In order to balance up the regular posting of what I can only describe as Paul Tomkins love letters to Rafa Benitez from lfc.tv, heres Steven Kelly (of Through the wind and the rain fanzine) piece from todays examiner. Makes very interesting reading as per usual but very apt given todays developments.. Avoiding the truth amid more of the Rafa red herrings By Steven Kelly I DO my bit for the environment. In order to save paper, I asked the editor if I could redirect readers to a December column and have the week off. You can imagine the response. One extra syllable before the word “cough†and you’ll get the gist. So I guess I’ll have to type it out again, one segment in particular: “We won, stop complaining†becomes “we’re top, stop complainingâ€. Let’s hope we’re not soon subjected to the perennial “we’re still in the huntâ€, “well, looking at it mathematically†and “how can we compete with United and Chelsea’s millions anyway?†What a forlorn hope that turned out to be. Not that we’re giving up yet of course. Perish the thought. Benitez may have released a shoal of red herring to convince the gullible it was an impossible dream to begin with, but the fighting talk comes in torrents, even if the eyes give him away. We may be woefully short of money, guts, attacking options, flair, boardroom stability and managerial sanity but one thing in plentiful supply is wishful thinking. Everything may be going United’s way and the illustrious name of Manchester City is added to the pantheon of titans that have left Anfield with a point, but hey (dusts off handy cliché number 3,472) “you never know…†You’re supposed to froth at the mouth over referee Webb’s performance at Old Trafford, but apologies for not echoing the sheep’s bleat. I find that a huge distraction. He was right to disallow Evans’ goal, right to book Ronaldo for diving and probably right for thinking Pedersen made a five-course banquet of that touch on the shoulder. As for the Portuguese waxwork kicking Dunn, some perspective is useful. Refs make rods for their own backs by being ultra-strict with the lesser players and hoping nobody noticed they let the superstars off with similar “offences†time and again. Annoying? Yes. Petulant? Undoubtedly, but there are worse things in the game. Kevin Nolan springs to mind. With nothing better to do on Saturday night anyway what I found remarkable about that game was United’s line-up at the end when they were holding a narrow lead. Tevez, Rooney, Berbatov, Ronaldo. All still out there, all of them trying to score another goal. Perhaps only a Liverpool fan could find anything remarkable in that, since (a) we haven’t got four full-on attackers (b) they’d have already been replaced by diligent workhorses protecting what we already had. And not very successfully at that. So embroider your conspiracy theories and add Webb’s name to your little black books if you wish. Me, I’ve had a bellyful of excuses. As if the City game wasn’t awkward enough, it was preceded by further slurries of Rafa To Quit headlines from the usual stenographers. Surely even they can’t consider themselves “reporters†any longer? One particularly revolting example of obsequiousness was the claim that Rafa will stay if Gillett sells his stake. That’s mighty big of him. And what about Hicks’ stake? The manager’s had an easy ride over this tacit approval of the most loathsome of the gruesome twosome’s antics and his contract stalling is now irritating beyond belief. The arrogance of the man now sticks in the craw. Perhaps he thinks the more voluble supporters, the ones who shriek and march, represent the true voice of Liverpool’s support. Another draw next week and he will discover he is hugely mistaken. During the first half, the opposition gave such a pale, disinterested performance, we were convinced they, to a man, hoped we could add Hughes’s scalp to that of Ince and Adams. But check that statistic: 16 shots off target. Sixteen! It has been like that forever and is never going to improve after five years of waiting. When we finally went at them, I mean really gave it our best shot, they had no answer. Not that the manager liked that, “too open†was his jaw-dropping verdict. That a team with such a poor away record left with a point cannot be condoned, not even by the apologista, surely? As for Dossena and Lucas, words are beginning to fail me, and Riera is also testing the fans’ patience. There are too many passengers. The manager keeps selecting lame ducks in the hope of proving everyone else wrong. The good of the team? Why bring up such a trifling irrelevance? It was something Houllier did often in his final year. Tick, tick, tick…
I remember writing to Steve in 92' to ask him why he thought Alan Shearer had joined Blackburn over us and got a hand written letter back !!! Simplier times when the fanzines were a real connection to the club for Irish reds like myself and ALL the answers to ALL things LFC wheren't on internet forums !!
