Lads still rusty. Lads still off-form. Unsharp. Giving the ball away as if Platini has decided he wants as many balls as referees. Rather slowish. Off the pace actually. Pressure already telling. Shipping in goals. Manager fed-up of the whole system.

It was all under these circumstances that Liverpool travelled to the ridiculously named Reebok stadium. Adding to that the undisputed fact that they’ve only got three points to their name in as many games. It wasn’t the ideal preparation, and I guess confidence wasn’t remotely anywhere in the Northern region. The expectation didn’t silhouette any of the confidence factor. The expectation was very high, as Liverpool were to be facing a side that was having it even worse than them. Sometimes the fixture list can be kind like that.

The circumstances though seemed to make up for the rare kindness, as Liverpool found themselves one goal down once again. Admittedly it was all Liverpool’s making as very poor defending gave their captain Davies the easiest of tasks to stab into the net. The ball was travelling in Liverpool’s six yard box and there was a surplus of white shirts over red ones. Carragher went berserk and I just let my head drop down unsure what to expect.

I shouldn’t have done. Few minutes later Liverpool replied through the newly acquired Johnson in what could be said to be a typical Liverpool goal. Crafty, yet so simple in its execution, it was delightful to watch. As Bolton’s rearguard defended easily the umpteenth corner the ball bobbled away in Johnson’s direction. With the ball in his feet he moved horizontally to his left as his opposing number a good metre away was wrong footed by it all. With Bolton’s area still rather congested he took his time to choose his shot’s best route through all the gaps.

Shortly after the restart, Liverpool had to restart everything once again as they let the opposing Cahill give Bolton the lead. The proceedings gave Liverpool a breather as Lucas for once reminded us of Alonso as his run committed Davis to tackle from behind, earning him a second yellow card.

Torres was making his presence felt loitering around even though sometimes with a touch that was letting him down. But he couldn’t let Kuyt’s sublime chest pass down. Torres was enabled an open view of the goal that with a ball with his feet this time he made up the most of it with the aplomb we expect from him.

And then Gerrard had another rush of blood through his head. This time in an opposing penalty area and with a ball in his feet. And the result was a net showing its worth as it absorbed the ball. For the first time Liverpool went ahead. And there was no way they were going to let that slip. The only failure was not adding to the score-line as excessive altruism seemed to have got into the lads feet and they thought they can walk the ball over the line which at one time it’s debatable whether they actually did.

The top two looked at times far from their best. They looked like the opening of this blog. But then again, they reminded us that form is only temporary while class is permanent. For a change an international break is welcomed in this neck of the woods as the lads can take their time to compose themselves better. And all this with a win in their feet.

Football and fandom aren’t the most rational of things. Liverpool F.C. takes the antithesis of rationalism to the extremes. Nothing is remotely straight forward with this club, nor is with the team. It’s a juxtaposition of attractions and opposites.

After the impeccable 2008/09 season, particularly its finish, you would think a bright start this season would surely follow as surely day follows night. Another English rather than Indian summer put paid to that. The sun didn’t shine much and we were finding ourselves more often with long faces waving the last goodbyes at the departures rather than beaming with a bouquet in our hands at the arrivals. Pre-season arrived and there weren’t much to get too excited about, but then what would you expect from a squad who was jet-lagging itself around Asia to finance someone’s debt.

Spurs was a disappointment but it was all soon forgotten when Liverpool quite simple rolled over last season’s pain in the arse and unscratchable hitch Stoke City. And on Monday night Aston Villa visited. Liverpool started as well as they did the Wednesday before against the aforementioned. They didn’t unlock the score soon enough due to lack of luck and admittedly lack of clinicality. In a particular moment the Villa penalty area looked more like an over-sized flip-ball with their defenders the paddles rather than a rectangular patch of green. Anyway, that was that and slightly after the half-hour mark Liverpool conceded a free-kick in a hardly danger zone but a hapless defending header was deposited into Liverpool’s net. Just before half-time, a corner was conceded. Reina looked animated more than usual and got booked. With his name on the book and his wits probably all over the place he could only pick the ball from the net for the second time. Being a Monday night, I was watching alone at home and couldn’t believe what was going on before my eyes. And this time I couldn’t even blame the ale.

Liverpool did answer back as soon as the man in black signaled the start of the second forty-five minutes. They did get close and tested the ex-Friedel more than a few times. Friedel had a good game but the cynic in me suggests he was just very efficient. He didn’t pull out of the world saves. Torres finally slotted in and another comeback looked likely as much as a happy ending in a Hollywood movie. I don’t like Coldplay too much and I didn’t like even more the captain reminding me of their album ‘A Rush of Blood to the Head’. Gerrard’s a legend make no mistake about it, but that kind of tackle in his penalty area was more akin of him in his teenage years rather than now, with countless games under his belt and a football brain fitting a statesman of Liverpool F.C. That was that. Liverpool went 3-1 down.

The coldest fact of it all, the result put aside for a single minute, was that while time wound on and Rafa started to reshuffle the side and his tactics, he brought fresh legs but no added impetus. The two substitutions weakened the side. Voronin looked out of it and jumped out of tackles. A player of his calibre should be thanking his lucky stars he found himself at a club like Liverpool, and make up for his lack of talent with at least effort. Babel once again disappointed and blew another chance to impress the gaffer. Considering Rafa’s limited budget over the years, and him costing around £10m to bring over, he makes splashing out dosh during a recession reasonable.

