The harmonic results against Manchester City and Arsenal only rectified a background melody of hope for the season’s crescendo. Once again, against West Brom, the orchestra faltered at a simple notation after constructing foundations of relative success.
Taking two points out of trips to The Etihad and Emirates is something fans would have dreamed about in September, when Liverpool lay in the relegation zone, now it doesn’t seem quite enough. If we are honest the performances typified Rodgers’ time at Anfield, aesthetically and in substance. We outplayed the opposition, we won the midfield battle, we looked assured for large proportions of the game but, as the fans greeted the final whistle, they did so with regret.
Losing by five unanswered goals to West Brom over the course of the season is frankly inexcusable. Nonetheless, the displays differed. Not that this is anything to be proud of, as it doesn’t curate points, but it does inject optimism. This optimism won’t stay forever. Even I, a keen supporter of Rodgers’ regime, am becoming increasingly exasperated with each coming week.
Frustration is simmering just below boiling point. Fans are becoming restless. These fans are those striving for instant success. They are the ones that don’t appreciate that Liverpool Football Club has been blessed with an illustrious history. In no way, because of that, should there be a divine right to success. The club is held in high regard because of these achievements, but by no means does this mean that it should be overly expected.
If the fans don’t sing from the same hymn sheet, why should the players? Most fans are over-zealous. You can’t ignore the fact that if we were winning by any means necessary, there would be a section of supporters that would grieve about it not being done in the ‘right way’. There is always alienation.
However, alienation should not get in the way of love for the club. If you don’t like the manager don’t fall to those that support a certain, blue, London club. By supporting the team it doesn’t necessarily mean you are behind the manager. I feel this when I go to Anfield. The atmosphere isn’t as good as it was even two years ago. If you are someone who wants this instant success on the pitch, why can’t you recognise that the heritage isn’t perhaps being reflected in the terraces and even further afield? Don’t complain then not sing yourself. If the ambience dies in the stadia, so does the beat in a players heart. They play off the fans.
Our ambitious conductor endeavors to string these notes back together in legato, although occasionally it appears he sings a cappella in his efforts. Players are trying to morph into what is expected; some aren’t good enough to do so, some are just stubborn.
Concentration seems to be a major factor in our sometimes self-destructive result pattern. On occasion our centre-half pairing play together with beautiful coherence, Lennon McCartney-esque, but haphazardly they fall into the realms of Jedward for small parts of games. These small parts cost goals. There is no greater example than Agüero at The Etihad. Dominance failed to pay for mistakes. The ensemble fell apart with one bum note.
If our staccato form doesn’t stop, the crescendo of the season will become a torrid diminuendo. The vision is tangible. The music is there. It’s written down. We now must persevere until the orchestra unites in beautiful song, not give up and become a stereotyped parody of ourselves.
