A lot of perceived excellent and awe-inspiring views and scenes look better from afar. Sometimes the expectation is even better than the occasion itself. The ugliness and damage of something though, always have to be seen closely or even better touched to get to understand its whole ramifications. Yesterday while standing at the JJB Stadium, I was a witness of all this theory. I just saw all the hopes and dreams of this season deteriorating before my bare eyes. What makes it strange though though, was it didn’t hurt much. Were I watching it on the box as usual from our club, I would have been livid with such a result, especially given the circumstances from which it arose. The cat community would have been forever thankful that none of its members are present in my household. My heart thumped a couple of faster than usual notches when the penalty was awarded and duly put away by their newcomer Mido, but nothing more than that. Rather than the pain from the injection needle I could only feel its numbness. I waited patiently for the final whistle and then quietly made my way to meet a couple of mates by the agreed beforehand pole, who were at the same match but standing away from me. Any hope of defeating Wigan, and get back on the winning track were put to sleep by the 82nd minute penalty. In the next second they were buried by the withdrawal of Steven Gerrard. The captain was far from his superlative self, but such desperate situation might not have been beyond him to save.

The midfield partnership of Lucas Leiva and Javier Mascherano is as tantalizing and inspiring as this suited, white haired, late fifties man sitting a couple of seats before me on the train reading The S*n newspaper. It just doesn’t add up. It’s been tried, it’s been tested, it’s been proved faulty. Something changed. And it seems not just in me. The latest mention of Everton in a press conference sounds cheap to me. Trouble has long been brewing in the corridors of power at Anfield. It now seems to be getting out of proportion, and the players’ form looks to be effected. These latest outbursts by Rafael Benitez seem just intent to camouflage the pressure and uncertainty surrounding him and his situation. There’s nothing wrong in that but his decision making seem to be effected negatively by it all. Five years at the hot-seat of Anfield seem to be taking its toll. His witty remarks used to complement perfectly his sharp decision making. Now he almost sounds loquacious.

I am not questioning the manager. He did make us dream but at the moment, am just wide awake with the smell of the coffee savagely infiltrating my nostrils. The outbursts have failed to grey the black situation at the boardroom, but if anything the current seemingly eternal grey, grey clouds of England seem to blend perfectly with the situation at Anfield. Next Sunday is either a confirmation of it all, or some sort of reprieve.

Another match. Another tie at Anfield. Another derby. Another stalemate. Another poor first forty-five minutes. Another much improved second forty-five minutes. Another goal by the captain. Another reminder that the captain is really coming of age, and challenging Kenny’s throne. Another reminder that great minds think the same, and feel each other without touching. Another reminder that Fernando Torres is really something else.
Audacious, elegant, masterful twist of the body, then similar superlative touches to the ball. All this to let his companion run free, get past their organized and clustered attention, and then nullify the law of angles to score again, save the tie and let us start again. And it seems it’s going to take much more than we would have thought. It was already felt to be too much of a repeat we can do without, albeit all the intrigues that a Merseyside derby can offer, but maybe then Everton want to make the most of their last few years in the city of Liverpool, before they uproot to Kirby. You might hate your neighbor but the thought of going in isolation unsettles you to paranoid proportions.

Liverpool kicked-off in the first forty-five minutes, and for some time they didn’t seem to want to let away of the ball, as they dominated possession. Still, not much was being done with such possession superiority, and they were finding it hard to trouble a very organized and probably efficient Everton side. Chances were minimal and then close to the half hour mark, they found themselves defending, playing it all safe by giving away a corner. And once again, Liverpool were undone by a set-piece. This time, Tim Cahill was lurking a bit off the six yard box, still being the target for them, but rather than getting on target himself, he ping-ponged to Lescott to finish the act.

With one goal behind, and a set of ten men behind every ball, the act got all harder for Liverpool. It was time to widen the game, but with Ryan Babbel on the left and Dirk Kuyt on the right, the reds were getting predictable. Kuyt was his usual busy self, even though admittedly he was guilty of missing the game’s best chance when with time and space in his hands, he shot too centrally into Tim Howard’s body. It was a rare moment when Liverpool outnumbered Everton in their own penalty area. On the other hand, Babbel was given another chance but I feel he squandered it as much as Kuyt did his. Too many times, he was going for the easy option, preferring to knock the ball against his marker rather than taking him on, and hardly ever menaced into the penalty area. He’s been disappointing in the first half of the season, and so far started the second half equally poorly. It was no surprise seeing him being subbed by Albert Riera.

