Quest to be the best

‘Quest to be the Best’.

Leicester City v Liverpool

Thursday, 26^th of December, 2019.

I tried all day not to be tense. Just writing about Gavin & Stacey – being Welsh, I loved it, see.

Even picking-up my jigsaw again which has lain on the table now since, since, well, after June anyhow but getting enjoyment out of it and becoming addicted; again. It was no bad thing.

I’d decided not to drink – you know I’m just getting headaches these days from even half a bottle of cider – I must be getting old; at least it meant I can go and please as I want, as I hear my dad’s voice as I type this.

I got to Davie’s in good time though. Well before kick-off; kick-off to a game I had secretly billed as, ‘our most important in 30 years’, you all know the reason behind that statement. It was almost a whisper though; not quite trying to contemplate what would happen if Liverpool lost it.

Ian and Sarah came, both rugby fans but both Manchester United ones too – almost into the ‘Lions Den’ of three, nay, four (if we include Carly) avid, rabid, ravenous Liverpool fans who bleed not Welsh red blood but Liverpool blood.

The girls were in the kitchen and with about a quarter of an hour to go I was there too. Just chatting and feeling that at any other time I would be completely enjoying myself and engrossed in the conversation about Christmas prezzies and that.

Ian had a special one ‘Crimbo’ prezzie. An un-usual one. He had a voucher for a ‘Sky-dive’. Not in a million years would I do that! Ian though said he had always fancied it and Sarah had now given him a golden ticket for his dreams to come true. The exhilaration he is going to feel will be un-describable. Secretly, I wonder if it would be comparable to the time if and when Liverpool actually lift, lift the, no, no, no, my key-board is not allowing me to write it.

We took-up our match-day positions. Me and Deano, wearing that dark silver top with the Liver Bird on it, on my right of the three-seater and Davie in his swivel, Bond villain chair. There were sweets on the table but also snacks and rolls spread out on the main table – how thoughtful. Fudge was floating around and then Davie shouted, ‘Bag’ and off she’d trot into the far corner, having been spoiled by Deano with another sweet or bit of roll.

‘She only answers to you’ Ian said, supping his Carling can.

Klopp picked the strongest team. Alisson in goals, Trent Alexander-Arnold and Andy Robertson as attacking wing-backs. Virgil van Djke and Joe Gomez at centre-back. Jordan Henderson, Naby Keita, and a timely returning Gini Wijnaldum in the middle. Mo Salah, Sadio Mane and Club World Cup winning goalscorer, Bobby Firmino were up top.

Leicester, having darkened the whole stadium to supposedly create an intimidating atmosphere had Jamie Vardy. Jamie Vardy who always, always scores against Liverpool every season without fail. They had James Maddison too and Brendan Rodgers – smile please for the camera, in charge. They had been dangerous all season.

‘Please reds’ I silently said, working myself-up. This was the moment. The time when it could all go pear-shaped. Where there was a danger that Liverpool could lose.

My, my, my, we were cursing. Cursing though at Liverpool’s inability to finish Leicester off in the first five minutes.

Just how many chances did Liverpool miss? Mane and Trent had one apiece. And they kept coming and coming.

‘You should be four nil-up!’ Ian said with about half an hour gone. I tapped him on the leg as though gently agreeing with him.

At one stage, Naby Keita drove from our half, on the left and played a delicious one-two with Sadio Mane, carried on with his run but failed to hit the target. If it was a Boxing Day bout – Liverpool would have been out of sight on points.

They had been at it from the first second. Right on their ‘A’ game. They fought and thought, for every ball, for any stray pass, for anything which they lost, they played as a compact team as I’ve seen in ages. Leicester were not having a sniff. It was such a controlled performance. All that was missing was a goal.

All of a sudden, the ball was played into the area and thank God Bobby Firmino got in front of Salah and headed the ball firmly downwards so hard that Kasper Schmeichel didn’t have a chance to save it at his left near post.

It was 1-0 to the reds, at last.

I just raised both my hands in the air, my muscles taught, as though surrendering to my emotion inside. ‘Yeah’s’ I shouted from deep within. It meant the absolute world to me that Liverpool had made the break-through…

With their tails-up, like a grinning Cheshire cat, Liverpool did not rest as they went on the prowl for a second goal. That they did not get it can be down more to poor finishing than anything the home team done.

