A couple of weeks ago, I was too slack to concentrate on any one thing and blathered on a bit. The thing is, I quite enjoyed myself so I’m doing it again (and probably again until I’m told to stop and do something proper). Generally speaking though, certain things just stand out and catch my eye.
Keepers for example. I think by now we all know where I stand on the great debate, thanks for it all Mignolet but I still want my Belgian glue. If he was a horse, that’s exactly what he’d be by now. Should I ever own a horse, that’s in my top three name choices. Young Loris Karius has proven very little in the two games he has played this week, and without the benefit of seeing again (its 9:30 on the night of the Hull game), I’m saying that there isn’t a lot he does about their goal. His distribution though, a willingness to play the ball with his first touch because he already knows where everyone in red is going to be, mocks the hesitancy of big Si and his half-arsed Cruyff turns and punts into touch. I may well be in love. The subject of my infatuation may have a short shelf life if he starts looking like Achterberg has knobbled him mind you. No matter how well Mignolet has started the season, you can’t help but feel that there is a bollock and indeed a football to be dropped any minute he’s on the pitch. This is for another time and indeed one of those proper pieces of writing I mentioned earlier. A lively discussion this morning on the group message for our contributors, once more played the same old tune to the point where I was told to crack on and write up the Mignolet “hate” article. I may never stop – it will be heavily edited. Hate, however, will not come into it.
Sakho on the other hand seems to have something to get off his chest. Either that or he’s finally got to the good stuff in Kolo’s medicine cabinet, got off his box and decided to drunk dial the love that spurned him. (Freud would have a field day with the first two subjects today wouldn’t he?) We’ll always have Dortmund old lad, but it’s not us, it’s you. No, don’t look back, we don’t want to remember you like that. Just go, quietly. Slip out while we’re sleeping and it’ll all be ok.
To the match then. “With great power comes great responsibility.” Holding all the tickets when your mate is driving from out of town to get there and is stuck in traffic on the East Lancs Road, can really make a balls of your day. Embarrassing him as he runs out of the park on the verge of a coronary bang on kick off though, eases the pain. The steps up to turnstile T of the Main Stand were given the full Rocky treatment. He couldn’t even breathe as I hand him his ticket and a volley of abuse that causes a nearby steward to practically piss himself and warn my wayward friend as to his timekeeping. It is two nil by the time he gets a full sentence out. “I’m parked in a permit bit, I bet I get a ticket with you rushing me.” If I hadn’t rushed him he’d have missed out on two tickets, never mind got one!
The joys of the members’ sale mean that we have moved from the upper Main by the Kop, to the lower by the Anfield Road. Decent view of the goals in the first half, the only singing I can hear though is the drone of the Hull fans. There is some fine work in their singing but they lost points for bringing out the benefits songs. Tits. There is a fan of the week though, a young lad I notice as I walk back down at the start of the second half. As Hull score, he’s chuffed to buggery. No real idea why his dad and his brother are bouncing about next to him, but he’s on board. The poor lad is about four. His joy turns to despair mere moments later as Phil Coutinho makes his way to his happy place on the edge of the D and justifies his next twenty efforts from the same spot. The sea of gold and black goes silent, as everyone stands still he sits in his seat, contemplating his Pringles one crisp at a time. My heart breaks, we’ve all been there. The first time that it isn’t fun. His dad and his brother barely notice and the game has dropped off a cliff.Every time we look around he’s still there, staring at his lap and occasionally at us. A look on his face that states he’s heard about the tooth fairy, Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny all on the same day. He ran out of Pringles with about 20 left I think. His dad remembered he was there and that he had two kids and stood him up to join the songs once more. All the best lad, we’ve all been there.
Enjoyment is the theme of the day. Another of my friends today hadn’t been to a match in years, neither had his sister. They enjoyed every minute, but when you’re home from Oz for a very short time, you’re hoping for an easy game to get you buy. It’s a long way to come to get beat.
Milner today was a class above. That he was sailing between Hull players with Moreno metres away warming up, reminded me a lot of the Tortoise beating the Hare. “Look how easy it is if you go a bit slower and think Alby lad.” He won’t. Who told Alby that the Eminem look was a wiser choice than that fucking top know? They’re both shite lad. Grow up. Short back and sides like our James, you might learn more than your trade watching him you know. He won’t.
As the game ends, the last man in is the first out. It occurs to me that I should give him the bloody ticket to look after. Common sense prevails, I keep hold. See that Migs? Didn’t let it go under pressure! Apparently I hate him. As I’ve been typing this, a new contributor was added to the group. He made the mistake of mentioning Migs….another day, another day.
The good news for my mate is that the wardens apparently had a day off. The bad news was he was already stuck in traffic on the East Lancs again as he told me this! Still, the reds got a decent win. 9-2 up at home this season. I’d have taken that two weeks ago. Thing is, I think they can only get better. They seem to be having a whale of a time. Swansea next week, do it again. Swagger again lads.
Written by @BigLee01