Slipperduke
The Camden Cad
I owe Rafa Benitez one. The weekend before last, an hour before I walked down the aisle, my Best Man decided that my nerves should be on public display for the entertainment of others and walked me into a pub first. He needn't have bothered. The public were already getting all the entertainment they required from Portsmouth's steady dissection of Liverpool. Mind you, nothing cures an attack of the nerves like a good laugh, so thanks for that Rafa.
Liverpool make for fascinating viewing these days. It's like a glimpse into a grim alternative reality where football managers can no longer be sacked and are doomed instead to grip the tiller, set their jaw and resolutely dash themselves against the rocks. This is why I tuned into their Boxing Day game instead of watching Hamlet. Never mind Denmark, something is really rotten in the state of Merseyside.
I've rarely seen Liverpool play as appallingly as they did in that first half. They marked at set-pieces as if they'd just been told that their opponents had Swine Flu, they couldn't string more than three passes together and they spent huge swathes of the game just watching Wolves play. But then something extraordinary happened. Lucas told the referee Andre Marriner how to do his job, presumably in the hope that Marriner might return the favour, Wolves went down to ten men and Liverpool came alive. Steven Gerrard 'picked up the game by the scruff of its neck' and the invaders at the gate were swifty put to the sword. We'd tuned in looking for a giant-killing and, lo and behold, we actually got one. Ho ho ho.
But before we revel too deeply in the schadenfraude, it would be wise to remember that football is a game based on confidence. The Liverpool fans, and I mean the proper ones, not the hysterical ones you hear on phone-ins, know their football and they're not panicking. If this is the result that sparks a revival, and stranger things have happened, the last laugh will be on Rafa. 2010 could be a very interesting year.
Liverpool make for fascinating viewing these days. It's like a glimpse into a grim alternative reality where football managers can no longer be sacked and are doomed instead to grip the tiller, set their jaw and resolutely dash themselves against the rocks. This is why I tuned into their Boxing Day game instead of watching Hamlet. Never mind Denmark, something is really rotten in the state of Merseyside.
I've rarely seen Liverpool play as appallingly as they did in that first half. They marked at set-pieces as if they'd just been told that their opponents had Swine Flu, they couldn't string more than three passes together and they spent huge swathes of the game just watching Wolves play. But then something extraordinary happened. Lucas told the referee Andre Marriner how to do his job, presumably in the hope that Marriner might return the favour, Wolves went down to ten men and Liverpool came alive. Steven Gerrard 'picked up the game by the scruff of its neck' and the invaders at the gate were swifty put to the sword. We'd tuned in looking for a giant-killing and, lo and behold, we actually got one. Ho ho ho.
But before we revel too deeply in the schadenfraude, it would be wise to remember that football is a game based on confidence. The Liverpool fans, and I mean the proper ones, not the hysterical ones you hear on phone-ins, know their football and they're not panicking. If this is the result that sparks a revival, and stranger things have happened, the last laugh will be on Rafa. 2010 could be a very interesting year.