This weeks column: Wednesday, March 04, 2009 Nothing surprises us in our Anfield circus By Steven Kelly AS THE philosopher once said, “Make them laugh, make them laugh. Don’t you know all the world wants to laugh?” It’s the old showbiz ethic of “give ‘em what they want” and at Anfield we aim to please. There aren’t many clubs that try to implode on the day of their biggest game of the season. It was largely blamed on skittish bookies already stung by an amateur scam, and a satellite channel that thinks a match between two European giants isn’t fascinating enough by itself. Their own Spanish ‘expert’ told them stories of Rafa’s departure were nonsense no matter who’d suspended betting, but that didn’t stop them. It’s our own fault, of course. So much intrigue and backstabbing takes place here that any idiocy can be believed and dirty tricks could not be discounted. Nothing surprises anymore, including the match itself. We’re in our element on such occasions; keep it tight, wear down the opposition, take one of your chances and keep it tighter. Thank you and goodnight. Joy was tempered by the infuriating build-up. Several papers set the tone for the manager’s “audition” at his spiritual home. It does beg the question whether Real fans will care for the fare we’ve been subjected to of late. Benitez could put the burn in Bernabeu right enough, but are they prepared to stomach that for European Cup Number 10? There’s no doubting the man’s unique talent on this particular stage. Having wound all Reds up on Wednesday, Sky then offered news of “some exciting developments within the next 24 hours”. Yeah right, we’re not falling for that again. But by Friday morning Rick Parry was no longer gargling in the last-chance bathroom. It’s difficult to defend a man who sold the family silver to Uri Geller, but the subsequent entrenchment of Tom Hicks will soon come to be regretted big-time. The role of Benitez in making the Texan’s position stronger is still swept under the carpet by the Rafacult loonies who get uglier with each passing day. Parry has been accused of so much dastardly intrigue that you expect him to grow horns and a pointy tale to go with his crimson complexion. The truth is somewhat different but no less rotten. I wrote in this column that Rafa would keep asking for more and more until he was stopped, but that moment looks unlikely to occur any time soon. Not even after the cowardly capitulation at the Riverside. His name was sung loudly and continuously until Alonso had his brainstorm. Then it was barely mentioned again. There is an awful schism within our support right now. How could it be otherwise when there are two Liverpools, the European conquistadors and the tired dejected domestic misfits? Some of what took place was simply inexcusable. Our finishing hit nothing but a brand new low. With Lucas omitted the venom of fans on the brink of despair was directed at the clueless, gutless Babel. Remember how he, Kuyt and N’gog would make Keane’s bizarre departure irrelevant? One more joke to add to the cavalcade of comedy that is LFC 2009, but we did not find it so amusing. Benitez was animated almost to bursting point in Madrid, but when Boro (no win in 14 league games) made it 2-0 he slumped into his seat. It took him eight minutes to bring on the hero of Madrid to try and rescue the situation. A third for Middlesbrough looked the more likely outcome. As Downing tormented Skrtel, with little protection from the game but naïve El Zhar, the manager’s decision to make him right back went from puzzling to bizarre to pitilessly wrong. I’m told there is more to this than meets the eye, and may become clearer in weeks to come, perhaps even earlier if journalists can provoke the manager in one of his increasingly strange press conferences. Pockets of our support intermittently sang their own goodbyes to Rick Parry. I’d say such people deserve what’s coming to them, were it not for the fact that we will all suffer the consequences.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009 Politics and paranoia have Anfield divided By Steven Kelly THE PEOPLE bidding to buy a divided Liverpool are themselves divided. Of course they are. How could it be otherwise in such crackpot times? It’s best not to believe a word you read sometimes. Perhaps it’s a sign of encroaching senility, but I keep forgetting the internet is a strange place. I’d written in cryptic terms about the manager having to explain why he made Skrtel right back. After putting Mascherano there for Sunderland I felt sure he’d crack especially after he took a pasting for the original decision from Hansen and Lawrenson, who ought to know a thing or two about defending. The question hung in the air: why not Carragher? Mischievous cyber warriors took their cue, armed with pernicious-sounding ‘inside info’ — usually geek-speak for “I made this up in my addled one-eyed head”. This was different. We know Jamie isn’t thrilled about this position switch so late in his career, it was evident in January when he couldn’t deliver his usual high level of performance. Filling in for a game or two is one thing; a whole month, another. A Benitez interview with the local station complicated matters. Why pick Skrtel for that role? “Skrtel wanted to do a job for the team”. Why not use Carragher, like before? “Skrtel wanted to do a job for the team”. Oh Lord, not this again? True, it was only two answers and not the 25 times he said he was focused on coaching his team – a blatant trail of breadcrumbs that led to confirmation of American duplicity. With anonymous Internet claims that Rafa was put in an invidious position and Mascherano’s “I’ll do anything for the team, me” speech it looked slightly suspicious. But was it? I confess to losing patience with the manager’s Machiavellian style of getting what he wants, but this brief repetition may have been his way of avoiding awkward questions and subsequent media mischief. He could on this rare occasion have been quintessentially English, playing a straight bat as we say. Lawrenson in particular should have mentioned