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da bet7： 1. Now we’re old and grey tonight, Fernando. Not even Torres can make this clash enjoyable. – There’s an odd thing about Chelsea and Liverpool. It’s unique amongst the heavyweight Big Four, Sky ‘bang bang whoosh OMG it’s’ Super Sunday clashes in its instant ability to under whelm almost everyone at a mention. While there have been some electric encounters here and there, the more instant, reactive snapshots are of the numerous aching bore fests – real or merely perceived through a jaded memory – that have come to define this fixture, no matter how many explosive thrusting percussion hits Sky whack on their promo trailers.
This edition however, had the added spice and drama of Fernando Torres, and a debut against his former beloved Liverpool that deserved at least three more dramatic percussive hits, an explosion graphic and a lot of running in slow motion.
Unfortunately, even el odyssey del el Niño failed to liven up the encounter, and in fact proved to be the most crushingly boring part of it. Despite Jamie Redknapp promising us that Torres’ greatest strength was that he would “literally” score every time he got past the last man, he didn’t. Nor did he figuratively, or metaphorically, instead enduring a disastrous evening of losing the ball, being hit in the face, and failing to do anything of any interest at any time at all. He was withdrawn after only an hour, though can at least claim to have not been on the losing side, in the strictest, most technical sense. And while he may be looking for all the world like a sickly Labrador wrapped in a duvet, Kenny Dalglish and his big coat pulled off a masterstroke here. Even before Raul Meireles’ smash and grab winner (or Mor-rar-les if you’re Jamie Redknapp, or wrong) it was Liverpool who had looked the most likely, and most able (with the exception of Maxi Rodriguez, who seemed to be playing his own game – with bigger goals – in his head) to break the deadlock. The biggest compliment is that Chelsea never looked even remotely like scoring once. Literally or otherwise.
2. Playground tactics & Rabbit in a hat tricks. – It’s hard to know what to make of the game Alan Shearer thinks is the greatest he’s ever seen. No is my natural reaction. But that’s part of my natural reaction to everything the great tufted one says, so it’s hardly a fair analysis. I would personally still rank the famous 1996 Newcastle – Liverpool game ahead of it, purely on quality, something this match certainly didn’t lack, but contained less of than it did frenetic energy and blustering scrappiness. For a start it owed much to the idiocy of Abou Diaby, who in the great history of Arsenal players at crucial times of the season (or possibly just William Gallas) decided to act like a flapping petulant giant child and got himself sent off. The biggest act of childishness on display however was not Diaby’s, but unfolded on 68 minutes when Gunner’s keeper Wojciech Szczesny refused to relinquish the ball after Barton’s first penalty, cocooning it and hiding it behind his back like an 11 year-old taunting his seven year-old sister with the soon to be naked and melted Barbie doll he’s just stolen. It’s always struck me as one of the biggest acts of c*ntsmanship in football this, and surprises me that it’s not considered up there with diving and phantom card waving when the finger wagging purists go on their weekly rants. It’s quite simply the most childish thing anyone could possibly do on a football pitch bar giving someone a Chinese burn or perhaps kneeling down behind them and getting their mate to push them over. “I’m not giving the ball back, na na na na na na, it’s behind my back now, you can’t see it, now it’s above my head, you can’t reach it, na na na na na.” When Barton converted a second later in the half, Szczesny grabbed the ball and threw it out dramatically in a grand sarcastic gesture, presumably demonstrating how wronged he felt by his initial booking and how trivial the matter clearly was to him, despite making a ridiculously overblown deal about it. “Here, have your stupid ball if you want it so much. Like I care. Pffffttt”. How old are you? When Joey Barton looks more mature than you, you’ve got to be doing something wrong.
I know what you’re thinking. In a game of such excitement, starling goals and high drama, this is what you’re fixated on? Yes. Weird isn’t it? But it really did annoy me that much.
