It is just the end of October, and for a year that starts in August rather than in January, we’re still rather in the beginning. With nine games played out of a total of thirty-eight, it’s argued that we’re closing the first quarter. Titles can’t be won in such a frame of time but they can be definitely lost. And while a lot claim we are still in the early days, points at the first quarter have the same value as those in the final day of the season. You usually crane and stretch all muscles of your neck to get a glimpse of the final storey or brick high up in the sky of historical buildings but you don’t usually bother to check the pediment where all is laying on. At the moment yesterday’s Chelsea’s match is the highest storey of what can possibly be a grandiose building. And even though it’s still early everybody’s pushing to have a gander at it all.

In these three months and nine matches, Liverpool have done what they have failed to do in certain whole seasons or years. Results were overturned with ludicrous efficiency, hoodoos and mental blocks were broken and yesterday along with all the above a haunted stadium has been exorcised. Along the way, questions put about the authenticity of the above, were answered in the best possible way firstly on Rafa’s blackboard and finally by Rafa’s redmen on the pitch.

It was a tense affair. As when you’re waiting to be questioned, doubts do creep. And yesterday just before the match it felt like a test of my own confidences and belief. Ten minutes later we were all bouncing as Xabi Alonso shot at goal and Bosingwa wrong footed Cech to give Liverpool the lead. It was a moment of pure delight, but deep down knowing that it’s still too early and the hard work is yet to start. A bit like winning a penalty and finally it dawns on you that still someone’s still got to beat a keeper through trembling legs.

Yesterday there were no trembling legs though. Chelsea as expected tried to stretch Liverpool as much as possible and gained the lion share of possession but Liverpool kept their cool, ushered their forwards to labyrinths and left Reina unscathed as much as possible. As the clock winded down, Liverpool grew in stature and the fifteen minute break gave the reds the hiatus needed to remind themselves that before them is a side that can never match them in Europe and can be taken into its own backyard.

Steven Gerrard who at times felt shackled by the ambience of Stamford Bridge and maybe affected with his own flirtation with the place epitomized the resurgence of Liverpool. Looking all focused while waiting in the tunnel, like a boxer waiting to fight his demons, he led by example, took the initiative when needed and crunched into tackles that only the theatrics of Bosingwa and Howard Webb’s yellow card could belittle. While Jamie Carragher led the back four through his voice and positional strategy, the captain led the whole team through his attitude. Sometimes too honest for his own good, his body language is even more a mirror of himself and this season he is showing all the qualities that are required from a future title winning captain.

Yesterday was one of the rare occasions that the final whistle gave me more of a thrill than the sight of the net bulging. The final whistle though was the red stamp on Liverpool’s statement of intent on the title. Another hoodoo has been broken. The final four letter word yet to be broken is now: wait.