EACH and every week we wait for a reaction from Liverpool, for the muscle memory to kick in and for wounded pride to recharge the legs and have them tear into beleaguered opponents once more. Not giving them a second to settle. Harrying and scavenging for every ball, and when possession is won having the wherewithal to inflict devastating and swift damage.
At their best, Jurgen Klopp’s creation was a carnival of organized chaos, as thrilling as they were feared. And, give or take a temporary dip, they were at their best for several seasons.
So each and every week we anticipate this monster awakening if we’ve backed them, or brace ourselves for the prospect if we haven’t, only then Fun Bobby from Friends walks through the door, once a party animal, now merely a husk of a human being.
Liverpool have conceded 28 league goals this term, which is two more than the entirety of last season. They have gone behind on 12 occasions, which equals last season’s tally. Up front, Mo Salah has not had a shot on target for four consecutive games while Darwin Nunez has failed to score post-Qatar. Cody Gakpo meanwhile has been airdropped into proceedings, entrusted to find his feet while team-mates are losing their heads. He deserves sympathy for that.





