The players were asked to stand up and be counted. And then run through Bill Shankly’s proverbial brick wall. The manager had bricks thrown to him from all direction. Before kick-off, Pepe Reina had beach balls thrown at him. At the end, the same Reina ran the length of the pitch, unencumbered as the brick wall was properly demolished and all that was on the pitch was the debris. And by the corner flag after his sprint, he picked and hugged the scorer who comes by the name of David Ngog. No-one from the press box dared to throw another glance towards Benitez, never mind another brick. They had their time. This was now Rafa’s. And the eleven red men on the pitch. And the Kop’s time. And dare I say it mine. It is such a feeling. Pure unadulterated joy. It might go missing for a while, but when it comes back, let it engulf you.

With Steven Gerrard out injured, Jamie Carragher got the armband and led the other ten out. Carra himself has had his fair share of ridicule and write-off’s in the past. Five hundred games and then some more later he is still here. He has had a poor start. By his standards at least. Yesterday, he didn’t just lead his team-mates from the dug-out. This adversity must have hurt him more than anyone else, and like it does to Liverpool, it got the best out of him. Him and the team had a poor start. Yesterday he returned to his best and the team had the best performance of the season to date. He blocked, he tackled, he made sure Reina had as little work to do as possible. He was prepared to take a red card for his side. He’s much more cynical than you’d think. And God bless him for that.

Another ten men got infected with his enthusiasm and aptitude. They all carried each other and on the 65th minute Fernando Torres was released on his own through a sublime pass by Yossi Benayoun. He still had a lot of work to do, but he sped past Rio Ferdinand, kept his momentum and composure in check and rifled home to give Liverpool a deserved lead. He had to get injected earlier on, but now it was his turn to inject belief in his team-mates that these are here for the taking and as his manager stated before they are much better than some people think. The scorer didn’t last the whole match. A tumultuous ovation saw him off to be replaced by the to be sealer of the match.

Some eyebrows must have been raised when David Ngog got the nod ahead of Ryan Babel. Getting on for Torres after such a goal and imperious display could have been daunting and admittedly his sometimes lack of technical ability was apparent. But he makes up for it with his enthusiasm and attitude. The same enthusiasm and attitude that got Javier Mascherano the red card. He’s another who had a poor start, but yesterday he could not be faulted. He went in with two legs on Edwin Van Der Sar at the 95th minute. He went in for the ball like any Kopite would have gone. It is probably the least red card that ever bothered me. He’s not only forgiven but appreciated for the act itself.

And back to David Ngog, with their keeper rushing and trying to obstruct the net, he proved to be a cool customer and there’s only one word to describe the feeling seeing this unknown 20 year old sealing it against them. Sweet.

Rafael Benitez has got a contract that he does not deserve. The amount of dough he is getting in his pocket, in his current account, in his offshore banking account reminds me of some of the bonuses city bankers got while bankrupting the system and then got bailed out by you and me. And that does not really sit comfortably with me, it actually rankles my inner self. Only sometimes, I admit though. He has asked for it, knew he had a strong hand with the fans firmly behind him and called the croupier’s bluff. The croupier probably spat with bitterness, but had to wilt to save some face. For the money he gets, he is still far from infallible. He makes mistakes. He can be stubborn. He is probably stubborn by nature. As a kid, rather than building sand castles and marvel at them getting washed away by waves, he’d get on a rock and marvel seeing the waves getting broke against the rocks and himself with his hands wide open. Still, he’s getting all that dough for the very simple reason he found himself in a place and a position where such astronomicality is the order of the day. I firmly believe Benitez is a football man, and even if his time were in that where you play the game or manage your team in front of thousands and then get the bus home with the same spectators, he would still be doing this 24/7.

Last season, but still in the 2009 year we had to endure the chants of ‘Rafa’s cracking up’. The chants did the rounds around every English stadium as much as the ‘Sit Down Pinocchio’ used to do. Admittedly Rafa did not crack up Ferguson’s hold on the title, but he far from cracked, as he managed Liverpool excruciatingly close to the finishing line. The summer was ordinary, with the books being simply balanced rather than fed, albeit with huge transactions. The difference between first and second might be very thin, but the effort to skip from second to first is extraordinary. After buying time for himself with his European Cup victory in his first season (or is that the deed itself?) followed by an F.A. Cup, while achieving a high level consistency in European football through out every season, he signaled that his whole squad and set-up can properly challenge to the title.

