It used to be said that the form book gets thrown out the window when the derby comes along. With an equal depressive form book, there was not much to throw away, and the man in black complied in his own way as he kept his book in his back pocket till the eighty-fourth minute, when he brought out the yellow card for the first and last time in the game to book Heitinga. It was edgy as always, and it did get gritty but this was one Merseyside derby where the faint-hearted could go through without any tremors.

A long overdue clean sheet was finally kept and with one point in the bag, two goals at the other end of the pitch finally gave full three points to the men in red. A clean sheet was as expected as seeing Steven Gerrard leaving the pitch with clean socks but finally Pepe Reina’s dirty gloves kept everything out, and when Jo did beat him, it was only because he couldn’t beat the offside trap, and the Spaniard couldn’t be bothered either way. Reina was his usual self-assured guy, but his save over Fellaini was far from usual and deserves a place with the superlative saves by any keeper.

Javier Mascherano as usual tried his luck when he found himself in the opposition territory with a ball in his feet and a slight view of the goal. And as usual his shot left much to be desired and was destined to the corner of the net as much as was Darren Bent’s shot in the Sunderland match. Reina was welcomed with a beach ball to remind us of the event but Yobo’s feet ended up as effective as Howard got wrong footed and could only dive helplessly. Mascherano ran the whole length of the pitch to celebrate his second goal in Liverpool colours albeit later the goal was attributed as an own goal by the former. That is only mere detail, as there can be no doubt about the Argentinean’s input in these last games and nobody will begrudge him for it even after an unusual slow start where probably his head was all over the place with Messi on his phone every single day.

With a goal to the good, like last week Liverpool did revert into a negative mode and it was their Bilyaletdinov’s wastefulness in front of goal that kept the lead intact. The midfield was at times getting overran, with Steven Gerrard in subdued form and clearly far from full match fitness. Extraordinary circumstances though call for extraordinary personalities and even though having a poor game by his own standards at the end he proved vital in the setting-up of the second goal that confirmed the bragging rights for the red part of Liverpool and the much needed three points. Before, the two men rubbed in placenta gave the red midfield a somewhat new lease of life and equally to the captain, Albert Riera was vital in the setting up of the second goal as his shot stretched Howard to the limit only for Dirk Kuyt to prod in.

The pressure has now slightly relented from the manager and his squad, but as much as enjoyable a derby victory always is, recent history teaches us that it is too early to talk of finally turning round the corner or even a kick-start to the season. But a welcome push forward it surely is.

Sharing of the spoils is usually as inconclusive as sitting on the proverbial fence. Rather than proverbal, we might have seen a legendary moment yesterday as Martin Skrtel scored the first goal for Liverpool after three years donning the red shirt and I wouldn’t be too surprised if it would be the only goal he scores in his whole Liverpool career. At least though, he is not in the Rob Jones mould.

A draw might be inconclusive, a loss of two points might be fatal, when fighting tooth and nail for a title. The thought of a fight for the title at the moment though is as charming as a gal’s toothless grin. In the grander scheme of things, when you are fighting for a fourth-place berth, a draw against a resurgent Manchester City side is not such a bad result, and that’s the stark reality of it all. The expectations are to be alleviated, and in this fight we are to endure, points will be dropped by everyone as teams are fighting in such category because actually they drop a lot of points along the way.

The way the game panned out and even the conclusion of it all, was a mirrored reflection of the season so far. With Steven Gerrard back with the starting eleven, Liverpool started urgently, pressing Manchester City in their own half. After just four minutes, Daniel Agger got knocked out and left on a stretcher with his face bloodied. Ryan Babbel got the nod to start. He seemed intent to make it count this time, making himself available and showing enthusiasm. Nineteen minutes afterwards, he had to hobble away as a two-footed tackle on his ankle put paid to his endeavour. His substitute was no-one less than Yossi Benayoun who later even got on the score-sheet but having only just passed fit after some urgent therapy by a Serb physio, his entrance was on the premature side of things.

The six extra minutes in the first half were a mere formality as by then the urgence in Liverpool’s play has well dwindled and the sanctuary of the dressing room after rain sodden forty-five minutes must have been appealing for the lads.

