Liverpool 3 Tottenham 2
I'm over it.
For a hundred different reasons. Okay, so sure, we threw it away. Two mistakes, both completely avoidable, both gift wrapped for a Liverpool side that started well but soon faded when we asserted ourselves in the second half. The consequence of tired legs and tired minds.
We've played twice in the same time it took the Anfield club to prepare for our arrival. Yes, Walker's pass was shockingly inept and stupid. But it happens. Not so much recently thanks to some good form and confidence. Defoe displayed creative intent at the wrong end of the pitch with a back pass that screamed out for a penalty. None of this would have been relevant had the wood work not stood in the way of Sigurdsson for a 3-1 score line. It happens. Our luck run out and Liverpool gleefully accepted without apology.
It's a cliché, but we'll play worse than we did today and still win. Feels wasteful. I wrote in my match preview that a win at Anfield would just negate any whispers of another mental collapse. Ironically, in defeat, there are still no concerns. We lost because we forced the loss. I'd be more concerned had we turned up and got out played for the full 90 minutes. Last time this feeling consumed us was on our last visit to Merseyside. More irony. The small print however will point towards the fact that with every every blip encountered this season, we pick ourselves up, dust off and get on with it.
To actually be fair to Liverpool, they caused us the odd headache during the first half. They did well on the counter. I'd still wager they only enjoyed those moments because of our European exploits. But that's just football. If you're big and bad enough to ride the wave, then you've got to expect to crash before getting onto the next one. Allows you time to appreciate and respect what you achieved before you attempt to achieve the same again or best yourself.
Our unbeaten run has come to an end, not because of the opposing side but because of us and our own self-destruction. I expect Andre Villas-Boas to be drilling complacency exercises first thing on Monday morning in training. Two league defeats in four months was cited earlier. There is still something grand about bemoaning this off-day, our first defeat for an absolute age. The fact it hurts, the fact we hate having to accept it even though we do with the aid of philosophical musings...it's a testament to our standing when you remind yourself how these occasions would once upon a time happen every other week.
The next three games? Nine points would rejuvenate.
More on the game and its incidents later x