Being a Liverpool fan is like dating a supermodel with a violent ex-boyfriend. It's like a watching the Aurora Borealis with Craig Burley. It's like making love to Charlotte Jackson whilst staring into the dead eyes of Chris Coleman.
Much like José Enrique's barber, we barely have time to catch our breath and admire our handiwork before we're back to square one, a baffling thicket of ineptitude needing more time and bigger shears. Fuck! Fuckety! Fuck! If there was one refreshing lilt to the otherwise familiar drone of disappointment it was that this time our manager cost us the game. Playing a two man midfield minus your regular defensive midfielder, and featuring our most uncomfortable pairing, was always a bad start. I expect there will be a lot of debate over Allen versus Henderson, but personally I say it's a redundant point, because without a third man in middle we were always going to struggle. Not why Allen instead of Henderson, but why not both?
Is it arrogance? Laziness? I can't figure out why we would go 4-2-4 away from home. Long gone are the days even Ferguson would go two up front away from home. Is the two man midifeld a thing any more? Does it exist? Did it ever exist? Maybe it's listed as a hobby on somebody's MySpace page from 2004. Maybe it's a cautionary tale about the transience of innocence. Maybe it's a forgotten bird, its plumage a sickening brown and it's beak lined with fat little humanoid teeth. Maybe it's the Werthers omlette Roy Hodgson burns as he leers at Tim Lovejoy on 'Sunday Brunch'. Maybe it's a towel-clad Igor Biscan manouvering his newborn from arm to arm as he bashfully signs for whatever it is she's bought this time. Maybe it's the 'ding!' Joey Barton's head makes as you fling pennies at it. But I digress...
The fact is I think that one key tactical error had us 2-0 down and near enough beat before we ever got going. I'm happy with the plan, and I'm happy with the direction, but yesterday was schoolboy. It was doubly schoolboy given that we spent most of this week cashing in our 'Get Out of Jail Free' card for £200 and three points against Spurs. Joe Allen's fucked anyway, he only seems to get picked out of position or in games where the growing mob of 'Hendo vs Allen'ers get handed a big box of nepotism ammo.
Glen Johnson's had a temporary lobotomy, which meant our defence averaged point five of a brain yesterday. Skrtel is one Enrique-style overnight hair renaissance from dispelling the last remaining whiff of him being at all intimidating. I miss Pepe a great deal, as I have done for most of the season (especially when he's been playing). Sturridge was on N'Gog's leftover goal valium. Ibe on the bench to me again hints at not preparing for the game with due respect and consideration. We played like a team expecting sixty-minute party subs, but not like one that would ever get to do them.
That's about us done in terms of league ambitions, so here's hoping we continue to build and yesterday was just one of those days. Also there's much worse teams than Southampton that could stay up, and they have yet another Spain-educated manager who seems to have a bit more than your Alan Pardew, so I could begrudge them their three points a lot more. Pah it's the hope that gets you. Kill the hope with fire.
P.S. Is it a wig or is he just that damn virile?
P.P.S. Are bizarre team selections worth it simply to see Twitter's collective eggy face? #ITK