I’m done. Seriously.
Retirement is an actual option now.
What are you going to see that’s better than that?
Whatever your stance on the cup, Arthurian quest or irksome inconvenience, everyone’s giving the league campaign top priority in L4.
When even a knockout derby can be tagged “regional kerfuffle” and held in such low esteem, times are strange. I’m not sure clinching the league would even change them.
Klopp’s had the domestic cups on nuisance setting ever since he arrived, frankly. When the manager who last won one got sacked anyway, no wonder. The German fully understands what his bosses’ priorities are, whatever Ste from Bootle may think of it.
The performance against Sheffield United had lacked the artistry of recent years but was utterly ruthless and a lesson in game control.
Things you may have petulantly complained about recently (keeping in practise, I call it) are fast disappearing. Possession play when in front was always a concern, but against the Blades they were immaculate.
Henderson was remarkable. Fans of the captain usually keep their powder dry until simpletons kick off on him and he needs coddling, but such was his command of the entire game on Thursday he deserved special plaudits.
Losing Keita before kick-off was a blow. Not that Milner lets anyone down (usually), but the squad’s starting to look a bit skimpy. It’s happening in the shadow of excuses made for others, Man City mostly, but how we’ve got this far with so many points is still a breathtaking wonderment.
So to Everton and the FA Cup, both of which have seen better days.
Ancelotti’s a coup, however snotty you’d like to be.
It still didn’t stop him from trying to ingratiate himself with the idiots, something about Liverpool supporters in the press pack triggering teary tweets of “my manager” and whatnot.
Played like a two-bob fiddle, they always summon the daemon of Big Red to keep the serfs onside. Why they thought Uncle Carlo needs it is anybody’s guess.
Habit, I expect.
You can fool some of the people some of the-… you know what, I’ve used that paraphrase about Everton so often I should probably get it engraved or something. More fool them.
Klopp insisted he would pick whatever team he felt like and he wasn’t kidding, was he? No matter the opposition or occasion, he was determined to ruffle feathers.
Yes, the league bid is sacrosanct, the fixture list unnervingly difficult and truthfully Jurgen’s just never got along with the English January.
But this? Outrageous. There was a small voice in my head that said he’d tempted fate before the league derby and won 5-2, but it was a Trappist monk whisper at best and drowned out by a fearful, crimson-faced tantrum.
But what do I know? This is like trick shots for marksmen. He’s surely taking the piss now.
There were long moments of near silence, denoting an incredible wave of nervousness around the ground.
Especially the away end, who were suddenly saddled with intense responsibility and the tag of big favourites.
It’s not often you cheer vociferously for a goalless first half at Anfield.
It felt like a moral victory, but even in that moment we were still hugely underestimating these players, this manager, this club.
Whenever Pickford concedes at Anfield, he gets tons of stick about his short arms, but I doubt Elastigirl could have stopped Curtis Jones’ shot.
Everything after that was just an ear-buzz blur, but you still noticed how well we passed and kept the ball.
Everton, the traumatic weight of 20 years’ Anfield infamy crashing all around them again, were in no mood to fight.
There was a time when they’d lash out and simply try to maim someone, anyone, just to satisfy their ancient bloodlust. This time? Nothing.
Everyone rested, and a whole week off. We’ll worry about Milner once we’ve come down off cloud nine.
Whenever that will be…