Quick, find a straw to clutch. We’ve reached our fifth semi-final in two years. Not bad for has-beens. What? No, no actual cups per se, if you’re going to be picky and mean about it.
It was nice seeing Woodburn get his goal against Leeds.
In a week where the life of a young footballer proved anything but glamorous and sometimes downright horrific, you hope he’ll be one of the lucky ones.
The tributes piling up for the retiring Steven Gerrard showed the pot of gold they’re all chasing at the end of the rainbow.
There have been complaints of abuse by former players of over 50 clubs.
Resist the urge to demonise others for alleged pay-offs and gag orders; maybe wait for the full story before throwing stones, yeah?
Saturday off meant trying to hex Chelsea some other way. Not that City are any better, and a fat lot of good it did anyway.
Too busy lecturing others about focusing on the Reds to actually do it myself. Big lesson learned there.
Though we’re in the same Temporary Brexit boat as Chelsea, benefitting from a reduced workload, they look the realer deal now and we look what we are; a previously struggling side that’s improved a lot and who should be grateful for that.
That’s easier said than done with this title obsession. Any major club not finishing top for 26 years would get antsy, but Liverpool used to rule this roost.
It doesn’t help when, before the drought, we’d won 10 titles in the preceding 14 years. That gives you an outlandish sense of entitlement which even after a quarter of a century hasn’t been worn away entirely.
The glory years ultimately give enemies an embellished karma from all our subsequent ‘woes’.
We Methuselah types who witnessed it all first-hand affect an air of sated excess needing to be answered for.
Addicts who’ve had their highs and must now go cold turkey.
We’ve had our fun, now we must pay, we accept that. It’s the younger generation you feel sorry for, still targets for hubristic barbs without having seen what we’ve seen, bar one night in Istanbul.
They’re like the replicants in Blade Runner, when Deckard tells Rachel: “Implants; they’re not your memories, they’re somebody else’s.”
So Rafa becomes a messiah and you raise an eyebrow. Now it’s Klopp’s time and you turn a blind eye to the giddy goofiness, because he’s got everybody excited again. Old as well as young, I’ll confess.
The gears are starting to grind a little now, though. Oddly enough, some of the attacking play at Bournemouth was as good as it’s been, but that second half… my knee’s jerking like everyone else’s right now. Of course it is.
I’m human (last time anyone checked). They missed Matip, but that shouldn’t mean you throw a game away so easily.
The goalkeeper’s always looked flaky, too, bit like Bravo at City. He’s there to pass the ball better, but needs realignment in the basics.
I’d hazard a guess and say Klopp will one day be making the same dire “defensive coach” wisecracks Rodgers made before everything imploded.
Any game this freakish isn’t ideal for drawing solid conclusions. First defeat since August, if anyone actually needs reminding.
Their character’s going to be tested in upcoming games.
There was a massive amount of complacency in this one. Mane, for one, practically downed tools once he got his goal.
Selecting Lucas let you know what Klopp thought of Bournemouth and he got his nose well and truly bloodied.
You learn, hopefully, though it did happen a few times last season too.
Right now, someone is reading this and suggesting I need my bumps felt, wondering how I can’t be furious about this.
It doesn’t matter if we’re annoyed, what matters is if the players are angry with themselves. They’ve let everybody down.
How about showing that anger next week?
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