I used to dream of a team of Carraghers. With the cloning science still in its infancy, the dream faded off like the many other childhood dreams. Yesterday though it came as close as possible, as I saw ten red shirted men doing their utmost to emulate their captain for the day. Aptitude and commitment were in excess yesterday afternoon. Coupled with belief and we got the result that we have craved for so long. The usual insecurity that creeps in players minds and fans alike when we meet these bitter and detestable rivals was nowhere to be seen even though the circumstances seemed to contrive for such symptom to ascend in every red’s mind.

Going down as early as the third minute I was fearing the worst. And that horrible sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach, so abundant in the last confrontation against them last March came back with a vengeance and reminded me of what such a fixture can offer. Gradually though the feeling subsided as the reds got into the match with glimpses of their goal and openings being found at the other end of the pitch. Their much vaunted midfield was finding the going tough as the midfield duo of Javier Mascherano and Xabi Alonso started to exert their influence, ably helped on the sides by both Yossi Benayoun and the debutant Albert Riera. The last time we had a debutant in such fixture, it all ended in frustration, and was in hindsight a sign of things to come as Fernando Morientes struggled, in a match that was lost to a calamitous error at the back. Riera looked nippy, making himself available, eager to take on players and showed quite a few touches that made us that tad more unpredictable on that side of the pitch. The ovation he got when Rafa decided that he did enough for the day was a testament to all this.

And the lad getting on for him didn’t disappoint either. Ryan Babel joined the four sides of the ground as he applauded the Spaniard off while on the line waiting for him. The applause though transcended to sheer euphoria as a mere six minutes later the same Dutchman received the ball from the bye-line through his compatriot and with the coolness of a stoned punter in an Amsterdam coffee shop, he volleyed home.

And that was it for the day. The 2-1 score-line was kept till the very end and the hoodoo of not even scoring against them in our own home was exorcised. Now, with ten points from four games, Liverpool have the best springboard imaginable for the next month to continue building day after day, match after match. Marseille at the Stade Vèlodrome beckons but for the time being the Stoke match is lingering through my mind more persistently. It seems the bread and butter is at the moment more appetizing than the caviar that is European football. Talking about caviar and food, the magnitude of this victory goes up a few notches as Rafa had to bake a formation without his usual two main ingredients that sometimes he is accused of using to simply get him out of jail.

Fernando Torres was only a spectator, albeit from the bench rather than in the Main Stand, whilst Steven Gerrard got in only midway in the second forty-five minutes. The other ingredients though were enough to leave a taste that is as sweet as bee honey exerted from the same bee which stung you earlier on.