he was happy enough to be a makeshift midfielder in 1982 to accommodate Phil Thompson’s last hurrah. And the nastiness on the web isn’t Rafa’s fault. Such poisonous, clueless rants about what is irrefutably one of the greatest servants we’ve had cannot be monitored or controlled. They were badmouthing someone who has served with class and distinction for over 13 years: a Youth Cup winner, a Treble winner, one of the heroes of Istanbul. A player who watched various atrocities and nonentities come and go, invariably having to cover for managerial screw-ups like Ziege. That was the time Houllier asked him to ‘fill in’ at left back, and he stayed there for seven months! That a few Rafapologists saw fit to almost demonise such a man made me cringe, but giving them significance solves nothing. Until Benitez says anything further on the matter it would be unwise to speculate on blame. It’s time to chill out. At least this week the football will be a major distraction and a chance for everyone to unite behind the lads. Beating Sunderland doesn’t count, as even with a patched-up team and a muted atmosphere they barely threatened us. My boy Insua was back, playing like he’d never been away. Masch didn’t do a bad job in his new role. He might change his tune if he was asked to do it for six matches but good for him. N’gog put his easy chance away, and a goalkeeping error saw the game clinched. The night will only be remembered for the booing of Lucas. Was it a bad joke poisoned by tourists taking it seriously? Greeting any player onto the pitch like that is beneath contempt. All the intrigue and politics seems to have infected the supporters too and there is a modicum of madness within Anfield lately. Let’s hope there are still things to fight for this time next week and that the bigger picture makes us all grow up a little bit. We can moan all we like about the desultory standards of behaviour currently set by the hierarchy of Liverpool, the men who really matter, but there’s only one direction our fingers can point when our own actions drop below an acceptable level. At ourselves.
Such negative drivel, I've read 3 posts there with Skrtel RB appering frequently, did he not watch the Middlesbrough game, how was Skrtel at fault for either goal due to playing RB, He admits Carra's had a stinker at full back but wants to play him there anyway???!!?? **** that.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009 Hard to keep it real after toppling cowardly Madrid and hated United By Steven Kelly I’VE had better weeks. Of course there was always a trophy or two at the end of them. Who saw that coming? You did? Liar! There’s an extra dimension to our play when there’s a challenge and there’s always hope when Gerrard and Torres are together, but come on: eight goals in a week against the nabobs of narcissism? Maybe it wasn’t the wisest move for Real’s ‘Pravda’ to headline their build-up “This Is Anfield — So What?” especially after their 5-1 aggregate prediction had already been reduced to laughable ashes. They never learn, do they? I was a bit morose before the game. A friend noticed I wasn’t joining in the compulsory pub debate. At first he was afraid he’d gone deaf. I was thinking about my dad and how he never got to see Real Madrid at Anfield. When I was a baby they won their fifth European Cup in a 7-3 classic, by contrast he’d just finished watching a sixth straight season of lower league dross. How times change, even in the comparative blink of an eye between Houllier and Benitez. From surrendering to Marseille in the UEFA Cup to thrashing Madrid and securing our fourth Champions League quarter-final in five seasons, this is Rafa’s domain. No wonder his services are so coveted. If the tie really were his Bernabeu interview, then they’d be asking, “when can you start” before Ramos’s spanked backside returns to its natural colour. He’d have to be unstable to want that job now, but let’s put a lid on that can of worms and savour the moment. We got into them from the off and didn’t let them settle for a second. There was post-match babble about why we don’t do that all the time, but it was clearly tactical and the last thing the visitors expected. Scratch that. A goal from Andrea Dossena was the last thing they were expecting, if they even cared then. The coward Robben couldn’t get off the pitch fast enough. Pity there was another 45 minutes left. We can’t get carried away because we’ve only beaten “the worst Real side in living memory”. Is that so? I shouldn’t let it get to me, but can anyone recall the last good team we beat? When we put eight past Besiktas there was an inquiry into a betting scam! The emphasis on Torres and Gerrard is fair enough. How we’ve missed them, Fernando in particular was in no mood to take prisoners. Then it was United’s turn. Denied their usual snide build-up, which generally consists of nauseating speculation about where our manager and stars will be next season, they had to make do with Wayne’s pipsqueak goading and exploiting Rafa’s peculiar mantra about United’s e100m advantage. Like his whinge about Ferguson/Mabuse’s hold on referees, this was largely interpreted as another example of Benitez unravelling, but we needn’t have worried. There is now a contractual stipulation that means the best teams must save their worst performances for us. With Alonso and Arbeloa crocked, Lucas selected, Reina’s brainstorm and Wiley ignoring United’s thuggish variation on Pass The Parcel (Kick The Forward), all hope seemed lost. Luckily