Dizzy from the twists and turns of the season and eager to find new homes for some insects and horsemen, columnist Giles Smith ponders the fickle nature of football opinion modern-style...
These days people seem to prefer to talk about football in terms of extremes. You're either one extreme thing, or you're the other. Which is fine, because it makes it simpler.
So, as recently as this weekend, for instance, our own club was in the thickest possible fog of despair and turmoil. The title was gone. So, too, apparently, was all hope of Champions League football in 2011/12.
The season was a write-off, the club's period of eminence within the elite of English football was rapidly coming to a close, and the best that could be hoped for, in the short to medium term, was a scrap with Sunderland for the last remaining Europa League place and the chance to wave one weak and final goodbye-for-the-foreseeable-future to European football while appearing on Channel 5.
And then would come the summer, in which, stung by the lack of Champions League football in 2011/12, and not entirely excited by the prospect of waving goodbye on Channel 5, every single one of our favourite players would, evidently (the
Sunday Times, at least, was keen on this analysis), be charging out of the door, led by
Didier Drogba, but without bothering to form an orderly queue first.
Our manager? He would be going with them, if he hadn't gone much sooner. Meanwhile, the four horsemen of the apocalypse would be heard saddling up in Frankie's, while a swarm of killer bees would shortly begin to gather in the walkway behind the East Stand, followed shortly after by a plague of locusts, a flood and, ultimately, a really big old famine.
But then Monday night comes. The team travels to the Reebok, the Drog scores after 10 minutes from a position just south of Preston, the team goes on to add three more and ends up thumping Bolton 0-4.
Bingo. The title challenge is right back on again. Our favourite players aren't going anywhere except home to bed. On the contrary, other, new favourite players, potentially costing millions and millions of pounds, are knocking at the door to be allowed in.
Nobody is going to have to go on Channel 5. Champions League football is comfortably back on next season's agenda. In fact, the triple beckons: league, Champions League and FA Cup. Indeed, an unprecedented quadruple may yet be achieved, because the club is clearly on the verge of a shock reinstatement into the Carling, purely by popular demand.
Ahead, then, lies, not flood and famine, but bounty and happiness, so the killer bees are cancelled and the four horsemen of the apocalypse are released to head back up to Anfield again where every indication is that their services will be required sooner.
Except no - because Liverpool just beat Wolves, so, clearly, on the theory of extremes, all their troubles are over, too, Kenny Dalglish is a proven managerial mastermind, absolutely the right man for the job, and it's milk and honey all round up there on the north-west coast.
So I don't know where the four horsemen of the apocalypse had better head. West Ham, probably. History indicates that an apocalyptic horseman need never be short of work for long around Upton Park way.
Still, it's exhausting, isn't it, all this twisting abruptly through 180 degrees and facing in the opposite direction? But that's football in 2011: boom or bust, war or peace, killer bee or honey bee, and nothing in between.
Fortunately, though, some people remain able to rise above and maintain a steadier view. Our manager, for instance, who took a measured appraisal of the team's performance on Monday night and made, finally, the announcement that all of us have been waiting to hear: 'the bad moment is over.'
This is good news. Better than good news. Let there be street parties and fireworks, in fact. Because that was, surely, one of the longest 'moments' any of us have ever had to live through. Some of us have held down jobs and even marriages for shorter periods than this particular 'moment'.
Accordingly, as the 'moment' wore on, through Christmas and out the other side, a few of us were tempted to upgrade it from 'a moment' to 'a spell', possibly even 'a phase'.
Not the manager, though. Heroically, he kept it in perspective. It was 'a moment.' Always 'a moment'. Never anything less and (more importantly) never anything more.
In a world that swings from one wild extreme to another, what a blessing it is to have a public spokesman so capable of steering a calm, middle line. If only there were a few more like him.
It’s been a busy day for Liverpool news wise with the club linked with a number of potentinal January moves as well as a number of departures. The poor start to the season has led to much criticism of the club both on and off the pitch which has prompted Pepe Reina to defend Roy Hodgson and call for some much needed patience from the Anfield faithful.
