And we’re back again. See Saw, Margery Daw… Forget nursery rhymes, Finnegan’s Wake makes more sense than this team – well, the three pages of it I ever managed to get through, writes Steven Kelly.
While we’re conversing on an elevated plane, it’s clear we’ve become a philosopher’s dream.
“So you win all the hard games and lose all the easy ones?” That is correct. “So at some point you must start losing the hard ones, since you expected them to be easy?” Ouch, my brain hurts. You need 10 aspirin to ease the pain of figuring all this out.
Hell, make it 40 aspirin. Let’s do ourselves a favour and end the misery once and for all.
Hang on; a team which got 60 points and came eighth last time is fourth with 52 points by early March – it’s causing misery?
That does sound stupid I suppose. I’m coming up to 40 years of going the game and never seen anything like this.
It’s a new test of faith, certainly. What happened at Leicester was an absolute disgrace, and you knew it would be after 10 minutes. Actually, you knew it before the start.
Some forlorn hope of Klopp, acting like some mad messianic mesmerist, hypnotising our lads in the dressing room.
“You are feeeeeling sleeeeeepy. You are facing the chaaaampions. Plaaaaay like you’re facing the chaaaampions” etc etc.
I guess there are some things even hypnosis can’t fix. Leicester? Champions? Please.
Our defence versus Vardy had its rubbernecker qualities, like those nature documentaries where lions stalk spindly okapis (okapaii?) who don’t know what’s about to hit them.
Not nice when you’re a fan of the okapi, like.
Leicester sacked kindly Uncle Claudio and were well up for it. Who could possibly not have seen that coming?
Well, one German and 11 players for a start. Maybe a few terrorists living in Afghani caves.
It’s obvious this is all complacency. Vague theories about how the Reds can’t play teams who sit back were abandoned once the Foxes tore into us in wave after wave of attacks.
That meant the whole week spent growling at loved ones, forgetting every promise that you weren’t going to take the damn thing so seriously any more.
Then Arsenal visit, and the rollercoaster cranks upwards again.
After a few minutes you know this is different. One goal, more chances, another goal, half time ovation. Fifteen minutes to contemplate whether you’re ecstatic or even more furious.
The game overall showed why these teams will never win the league as they are.
Klopp at least has the advantage of being a relatively new arrival, while kindly Uncle Arsene’s decision to drop Sanchez simply screamed “please pull the plug on my extended hell once and for all”.
Not that we weren’t grateful for the favour. Having put ourselves in a position of being expected to win, we again proceeded to put everyone on edge.
Thankfully, Wijnaldum played the role of Ryan Babel racing through the middle and slotting home the late clincher. We don’t beat Arsenal that often, so we remember every single one with fondness and a scalpel’s precision.
Our Flying Dutchman, 2017 vintage, was atrocious at Leicester, unbelievable against Arsenal. Everyone else was the same.
In just over ten years, this fixture at Anfield has produced 64 goals. There’s been a 4-4, a 5-1; even a 6-3. Absolutely nuts.
This one might have been comparatively normal, were it not for Arsenal dropping their star player and Liverpool being diabolical the Monday before.
There are some who’ll revel in all this madness; euphoria and anger in equal measure.
I suppose some people have to check their pulse daily to even realise they’re alive. It’s never that way with Liverpool.
Would it be possible, just one season, to have a bit more stability, more consistency – and one more title before my heart finally gives way? Apparently not.
Oh well, Burnley next week…
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