Vidic remembered the regulations in time and helped us back into it. Evra chipped in. By the time Vidic changed sports in mid-plod, the contest was over. The casual observer might be thinking the dynamic duo gave United’s ‘untouchables’ more problems in one hour than they’ve faced all season; that Hyypia was immense on such short notice; that Aurelio had the game of his life. You’d be wrong. The rest of the world has not cottoned onto this new rule yet. Suspicions should have been aroused when Dossena scored in successive matches, but that’s the British for you. Gullible. We know Ferguson loves those empty seats and their equally plastic ‘fans’ duly obliged like 1999 never happened. If you need a cabaret act to warm up your support against your hated rivals, you’re in trouble. As flippant as this sounds I cannot deny this should only be a pit stop in United’s procession. It confirmed our problem all season has been with relative minnows in the games we’re expected to win easily. United home and away, Chelsea home and away, Madrid home and away — all deserved victories. What would Freud make of that, I wonder? This season has not seen an improvement so much as a reversal, but the post-mortem has been postponed. Let’s swagger whilst we can.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009 What the hell happened? I’m really asking... By Steven Kelly TO recap: we’re out of the title race, the manager has lost his mind and is angling for a move to Madrid, we’re too negative, the referees are in United’s pocket and this is their best squad ever. Oh sorry, that was two weeks ago. Where’s the delete button? What the hell just happened there? I’m really asking. It is after all a mere three weeks since we trudged out of Toxic City speed-dialling the Samaritans. It can’t all be down to Gerrard and Torres surely? We’re swiftly running out of excuses not to regard ourselves as challengers now. The eternally gloomy (God I hate them sooooo much) will find any reason to see nothing but smothering darkness at the end of the tunnel. Boring football? 13 goals in 3 games and now we’re the league’s highest scorers, United’s goal difference advantage having evaporated. Distracted by managerial contract stalling? It’s been signed, in Parry’s blood no doubt. United’s untold riches and unsurpassed squad? It’s too late for money to come to their aid, and if they continue to pick up cards at this rate and Berbatov stays in hibernation… As for referees I think we can put that little whinge to bed. Ferguson may be right, it’s Phil Dowd so that’s what you expect, but there’s a small hint of the officials being mad as hell and they’re not gonna take it any more. Servile opposition? This popped up on many Red forums as an added bonus for Rafa’s excuseathon. It proves they’re not all robots mindlessly genuflecting to The Manager Cult; they can produce their own preposterous bilge. Some of what I read about Roy Hodgson defied belief. It’s fine claiming the Old Trafford massacre provides a template we can hand down to the minions, but they don’t all have our dynamic duo do they? Turns out all you needed were Danny Murphy and Bobby Zamora. Who knew? Remarkably I sympathise with Ferguson. 4-1 was slightly flattering and the claims about fiscal imbalance were slightly absurd. Both managers want their heads knocking together, but it all boils down to results in the end. Rafa made his claims, then didn’t win for a month therefore he was cracking up. Ferguson calls Benitez “weird” and produces his own wildly inaccurate “facts” whilst Rooney says he hates Liverpool (add Dowd and corner flags to the list). They immediately drop six points, seven if you count the goal difference, and the straightjackets are in the post. There’s no such thing as “long-term” in football any more. There’s been a small shift in the balance of power; to listen to some it’s 180 degrees and seismic. Superstitious types certainly regarded Saturday as a turnaround from January 17 when United and Chelsea both scraped late wins. The pressure told on us when we subsequently allowed Everton to equalise. Sunday by contrast was remarkably relaxed. The early goal always helps and despite the inevitable squandering of possession Villa couldn’t hurt us too much. Riera, so, so bad in Manchester, was a revelation here. His inability to track back the previous week, kind of important when your left back is dealing with the world’s best player, appeared to have marked his card with the damning verdict “Christian Ziege mk 2”. But he was exceptional against Villa, easily his best game for Liverpool. It wasn’t even a cause for concern that Torres barely showed or that the goals dried up when the referee stupidly dismissed the loveable Brad. Typically Benitez was onto that in a flash and expressed concern afterwards. That’s right, we were five up and Mr Pragmatism wanted more. The world has officially been turned upside down! “Feet on the ground, stay working hard” was his post-match advice. We fans could do with adhering to line one, but even I’ll confess to a little giddiness at present. The fans of ordinary teams would treat these last two weeks like a perfect holiday. They would treasure the memories of 12 days of total bliss and would carry them through another 50 weeks of monotonous drudgery. We are no ordinary football club. This is the beauty and the curse of following the Reds. For once I’m glad the internationals are here. Let the Mancs stew in their own rancid juices, as we behave like anyone else would and revel in three marvellous, spiritually uplifting performances. But when battle recommences we cannot just settle for this. And we won’t.