YOU’VE got to score the second goal in the game. You’ve got to score the eighth goal in the game. Fuck it. Score the ninth goal in the game.
I don’t know where my Saturday goes from here. I don’t know where your Saturday goes from here.
Football makes idiots of us all. I saw the wonderful Andrew Beasley tweeting this morning about this being a low scoring game. I met Steve Graves and he told me the team and I said I simply don’t know where the goals come from. I was implacably furious at 3-1, I wanted people bombed out.
Perhaps I still do. Neither full back acquitted themselves well. Sakho’s dreadful for both Norwich equalisers. Lads running off Can and Lucas like they are Charlie Adam, this is 2011 and Reina/Mignolet has packed in saving things.
But forget that. Jib that. Fuck that. It’s 3pm on Saturday, a Saturday that could go anywhere, Adam Lallana has scored a last minute sausage dinner in a 4-5 and he has rightly took his top off. He took his top off and ran at a manager who wants his football emotional and is perhaps just beginning to realise what emotional is in this madhouse. Adam Lallana sensibly kicked the ball into the ground. And created carnage.
Because football. Not because the Reds are mustard but because the ninety minutes are nothing but a constant state of emergency, a state you manage as best you can but perhaps occasionally just embrace. Just get on board with it.
Embracing this fact at 3-1 could turn Liverpool’s season. Klopp’s brought sanity and shape. Solidity except in the area, where it counts. But Liverpool did mad well. At 1-3 Moreno nearly creates a goal. Seconds later Henderson scores one and gets the ball. It was all Liverpool the way it should be. Firmino does brilliantly for a lovely third before he and Lallana get the ball out of the goal.
They got the ball. Firmino excellent throughout. He may well be goals when he leads the line. He may well be assists. Again for another day. What counts is he got the ball. The Reds were mad as hell and they weren’t going to take it any more.
Getting the ball at 3-3 counts for something. It counts for everything. It counts for an attitude. Look at the ninth goal. It is Caulker in the penalty area winning a header. There are no good points any more. There very rarely ever has been.
Stick your point. The Reds are bananas and they will have all three. Should be written on the back of hands. Tattooed on eyelids after signing. The Reds will have all three.
Should lead to a seachange this. Should or could. Score the second goal. If you can do that make sure you get the fifth. Get the eighth if you can. Embrace the ninth.
Imagine the end. Imagine the pint. Imagine that. Embrace it. Feel it. Store it. It is the attitude, the feeling, the heart pounding that leads to something.
It is a joy to be alive. There. It is a joy to be alive. Wherever you are. It is, suddenly, a joy.
Up the Reds.