well, one. We don’t want to make it too obvious we’re taking the piss… Gallows humour, a perennial cure for depression. Not sure it’s working this time, though. They really are wasting everybody’s time now.
This was already the week we discovered Iago Aspas is all that stands between Liverpool and being overtaken by United in the trophy count. I hope he’s improved his corners at least.
A general election was also announced by a criminally cocksure Tory. Scousers could be forgiven for not getting out of bed for the next two months. Insert usual joke here… Even now some are rehearsing their breezy brush-aside for the moment that gruesome wretch emerges triumphant (Mourinho, not May).
You can’t spend a life bragging about our success then go “of course being a massive club isn’t just about trophies”. You’re not going to be one of ‘those’ people, are you?
This IS a big deal.
Ten years ago Ferguson had cut a huge swathe through the gap but we were still holding our own. What’s changed? Foreign ownership? Or the elevation of fourth place/Champions League to above and beyond its natural value?
We’re doing it again. It’s understandable when that’s all that’s left, I suppose. You can’t help thinking it’s a dilution of ambition at source.
Old Wenger’s been getting it in the neck lately but wasn’t the seed sown when he claimed top four was a trophy? It’s not something you’d ever hear from a United boss, whatever their level.
Van Gaal and Mourinho haven’t exactly reinvented the wheel but they still add a cup or two. We were in two finals last year, granted, but there’s something about getting over the finishing line which now seems appallingly beyond us.
A certain je ne sais quoi (French for “don’t ask me”) is missing. How are we to get it back? A better squad perhaps, then maybe a manager who doesn’t spend the whole week trying to wreck it.
Klopp’s “who, me?” expression for press conferences is practically frozen solid now. Pre-Palace there was no training from Matip, Lucas or Klavan. Klavan didn’t even play at Albion. To paraphrase Tom Waits, what’s he doing in there? That bench, good grief.
So fourth place it is then, yeah? If we can, even that seems unlikely now. There’s all kinds of European and FA Cup football going on elsewhere, but who needed all that nonsense. Being the nervous wet-wipe type I can’t help but brood about similarities between this and Houllier’s first season. No Europe, hardly any cup games, focus on the league after he’d took over midway through the previous season. Ring any bells?
With five games left Houllier looked certain to come second, then collapsed spectacularly and missed the Champions League by centimetres…hey, we haven’t Brexited yet, alright?
Sure enough, it’s happening again. Houllier’s team at least knew how to defend most of the time, while this one never has and let’s face it probably never will.
Words are hard to come by. Shambolic doesn’t come close to covering it, and all thesaurus variants merely hint at lack of organisation.
Lack? How can you lack something you never had in the first place? Lovren was the one centre half not nursing an injury and he was horrendous. Then he went off…injured.
That might be the exact moment all patience snapped, foul language putrefying into painful guttural howls. The evil scientist smiled; his work, complete. Top four? I wish I had a laugh left.