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009 Rafa’s the best of a mad bunch By Steven Kelly EXCITING times. It’s no surprise when some things get lost in the effervescent swirl and this column is no exception. Sorry for not commenting on the Champions League draw. Like many Reds I suffer from narcoleptic attacks at the mere mention of the word Chelszzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. See what I mean? It became ridiculous years ago; we’ll need a new word for this. I await the next instalment with breath less than bated. And of course I breezed past Rafa’s new contract with barely a nod in its direction. I’ve used the phrase “embrace the insanity” several times this season and have never followed my own advice until now. The news was no doubt greeted with fireworks, street parties and royal proclamations. The cynics will wonder what the reaction would have been had he announced it after Middlesbrough but gung-ho idolaters such as I gave up listening to them, oooooooh, days ago. “We’ve come a long way since 2004”. We certainly have: a manager without a title has just been given increased powers and five more years in the job. Until someone invents time travel we can only guess what our pre-Benitez selves would make of such a conundrum. Harsh? Of course it is, but I couldn’t help smiling when I heard claims like “time for some real stability” and “he’ll only have himself to blame now”. Seriously? Well, have it your own way. We’ll see what happens with Parry’s replacement and this war chest he’s supposed to be getting in the summer. It’s April and we are still in the hunt for two major trophies. It would take a heart of stone and a head full of potpourri to claim we haven’t progressed. There are limits though. Apologist glee rankles, and with United back in range they’re behaving like Scrappy Doo on steroids. With wiser counsel they’d be just like me, dreading a Ferguson re-enactment of the final scene in Cincinnati Kid. “You’re good Rafa, but while I’m around you’re strictly second best”. Look, I hate to poop at the premature party. It’s unsanitary for one thing, but I’ve seen Peter Schmeichel and co ship 11 goals in one week and the swine still pipped us to the post. We need to be perfect and they need to slip up twice. If we falter it has to be 1-3; do it twice and it’s 2-4 whilst scrambling for a hotline to the Almighty. Our detractors say we’re one Gerrard injury away from surrender. That may be so, but if Ferguson is in 1998 mode and leaving the reservation (Moyes and O’Neill better than Benitez, if you please) we’ve got a real chance. I wonder if he also believes this Ronaldo nonsense is going to work? If he genuinely thinks the English will shed tears once this winking waxwork departs these shores he’s got a big shock coming. As for never, ever diving, God give me strength. Speaking of managerial madness the UK is witnessing Clough mania because of this new film. Although we find this tasteless given which anniversary is fast approaching it has come at an opportune moment for those of us perceived somewhat obviously as Rafa baiters. The book on which it is based is excellent, giving much insight into what the job can do to previously sane individuals. The perennial battle of wills with directors and childish players, the constant kicking and screaming for more money, the yearly grind to satisfy supporters who idolised you when you first arrived but become so gorged on progress and success they stamp their stubby toes at the merest hint of its disappearance. You see where I’m going with this don’t you? I’ve read a lot on Shankly of course, and whilst folklore makes some behaviour palatable, defining it as charming eccentricity, some of it is a stark reminder of what living an unreal obsessive existence does to a man. Even the saintly Paisley had his moments of strangeness (the public spats with John Aldridge) and churlish pique (querying the 1988 side’s greatness) before illness overwhelmed him. So for all of Rafa’s quirks a quick scan of The Damned United affirms that this sort of thing goes with the territory. He may sound like Moyes when he prattles on about Ferguson’s €100m advantage and you may await that Craven Cottage team sheet with tic-riddled apprehension, but the die is cast and the contract is signed. Who’s out there that’s better? That’s right, no one. Live with it.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009 Fun at Fulham shows we’re still hot in the hunt By Steven Kelly IT’S all over, apparently. It’s fair to say the media has been a little patronising of late, like United were the dad and Liverpool the toddler: “ah, you wanna race me little fella? Okay. Look at you going full pelt, ooooh, you might just beat me” etc. With our Fulham points in the bank and Villa refusing to roll over, chances are the joke was wearing a little thin. Time for us to remember our place. So that’s that then. Before I start dispensing the razor blades and paracetamol, hear me out. We may be running out of games but recent experiences shouldn’t be swept under Ferguson’s bulging spit-soaked carpet just yet. Beaten by Liverpool and Fulham, taken to the brink by Villa. Contrast that with our results in the equivalent games, then look at the fixture list. We both face Hull away, Spurs and Arsenal at home. If we maintain a similar superiority in those games… (I apologise to