You know what happens next, don't you?
The press gleefully told the world about our worst run since 1987 (we finished runners up) and added that the United game was the last fixture we needed. I was surprised when many Reds agreed. Surely United is exactly what you need. Turn them over and it's the biggest boost in confidence we could ever receive. Gerrard out? No problem. Torres only 80% fit. Sure, bring it on. We're Liverpool Football Club and we don't do things the easy way. This wasn't a nail in the coffin, this was an opportunity. If you need to climb back on the horse as soon as possible, who do you want? Hull at home or Man U?
Anfield makes such a difference sometimes. United sang their lovely ditties about murderers, we sang the word 'Liverpool' repeatedly. They brought beach balls so we brought our own in heavy irony, displaying candid messages to the Americans. This was a day when the fans were needed and we showed up in droves. This was a European night metamorphosed into a Premier League game played in a wind tunnel. This is when Liverpool come into play and we're good at it.
A cynic would ask where the enthusiasm, ability to close down and create chances were at the Stadium of Light. If we can do it against the nation's best (apparently) why can't we do it against Steve Bruce's hoofers? It's not an easy question to answer and for once I don't care. For now at least.
Carragher shook off his 'past it' image, Lucas was indomitable against Scholes and Carrick and Torres was…well, where to begin? How many strikers can walk into an alley and find a third exit? He gave Ferdinand no chance for his goal. Nearby, Vidic was only happy that it was someone else being made to look like a lead statue for eternity on You Tube. With Fernando you don't just hope he'll score, you just wonder which way he'll do it.
Ferguson and Phelan can crow all they want with their comments ('no complaints, but…'). Carra was covered by Agger and Evra was kicking Yossi in the air every five minutes. I won't even mention Rooney's cosy chats with the ref. We've learned how to play them at those tactics now. It was great to see Carra sprint to the ref at half time to stop Fungus' rants getting through.
With ten minutes to go a bystander got off the bench and looked appalled at the reaction to his few steps to the touchline. I've heard all the 'some people have short memories' arguments but the reverse is the case. We have long memories and that's why his every step was barracked. Booing is a ridiculous thing, the act of a child. Shouting is much better. He knew it was coming but his face said otherwise. Carragher's 'cool reception' comment, beautiful in its understatement, was so anodyne that maybe his mate believed it. He's been here before and taken less abuse but he's never been here with that shirt on. He'll get it for life now. That's the price he pays for making that decision and thinking it would be okay. The Glams applauded him but I'd like to think some of them shook their heads and wondered by a sly act of oneupmanship by their manager had turned the game's greatest fixture into a panto. Come the end the Wicked Witch became Widow Twanky. Thanks for bringing him on.
So there we are. Another bizarre week ending in joy for once. If you bring a shirt you may get a game at the Emirates but Fulham is the real test. We've taken the most difficult step to gaining momentum - the first one - but it's time to build.
What is it about this club that throw you from one extreme to the other? From a beach ball to Ngog's celebration? We have some great days at this club and we pay, my God we pay, for every single one of them.
The title for this article is taken from C.S. Lewis' memoirs. He also said the following.
"Why love if losing hurts so much? I have no answers any more. Only the life I have lived. Twice in that life I've been given the choice: as a boy and as a man. The boy chose safety, the man chooses suffering. The pain now is part of the happiness then. That's the deal."