Amory running, turbid down pitch, is tackled in a clash of titanic difference, his legs cut from under him, sprawling forward onto the cut grass below.
Flash to the present, and Christian Benteke claims penalty rather than defeat, his ease of descent eerily evident in the way his body topples from light contact.
But we lack care, for the greatest of points is those won without just cause, no true reasoning present, no flaw stronger than injustice. On the wrong side for long periods in the past, Liverpool FC have become ingrained in the modern penalty culture. Whether it be Steven Gerrard knocking them in, 2013’s gaudy memories aside, or Benteke winning one against Palace, the malice resulting fuels a fire for more diving.
Dab on the unfortunate centre-half in your path, mind on one thing, let it fly to the stands, your momentum taking foothold in a raucous intended clash, side trailing or fearing draw, your toe dragging ever slowly behind.
Isabel congratulates, but you can’t help but think of a more rewarding path to such a well-weighted goal. The boys around the league just don’t understand why you feel so empty inside, but the smile adorning your face lends credence to this hidden truth.
As the Redmen push higher up the table, they fear no fall, their future determined long ago, Klopp egging from the return with a penchant for claiming the scalp of Champions League qualification.
