WHAT a week.
What a gang of lads.
What a set of Reds.
Did you have a little cry? I know I did. 4-3 and I am full of joy, that angry joy, that ‘stitch that’ joy, that joy unconfined, that joy that is the language of heaven with the noise of hell, that joy that fingers you behind the bike sheds, that joy that sticks it and gives it and takes it and drains it and makes it. That joy that means you have a little cry because these Reds. These fucking Reds…
These Reds were outclassed where class is concerned. They were never out-fought. They were never out-battled. They were superior in all areas bar quality. Quality can only take you so far. Because when quality isn’t quite the gulf you hope it is then football can happen. Then moments can happen and if a football match comes down to moments then anything is possible. Then The Reds are possible.
The Reds picked their moments.
The shift in game intelligence is the most noticeable direct improvement since the shift in manager. Liverpool believe in every moment and Liverpool believe any moment is possible. They can plot their course through a game by them when they look adrift. When they are two goals adrift.
Liverpool doesn’t so much have excellent performers tonight as it has excellent shock therapy. The game wasn’t sculptured. It was attached on and off with sticks. But Joe Allen stands out after coming on, Divock Origi stands out for running the channels. Alberto Moreno impressed me but I am often wrong.
So often wrong. I predicted Dortmund on away goals. I forgot. I forgot that Liverpool can take a pulse. Liverpool can squeeze. Liverpool are becoming a side that know chances are ample even when time is short.
Tonight at Anfield something really quite remarkable happened. Something that defies these words other than to say that where moments are concerned, Jürgen Klopp’s men are very good; the Anfield crowd is better.
The Anfield crowd doesn’t sing for 90 minutes but it knows when guttural screaming is required. Football is hard, it only gets harder when 40,000 people scream at you.
At 2-3 Dortmund get in a mad huddle. A mad ‘heads have gone’ huddle. A mad ‘what do we do about these mad bastards?’ huddle. The mad bastards are the Reds on and off the pitch.
We give ourselves a hard time. I give us a hard time. But no crowd in the world does moments better, clambers the line between intimidation and support better than we do. No one.
There’s a Yellow Wall. Great set of lads. But stitch that, lads. Stitch that. We all have our own culture. Ours doesn’t bounce. It swaggers.
Soz abar us.
Liverpool and their crowd do moments. Embrace moments. Understand moments. Nothing has ever been more ‘town’ than that.
— The Anfield Wrap (@TheAnfieldWrap) April 14, 2016
Nothing has ever been more ‘stitch that’ than that.
Nothing has ever quite felt like that. Not Olympiakos. Not Chelsea however many times. Nothing has had to be that defiant perhaps since Barca in 2001 and then that wasn’t as eventful. My chest rattles from roaring.
Across two games there were two memorable renditions of You’ll Never Walk Alone. Two memorable ones. The first soft rock in Germany. The second a lament before kick off at Anfield. These were memorable. They will live long in the memory.
There was a third. After the final whistle at Anfield. It wasn’t simply memorable, it was glorious. In excelsis deo. It was love, it was ‘stitch that’, it was ‘get on this’, it was ‘walk around us’, it was ‘here we are’, it was ‘understand this’, it was ‘you get your education’, it was ‘this is everything and this isn’t nice but this is what this is’. This is that you will never walk alone because we will scream and roar next to you.
We understand moments. Know that. Take that.
The Reds. Drag them down and kill them.
Up the Reds. Up the momentary Reds. They aren’t down here for your money. They aren’t down here for your love. They are down here for your soul.
Time for a break.