Hopes were raised by the faithful, but at the time it seems that he’s only built beautiful sand castles and the waves are simply carrying them away as if there was nothing. He needed some muscle into his castles but never got it. A foreign manager provokes the English media in two ways. Broadsheet papers for an instance, love interviewing him as he makes their paper look more intellectual and in a way exotic, especially in his early days. The tabloids would love to see him fail as you know fish and chips is better than paella. After building him up, the broadsheets would love to break him up as someone with a different philosophy from yours can be intimidating and there’s few better sights than seeing a cleverer guy falling on his arse. And when this guy happens to manage Liverpool the view is coupled with a few strippers on the side. When, your influence infiltrates into the terraces then you’d be even excused to carry a mirror so it can reflect your glee.

Four consecutive defeats is definitely crisis material. Four defeats in the league when it’s still October is lower middle table material. The cut-throat edges for the coveted title are unmerciful, and they have already left severe verging on the fatal bruises. What is though unfathomable for me, is how a manager that was lauded as recently as this summer could be getting not just flak, but vitriol from all four corners to even infiltrate in a way the Kop.

Given all the circumstances, tomorrow’s match against Manchester United exacerbate all its proportions, that is playing right into the hands of Sky and its partners in crime. The frenzy created is beyond their wildest dreams. Deep down I feel that this game is simply one that Liverpool must get something out of. Still and it is a big still, one match wouldn’t change my thoughts and opinion about one person.

Liverpool F.C. is a vehicle to escape the grit of real life. Sometimes I feel like a sucker for eleven millionaires trotting around. I hardly have idols anymore. My big reverie is for the Liverbird. I though admit huge respect for the man at the helm. Sacking him is unthinkable. Firstly, it’s not the Liverpool way of doing things. Sadly though, that philosophy has been long deterring and while it should be the main reason the cold facts suggest that Mr Gillett is behind Rafa because he can’t afford sacking him.

Are Liverpool then stuck with Rafa? For a change the lack of funds are working in Liverpool’s favour.

Jamie Carragher’s face at the end said it all. A red face, reminding us of a tireless performance but really, really was Carra’s face red through his effort or through his anger and disappointment? He must have been seething with himself and the destiny of the match. Where do you point your finger this time? It wasn’t the best performance, but I don’t think you could really put a finger on the attitude and commitment of the lads as was the case on Saturday.

Martin Kelly was given his European debut due to a Glen Johnson injury. Lyon aren’t a mythical European side, but the circumstances made this tie intriguing and more than that crucial. Kelly defied all this with a flawless performance that though had been cut short due to an injury. He showed tidy defensive skills, and as is today required from a right or left back, comfort on the ball and impressive distribution, highlighting all this shortly before half-time when an awesome cross of his was met by Aurelio’s head that prompted their keeper, Lloris to a point blank save.

The rather quiet Anfield crowd summed up the anxiousness that is at the moment surrounding this club. The fact that Steven Gerrard was substituted just after 20 minutes as a precaution tells you something how much a gamble was to start his captain, how desperate the manager was to tonic his starting eleven, and in hindsight how much this fourth consecutive defeat will wrinkle his guts.

And it was looking smooth enough to not even get close to that. Yossi Benayoun opened the score. A good mate of mine calls him a ‘beautiful player’. Most people would call this a well taken goal. Like my mate I would call it ‘beautiful’, as there is always something graceful in every move of this player. And considering everything this was a rose sprouting from a piece of concrete. After three games without a goal, you’ll even appreciate any species of weed. Liverpool came close to add to this but the half-time whistle put paid to it.

The second forty-five minutes saw Liverpool’s tempo admittedly rather flattening as a return to winning ways was to be preserved in all manners. Pepe Reina looked self assured as any other day and pulled two great point blank saves in succession from the same action. It didn’t matter much though as the order of the night and the current plight or the reds dictated for the rebound to be met by Gonalons head – in for Cris due to a self-inflicted head injury. A draw looked a lukewarm reaction after three defeats and thus in Liverpool’s fashion of extremes, on the ninetieth minute Delgado poked in to inflict a proper slash rather than just a wound.

It all takes me back to the 2002-03 season when following a sublime season that still wasn’t enough Liverpool went into a freefall and the rest is history. In Gerard Houllier’s words of that season, Sunday provides an opportunity to turn a corner, but really at the moment all I can see ahead is a high brick wall, that requires men of steel to run through it.

You might excuse the exuberance and the naivety of a teenage Liverpool kid throwing a big balloon in his own team’s penalty area but you can’t excuse the disjointed ninety minute performance by the Liverpool lads today at the Stadium of Light. The manager might have had a whole series of grievances under his sleeve before a ball has been even kicked but his eleven today have left him down and rendered all the grievances as simply excuses. An international week is always welcomed by Benitez as much as the sight of Hicks and Gillett in his office unannounced. Usually, it seems to happen in the middle of a run of positive results that simply kills the momentum. This time it was not the case as so far this season Liverpool has never garnered any kind of momentum. The injuries of both Steven Gerrard and Fernando Torres were more like an unwarranted dress down by the same Yanks. But things like that happen, and at times as recent as last year, such circumstances would lead the whole setup of Liverpool Football Club to huddle together, and stand up to be counted in the face of such adversity.