Three games, one win, two defeats. I was much more optimistic before the season started rather than now. At times am finding myself more inclined to look over my shoulders rather than ahead. The last time Liverpool ended in the second place, they followed with a horrendous season that was the beginning of the end of Houllier’s reign. I believe this squad with all its limitations in its numbers is made of sterner stuff than that one. And while being sterner it is more flexible and creative too. Goals haven’t really been the issue. Six goals in three games could have returned sixteen to eighteen points in five games in past seasons. Till the next match on Saturday I’ll bide my time in silence. But I remind myself that this is Liverpool F.C. and with that rationality never mix.

On Monday morning after it all, it felt that a long season is ahead of us. By the final whistle last night the only thing notably long were David Johnson’s pearly black legs. They were everywhere, and registered the right touchline their own property. They had hard work, aplomb, graft and grace written all over them. I classed Spurs at home on the opening day as a decent side that can raise themselves to the occasion. Stoke would be a grafty side that brings memories of suffocation and frustration. And coming on the back of a defeat, a lukewarm performance and rumours abounding on the gaffer’s future, this fixture had that arid air reminding you of a hospital warm around it. But the aura of Anfield, and the reminding of the telepathy that still exists and will always does between Gerrard and Torres quickly dispelled it all.

From then on, Liverpool simply rampaged all over the place. And apart from the three points it was another reminder that Benitez has the dressing room under his total control while the respect between the coaching and the playing staff is mutual. Rafa asked for a performance and he duly got it. The knee-jerk reactions by some of the press, that Rafa’s losing it were simply extinguished.

This is a side without much airs around it. This is a squad which is on the thin side. But this is a side that makes you warm to. It’s got hard work written all over it. Johnson yesterday complemented all the hard work with panache to its whole build-up. Benitez is building something that is mirroring himself on the pitch.

Benitez is stubborn, (anyone else would have trudged off after all the flak he has been taking from the speculators that go with the initials of TH and GG). His side is equally hard headed. They complement the stubbornness with trust worthiness of making up for a dismal performance when the first chance arises. Alongside that, Rafa’s superior tactical awareness is coupled by some of his players skill and inventiveness on the pitch.

Gerrard’s superlative turn that led to the third goal was another reminder that alongside the hard guts, there is a heart that pumps blood and creates an excitable persona. Alongside Johnson’s legs, at the moment long is the wait for the next match.

It’s been a good three months since the last match. Three months, a quarter of a year. But really and honestly it felt more like a week. I admit. In three months I haven’t missed the match. There were times where I would feel withdrawal symptoms. This summer, I guess I was enjoying being clean from it all. The sun, the sand, the sea made up all for it and I think I felt like I can get used to it. And I didn’t even try or worked hard for it. It just happened. The only time I could get worked up in a whole three months was when I saw a short gimp with a certain scarf above his head. I’ve followed the Xabi Alonso saga with the interest of a parent who went to watch a movie that his kid has chosen. He watched it all because he felt obliged to. The story was never stimulating and the ending was predictable from the very first verse of the whole script.

But then again for all the words I am spouting, yesterday afternoon I made my way to the usual place to watch it all unfold. The usual place, the usual spec, the usual faces, the usual beverages were ordered. And the usual text message of ‘Come on you mighty reds’ sent from over here to a good old mate miles and miles away. I might have not missed it much, there was not much to miss, and for a change I stayed away from the money spinning friendlies but cometh the hour, I had a couple of butterflies migrating into my stomach just the same. And I was secretly lapping it all up.

Cometh the hour, cometh kick-off, and there’s no follow up of last year’s superlative ending. The men in red were all over the place, and looked focused and up to it as I have been for the past couple of months.

Tottenham Hotspur is a tricky fixture. Well, that’s one good cliché that football jargon seem to be full of. Tottenham Hotspur is a decent side that on the opening day of the season could rise on the occasion. And yesterday they did. It’s only part of the game. Football is made possible with two sides into it. That’s why the Kop applauds the opposition. On an opening day, with all the expectations probably fully justified after such a good campaign last year, Liverpool simply failed to deliver. The second forty-five minutes looked decent only because the first forty-five were atrocious. Steven Gerrard who apparently gave an interview to the disgusting Sunday rag looked below his usual self. Torres was starved of service and when he did get the ball, he gave it away as if a new rule of having more than one ball has been lately legislated. Babel had his chance. He had a bull before him with his horns showing and instead he treated it like you would a tame bear. Reina rose up to the occasion. And he had to, as the faces would have been red not simply due to the warm sun and the exertions on the green turf.

The only new addition on show yesterday gave a good account of himself, and duly won a penalty. He’s shown that bit of character and determination that was sorely missing and was awarded for it. The opposition was there for the taking. Benitez might be right to complain about the referee refusing to give a penalty. But I felt it was too much like missing the wood for the trees. The whole display and effort shown was as abject as the summer transfer dealings.

This might sound as too critical, and a bit of a knee-jerk reaction. I am liable to wear the most red-tinted glasses on offer, but facts are facts. Liverpool were as close to the holy grail last year as they could possibly get. Benitez’s work was finally presented for all to see. All he needed now was a bigger platform so that those on the back could finally see and appreciate. He didn’t get that. He’s probably spent more time wheeling and dealing the Alonso deal than on the pitch with his lads and adding a couple of fine-tunes that could give us and his team the belief that this year could be finally ours.

There’s still time. I might not be holding my breath for things to improve drastically as after all the match and Liverpool F.C. is an alienation from the grit. Meeting new people, and sharing a passion that is under threat from a couple of Yank entrepreneurs. But I am going to enjoy myself at the usual place, at the usual spec with usual faces and some new ones coming from afar while close to where the action usually is like yesterday. And no Yank will ever take that away from me.