As Predicted

By AM Thursday, February 20, 2025

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Anthony McIntyre ⚽ The Liverpool addiction to drawing games shows no signs of abating. Last night's 2-2 draw against Aston Villa came as no surprise. Prior to the game I had commented on a previous post:

My prediction - draw against Villa tonight, draw against City and lose to Arsenal. 2 points from a possible 9 - and the whole dynamic of the title race is changed.

No great foresight required for that. It was as easy as predicting that Donald Trump will lie with his next breath. It is down to that famous Einstein characterisation of those who do the same thing over and over again but expect different results. How Klopp's Flops from last season can be expected to increase their stamina levels and succeed where they previously failed is something of a conundrum. Witness last night: Darwin Nunez is a much worse player under Slot than he was under Klopp. He simply cannot do the job required at that level of football. Yet Slot keeps sending him out to squander the opportunities that fall his way. Under Klopp he at least hit the bar or the keeper. Last night, facing an open net gagging to be burst, he somehow contrived to miss it from six yards out. He could always blast a ball but never place it. That has not changed, just that his placing has got immeasurably worse. It is impossible to think that had Slot have put Caoimhin Kelleher on as a substitute to play not in goal but leading the attack - instead of Nunez - it could have been any worse. When there are grounds to believe that a goalkeeper can do as good a job as the centre forward, surely it is time to offload. Yet, it seems more likely that Kelleher will be transferred before Nunez who is as useful as a chocolate teapot. 

Liverpool can't rely on getting across the line on their own steam. They have simply run out of it.  Instead they will be dependent on everyone else stumbling and falling much like in the 1967 Grand National when Foinavon came in first but only after the rest tripped each other up. It is possible that something like that could happen but I am sticking by my forecast made a couple of days ago: 'Arsenal for the title but I'm not gonna try guessing the points tally.'

I was in Dublin yesterday for most the day and my son was at GAA training so we agreed to have the game recorded for us to watch later. Phones were switched off so that nobody could send us a spoiler, and laptops were approached only with the greatest of caution. It wouldn't change the outcome but at least it would maintain the suspense. Shortly after 10pm we settled in front of the TV, unsettled might be a more apt description for me. Liverpool came out in blitzkrieg style, much like an ape that tries to intimidate its opponents by beating its chest and making itself appear big. In this case it was big hat no cattle. We know how a blitzkrieg tends to end once it comes up against robust and determined opposition, and the busy fools are exposed for what they are. The team that Bobby Sands supported dug in well and fought it out. Five minutes had barely elapsed before the Liverpool surge wilted. By half time they were 2-1 behind.

Match over, I thought it would have been easier simply to have been put out of my misery without watching any of it. To boot my son got so fed up with my moaning, griping and sarcasm he told me to put a sock in it. No longer willing to ruin it for him I headed for bed with Liverpool still trailing and seeming to lack the wherewithal to turn things around. I made it to the fourth or fifth stair when he started to roar in celebration. As he has pulled that one before on me only to laugh when I burst back into the room, I paused before making the return journey. It was the cheers of my wife that persuaded me that Liverpool were level.

In any event, a few glasses of whiskey later, I eventually completed my departure for bed. Getting to sleep and then staying thus evaded me. I woke up about four, still angry at the poor performance. Before setting off I commented to Frankie on TPQ:

They were lucky to get the draw.
The woeful finishing of Nunez and Jota does not augur well.
They were so poor I said 'fuck that, millionaire bastards serving up shit to the only republican city still ruled by the Brits'. I headed up to bed. About four stairs up I heard my son screaming with delight so went back down again. I'll watch games on my own in future if at all. I am simply not good company to be in during Liverpool games.

Whether I can maintain my isolationist stance is something else. In my heart I know it is better to stick to the Drogs: no multimillionaires there prancing and pirouetting but never pouncing when the moment requires it. No post-match bear with a sore head syndrome. The multimillionaires of Merseyside - sick to the teeth of them flattering to deceive.

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.