Once again, Liverpool failed to make the home advantage count, and doing it all over again at Goodison Park does not feel as daunting. Away grounds seem to let the reds express themselves better, and it is almost apt that the next match is away to Wigan. I am not getting too concerned though as one particular Spaniard seems to be getting back to his best, and with that the dream can only resuscitate itself.

For nineteen minutes I was feeling that happy Mondays do exist. As much as of an antonym it sounds and feels, Steven Gerrard seemed to be once again able to raise head and shoulders above the others, defy the odds and create something out of nothing. A sideways pass by Albert Riera found the captain with some room to maneuver, the goal in sight but still some distance away from it all. The distance proved to be no hindrance to the superlative captain, as he shot lowly beyond the reach of Tim Howard and found the net for the ninth time in this Premiership campaign.

Such a goal was a worthy winner of any derby, any match, or of any confrontation, but by the end of the match, we were all left in the world of Bob Geldof with his tune ‘I don’t like Mondays’ echoing through our ears, as Tim Cahill made the most of an insidious angled free-kick of Mikel Arteta and left Liverpool with no time or strength to retaliate.

Another two points lost, another stalemate at Anfield. So far Liverpool have drew five, and won only one more. While Liverpool are still unbeaten, they have lost too many points that are in no way retrievable. After Gerrard’s goal, the reds seemed to be happy to quietly give up the initiative and act pragmatically. In front of them was a side that had a good first forty-five minutes, but the gulf in class and table positioning seemed to be now telling. Rafael Benitez looked bold enough with his starting line-up, electing for both Robbie Keane and Fernando Torres upfront, whilst sacrificing Javier Mascherano on the bench. The breaking of the deadlock seemed to be foremost in Benitez’s mind, and once it got attained he was slowly transforming his boldness to cautiousness. In a way it is understandable, as Liverpool got a back four and a keeper solid and reliable enough to be able to sit on a one goal lead. This season so far, they only gave up a lead once, back at the start of November against an adrenaline induced Spurs side who seemed intent to make Harry Redknapp look as the biggest motivator. When taking away this match, Liverpool drew four times at home, and a further three away. Five of such draws were scoreless, with the remaining two seeing Liverpool saving the game after going behind.

This was the derby though, and as so many times the case, form and statistics are only there to be thrown out of the window. The title challenge has suffered another blow, the destiny is not merely in Liverpool’s hands either, but by no means has followed the direction of form and statistics. The walls of Anfield are still there to repel that.

Friday felt like a rally cry, with Benitez uncharacteristically laying into Ferguson, the manager who had the nerve to send him a letter discussing tactics after his Istanbul night back in 2005. He was prepared for it, a small question and he put out a whole foolscap, stating fact after fact. He must have been pondering the issue for some time and with his side sitting on top of the league, he felt that it was the apt time to deliver his attack. The media was divided about it, the Liverpool fans, myself included loved it unanimously. He has given good quotes in his five years at the club, but this was not a good quote, this was Shanklyism. Yesterday though, returning to the VIP area, rather than the dugout, his tactics and approach to the game reminded more of the last couple of years of Houllier rather than of the great man.

The game plan at the beginning looked similar to the one started against Newcastle at St James Park, a mere two weeks ago, a game plan that gave a 5-1 victory. The big difference today though was this time Stoke did not let Liverpool play the way Newcastle did. In the first forty-five minutes back in St James Park, Newcastle committed only two fouls. This was not a case of Stoke acting like dogs of war, but their muscle proved to be much sterner and left Liverpool unable to wriggle themselves through. The frozen conditions seemed to have a serious effect on Liverpool’s South American midfield as both Lucas Leiva and Javier Mascherano looked sterile. The former looked to revert back to type after a couple of encouraging performances, looking too pedestrian, always choosing the easy option, passing to the closest teammate and many times late in the tackle.