‘This will come back to bite us on the bum’ an exasperated Dean said, shaking his head as he downed another bottle of his favourite ‘Des-per-ra-do’s’, said in his best Newport towny accent! As I downed my diet- coke, having previously spilled a coffee on my white-blue top, with Carly having kindly applied the magic, ‘Varnish’ on it.

The girls were floating about now and they were no trouble, going back upstairs after picking. The both of them are as thin as rakes but they were un-lucky later; the Chinese was shut – how inconvenient; anybody would think it was Boxing Day!

I was worried. Every time we had watched Liverpool this season it was like a game of two halves. Mainly they would play not too good in the first half and then improve in the second period; I hoped, just for a change, they would just ‘carry-on playing’ in a movie title which Sid James could star as a smoking Jurgen with a baseball cap on and a bottle of Bud in hand.

The reds though carried on where they had left off. Attack after attack, in such a measured and controlled fashion that it seemed they were hardly breaking sweat. I have to say I can’t recall specific goal threats but it was just the whole manner in which they bossed most of the game which was the stand-out feature.

Leicester actually ‘had a spell’ and as they upped the pace, with the home crowd reminding us that they were there, having been silenced, me and Dean looked knowingly at each other; worried.

All that experience gained becoming not only European but World Champions though, came into play as Liverpool took a strangle-hold on the game again, after Vardy hardly had a sniff and when he did, there was Gomez sprinting to block him and put him back in his pocket, like some loose change which had fallen out.

Trent kept coming forward. Robbo kept coming forward as did the midfielders, with Jordan Henderson magnificent – pursuing Leicester at every turn.

‘Get Milly on’ I said.

‘Take Mo off’ Deano strongly suggested.

Klopp must have heard us.

Liverpool won a corner down the right-hand side of Schmeichel’s goal and as the ball whipped into the box – at last, it got cleared. However, my heart skipped a beat when play was stopped. The ref was only pointing to the spot, for a hand-ball.

‘Let’s not celebrate yet’ Deano wisely said as James Milner calmly stepped-up amidst antics which were designed to make him lose concentration.

After the messing about, Milner stepped-up and put the ball, with the inside of his right heel, past a despairing Schmeichel, in the centre of the goal.

It was 2-0 to Liverpool and I again just went ‘YES!’ in triumph.

It had been James Milner’s first touch of the ball, after he had come on for the again, impressive, Naby keita.

It was, what, 70 minutes gone but Liverpool were still hungry, still greedy to make sure of the three points on offer in a ‘six-pointer’.

Within minutes Trent Alexander-Arnold, with the freedom of ‘Filbert Street’ crossed the ball in. Bobby Firmino took one touch to control the ball with the inside of his right-boot and then majestically, with a swipe of the same foot, almost curled the ball nonchalantly into the top left-hand corner of Schmeichel’s net, to make it 3-0.

‘Oh my God’ I gasped in awe. Bobby was just making our dreams come that little bit closer with a finish which killed Leicester off.

Carly was chatting to Sarah, Ian’s missus, as we sat there, glued to the tv, mesmerised by Liverpool’s performance. It was a thing of beauty; there was more to come though, just like the bad cracker jokes which baby Kelsey delighted in saying to Deano later.

The ball again pinged out of defence, like one of those pin-ball machines, one-two-three sweep forward and as I watched Trent Alexander-Arnold I realised he was not going to break stride when the ball came to him and he finished the game off with a sublime, low, arrowed, accurate finish from the edge of the area, which nestled into the bottom right-hand corner of Schmeichel’s goal as snuggly as the fit of the pyjamas my mum had got me the day before.

It was 4-0 to Liverpool.

‘Now that’s a true reflection of the game’, Ian said, having given-up trying to secretly urge Leicester on, in the midst of a ‘Liverbird’ household.

It was a canter. Roll back the years. This Liverpool team were writing their own history.

Four nil flattered Leicester – as I wrote later on twitter, it should have been ‘8-0’.

Now it was time to play Kelsey’s spinning board game, as Liverpool had taken another baby step in their quest to be the best…

27/12/19

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