Not a lot to be said about our shambolic exit from the onetime valued FA Cup. Our ‘weaker’ side was deservedly beaten by Wolves ‘weaker’ side and that’s about it really. The brainless Moreno gave his vast army of critics more ammunition by first of all giving away a totally needless free kick inside the opening minute, the fact that Wolves went one up as a result is neither here nor there because the majority of regulars knew it would happen due to the fact that our ‘best’ defence can’t defend very well, let alone one that gave the impression it was put together by drawing names out of a hat. The second goal came after we’d played tip and tap on the edge of the Wolves penalty area before messing up and leaving a breakaway goal inevitable. Changes did get made, they made little difference, we never really looked like we could salvage anything and our goal four minutes from the end didn’t make the slightest difference. No trips to Wembley then so we concentrate on the league then?
We rarely looked like scoring despite domination possession, and that’s the third time it’s happened this season against Southampton. You could sense we would struggle from almost the off and that’s how it turned out. A team packs their penalty area and we don’t know what to do. Familiar story. The last minute winner on the night mattered little, it just gave the Saints what they deserved. We bowed out tamely and that’s both sad and annoying.
I looked at the time, it was 5-15am. I had things to do before setting off for another day at the Holy Ground. It was real Brass Monkey weather which isn’t too bad when there’s daylight but daylight was still a few hours away. I’d heard the Matip saga had been resolved so a bit of good news to start the day. At about half ten outside Anfield Brass Monkey’s would have still been advised to stay indoors but the sun was shining and I thought to myself, not a bad day to be watching football. Unusually I hadn’t heard any team news, not until I was tucked away in a corner of the Lower Anny. As Loud Mouth Pete gave out the team I thought I’d misheard, Matip wasn’t playing. Ah well, we should still be okay shouldn’t we? Ten minutes into the game I said to my match day companion, the famed Mister Pilchard not a lot was happening; we had the ball, we had the ball a lot but not much was happening. Half an hour into the game I said it was all a bit indifferent and as far as Anfield being a cauldron of sound, which it rarely is on these occasion you couldn’t even suggest a Librarian was required. It was more Mausoleum. The first half was definitely sitting behind paint dry in the items of interest column. In a rare foray forward minutes into the second half and after some defensive mayhem we’re so capable of, Swansea had a corner. A guy sitting behind us shouted out boringly “Who R Ya” and Mister Pilchard said, “You know when we concede goals don’t you”. And that’s just what we did. I turned round to the other guy to say, “Who is he then” only he seemed in a state of shock. The guy sitting next to me had gone for a halftime cuppa which he brought back with him. By the time he’d sat down it was 2-0 and he muttered, “What’s happened?” Nobody seems to know what happened or what’s happening. Even when we got back level Mister Pilchard whispered, “You know what’s coming” and it did. T’was the Recurring Nightmare on L4.