What the hell’s going on? That’s me genuinely asking by the way, somebody who’s watched this team for 40 years.
Imagine what Klopp must be thinking.
If he'd stayed in Germany he would just now be groggily emerging from a month-long snooze.
During that time in England he’s seen Liverpool battered by something called Watford, beat the top side in the league, been called a soft German by a talking walrus and won the first leg of a semi-final when half his team dropped like a re-enactment of the Somme.
They then struggled on an Exeter mud-heap with a load of kids, fought a 3-3 thriller with Arsenal, got mugged by United, and almost gave him a heart attack after sharing nine goals with something called Norwich — then he’s slapped silly by some brawny Belgian harbouring a sneaky grudge for dropping him.
Is that everything? No wonder the foreigners think we’re nuts.
The replay with Exeter was the only chilled moment of the whole month; a time when the continent puts its feet up and watches the mad-dog Englishmen go through their annual rite of cack-handed freneticism.
Cretinous songs about “paying our benefits” are apparently still hilarious in Devon in 2016. See you in another 50 years, morons.
Norwich weren’t much better. Their variation on You’ll Never Walk Alone was cruelly cut short by Adam Lallana’s rather spawny late strike. Shame.
Mind you, we had that coming.
It’s always pretty cringe-worthy when our lot break into song, minutes remaining and one goal separating the sides. It doesn’t often come back to haunt us but after an afternoon of Keystone defending it seemed especially reckless.
That first half was as rank as anything the Reds have produced for a while. Watford was bad but this was worse because you know the opening goal would have resulted in a comfortable afternoon for almost anybody else.
Milner missed a sitter to make it 2-0, didn’t even get a shot off in fact.
There were some foulmouthed epithets at half time, with plenty of convenient amnesia when he somehow made it 4-3 later on.
Happily Norwich were even worse at the back than us. Jamie Carragher’s turning into the new Hansen, constantly bemoaning the state of defending in this country, but he’s not wrong.
These games are rare. I recall a 5-4 with Leeds and the UEFA Cup final with Alaves of course. There’s more than a hint of the circus about them, more accurately the scent of what the elephants leave behind, but is it churlish to complain?
Imagine you were a kid and that was your first game ever. Some of us are too long in the tooth (if we still have any left) to stifle a perpetual critique of today’s superstars, but one small spark of cherubic wonder has to be nurtured somehow.
Nowhere was it better expressed than Klopp charging down the line. One Norwich coach let him have it with both barrels afterwards. Frankly, he had a point.
I hate to see anybody doing that at Anfield.
Mourinho beating his chest is still a searing memory.
Part of the problem is that people still see us as “LIVERPOOL!” and not what we sadly are nowadays: ‘liverpool’.
Norwich are struggling for their lives and there’s a big multi-millionaire bully revelling in that dagger through their heart.
Look, it’s nice that outsiders still think we’re something special and maybe we could have a bit more decorum after beating them.
Truth is we’re not that special any more and something like Saturday has to be milked for every drop of encouragement and inspiration it delivers.
Maybe Klopp will make us special again. For now anything that energises the club, anything at all, has to be gleefully grasped and savoured.
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