Just before kick-off, the news of a Chelsea defeat to Aston Villa should have made such a huddle the more enticing, as through all this rain and adversity there was a rainbow on the horizon. But it seems a huddle is only effective when there is a togetherness. It is true that it was a freak goal. It is as true that this happened as early as the fourth minute and there was ample time for a proper response. But Liverpool were at times outrun, and at other times outfought. The other excuse might be that the combo of shirt and shorts was unmatching and an eyesore. Then again, not many of the eleven were fit to wear the whole combo of red shirt and red shorts as once in the sixties Bill Shankly has devised.

Any squad, any team would miss his two main stars. But let us not forget that there is a mass gulf between a supposed top four side like Liverpool and the rest. Sunderland this season has punched above Steve Bruce’s weight, and that is some achievement. At home, they are a decent side, bordering on the dangerous. Give them space and time and they can hurt. Today, Liverpool afforded them both. How they themselves cope under pressure, I am unable to tell, as Liverpool never pressurized them, which is the most disappointing or even depressing aspect of the day. And Liverpool had enough talent and millions of pounds on the field to at least do that to Sunderland.

Just before the ninetieth minute, the fourth official announced seven minutes of extra-time. He just added salt to the wound. For one particular moment, David N’Gog went agonizingly close but that was that. While there were no balloons to help Liverpool score, there wasn’t much intent and urgency making up for the lack of a balloon.

Liverpool are left with a lump of four defeats out of nine matches though. It is still October and the mere talk of a title challenge is as out of context as a red balloon in a funeral. And another balloon might be needed, not to travel the world in eighty days but to cling to a Champions League berth.

I feel decisively undecided. Yesterday was a big advert for the word ‘quandary’. Liverpool travelled to Stamford Bridge and they left us with hopes and doubts. You might argue that’s not too different from the pre kick off feeling. I had hopes that the performance, the result and the feeling of the final whistle of last year could be repeated. Football nowadays is all about your last game so that should have prevailed easily. But us with a longer memory, associate Stamford Bridge with one-sided four goals score-lines and green grass that seem to hold a personal grudge against Liverpool studs. I remember one particular game when there was a one sided four goal score-line and the Chelsea keeper was awarded the man of the match. A bit like an exotic butterfly on the lid of a filthy bin.

The first forty-five minutes were an exhibition of pragmatism, professionalism and what Benitez would probably call ‘disciplined’. Liverpool had the lion share of possession, exactly 55% of it, the midfield pairing of Javier Mascherano and Lucas Leiva looked like brothers from the same favela rather than a Brazilian and Argentinean while going forward a ray hope was shining from time to time even though admittedly there were never a need of sunglasses. At the end, the quickly taken free-kick by Albert Riera stretched and frightened the deputising Hilario and while not being enough to open the score or forgetting us the abject performance by the executor himself was enough to give us an upbeat fifteen minutes break.

The first fifteen minutes of the second half continued in the vein of the first forty-five hard working minutes and the fifteen minutes break. Fields of Anfield Road was echoing around Stamford Bridge. Glenn Johnson was having his most solid game in a Liverpool shirt. The ball was in Mascherano’s feet and he was looking upfront. From his side though he was dispossessed and Chelsea were at the other end celebrating in no time. You would assume it was a quick counter-attack that had Liverpool short in numbers. It was quick but Liverpool had enough numbers behind the ball and particularly in the penalty area. The redmen were never outnumbered or outfought but for that specific moment were outwitted.

Chelsea looked to grow in stature after the goal and were knocking the ball around confidently, winning time and depriving Liverpool of any reaction. Then Yossi Benayoun got in and with Chelsea inviting Liverpool cautiously, the Israeli was finding ways about the Chelsea wall. With Fernando Torres on the pitch, there is always hope, and the Spaniard had an inviting bouncing ball at one time. His left leg accepted the invitation but never made it to the party as he shot disappointingly wide.

Time continued to tick on, and at the end Didier Drogba again provided the assist to give his side a final 2-0 score-line and three points. Benayoun quickly wrong footed a forest of legs but with the goal at his mercy he summed up the day as he squeezed wide.

A third defeat invites a plethora of questions. The ambivalent result and performance reply with a confusion of grey answers in true Liverpool fashion. I am not giving up hope but I am less confident than I was before the match. I am not changing my summer expectations but I am going back to basics and adjusting my horizon from May to Christmas for the time being.