Sunday’s clash had a number of factors pumping it up: Rafa’s first return to Anfield, another chance for Torres to show Liverpool why he moved, Hillsborough’s memorial, and both teams needing three points for their respective European hopes.
The result? A bit of a bloodbath with elbows, arguments, reckless tackles, and other incidents providing Sky Sports something to foam at the mouth about.
Tactically, Liverpool set up differently than their regular home 4-3-3. The regular midfield three was replaced by a holding two consisting of Gerrard and Lucas, and a front- What? Yeah yeah, I saw the bite. Yeah I’ll get to it….Jeez
-a front three of widemen Coutinho and Downing (who were seemingly in a desperate battle to see who could be least effective in the first half), with Jordan Henderson in the center behind Luis Suarez.
Chelsea meanwhile were nothing special but nothing bad either. Their defence was solid and they took their few chances well, with Oscar and Hazard capitalising from set pieces. Mata was like clockwork and David Luiz was typically Luizy, winning the ball well here, then making a stupid mistake there. Chelsea’s only under-performing player was one Fernando Torres, who had about as much impact on the game as a pigeon. His touch, and ability to win the ball were sorely lacking as Carragher (who got an arm in the face from Nando for his good work) marked him out of the game.
Liverpool’s poor first half was remedied with a few changes; Henderson is improving as a player but he is not the man to play off the striker. Liverpool already have a golden one of those players in Stevie G, and this tactical swap correlated with Liverpool’s second half dominance. That aforementioned dominance was inspired by halftime sub Daniel Stur- Hey, are you listening?
-Sturridge, who came on and did more than any Liverpool player had done in 30 seconds. Sturridge’s footwork and crossing was- hey stop looking over there!
Right that’s it.
The whole time we’ve been at this metaphorical pub I’ve been pulling out some great footy chat and you’ve been ignoring me. You’re not even looking at me, sure you glance at the picture and caption, but you’re not interested in me. You’ve got your eyes fixed on the pretty girl at the bar chewing on her arm.
Well you know what mate? Fine. You go and look at her and her unusual violence. It’s a shame no one wants to hear about the football anymore but I guess that’s the way it is for you neanderthals. No, in fact I’ll go and call her over, then you can ogle her without moving, wait here you complete let-down…
There, are you happy? You sick bastard. Look at him! No, don’t you dare turn away. Look at the horror you have wished upon yourself. He’s eating the man’s arm and no amount of tactical analysis will ever change that fact.
Oh who am I kidding, I’m a broken man. I couldn’t even tell you if Jonjo Shelvey was brought on in a free role or on the left of midfield. All I can see is the bite. A thousand slow-motion replays of gnashing jaws tearing through flesh. What have you done to us modern sports media?! Oh the humanity!