Fan reaction in the aftermath of Liverpool’s unspectacular win against Burnley, which sees The Reds remain top of the Premier League…
NOT sure.
I’m not sure what to make of Saturday. I mean, Liverpool won and all moods are based on that scoreline. Did we score more than them? Yes, we did. Were we given three points? So we’re golden.
And yet.
The first half concerned me. Again, The Reds were slow, ponderous and uncertain. Still good and worthy of Diogo Jota giving us an early lead, but we were playing on embers rather than on butane. We looked mentally done in. We were still playing Arsenal in our heads. That nonsense last week hadn’t been put to bed and we felt a bit sorry for ourselves.
I know. There was flu in the camp, Trent Alexander-Arnold played on one leg and we’d ran out of right backs, but we looked like the 14th hour of a house party and it worried me.
Jürgen Klopp will point to the fixtures spread across four tournaments and the lack of seat availability in the treatment room, but it still worried me nonetheless. I suppose that’s my problem. Well, it definitely is.
The Reds play one game at the weekend, but the fans play two. We have two main fixtures. Us and whatever Manchester City do. They too weren’t great yet beat a bottom-three side at home by two clear goals, so the weekend was drawn.
I didn’t expect any favours from the Ev and none came. I like Jarrad Branthwaite — I really do — and thought he was excellent at Anfield, but I wonder if he’d have done better had it been any other striker bursting past him.
Erling Haaland strolled away on reputation as much as anything. That might sound harsh, but if that’s Darwin Nunez he kicks him in the air rather than hangs on knowing he can’t win. Ah well. Not our battle.
And speaking of hanging on. Talk me through this.
You’re at Anfield. A point is a dream so you take as much time out of the game as you can. Of course you do. Fair enough. We did it all the time away in Europe. Suddenly goalkicks take a week and everyone gets cramp. Everyone.
When the fourth official held up his board I honestly thought it’d read ‘Sunday’.
But why do it when you’re losing? Explain that one.
I mean, you need the ball to be active to score. That’s a given. They couldn’t equalise while James Trafford was holding onto the ball for entire minutes.
Sure, it disrupted our rhythm but theirs was hardly reminiscent of James Brown’s backing band. There’s one for the teenagers.
But we did what we always do. We found a way.
I’m made up Neil Atkinson referenced Curtis Jones playing at right back in his Match Review. I’ve never seen him anywhere near right back and this was a Premier League side with a winger who roasted Trent more than once.
Yet Curtis looked after his part of the shop, gave it simple and, much to the chagrin of the lad to my right, went backwards when he had to. The same lad had earlier asked me if this was my first game so I’m abusing my position here to shout at him. Again.
Liverpool found a way. They found Harvey Elliott. We really needed a Harvey Elliott and luckily we had a Harvey Elliott who did Harvey Elliott things. Everyone’s level went up five per cent and that was enough. His energy won the game.
We also had Wataru Endo who was great and had been on a plane for the same amount of time it took Burnley to take a freekick, and we had Jarell Quansah. Both were excellent.
We found a way.
We also found another referee. It’s rare to see both managers booked. I suppose he’d ran out of people on the pitch. Where do they get them from?
Take the points, go home, have a day off, get Mo Salah a bit closer to fitness and treat Brentford like we treated Chelsea.
These are the hard yards. Match City and beat them when we can. Characters are going to be tested, emotions will be held in check and we will have to find many more ways to win.
On Saturday, it was Harvey who made the difference. One week it might have to be Bobby Clark, but most of the time it’ll be us. It was lovely to hear the new Annie Road sing on Saturday. More of that is needed.
The hard yards started on Saturday and worried half-time dickheads in the crowd will have to get used to it and go back to snarling to the innocent questioner next to him. First game indeed. First pint, mate? Sake.
No, I’m not sure about Saturday, but I am sure that we can go on a run to do this even if we are looking a bit tired.
It’s all about Brentford now.
Sing.
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