the sub-editor who had to correct this, but you try typing with fistfuls of straw). Whatever the lapdogs write there is no way they can kill our buzz from Saturday. Craven Cottage is often the scene of a swift premature exit, if only for transport convenience, not the setting for a bouncing party that shakes the makeshift stand to its core. I’ve tempted fate far too much already but the last time we belted out Hava Nagila was for Ronny Rosenthal in the spring of 1990. The loose translation is “let us rejoice” but a photograph of our end (and huge blocks of the other three sides) would serve equally well. The great Liam Neeson was in the executive boxes, and on Sunday night television he was knocking seven bells out of James Nesbitt. Omens, omens everywhere. Yossi had been in the doghouse after turning out for Israel with an injury. A cursory handshake from the manager as they (eventually) left the pitch may hint that all has not been entirely forgiven. They say Rafa “lost it” after the goal went in, but there’s no confirmatory footage. He’d certainly regained full control by the final whistle. This troubles some, but I don’t see why. This is no ordinary manager. He’d begun the week with some nautical nonsense about him (naturally) being the captain of the ship, invoking a troubling image of Rafa as Captain Bligh and presumably Parry as the treacherous Christian. So Benayoun was lucky to escape with a limp grasp, he might well have been lashed on deck if the manager saw fit. We again played some quality football and yet the finishing problem that seemingly had vanished returned with a vengeance. Torres still doesn’t seem quite right. There were numerous pluses, like Lucas improving and we may finally have found a use for Dossena other than gratuitous Shrek jokes. Only the ultracynics will wonder why it’s taken this long to try him in his preferred position, but at least he got there in the end. If he can be redeemed, then all is possible. It’s getting tense now, clearly. I’ve got at least six superstitions on the go. Of course I’m not going to tell you what they are, lest they stop working. Embrace the madness. 22 players, thousands in the crowd, two managers going head to head — and we’re only winning because I…ah, nearly caught me out there. We can’t be blasé about Macheda’s goal, it was a sickener. We can sneer at the ludicrously stage-managed camera kiss and mock Ferguson’s mythology (like he had any other option after suspensions and injuries) but it hurt, so why deny it? Who said it would be easy? And if it were, what would be the point? Processions are for wimps. This all reminds me of Ali versus Frazier: pulsating drama and genuine loathing. They would pound each other into dust, one hammer blow after another, and the opponent simply would not drop. This time last season, I would begrudgingly go shopping when United played, or be dragged (by wild horses, obviously) to the pub. This is so much better. Just like last year’s Champions League campaign, you can suspect it’s all a set-up for the nastiest practical joke in history. Some say they can deal with the disappointment; it’s the hope they can’t handle. My advice? Man up for God’s sake.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009 Thoughts are elsewhere despite distraction aplenty By Steven Kelly AT LEAST we can concentrate on the league. There is the wispiest possibility of that line being selected for the Examiner supplement’s “football columnists are utter gimps” segment after last night’s events. Then again I might have won the lottery, handed in my notice and whisked myself and Christina Ricci off to the Bahamas on the back of a gryphon. It’ll be best for all concerned if we kept some semblance of realism for the moment. On a day like this we’ve got bigger, more momentous things to worry about. Our European exit will have been a bitter blow and our title chances are still in the balance, but our thoughts today are elsewhere and football becomes the distraction that it is. As distractions go, however, it’s still one of the best. The thought of even challenging for the title has camouflaged my naturally cantankerous demeanour beneath a schoolboy’s giddiness. So much so I can honestly claim not to have been unduly perturbed by last week’s mauling, which is what it was, the score not coming remotely close to signifying the force of the shellacking we took. Chelsea played very well whilst it would be hard to name a single player in red who did himself justice. Much was made of Hiddink’s (ahem) tactical masterstroke, but it’s not as he’d suddenly invented the wheel. What it ultimately meant was a straight midfield tussle between Lampard/Ballack and Alonso/Lucas. You may already have spotted the flaw there, exacerbated by Xabi barely turning up and Gerrard failing to keep his supposed marker fully occupied. Add the gift of two goals, just one of which could have caused the damage, and we might as well have paid for their Barcelona flights and packed their bags. Once again, we must reluctantly salute the evil genius who invented the away goals rule, because even the first effort damaged our morale. Of course the knives were out for zonal marking again, tapping into modern football’s predilection for ill-informed mischief. In how many games have Liverpool successfully defended set pieces? “Irrelevant”, say the game’s opinion shapers. Well, if you say so, over and over again until Rafa relents and plays the game your way. How likely is that after five years, do you think? Besides, check