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.
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.
posted by jean paul at 7:35 pm
1 Comments:
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Bathmate
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