Note: I'm a Massachusetts college student who has had this fixture on my mind since our win over Southampton. As a recreational writer, I decided to chronicle my thoughts during yesterday's gameâmostly as an excuse to re-live our wonderful triumph. 
Hope you enjoy.I woke up the morning of the game surprisingly calm. After being incredibly nervous for the preceding two days, and having a bad gut feeling that we were going to lose due to some fluke decision or incident, I somehow felt relaxed. I guess the sense of anticipation had worn off; the day was finally here.
Though I set my alarm for 9:20 a.m. E.S.T., 10 minutes before kick-off, I was wide-awake at 7:30. Though my gut feeling was that we would score first and undeservedly lose 2-1, my logical brainâfor the first time everâfelt practical in predicting a 3-1 win for Liverpool.
From my perspective, there was a lot more riding on this game than the three points. Our league form and position suggested that we would have a great chance. However, despite Unitedâs underachievement at home this season, I knew that coming to Old Trafford wouldnât be easyâtheyâd be up for this game. Whatâs more, I knew that a win for United would reduce the gap to eight points, and, however unlikely, have the potential to provide them with motivation to go on a run and beat us to fourth place. In fact, I would have taken a draw if offered one before kick-offâan 11-point gap with nine games left would be much better for us than an eight-point gap with a loss to United. However, given the history of this fixture, I didnât think a draw would be likely; I figured it was win or bust. Indeed, I was nervous.
Though I knew that the starting lineups wouldnât be released until an hour before kick-off. I continued to refresh my Twitter account every couple of minutes. Though she knew how much this game meant to me, my girlfriend looked at me like I was nuts. I tried to explain to her the general gist of the game and what it meant, before telling her âIf we win, Iâll tell you; if not, donât ask.â She nodded her head.
The teams came out. Though I initially questioned the selection of Allen, I trust Brendan, and I was glad that he decided to play the diamond to exploit their weakness in midfield. Though Unitedâs front four of Mata, Januzaj, Rooney and van Persie is, on paper, intimidating, I figured that this would leave lots of space for us to exploit in the middle of the park. Additionally, given Unitedâs attacking line-up with little midfield solidity, I figured that we would be able to rip them apart on the counter. In conclusion, I figured we would win the midfield battle easily and hope to hit them on the counter.
The game started, and though United kept hold of the ball for the opening minute, we started to create chances. Sturridge got in behind Jones and flashed a shot wide on his weak foot. I was almost relieved he didnât score; though a goal is a goal, I figured the first five minutes were too early for us to score. I would rather bag a goal when the pattern of the game was truly established.
However, had we been given a penalty for the fifth-minute Fellaini challenge on Suarez, I wouldnât have cared. Either way, I still had the bad feeling that United were going to score first, either from our own misfortune or a moment of brilliance.
Which is why I felt much better when we were awarded a penalty in the 34th minute. Though it was very clear to me that Rafael handballed inside the area, I wasnât sure that I would have sent him off, which is why I understood Mark Clattenburgâs decision to not issue him a second yellow. That was beside the point, though; this was a crucial point in the match. If Gerrard scored the penalty, we would have the momentum. If he missed, however, the momentum and let-off on their end could have helped them out.
Given that Stevie had scored all nine Premier League penalties that he had attempted this season, I figured that he was due to miss one. However, I sat in the seat in front of my computer, praying that it wouldnât be this one. âPlease just make this one, Stevie,â I thought. âPlease.â
I should have knownâGerrard stepped up and hammered the penalty inch-perfect into the right corner, sending David De Gea the wrong way. At that point, I felt a bit more relieved, though I still knew a lot of work was to be done.
Though it was one of their few opportunities of the day, we dodged a major bullet when Mignolet made an instinctive save from a powerful, if central, Rooney effort. A goal just before half-time would have given them major belief, but thankfully we were able to hold out until the break.
Watching Sky Sports, I heard the guys in the studio saying that Liverpool would need to weather the first 15 minutes of the second half. As a result, I figured that when Raheem Sterling kicked off the second half, we would be in for an industrious 15 minutes.
However, I was stunned when Phil Jones knocked down Joe Allen after just 23 seconds of the second half. I saw the contact, I hear the whistleâanother penalty! You're joking!
My brain was divided in two. On the one hand, I knew that, at this point, barring a major collapse, we would leave Old Trafford with at least an 11-point gap. On the other hand, I was sure that this had to be the time that Gerrard would miss his first penalty of the season. âYou can miss next time,â I thought, âbut please, Stevie, I know I said it last time but just make this one.â
I should have known that he would score. While I was sitting there, petrified, Stevie stepped up and banged it into the bottom corner with aplomb. A 2-0 lead within a minute of the re-start was the perfect start to the second half. And when van Persie missed with a header that he would normally score midway through the second half, I felt that United were simply not good enough to threaten us.
When Gerrard stepped up to take the third penalty, which I believe clearly shouldnât have been a penalty, I was split. On the one hand, I wanted him to score to put the game beyond all doubt, as well as the fact that this would give him his hat-trick. On the other hand, I felt that if he was going to score a hat-trick that he should complete it from open play. My main concern when he hit the post was that United still had the potential bag two late goals. You can blame me and my thoughts for that.
I thought âWe still havenât scored from open play yet! We have to get one from open play!â
Yet when Suarez received Sturridgeâs deflected shot and put it in the back of the United net, I assumed he was offside. However, when the 0-2 on the scoreline changed to 0-3 and Suarez was mobbed by his teammates, I realized that he had gotten his 25th of the season, which has been my hope for him since December. I simply processed that the goal had happened, not thinking about the certainty of victory or anything else.
For the few days before the game, I had conditioned myself to believe that we were going to lose. Yet, I had a realization that many others had much earlier to me. âWeâre going to win at Old Trafford!â I said, clapping my hands, not even thinking about the impending 14-point gap. Indeed, I wasnât even scared when Rooney lined up a free-kick in stoppage time, which flew harmlessly over.
The final whistle went, and I clapped my hands as Rob Hawthorne said the final score. We had won a game whichâperhaps irrationallyâI believed we were destined to lose. We are in with a shout, and I'm excited for the rest of the season.
