Henderson last scored at Anfield in 2015. It was the day Liverpool got a spawny late draw against West Brom and Klopp lined the players up in front of the Kop to, ahem, ‘celebrate’.
We were mercilessly slaughtered for that, but now look where we are. The power of positive thinking may be a humongous cliché, but it’s the one we’ll reach for right now.
Some laughed at United’s reaction to last week, but n. Not me. When life gives you lemons …
The eventually comfortable win in Belgium brought the choice between creativity or sweat in midfield into sharper focus. Great teams in our past have had both, but now it’s either/or, apparently.
Oxlade-Chamberlain’s indifferent overall performance was glossed over by two excellent goals, hinting at how good he’d been before his injury.
It was also a night for measuring how our heroes are celebrated. ‘The Ox’ initially suffered from a hipster red reluctance to ape a player’s previous fans. Something similar happened to Robbie Keane.
Flat-out refusing to call him ‘Keano’ unnecessarily complicated matters. Maybe the lad just wanted his name sung? That, and Rafa’s wilful resistance, meant an indifferent start led to an indifferent, swift end. Let’s not make the same mistake with AOC. So long as he scores goals and plays well, call him whatever you like.
A somewhat more unsettling worship plagued Origi, with a charmless, puerile banner. Are we really having this racist/not racist argument? In 2019?
We can argue about outsider emphasis, sure, after last week’s game where Liverpool were loudly, regularly accused of being responsible for Hillsborough and there was zero media outrage. It does feel like people pick and choose what they’ll get aggrieved about, and with whom.
LFC dealt with the Genk banner swiftly and unequivocally, as they always do with supporters, of course. Players, less so, but enough people are digging through our ancient history without us joining in.
I wrote back in June that winning the Champions League final was about far more than the trophy itself. Two great managers, two great teams, yet all crudely categorised as nearly-men, failures, in a bafflingly callous way.
The losing team was bound to be microscopically scrutinised for signs of reaching the end of their line. Roy Keane’s take on swooping for Kane smacked of traditional United arrogance, also convenient myopia with their new Glazered reality.
Yet I’ve seen numerous suggestions on social media that we should make “a cheeky bid” for Son. Cheeky? Deranged, more like.
It all meant Sunday’s game was a trap, a wounded giant ready to solve all struggles with one swish of the sword. Seems to be a recurring theme lately.
Rumours of Tottenham’s demise were greatly exaggerated. If revenge for Madrid was on the menu, a goal in the openingfirst minutes would certainly be its first course.
Then, as in the final, Son was central to anything good they did. If anyone thought Coutinho was worth £140m …
The visitors couldn’t resist sitting back and wasting a huge amount of time. After we’d come back, they showed how dangerous they could’ve been had they shown a little more ambition. Your loss.
There were murmurs of concern as Hugo Lloris’ deputy (no, I don’t get it either) produced save after save, but this Liverpool team can never be discounted. Ever. Not even the presence of Kane’s Croatian lucky charm can derail us now.
There’s lots of talent here, of course there is, but within four years it’s the mentality that’s been radically altered. That’s all down to Klopp. Let outsiders sob their hearts out about luck and VAR (our faithful little friend) if they must. Music to our ears.
The midfield was rejigged again. Fabinho remains the one constant, and rightly so. He’ll be vital against City, if he hasn’t been banned by then.
They can say we’re stumbling if they like. In fact, please do — all the way to May.