Sometimes, things just slot into place.
Last week was dreadful and could have been one of those results that festers and contaminates the rest of the season.
It’s happened before but this is a seemingly different Liverpool from recent whimpering forebears.
And there was also Watford. I’m not saying they stunk but the
manager had to get them off the pitch quick before getting fined for
befouling a public place.
It always amazes me Troy Deeney plays professional football. In the Premier League.
Deeney’s actually not a bad player but he (the captain) had his head in his hands after the first goal Salah scored after three minutes.
Let’s just say Gary Oldman won’t be playing him in the biopic.
The funniest bit was when he lay on the ground after a tackle. Milner offered to pull him up but after two seconds thought better of it.
Fat jokes, Steve? You, really? Fair point, but he’s got 30 years on me and he’s an athlete…ish.
I seem to be mentioning my age a lot lately, and the weather. The two go mitten in mitten. It meant the first half was pretty hard work because Liverpool simply stopped playing after the opener.
If Watford’s plan was to chloroform everyone into submission, it almost worked. Once the second goal went in, it was just a question of how many.
The swirling snow mattered not a jot in the second half as the football warmed us up and again demonstrated what this team’s capable of.
We’re tired of hearing “only” this season; only Maribor, only Spartak, only Porto apparently once United tumbled out of Europe against mighty Sevilla.
Much glee ensued after that of course, with Mourinho looking a little archaic. So many waiting to pounce, he brings it on himself and because he’s coaching them now, the schadenfreude is laid on with a trowel.
Look; he’s Michael Myers in
Halloween. Not dead yet, no matter what happens to him. The bogey man… The City draw was iffy.
Three Spanish teams not matched up, two English (the last two remaining balls) were.
Klopp was right, City weren’t ecstatic either but obviously that’s never enough for some papers.
“CITY FEAR US.”
And they wonder why sales plummet and managers hate speaking to them.
Now we’ve got a two-week break and Liverpool again look strong for a top four spot, that faux achievement which Wenger once compared to a “troffee”.
Chances of winning the Champions League are slim, sure, and everybody seems insultingly sniffy about Liverpool being there at all.
That does have echoes of 2005 so yes, that’s the straw we’ll be clutching until someone (probably City) prises it out of our hand.
The last word before I bid you adieu for two weeks goes to Mohamed Salah.
But which word, exactly? We’re running out of them, calling the
thesaurus bods up and telling them to get a shift on.
Something glorious is taking place here and the brainboxes who work for dictionaries had better start coming up with something appropriate double quick.
Scoff all you want at the increasing coupling of his name with Messi’s, blah blah about how he needs to do it year in year out; on and boringly on.
There was a turgid lull in the first half, borne of Watford’s negativity and just how easy it was beginning to look, but Salah was always a threat and never settled for an instant.
The last player we had like him was Suarez and you’re supposed to sneer at that comparison too. To hell with that noise.
That he scored four goals and made the other, after falling flat on his face at Old Trafford, is the sign of a player every bit as motivated as the Uruguayan without any of the bilious baggage that inevitably stalked him.
That’s something to revel in, so do it. Time for apprehensions and doubt later.
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