Following Wednesday’s otherworldly performance against the reigning European Champions at Anfield, the mood heading into Sunday evening’s clash with Manchester City was one wrought with excitement, anticipation, and soul-shattering anxiety. City came into the game in historically poor form, losing 5 of the previous 6, with the 6th being a 3-3 draw at home to Feyenoord midweek, after leading 3-0 with less than 20 minutes to go. The simple fact of City’s current form put me even more on edge, as you get the feeling that it’s only a matter of time until Pep finds a way to turn it around; he’s simply too good not to.
Injuries to Big Ibou and Conor Bradley, following wonderful individual performances midweek against Madrid, presented Arne Slot with several issues to sort through ahead of Sunday. As many expected, Joey G was brought into central defense to cover Konaté’s absence. He was partnered with Virgil, with Andy Robbo and Trent Alexander-Arnold at full-back, with Trent making his own return from injury for the first time since the latest international break. Ireland’s number one, Caoimhin Kelleher, started between the sticks for the Redmen. The midfield consisted of Gravenberch, MacAllister, and Szoboszlai, while Slot elected to go with a front three of Gakpo, Salah, and Lucho, with the Colombian through the middle.
An overcast afternoon brought plenty of smoke and pyro outside the ground pre-match, and the noise and excitement soon made its way through the turnstiles, once again transforming the ground into the cauldron of noise that we have become so familiar with through the years. Virgil led out the lads, the Kop belted out Gerry’s anthem, Pep feverishly searched for more hair to claw at, and away we went.
To put it quite simply, I don’t believe that there is a team in world football that could have dealt with the way we played in the opening half hour. The pressure was absolutely suffocating, and when paired with the relentless running of the forwards and midfield three, it appeared at times as if those adorned in sky blue would have been grateful for the ground to open up and swallow them whole. A litany of early chances saw Ortega equal to the efforts, but the breakthrough was not far away.
Following the Skipper rattling the post from a header off a corner 10 minutes in, the Reds again found themselves on the attack less than 60 seconds later. Trent picked the ball up in his own half, before raising his head and playing a rasping 70-yard ball with his laces in behind Manuel Akanji on the right-wing. The Egyptian King was on his bike straight away, coming first to the ball, before lifting his head level with the City penalty area to survey his options. A low, whipped cross that seemed to have eyes of its own was rifled through the City six-yard box—and while about 4 City defenders were in decently close proximity to the ball, they may as well have been standing on Albert Dock because none ever had a chance to deal with it. Late-arriving Cody Gakpo slipped beyond Kyle Walker at the far post and tapped- in to an empty net at the Kop end, before turning to salute the famous stand, whose logistics now appeared stretched as a mass of limbs and noise did their best to return the favor to the Dutchman. 1-0 to the Reds; now we just need the second.
Following the goal, the pressure intensified, although this hardly seemed possible. Attack after attack resulted in wayward efforts whistling agonizingly wide of both of Ortega’s posts. It was nearly 40 minutes before Rico Lewis registered City’s first effort at goal, and it would be City’s only attempt of the first half. In all of the years of watching our duels with Pep, this was by far the most one-sided half of football that I had seen us play. While the score didn’t reflect this, it easily could have been 4-0 heading into the interval.
While it should have been 4-0 at half-time, the fact that it was only 1-0 filled me with an overwhelming sense of impending doom. City came out much more controlled to start the second half, finally seeming to have settled down enough to enjoy their trademark long spells of possession and agonizing myriad of passes just beyond our penalty area. While Pep’s side did seem to have begun building a semblance of a foothold, their sustained possession was rarely amounting to shots, and City seemed just as likely to be dispossessed in threatening areas of their own as they were to carve out any meaningful opportunities. The defending of Virgil and Joey G during these spells was nothing short of imperious, and while the attackers may get the headlines on the day, these two were genuinely colossal.
A glorious chance to put it to bed once and for all came in the 56th minute when Bernardo Silva severely under-hit a back pass. The Egyptian King was on it like a flash, leaving him 1v1 with Ortega with nearly the freedom of the entire half of the pitch to pick his spot. I would have put my house on Mo finishing off this opportunity, and I would have been immediately homeless. The Egyptian spooned the ball agonizingly over the German’s crossbar, and in a game that felt as though it should have been over long before, it continued to hang in the balance.
The half wore on, and the chances continued to fall to the Reds with no change to the scoreline. The longer it stayed 1-0, the more certain I became that City would score with their first shot on goal (if it was ever to come). Darwin was brought on for Gakpo beyond the hour mark, and it didn’t take long for the Uruguayan to make his presence felt.
As always, seemingly fueled by whatever makes the Tasmanian Devil fucking unhinged, Darwin found himself in the thick of it. The Uruguayan’s sheer energy robbed Ruben Dias of the ball in his own half, allowing Lucho to pick up the loose ball at full tilt. A slaloming run took the Colombian beyond a wild challenge from family-man Kyle Walker, before Ortega came out of his net to wildly lunge into the knees of Diaz while coming nowhere near the football. Penalty to the Reds, and yet another gilt-edged opportunity to go 11 clear of City and 9 clear of Arsenal and Chelsea at the top of the pile.
After Mo’s penalty miss on Wednesday night, and his uncharacteristic miss just 10 minutes prior, I would be lying if I told you that I felt great about him burying the penalty. But once again, who am I to doubt the King? I am but a humble peasant. The King did the winding run-up that we’ve seen so many times before, before coolly sliding the ball into the side netting, just beyond the gloves of Ortega, who had guessed the right way. 2-0 to the Reds and no way back for a thoroughly rattled Pep.
The final 10 minutes were amongst some of the most enjoyable closing stages to a massive game of football at Anfield that I have ever witnessed. “You’re getting sacked in the morning” echoed around the old ground, sending Pep into meltdown and the flashing of six fingers at the Anfield crowd—eerily reminiscent of Lance Armstrong before being stripped of his titles for blatant cheating. Coincidence?
We’re 9 clear at the top, and 11 clear of City. However, it’s only December 2nd. A tough week sees games at both St. James’ Park and Goodison on Wednesday and Saturday, respectively, where I think 4 points is the absolute minimum. Until then, I’ve only got three words: Keep. Fucking. Going.
Cheers,
Cole
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