For some weeks now we’ve been reading about how this or that game will be a ‘turning point’ in our season, only to find that the change of direction has been just a sharper decline.
The Manchester United game was chief amongst these pretenders, while encouraging performances against Lyon and Birmingham City have also been hailed as heralding an improvement in fortunes.
Now a scrappy win at Goodison, achieved with no little luck (though heaven knows it’s about time we are able to say that), and the sun is apparently peeking back over the horizon and we’re all set for a barnstorming assault on... fourth place.
Or maybe third now the Great Pretenders of Arsenal have been put firmly back in their very pretty but underachieving box.
Although it’s encouraging that we went through November unbeaten, it’s becoming clear there’s going to be no sudden clearing of the skies, no abrupt return to the swashbuckling form of September, no exultant release of pent-up frustration at the expense of some struggling minnow.
What we’re in for is a slow, grinding return to some sort of form, as confidence and fitness returns to what looks a pretty sorry bunch of footballers at present.
The performances against Debrecen and Everton were sluggish in the extreme, though marked by notable differences in the capacity to keep hold of the ball.
Against Debrecen we had so much possession and did so little with it that you could have nipped out for a cup of tea and just picked up where you left off on your return.
At Goodison it seemed we couldn’t wait to give the ball to a blue shirt or knock it into touch or back to Pepe Reina, sometimes from initially promising positions which went horribly wrong somewhere in midfield.
But credit where it’s due; we managed to carve out a much-needed victory over the self-appointed ‘People’s Club’ through strength of will and, at times, sheer bloody-mindedness on the part of Reina, Carragher and Mascherano.
While others struggled to throw off the torpor of disappointment from the midweek exit from the Champions League, or pined for horse placenta in their plastic Lucozade bottles, these three literally threw their bodies into the breach, showing resilience that others need to find from within their aching limbs and souls.
Meanwhile, just when you thought you could no longer be appalled by any fresh revelations of the financial unreality of modern football, the Premier League has declared the amounts paid to agents by each club over the last 12 months.
As I prepared to chortle at the mugs of Manchester City being ripped off by Del Boys of all colours and creeds, I choked instead on my Latte Macchiato as Liverpool were pronounced third in this table of treachery, with these parasites having pocketed £6.7m of our cash. For what?
Bringing the likes of Dossena and Degen to my door?
If players want to pay these vipers for negotiating good deals on their behalf, that’s up to them.
But don’t give my season ticket money to leeches who just make a couple of phone calls.
The Manchester United game was chief amongst these pretenders, while encouraging performances against Lyon and Birmingham City have also been hailed as heralding an improvement in fortunes.
Now a scrappy win at Goodison, achieved with no little luck (though heaven knows it’s about time we are able to say that), and the sun is apparently peeking back over the horizon and we’re all set for a barnstorming assault on... fourth place.
Or maybe third now the Great Pretenders of Arsenal have been put firmly back in their very pretty but underachieving box.
Although it’s encouraging that we went through November unbeaten, it’s becoming clear there’s going to be no sudden clearing of the skies, no abrupt return to the swashbuckling form of September, no exultant release of pent-up frustration at the expense of some struggling minnow.
What we’re in for is a slow, grinding return to some sort of form, as confidence and fitness returns to what looks a pretty sorry bunch of footballers at present.
The performances against Debrecen and Everton were sluggish in the extreme, though marked by notable differences in the capacity to keep hold of the ball.
Against Debrecen we had so much possession and did so little with it that you could have nipped out for a cup of tea and just picked up where you left off on your return.
At Goodison it seemed we couldn’t wait to give the ball to a blue shirt or knock it into touch or back to Pepe Reina, sometimes from initially promising positions which went horribly wrong somewhere in midfield.
But credit where it’s due; we managed to carve out a much-needed victory over the self-appointed ‘People’s Club’ through strength of will and, at times, sheer bloody-mindedness on the part of Reina, Carragher and Mascherano.
While others struggled to throw off the torpor of disappointment from the midweek exit from the Champions League, or pined for horse placenta in their plastic Lucozade bottles, these three literally threw their bodies into the breach, showing resilience that others need to find from within their aching limbs and souls.
Meanwhile, just when you thought you could no longer be appalled by any fresh revelations of the financial unreality of modern football, the Premier League has declared the amounts paid to agents by each club over the last 12 months.
As I prepared to chortle at the mugs of Manchester City being ripped off by Del Boys of all colours and creeds, I choked instead on my Latte Macchiato as Liverpool were pronounced third in this table of treachery, with these parasites having pocketed £6.7m of our cash. For what?
Bringing the likes of Dossena and Degen to my door?
If players want to pay these vipers for negotiating good deals on their behalf, that’s up to them.
But don’t give my season ticket money to leeches who just make a couple of phone calls.
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