From My Seat: Liverpool (A)

By Ken Buckley   ::  05/05/2013 A lovely sunny day and a trip to Anfield. Plenty of banter as we all use our local alehouses and both sets of fans convinced their team will win. Inside the ground the atmosphere built as did the ferocity of the opposing chants.

Teams announced and we were as expected, just Gibson for Jelavic. Some of our fans, shall we say, pointed out in their own inimitable way that Suarez would be missing today. They politely pointed out how long it has been since we won there

The game commenced once Gerrard and Carragher had given permission and Liverpool were fast out of the blocks with us showing that we were expecting that and were quick to close down, creating an opening period of frenetic play with neither team having time to think let alone put a foot on the ball and build. Ahh, a typical derby, I thought and to the end I was not to be proved wrong. Liverpool got in some promising positions but they reminded me of our own team in being clueless in the final third.

We did our attacking and good joined-up stuff could be seen where it didn’t matter in the middle of the park but, time and again, a pass missed its target or got cut out due to lack of correct pace – all brought about by the pace of the whole thing. The theme was set for the rest of the match: both teams wanted to win but neither wanted to lose.

Our best chance of the half came when from a free kick when Fellaini got his foot to a Baines cross and the ball bobbed just wide of the post with keeper nowhere, from my seat I thought it was in, it was that close...

We were having the best of it now and Mirallas fired a cross across goal but alas no-one near enough to convert. Our supremacy got to Gerrard who kicked Osman into the air as our midfielder was past him. Silly Osman: he should know you must not do that to the Ref. We continued with the very good spell but it has to be said we were woeful at the intricate arts in the final third. You couldn’t howl at any of them really – they were all at it. Poor crosses, poor passes – you name it, we did it.

Liverpool started to come back into it and Jags came into his own with trademark blocks that thwarted at least three good opportunities. We did let out a great cheer... but that was for Gerrard who hit a free-kick well over. The clock was ticking and we were having the better of it but players you normally bank on to create, such as Baines, Pienaar and Mirallas, were at best with pass choice as well as crosses pretty poor. But, as the half ended, it could be said that we had weathered the storm and played well with no reward due to our own inefficiencies.

Half-time and it was all about the manager going or staying; would we sell Baines and Fellaini; would the board find money for team building – in fact, it was just like ToffeeWeb with sound!

Second half and, as expected, our hosts took off at a great pace but we held firm and started to get a foothold again but this was interrupted good style when, for whatever reason, Fellaini in the middle of the park back-heeled for no noticeable reason and gave the ball to the Brazilian winger who played a beaut of a ball to Sturridge right on goal. Howard raced out and spread himself in front of Sturridge who almost got the ball past him but a hand or a leg or something and from a prone position seemed to toe poke the ball away and race back to goal as two Everton defenders saw us to safety. Well done, Tim, I thought that was it... phew!

We were now entering that time of the game when our lads don’t seem that sure whether to carry on attacking or drop that bit deeper and consequently we were handing back the initiative to them. Fair play to our manager: I did spot him waving the lads forward and Jags and Distin took up his plea and a bit more end-to-end stuff occurred but really that should read 18-yd line to 18-yd line as both teams had still not mastered the art of troubling goalies.

The talking point of the game duly arrived as, from one of our attacks, we gained a corner. While waiting for it to take place, there was the usual wrestling going on and the Ref (no, not him: Mr Oliver) called out Big Vic and told him not to upset his Pal Carragher. When the corner did come in, Distin headed home. A roar went up only to end abruptly as the ref had blown for a foul on someone by someone. Not one Liverpool player had complained so it must have been a most excellent goal! Big Vic was incandescent and got a yellow. After their chat just before the corner, I honestly think that the ref had made his mind up that he would blow for a foul whether one took place or not. I don’t think he banked on a goal accruing.

Osman and Pienaar continued to play well in midfield but when it came to playing nearer the goal both too often went all weak and fluffed shots and passes. Mirallas was now little more than a passenger and it was no surprise when eventually he was hooked in favour of Jelavic who ran and ran with no reward and, when he did make a decisive run into the box, each time the pass went a different way to the one he was on.

Liverpool were attacking and Osman gave away a free kick not too far from goal and as it arced in Agger headed what many thought was a goal but to our relief it was the wrong side of the net that he hit. The clock ticking down and we were having a last go but twice Pienaar had us groaning after initial great work his final ball woeful on two occasions you could see the lad beating himself up: he knew, he knew.

Both teams were tired and at the last knockings passes were going anywhere except where they should from both sets of players. As the whistle went it really had been a typical derby. It will not be one that is remembered – that is for sure.

MotM – Distin or Jags for me.

Somehow I am always glad when these games are over as the build-up usually outdoes the game every time and bragging rights seems to matter more than points.

West Ham next and if we win that and then at Chelsea and Spurs lose three on the trot we are in Europe.... What do you mean ‘dream on’!?!

See you there for a pie and a pint.

UP THE BLUES

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