In mid-January I wrote this piece about Liverpool’s recent struggles, calling for calm. Six weeks later though my confidence in Liverpool to come right has been… rather damaged.
I sit here writing this post in response to Liverpool’s latest defeat, a 1-0 loss to Chelsea and their fifth in a row at home. The others have been against Burnley, Brighton, Manchester City and Everton. In that time they have also chucked away a lead at Leicester and been dumped out of the FA Cup by Manchester United. Dire stuff.
Of course, they have sprinkled a few wins into the mix also. Spurs and West Ham were swept aside soon after the don't panic post, Sheffield United were comfortably defeated, and a step towards the Champions League quarter-finals was taken with a 2-0 first leg win at RB Leipzig.
There is a common theme in ALL of these results. That is that after them, I had hope. Hope that Liverpool might be showing signs of being on the mend, of coming right, of getting back to business as usual.
Watching the Chelsea game yesterday, I had none of that.
Due to my university timetable, the game was an extra special hell. I watched the first half live, and the second half at lunchtime. In between I had two hours with the game in the back of my mind, during which I tried to convince myself that Liverpool would find a way back into the game.
And I couldn’t manage it. I knew that nothing was going to change, and nothing was going to get any better. I knew that watching the second half was going to be nothing more than a purgatory, and so it proved.
But even with those (extremely) low expectations, Liverpool managed to baffle me. Or rather, Jurgen Klopp did, when on the hour mark and chasing the game he decided to remove Liverpool’s sole goal threat (and current Premier League top scorer) Mohamed Salah. Not the anonymous Mane or atrocious Firmino. Not the non-existent Gini Wijnaldum or absolute passenger Thiago Alcantara. Mo Salah. The only player who even looked like he might do something to change the game.
His face as he trudged off the pitch was one of disbelief. Jurgen, it asked, have you completely lost the plot???
With the matter of Mohamed Salah now ticked off my list, I will address Liverpool’s problems. To summarise quickly, they are everything else. If your shirt doesn’t say Salah, you’re a problem. The fullbacks? In poor form. The midfield? Missing in action. The front line? Two out of three have been very bad. The usually imperious Alisson has chucked in a few errors recently, and don’t get me started about the centreback situation.
Such is the packed nature of this season though that Liverpool will be playing again in two days’ time, as relegation battling Fulham visit Anfield. Then follows the second leg of their Champions League tie with Leipzig in midweek, before a trip to Wolves. After that, mercifully, will be the international break. Never in my life have I looked forward to one more (or, in fact, at all).
Hell, Liverpool’s plight is so desperate that I’m reaching for poetry to describe their situation. Emily Dickinson’s poetry, to be specific:
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me
Maybe the break is just what Liverpool need.