The lateral personnel were equally ineffective, unable to stretch the Stoke back four, or better their back ten, both ending up being substituted. Operating on the right-back position, Jamie Carragher looked to be pushing forward trying to give a hand to Yossi Benayoun but at times he was being found out that he’s essentially a centre-back operating on the flank out of necessity rather than imagination. Fabio Aurelio looked rather stiff, and there was no marauding of the flank at all. It might be a harsh indictment but the rookie Emiliano Insua has actually been missed.

Steven Gerrard had a quiet game by his standards, at times struggling to really get hold of the game as he has ravishly done so many times over and again. Rather than having an off day, it was more his positioning, just behind Dirk Kuyt that seemed to impede him from doing so. Still, he was the main inspiration, and had gone agonisingly close twice in the second forty-five minutes. Both times, the frame of the goal shunned him, first after a direct free-kick won ably by Ryan Babel and not in a position too dissimilar from where he scored at Anfield against Stoke only to be disallowed. The second time, in the very dying minutes, a great lay off by Fernando Torres saw him connect while closely watched, beat the keeper but not the bar once again.

It might feel like a tale of hard luck, but the feeling is more of dejection than anything else. The rally cry has not been matched but this was not even a lost battle, rather an unsatisfactory one with admittedly a couple of fatalities that in football terms mean two points dropped.

Admittedly, I haven’t really been looking that forward for this match. With the Steven Gerrard case at the back of my mind and, the constant glances at the league table and the forthcoming fixtures, I was seeing this rather as a distraction from the very bread and butter that is the league. Maybe being top in something somehow narrows your perspective on the wider scheme of things. Cometh the hour, this sense of indifference quickly subsided to nothing and with Steven Gerrard at the middle of the park, doing what he is born to instinctively do, this proved one very welcomed distraction and a reminder that the FA Cup is the oldest and one of the most beautiful competitions in the world.

While Liverpool and Preston North End have always moved in parallel directions, a common attribute in both club’s history books is the name of Bill Shankly, the father of modern Liverpool, who before taking the hotseat at Anfield back in 1959, he has plied his trade at Deepdale in their white shirt, back then without a tie. It was only fitting for the travelling Kop to chant the name of this extraordinary human being, that his human heart and stubbornness to succeed made so many people dare to believe and consequentially happy.

Preston North End treated the match as you would expect from a side currently doing well in their own league, and playing at home in front of their biggest crowd since 1972. Liverpool replied though with equal hard work and determination, confident with their status but leaving behind any trait of complacency. Couple with this, particularly on the twenty-fifth minute was the inventiveness of Albert Riera, whereby elegantly and on the green grass of Deepdale, made his way through a couple of defenders and finally rather than crossing he chose to unleash an unstoppable shot that the net graciously welcomed.

Liverpool did not stop there and continued pressing forward, often cutting through, but unfortunately on the day, Robbie Keane once again showed his old self in a red shirt, when presented with gilt-edged chances he either shot at the keeper or simply missed horribly. His confidence showed its state when just before half-time he was once again presented with a decent chance but rather than letting his striking instincts take hold, he opted to peculiarly pass to a more withdrawn Xabi Alonso.

The only taint on this match was actually the full withdrawal of Xabi Alonso at half-time, who midway through the second half appeared limping towards the Liverpool dugout accompanied with the club’s doctor. Apparently he had to stitch his instep, hopefully these six days till the encounter against Stoke at the Brittania would be ample to heal and see the Basque once again pulling the strings in the Liverpool midfield. With Xabi Alonso on the sidelines, rather than in the middle, Preston North End enjoyed more possession and were making frequent forays into Liverpool’s area, that tested Diego Cavalieri’s decision making rather than his agility.

Seventeen minutes from time, finally Fernando Torres returned on the pitch. His first touches showed the expected rustiness, but later at the very end, as you would expect he has put his name on the score-sheet. It was thanks to the impeccable altruism of the captain who with just the keeper to beat opted to pass to him to present him with the easiest of chances, and make the score 2-0.

It is maybe also apt to remind that while it is common knowledge that Liverpool are seven points to the good compared to last season, this time last year, the reds were rightly barracked from all quarters for an inept display in this same competition against Luton Town that finished in a 1-1 draw. Liverpool are today hungrier, meaner and simply more appetizing on all fronts.