Five minutes on the clock after the restart saw Liverpool go ahead. It was a free-kick won by David Ngog close to the left touchline. Ngog made himself once again useful even though not having a proper shot at goal in the whole ninety minutes. Gerrard’s delivery was powerful, and penetrating. Skrtel had only to stretch his leg to direct it inside.

Going ahead didn’t improve Liverpool’s confidence much, as they seemed happy enough inviting City in their own half. Pepe Reina was once again commanding, but with a reshuffled back four, getting three points by keeping a clean sheet was a big gamble. Emanuel Adebayor headed home from a corner to put pay on the gamble and soon enough Stephen Ireland put City 2-1 up.

It only took a minute for Benayoun to nip in their six yard box from behind to meet Ngog’s cross and level the score once again.

It actually sounds like a frantic game, but after the shock of seeing a lead being over-turned, Yossi’s goal only brought a sigh of relief rather than celebrations. Liverpool did manage to win a few corners at the end but a winning goal looked as far as does a winning run at the moment.

With just twelve minutes on the clock, David Ngog volleyed coolly enough to give Liverpool a deserved lead. Glen Johnson was the instigator as he switched the ball from one foot through the other to get past between two defenders, and passed to the former. It was not yet time for the French lad to open the score as his short got blocked by the Birmingham keeper, Joe Hart. The rebound went to the stand-in captain Dirk Kuyt but there was another block by Hart’s legs. Albert Riera crossed the rebound and this time Ngog, Hart had no chance. In normal times, in normal circumstances, such a goal at such time, against such opposition would take the edge off the game, as it’s usually the first goal that decides everything. But these are neither normal times, nor normal circumstances. These are strange times.

There was nothing admittedly too strange though on the twenty-sixth minute when Birmingham equalized through a set-piece. The only one strange thing was Benitez finding his name on the score-sheet as he registered his first goal in the Premiership. Liverpool replied well enough, passed the ball around tidily enough, even though the eleven men in red seemed to be missing a leader on the pitch. It was sensible and fair enough to give the armband to Dirk Kuyt, but while he wears his heart on his sleeve, he never wears an armband with authority, and with his form currently slightly off the rails, he was never going to be authoritative on his team mates. Riera, back in the side for the first time in over a month due to a hamstring injury, had to call it a day slightly after the clock ticked over the forty-five minutes mark. He was frustrated and slapped the turf with his hands as he must have heard a tear. Steven Gerrard quickly and emergently came in for him, and soon enough it was Pepe Reina’s turn to hear a very strange tear as Cameron Jerome’s straight shot teared through the air.

The second forty-five minutes saw Liverpool regroup early and again put the pressure on Birmingham. The captain was understandably subdued but this time there was more urgency than the previous forty-five. Johnson had one of his better games, got past players and delivered decent crosses. Sometimes it was the keeper, other times lack of composure in front of goal, but Liverpool had to wait till the seventieth minute to level the score. Ngog slightly outside their penalty area beat his man gracefully enough but all the grace of the game ended there as the carthorse that is Lee Carlsley slid his body to stop Ngog’s ball but he missed up both. Ngog tumbled himself on the ground and the man in black pointed to the penalty spot. Gerrard accepted the gift and sent the keeper the wrong way.

The last twenty minutes saw Liverpool continuing the pressure but it was only Yossi Benayoun’s hamstring that gave up. The tempo overall was kept high, the performance would have brought three points on most other nights but while Ngog’s jump rather than dive might have rubbed his reputation, Liverpool can’t get the rub of the green.

You wouldn’t have expected Ryan Babbel to finally step up to the plate and deliver. I shrieked with delight when he did. Not for him really, as I’ve lost my faith and patience but simply because this was the least the men in temporary white deserved. The more optimists would even have thought that this is even a momentous change in tide for the surely talented Dutch. But a skewed free-kick finally put paid to that and in the grander scheme of things the tide didn’t even last for seven minutes to get Liverpool safely on shore before their other travels, as an inexplicable lapse of concentration afforded their Lisandro a dry path to goal that he made the most of it and left Liverpool with a feeling of frustration and unbelievability that a victory and a sense of hope got undone with such abrupt nonchalance.

