We struggle to sing songs for our players today. Nothing like:
'I wanna know how you scored that goal...'
'He's five foot seven, he's football seven...'
'His armband said he was a red...'
'He's big, he's red, his feet stick out the bed...'
'He's big and he's f***in hard...'
No prizes for guessing who they were sung for. We don't sing too many songs for our players in red these days. That isn't indicative of the waning and draining wit in the stands of Anfield, more a case of how lacking in quality, charisma and charm our players are. They lack something more - a sense of togetherness, a sense of identity and I think the crowd at Anfield has known it. Even the most hardcore, optimistic fan will say that the atmosphere at the ground hasn't been tip top for a long time. Despite winning games and scoring goals left, right and centre and being in the title we've never been too far away from a din swamping Anfield as proved by the near toxic atmosphere against Wolves last week.
Seeing us lose so appallingly at the end of Brendan's last full season and then continuing to see our comic like performances at Watford, West Ham and Newcastle under Jürgen only built an indestructible belief that we were witnessing the worst Liverpool team in our lives. That prevailing thought is something that has been impossible to destroy. A heroic, memorable evening against Dortmund and a barnstorming start to the current season has suppressed the belief but in the end, the truth will out. Nothing uncovers that ugly fact better than our 'esteemed' goalkeeper of near 4 years (FOUR F***ing YEARS) dropping a clanger at the feet of the opposition player...again.
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