the photograph of the equaliser. Ivanovic is the only player looking at the ball; every Liverpool player is squirming with his eyes shut. No system could work with such incompetence or cowardice. I like Hiddink, he seems a decent man. Far too decent for them. Terry’s hypocritical bleat about his moronic yellow card just about sums them up. It’s always a moment to savour when we make this overgrown brat blub uncontrollably, but Messi and Henry will be worthy understudies. We took our frustrations out on Blackburn despite the best efforts of their manager, the self-proclaimed major tactician. Allardyce spoke of Benitez liking a good whinge. It is traditional to say of such wretches “take a look in the mirror” but who could be that cruel? Rovers had players missing but that surely doesn’t prevent the ones that were left putting a shift in. The second half was so perplexingly limp that at one point the words “gambling syndicate” popped into my head. Aren’t you supposed to be fighting relegation? Torres was a marvel obviously, but our finishing again left something to be desired. It must seem churlish to berate the league’s top scorers after getting four, but it has been a weakness for some time and not every opponent is so generous. Mascherano’s madness entertained us sporadically, showing how much he was missed against Chelsea. Agger scored a beauty then collapsed with cramp. His contract demands are not as justifiable or so clear cut as he’d have us believe. The journey home was spent hoping for a miracle from Sunderland. Our renewed optimism means we can still take heart from just how laboured United have become. Obviously we would love the late face-saving goals to evaporate but there’s time enough for that. There is an assumption they’ll find a second wind, simply because they always do. I may break a lifetime’s habit and support them tonight, knowing more games in the schedule will contrast sharply with our own relatively sedate run-in. Fat lot of good that did Martin O’Neill though. Wanting United to win? This season just got stranger. I didn’t think that was possible. I just wish there were a certain 96 people here to share it with us.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009 A Bridge too far but anniversary adds perspective By Steven Kelly BE careful what you wish for. All I’d wanted was to make Chelsea twitch a little bit and a few extra fixtures for United, but am I happy? Take a guess. Last week’s unhealthy dollop of flippancy insinuated that Liverpool stood no chance of overturning a huge first-leg deficit. It’s called tempting fate in reverse, and it almost worked. You must be wary of the word ‘classic’ since some games are high-scoring as a result of incompetence, and if we lose we’re even less inclined to join in the euphoria. I suppose it’s spiteful to mention the fans who booed their (still winning) team off the pitch at half time then had the unmitigated gall to yowl “you’re not singing any more” when the score was 2-2, so I won’t. Nice flags though, very shiny. There was enough bile directed at Drogba. I was irritated when he rolled back onto the pitch to halt the match, but he was unplayable all night. We also moaned when Terry tried to kick Torres off the park last year. Once you know what the referee is like you have to adapt. Whining about Queensbury rules won’t wash, and if a cheat wants to fall at every opportunity the solution is simple; give him something to fall for. Or fight fire with fire, as Alonso did with the penalty and when Arbeloa got Cole booked. If the officials are so gullible, it works both ways. ‘Pride’ was mentioned a lot in post-match analyses, should anyone notice we conceded seven goals in two matches, four in one half. We beg other teams to learn lessons from our Old Trafford success. Let’s hope no one noticed how fragile we are when someone comes at us all guns blazing. In fairness it’s clear we have developed a strong enough backbone to take this title race all the way. Given what took place at Anfield a day later it wasn’t hard to gain perspective. Because media coverage was heightened this year more people turned up at the service than would otherwise, and it showed in some disappointingly tourist behaviour. That the worst should be by a Liverpool player is beyond belief. It will be the first time some have heard of Itandje, and most likely the last. Even during such a solemn occasion some speeches grated, a government lackey showing up to scatter platitudes where none were welcome, and a sly condemnation of standing fans by Trevor Hicks. Family bereavement is a dreadful thing as I now know, but it does not give one license to spout nonsense nor provide immunity from criticism. Many were wounded by these words, and since we have fought tooth and nail together to dispute grotesque media myths such as drunken fans showing up ticketless and storming the gates, to be subjected to similar abuse by one of our own was crass. There were thankfully significant shifts in the media stance on the disaster. Cynics may claim they did this in order to sell newspapers, and we’ll be forgotten when the circus leaves town. Who can tell? Since we had no game at the weekend it was hard to uncover what advantage Ferguson sought with that preposterous nonsense about poor, poor Sam. Such a conspicuous conspiracy was pitiful anyway, but deciding two days after the Hillsborough anniversary was enough time to start putting the boot in was despicable and bewildering after the armband gesture in