Lyon looked to will use their home advantage early on in the match, as they had most possession and looked to press the make-shift Liverpool’s defense. It didn’t last long though as in their first opportunity to attack the French rearguard, a cross by Emiliano Insua was met by Fernando Torres. He was the lad you would pray such chance would fall on but while he tested their keeper, the test didn’t look rigorous enough for the French number one. It did give hope though that really when you get behind them they will wilt. Shortly afterwards it was Andriy Voronin who got his coolness tested. The Ukrainian looks cold enough when he’s on the bench but on the pitch, one on one with the keeper, receiving a pass that had their rearguard all over the place and nowhere near him he resulted simply temperate as he shot in the keeper’s legs and missed a glorious chance to for once get on the good books of some reds.

A draw had been missing from all Liverpool’s matches till yesterday. It was conspicuous by its absence as much as guile and character had been in some of Liverpool’s matches. Destiny though contrived that the return of the latter two be upstaged by an unwanted former. In most instances a draw away from home coupled with guile and character would have been welcomed but the situation rendered the return of a draw as at the wrong place at the wrong time.

It is hard to feel positive after such bad timing and destiny is now far from Liverpool’s hands. It must be the same way Rafa Benitez felt in this summer when a lack of support from the board kept his hand tied behind his back. A winter without proper European football looks bleak and watching from a plateau that this side seems to be stuck at makes you long for the rollercoaster that once this side used to ride under the same manager.

In a season of relative ups and downs, yesterday at Craven Cottage Liverpool found the perfect balance as they registered the eighth defeat after eight victories. Draws are yet to be recorded. Admittedly in the Premiership, Liverpool are faring slightly better as they have six victories against five defeats. I feel like popping out the champagne but it’s too early for that and I’ve still got the taste of toothpaste in my mouth.

This season has Gerard Houllier’s last two years in charges written all over it and Black November hasn’t even started. Last Sunday was such a great day, and yes I got carried away. I haven’t felt like that for ages. For all the alienations, the indulging razzmatazz, I didn’t care as proper football and in particular Liverpool Football Club over do them all. And they still do matter, but I can’t get my head round it. It’s just not driving me round the bend though as it used to. Yesterday was frustrating but it was far from shocking. For all the hopes and anticipation you get before kick-off there’s always the self-doubt lurking around. And it is getting the better of all other emotions. Really though, the Mancs match was a simple reprieve from a disastrous campaign, that numbed for a moment the ills of the state of Liverpool Football Club.

The pre-match discussion was all about the missing lads in action as Glen Johnson, Steven Gerrard and Fabio Aurelio went missing from the travelling coach, never mind the first eleven. Injuries and viruses are playing their part in this fast downfall. Still, the first moments were giving healthy signs and the chosen eleven will be more than up to the task ahead of them. They made the ball theirs, knocked the ball around decently enough and knocked on Mark Schwarzer’s goal regularly. They were hit by a sucker punch as a quick counter-attack undid Liverpool and gave Fulham a 1-0 lead shortly after Yossi Benayoun went excruciatingly close to open the score as he rattled the crossbar. Heads never went down though, and shortly before half-time Fernando Torres pounced down on a poor headed clearance and with technical aplomb shot home from outside the penalty area.

The second forty-five minutes were a missemblance of the prior forty-five, where you’d think it’s one of those useless international friendlies where the manager changes the whole eleven. Torres was subbed on the 63rd minute, but Ryan Babel would have probably proved more useful jogging on the sidelines delivering the odd drink to his mates. The knockings on Mark Schwarzer’s goal all ceased and there were loud doorbells ringing at the other end that Pepe Reina had to finally succumb to on the 73rd minute. Philip Degen got harshly sent off, Jamie Carragher less so and the writing on the wall turned on the scoreboard as Clint Dempsey found the net to finish off Liverpool.

The big question remains what happened to last season’s guts, character, reversals of deficits, long winning sequences and most notably the explosive finish. The club is in a mess, the team is in a turmoil, the manager seems to be stuck and unable to do anything about this blood clot that is severely restraining his side’s movement into the table and giving high warnings of a big stroke that will render unthinkable side effects and impairment of movements for years to come. If Liverpool can’t replicate a decent forty-five minutes, fifteen minutes later, how can you expect a replication of last season? The damage is done, the hope is extinguished. We will trudge along, starting from France next Wednesday, where the balance between victories and defeats will have to go one way or to another write-off of a competition.