Terrace Talk: We failed to wake De Gea up, much less bother him

Is it wrong to be top of the league and still be dispirited? Join the lengthy queue to tell me it is. Not that I’ll be listening.

“You’d have taken this position in August” has lost almost all its lustre now, a straw shattered into fragments through excessive clutching.

Given nearly every advantage yesterday, Liverpool’s failure to even bother De Gea (or wake him up, even) was remarkable. We took clueless passing to depths even Jacques Cousteau didn’t know.

It was bad enough against Bayern. That particular goalless draw frustrated many but was soon rationalised into A Good Thing. We’ve become experts at it. Practice makes perfect… Both teams had cause to feel an opportunity was missed.

The Germans failed to score despite Matip andFabinho in central defence, while Trent had a too-familiar off day. Bayern certainly weren’t full strength either, but we couldn’t exploit it.

Towards the end they indulged in all the old European tricks, running down the clock. The main reaction was one of bewilderment, not irritability.

One hesitates to stereotype, obviously, but it was a mechanical response when an away goal was practically begging to be scored. Their approach may work to our advantage, irony being our only real friend right now.

All to play for, then. I can’t help feeling the over-reliance on the front three will see Liverpool come completely unglued sooner rather than later. Maybe Firmino’s injury will speed up the search for a Plan B? One is desperately needed.

It’s so weird, there we are challenging for the title, yet I couldn’t honestly say we’ve played that great for long stretches of 2019.

A deflection here, a handy opposition snafu there and the odd generous penalty may have helped skew things slightly.

Perhaps that’s unkind. Viewed through a City-shaped prism, nothing will ever seem good enough. Exits from the cups felt like a good idea at the time, but then a four-game stint in 11 days rocks up to severely test that theory.

All of them with the potential to screw us over, and that includes a vibrant Watford right now. This is the cliff edge we’ve been traipsing along so precariously.

So, to Old Trafford, then. There seems to be tons of incredulity over why United fans prefer a City triumph. Why I’ve no idea.

Depends if you’ve got a functioning memory or not, I suppose. If you were singing Monty Python songs in 1992, when they blew a chance to end their own drought, you’ve no right to complain.

Before that, there was coming fourth in a two-horse race, year after year after year. Anyone who thought they’d put the whip down after two decades of their own success doesn’t know Mancunians very well. They appear to regard City as a blot, an oversight, something which isn’t real, just because they damn well say so. Whatever gets you through the night, as another ‘grief junkie’ sang.

When they play City, no doubt someone will emulate the Gerrard pass to Drogba in 2010. They’ve not forgotten that, either. No use crying over it.

We mock City’s Anfield kryptonite, but is ours at OT any less lethal? It’s almost a waste of time turning up. At least we didn’t take our defeats there in this decade into double figures, but it wasn’t for the lack of trying.

A recently-arrived Martian, told there was a record goal-scorer on that pitch and given a dozen guesses, would never have picked Salah out. Given another six chances, he still wouldn’t get it right.

The alteration of United’s game-plan seemed to throw us out of our stride far too easily. As at West Ham, it became the discretionary stance to grab the point we scarcely merited.

But hissy-fit indignation about claims we’re showing anxiety won’t cut it, I’m afraid. This is not looking like a title-winning team right now.