How Liverpool Took Control Of The Narrative Against Chelsea
I WAS going to write about Gary Neville today.
I was going to write about the reasons why I’m not invited onto Sky to talk about Manchester United. It’s alright for him to voice his prejudices about my team to an international audience but not the other way around.
I mean, I get it. He’s had a successful playing career at the highest level while I had a single game on the bench for Crocky Primary School, so he has insights into things I can’t even imagine. But it seems odd that a man who clearly hates us (and I’ve no problem with that) is given the job of commenting on us with supposed objectivity.
I was going to add something about his podcast in which he invited on Howard Webb. Yeah, Howard, that’s the way to deny those accusations of pro-United favouritism of yesteryear. Sit with them and laugh off the Luis Diaz goal from last season. That’ll put our minds at ease. Good process, boys.
Then I realised that to engage with things like that is to give them oxygen. Gary Neville is just a man with an opinion, that’s all. His is not the final word of interpreting events on a pitch and neither is mine. He’s probably alright, really. Carra likes him so why get angry?
Alright, I won’t write about that. I mean, I sort of have but …
So I was going to bang on about John Brooks and his frankly bizarre performance yesterday. I mean, credit where it’s due, if you didn’t know his name before the game you certainly do now. A baffling representation of an official.
But… Well, there’s no joy to be had with angry discourse about Gary Neville and fewer still with tales of Howard Webb’s sepia-tinted memories of following Rotherham United. As for John Brooks, he’ll be praised for standing up for himself in the Anfield cauldron. I mean, he got most things wrong, but he did stand up for himself.
There’s no joy to be had there, but there’s joy to be had with Liverpool.
There’s joy to be had with leaving the ground with Andy Robertson’s block in your head, with thoughts of Joe Gomez’s no-nonsense defending. There’s joy to be had with Darwin Nunez and Curtis Jones throwing out their most accomplished performances in a red shirt. There’s joy to be had with being top of the league with eight wins from nine.
That’s my joy and I want to live in that world today. The tedium, ephemera and nauseating persiflage can wait.
Wins don’t have to be beautiful to be glorious. Sometimes an old-fashioned scrap is as wonderful as a 5-0 drubbing. Sometimes your striker isn’t going to be man of the match. Sometimes it’s going to be Curtis Jones. I loved that match. It was edgy, it teemed with attrition. It was close, it was sweaty, and it was glorious.
Chelsea were excellent. They seemed to have thrown off their weird Pochettino era where there was no strategy other than ‘buy everyone’. Yesterday, they were full of purpose and craft. Everyone knows about Palmer, but Caicedo and Neto were excellent and I’ve long admired Jackson. A proper striker.
If Maresca can continue to get a tune out of them they’ll be nailed on for top four, in the strange subdivision behind us, Manchester City and Arsenal.
That wasn’t easy. Liverpool were asked a series of uncomfortable questions and laboured at times. That’s fine, though. A win is always welcome, but there is a wonder in watching a team work out how to navigate a tricky second half. They did just that. It never felt like we were in danger, but it never felt that safe either.
In games such as that, weird things happen. Yesterday, Luis Diaz became a second left back and was great at it.
The hero was an unlikely one.
There are plenty of people who don’t get Curtis Jones, but Sunday was a glimpse into what he can do. He may not always be a favourite to start, but you won’t sigh when his name appears on the team sheet from time to time. Yesterday was his highlight reel.
Some may frown at that comment but we’re back to preconceived notions and prejudices again. He plays for Liverpool and won the game for us. That’ll do for me.
I heard the phone-ins on the drive back. It took my mind off from wondering what it was about Warrington that made the traffic on the M62 want to stop for half an hour to admire its glory.
As expected, the callers and hosts sang the same old song. Controversy this, hot take that. All empty air. Only the scoreline and this team matters. The long, nourishing hug of a Liverpool win.
We go to Germany next and then to London. There’ll be more problems there, but this is a side learning fast and one that’s decided that it quite likes all this. That’s my joy.
Let the others talk to their audience. Let them run to bluster.
Liverpool won. Liverpool are top.
Karl
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