Terrace Talk: Liverpool - I get unnerved being happy about my team ....

If we’re second for a few hours, or even a few weeks, it doesn’t feel like a big deal.

Terrace Talk: Liverpool - I get unnerved being happy about my team ....

In the shadow of City’s remarkable year all else will turn to history’s dust. Between ourselves though, this feels different.

Any time we’re this good, like under Rafa or Brendan, the crushing weight of ultimate disappointment obliterated all memory of how good it felt to watch a Liverpool team win far more than it lost. Not this time. It’s possible with the greedy oafs above him that Klopp’s own Arthurian quest will also sink into mire and chaos like his predecessors.

These may be big words destined for future re-write but all this is such good fun it’ll be impossible to extinguish its memory.

They weren’t even at their best against West Ham but scored four and (reminded by TV highlights) looked like they probably should’ve had another eight.

We’ve got to keep it going of course and the hierarchy needs to ask itself what they do all this for. Are making money and winning trophies really exclusive of one other? Emre Can scored our 100th goal of the season. It’s still February. There’s always unease with this team until they make a breakthrough.

I get unnerved being happy about my team, like asking Hubris to come and slap me sensible, but it’s impossible not to savour what we’re seeing. I mentioned a “sterner test” in the last column and then we simply obliterated Porto. Funny how City did likewise to Basel but absolutely no-one mentioned the “weak opposition”.

You see the same names in the Champions League, year in year out. It usually hardens them, gives them a pragmatic shell almost impossible to shatter - but that’s what we did.

Salah’s scored in six straight games. Each opposition manager must be devising some plan or other but he keeps slipping away.

What’s funny is how many he’s missed; he should have scored fifty if you were being monstrously picky. He’s becoming a player for whom defending is just a roll of the dice, an off day being all you can hope and pray for.

He’s not even the best in the team. That’s Firmino, who keeps supernaturally improving.

Any hope the cloud hanging over him would be vaporised by there being absolutely no evidence of racism whatsoever was forlorn, given the FA’s usual incompetence.

No, let’s put “insufficient evidence” and leave doubt shall we? He’s only Brazilian, after all.

This in the same week they’ve all got their “kick racism out of football” badges on (that’ll learn ’em) and Patrice Evra just happens to stroll into Anfield for his first game back in England.

You can believe in the randomness of life all you want, someone with a serrated sense of humour pulls all our strings.

Firmino was never an easy fit for a pointy white hood, unlike Suarez.

Roberto just seems engagingly goofy, with the dopey celebrations and the teeth visible from space. Perhaps they’re a secret message to his alien parents that he needs picking up from his gap year on Earth? Enjoy him while you can.

Everything to do with Holgate will fade in time. Suarez was voted footballer of the year two years after the Evra incident and swans around Barcelona like it was no big deal.

Until it becomes a bigger deal, managers can wear a thousand badges and nothing much changes. Fans will immediately split into tribal camps. I’m probably guilty of doing it right now.

The next derby will be poisonous but they usually are anyway. One more cartoon villain added to the list.

The bigger picture remains clouded, a minor distraction from the primary assignment of making all that money; ‘twas ever thus

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