A town centre so big that whenever you go out there you get a cob on because you forgot to pack Kendal mint cake and a compass just to get from pub to pub.
What’s with all the chop houses, Manchester? What the bleeding hell is a chop house anyway? Looks like a boozer as far as I can tell except it’s chocker.
Is there a secret room that only Mancs are allowed in where you all gorge on chops and then stick them on the side of your heads and strut about? Don’t get me started on your Christmas markets. Next year I’m going to pour myself a warm beer in a beaker and drink it in the shed, save the pissing about.
Anyway, enough about that sprawl of flats they call town — these matches against Manchester United at home are mad aren’t they?
The salt in the soup Kloppo reckons. Lovely analogy that, Kloppo, lovely.
Except sometimes, it feels more like Tommy Carcetti’s first mayoral “bowl of shit” rather than a well-seasoned pea whack.
I was in row four of the Kop for the John O’Shea last-minute winner, which made me physically wretch.
I grew up on Alex Ferguson’s sides turning up and battering us with pace and power and relentlessness and being everything we wanted to be.
The highlight of those years speaks for itself in terms of how good we were — they scored at the Kop end (the one were David Beckham ran with his arms out in the white kit) and celebrated right in front of us.
The Kemlyn goes beserk and people are trying to get on the pitch. The fella behind me, who was half way through a Snickers, loses his mind and lashes said Snickers at Beckham but inadvertently hits Paul Scholes on the head.
After everyone calms down and is settled back into their seats the Snickers man spends the rest of the game fuming about not only having to watch us get beat but that those Manc bastards even take the food out of your mouth. That was as good as it got for years, that.
Yesterday was more of the same.
It was harder to take in a way because it seemed so unjust. A poor side, one shot on target and an absolute smash-and-grab of a victory achieved by launching the ball at the walking set of elbows to nod on and see what happens.
Their goal, as predictable as it was, was received like a kick to the stomach. A quick scan to the linesman for a reprieve and then head in hands and a little cry. Then a shout and then a cry.
The first goal was always going to be the winner and the Reds knew it. That we should have been two up by half time only served to underline the feeling that we might play for a week and not get back into it.
Liverpool are not a bad team. We are actually quite a good team. We are pretty good at all the things needed in a football match aside from: a) scoring goals and b) stopping goals.
I’d quite like to get one of them sorted; two would be the thing of dreams.
First half we played quite well but the amount of things that need to align perfectly in order for us to score is ridiculous.
We shouldn’t have to be perfect to score a goal. Mainly because being perfect is quite tricky as it turns out
The lack of goals in this team can’t be improved by coaching alone.
Roberto Firmino might end up being a 10 goals a year player but if he is starting up front on his own then he needs goals either side of him.
For all Adam Lallana’s industry and endless turns he doesn’t look to have any goals left. He took out a payday goal credit loan at Southampton apparently and now he’s just in an endless circle of goal debt. Perhaps that’s why he likes to turn all the time, who knows.
We can’t be going into tight matches with such a lack of goals that Jordan Henderson is classed as one of the most likely scorers. Until that changes we might not win many matches, which is a bit of a blow.
The other notable factor is the lack of pace. The game yesterday was crying out for someone, anyone, with pace to stretch their defence. They could play quite a high line because we had no one able to run away from them.
Christian Benteke, worryingly, is much slower than anyone knew. Was he always this slow or has he lost a yard after doing his Achilles?
I didn’t watch Brendan Rodgers yesterday on the telly but I hope someone asked him what he was thinking when he signed him. He looks as far removed from a Klopp player as he did a Rodgers one.
It is hard not to feel sorry for him as he is trying his best but he just isn’t what we need at the minute. That said, he can put the ball in the goal if he gets a chance so maybe we have to have a bit of a think about that and try to figure out a way of playing him that doesn’t piss everyone off.
If you aren’t scoring goals then conceding them becomes a pretty big deal and we seem to be adept at that at the minute.
I don’t want to get into the “the keeper is shite – no he isn’t” argument again but for everyone who keeps saying that he is a good shot-stopper please note that in his last two games he has conceded four goals without making a single save.
In my book to be a good shot-stopper you have to start with stopping some shots. That might seem a slightly harsh viewpoint but there is an element of truth in there somewhere.
It was also the coldest day at Anfield since Reading at home in the cup when everyone’s feet fell off with frostbite, which is a lovely preview of what we have got to look forward to on Wednesday.
As Kloppo said these derby games are the salt in the soup. Cold soup yesterday, wasn’t it?
A nice refreshing bowl of Gazpacho? No, lad, it was oxtail and it’s freezing and, oh look, the oxtail has jumped out of the bowl and whacked me round the side of the face.