3. Always play advantage if you can. – In the game that I actually thought was the best of the Weekend, but which admittedly didn’t contain Arsenal, or a team who were once in a film with Anna Friel, the brittle orange head of Louis Saha overcame the brittle orange defense of Blackpool in the pouring dramatic rain (rain is always dramatic, always) at Goodison Park. This was a real blood and thunder tie – literally Jamie – with numerous suffering kicks and cuts to the face, and anyone failing to do so settling for a nice coat of mud instead. A good old fashioned back and forth affair, which is always more exciting in my book (and I stand whole heartedly by my book and it’s interpretations of things) for it’s unpredictable, any which way but lose aesthetic. which for all the unlikely drama at St James, it’s strictly linear “one side did this, then the other came back” narrative couldn’t match. Whilst hero Saha may be beginning to resemble a half unwrapped Terry’s chocolate orange at present, it’s a shame that his biggest flaw is that he’s always just as liable to break into pieces. Fit and in form though he’s as dangerous as anyone, and he could’ve added to his four goal salvo and joined* that illustrious 5-goal club were it not for the decision of referee Kevin Friend to award Everton the free-kick he’d blown for just as Louis had swiveled to plant the ball in the bottom corner. It didn’t prove decisive in the end, as it hadn’t when a similar situation occurred in Bayern Munich’s Champions League tie with Fiorentina last season, but one can easily imagine a scenario where it might have, and eventually will. Note to Referees; always play advantage. Always. You’re only blowing to give the obstructed team a fairer chance of scoring. If they’ve scored, you can’t say much fairer than that can you?
* Obviously due to the nature of cause and effect, and the fact it would’ve only been his second goal, this isn’t actually a truth at all. And I hate people who pretend it is for narrative convenience. Especially in blogs. They’re the worst people ever.
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4.The future’s bright, the future’s Orange. – It was certainly fitting that on such a uniquely ridiculous day, the current leaders and only unbeaten side in the League should lose their match and record to the team planted firmly at the bottom. Even more so to a team whose steadfast dedication to the Hyacinth Bucket school of grandiose has them insisting the current hue of their famous strip colour is still ‘Old Gold’, when it’s quite clearly some kind of dirty orange. Not quite as orange as Holland’s Oranje perhaps, no. Nor as Tangeriney as Blackpool’s jovial sea side number, but still orange. It may indeed be “old’ gold, but a gold that’s so old it’s now become orange, or a version of gold before they’d worked out what gold actually was, and then decided that that was gold, and this was actually orange. Not helping my peculiar fixation on this, was the fact that everyone in Wolverhampton seemed to be orange. Or ginger to be more precise (and fairer.) Literally (in the Redknappian sense) every single crowd reaction shot and valedictory end of game euphoric crowd pan revealed wave upon wave of ginger people, in orange shirts, including at one point a teenage Sideshow Bob in a plaster mask. Aside from unleashing my inner colour Nazi, the game proved more testament to the unpredictable, fatalistic, nihilistic, Sods-lawian, Fergusonian ‘bloody hell’ nature of football. A man with preposterously high cheek bones scored two, one off his back, and the visitors failed to create anything of note in the second half as the oranges played for time as early as the 60th minute. But who can blame them? Despite what Arsene Wenger thinks (which would be a great title of a book I want to write) a team like Wolves have every right to play to their strengths with survival on their minds, and it’s up to the more talented, visiting side to break them down. Put simply Arsene, “Oranges are not the only fruit.”
5. Hoof! There it is…Huth! There it is. – We’re currently living – for those who hadn’t noticed – in a post Allardyce world. It’s a glorious age of free flowing loveliness where the Premier League can rack up 41 goals in a day and even Wigan and Blackburn can churn out an exhilarating 4-3 in front of the thousands of people who never seem to be at the JJB. It takes allsorts though, and for those odd souls still missing a little bit of Big Sam, thank the burly, hoof ball heavens for Stoke City. Along with almost every other top flight fan in the country, Stoke’s followers got to enjoy a raucous, passionate, end to end, high scoring encounter, topped by a last minute winner in dramatic circumstances. Only Stoke though God bless ‘em, did it in such a uniquely Stokian way. Their first was probably a foul, and offside and poked in by a huge obstructive striker a yard about a yard out amidst a goal mouth scramble. The second came off somebody’s back, and probably their arm, before it fell in off the lumbering steamrolling thigh of Robert Huth. The third was quite a decent goal, or what commentators call a very decent goal when they don’t want to say good, and usually when they’re being patronizing or talking about Stoke, by which they mean a long free kick which the defender bundled in at the back post. But oranges are not the only fruit. I doth my cap to you Pulis, you are a maverick in these times.