Oporto. And what respect did you show Everton, Fergie? I’ve criticised Rafa for caution many times. It’s therefore undeniable that if there’s one manager who wouldn’t pronounce a game ‘over’ after 30 minutes it would be Benitez. It seems the actual content of these mind games is now irrelevant. If they make no sense whatsoever, the timing is atrocious or it proves the perpetrators are hypocritical morons, what of it? The TV paymasters must have their daily dose of hysterical mischief, even (especially?) from the biggest manager in the game. In a week of spectacular European and FA Cup action and the moving solemnity of our memorial service, this is what we’re talking about? The Beautiful Game; coming to a cesspit near you. This is why rumours of a possible return for Kenny Dalglish gladdened this sickened soul no end. Our greatest player, a superb manager and a Colossus during Hillsborough’s aftermath, no other appointment could make me feel this way. Let the title race run its course, for once I’m smiling no matter the outcome.
Wednesday 29th April They’re toying with us now, like a cat with a half-dead mouse. Of course I can’t prove they’re doing it deliberately… We eventually sped away from Hull towards the M62, the radio announcing joyous news. Twice! Whilst everyone else punched the roof with delight one passenger exuded a thoroughly affected air of nonchalance; “they’ll still win, they always do”. Once Howard Webb stamped his malignant hoofprint into the nefarious pages of Mancunian folklore it proved impossible to maintain indifference. *******s. Spawny, crooked *******s. A calmer head prevailed by Sunday afternoon, despite reading the Internet and discovering all the fascinating things one can do to a baldy Tyke clown with various kitchen implements. I must say again; give the opponent some credit. You’d have to measure our now highly unlikely triumph on the standards set by a team that, like our own, never knows when it’s beaten. Read that again; like our own. This is where we are, how we’re perceived and how far we’ve come. In such circumstances disappointment seems a tad disrespectful, to the players and the manager. Having witnessed some of the craziest football in the space of 30-40 days it would be foolhardy to abandon all hope yet. Even though Arsenal probably shattered our chances in one insane night. A red-faced Russki has joined the pantheon of greats like Viduka and Baptista who had every conceivable rub of the green. One suspects Andrey will not fade into obscurity quite so swiftly, despite being an aggravating little rogue. Football has evolved enormously since its stone-age days, yet a tiny primeval part of me wished Tommy Smith were around to snap back Arshavin’s shushing digit. But what a game it was. We made errors sure, but very few and all were punished. At half time we were cursing the keeper, a modern Tomaszewski, unaware of the madness to come. We may have dropped points but again we have contributed crucial needlework to the modern football tapestry, while both sets of fans kneeled before the god-like genius of Ray Kennedy, walking bravely onto the pitch at half time. Some things it turns out are more important than the result. When reality dawned we asked how a team managed by Rafael Benitez conceded 11 goals in three ‘grand slam’ games. The enormous discipline it takes to attack without fear when you have the ball and defend frenziedly when you haven’t is still not quite there yet. In recent matches some of our players have acted like the kids released into Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Hull did not possess the weaponry to hurt us, except the hustle and sweat all ‘lesser’ teams use against us this season, with some success. The passathon football so derided in Evans’ time returned with a vengeance and similar frustration on Saturday, in one of those new plastic stadiums that lack soul, despite the hyper inhabitants and their shrieking WWF-style cheerleader. At half time we were hugely entertained by a demonstration on the pitch of what can only be described as “Self Defence For Psychotics”, army types re-enacting some form of synchronised sadism. It should be made compulsory for every football ground in the world. A red card and another goal improved our mood still further. Both raised an eyebrow or two without producing the maddening incredulity of Webb’s subsequent actions elsewhere. It was a flat, nervous performance on an anything but flat pitch. It seems bizarre to say we miss Gerrard, as his modern role focuses on attack and we certainly aren’t short of goals. His overall contribution has been ignored largely because of his cavalier tendencies, but if he really is back this Sunday let joy be unconfined. Since Spurs crumpled or United gelled, however you explain that calamitous result, please leave the referee out of it. When Rafa made his accusations in January it was predicted by many that it would implant seeds of Riley-style doubt in what passes for an official’s brain. It really hasn’t. Indeed one of our supposed top referees has done them a few favours, and was biased for Arsenal all last Tuesday night too. If some want to accuse Webb of “costing us the league” logic won’t stop them. Shrug your shoulders and await the next exciting episode. We know the sands are running out but far from feeling deflated even a grouchy old fossil has been curiously uplifted by our efforts of late. ‘Just to be involved’ need not necessarily be the words of a loser. Hope still remains, damn it to hell.