Liverpool's Dirk Kuyt celebrates with Luis Suárez after scoring
against Manchester United at Anfield. Photograph: Tim Hales/AP
What's the delay? Liverpool, once again, is a happy
place to be. The change in atmosphere is quite remarkable, both in
the stands and out on the pitch. The players' body language has
changed, as if they have been reminded about what it actually means
to play for this club. On 29 December, Liverpool lost here, 1-0 to
Wolverhampton Wanderers, and Roy Hodgson's players left the pitch
to a mixture of disbelief and voluble anger. It feels like a trick
of the mind now. Two months on, Kenny Dalglish has reinvigorated
the place. We know he is the man for the job. The fans who
serenaded him with a chorus of "Happy birthday" know it makes
sense. Over to you, John W Henry.
When a striker joins English football from the Dutch league
there is a natural tendency to reserve judgment. Blame Alfonso
Alves, the scorer of 45 goals in one Eredivisie season for
Heerenveen who could not tell the difference between a goal and a
barn door at Middlesbrough. Or Mateja Kezman, who scored 105 goals
in 122 games for PSV Eindhoven but was hopeless for Chelsea. Luis
Suárez, however, had already shown in these embryonic stages of his
Liverpool career that he could prove to have been an astute piece
of transfer business. His vision and awareness of space was a
feature of Liverpool's domination; the slalom past four players for
the first goal was the game's outstanding moment.
And probably always will be when these two sides lock horns.
That little period at the end of the first half, when the tackles
started flying and tempers became frayed, reminded us how much it
matters for both clubs not to give an inch to their rivals. The
referee, Phil Dowd, did a reasonably good job of maintaining a
sense of control but he also got the key decisions wrong. Jamie
Carragher deserved to be sent off and Rafael da Silva, if to a
slightly lesser extent, was also fortunate he did not get a red
card for the immature way in which he dived in on Lucas Leiva.
Maybe that's a little harsh and to give him his due Nani, who
was taken off on a stretcher at the end of the first half, was
entitled to be upset by Jamie Carragher's tackle. And the impact of
football studs on flesh – at speed – can be painful in the extreme.
And maybe Nani's head was still a little blurred by his accidental
contribution to Liverpool's second goal. But crying? Bryan Robson
never cried. Roy Keane never cried. Heck, we never even saw tears
from Cristiano Ronaldo, the man who wrote the book on football
prima donnas. Sorry to sound unsympathetic, but this is not a
fixture in which to start blubbing. Don't think for one second that
Sir Alex Ferguson was giving Nani a cuddle and passing him
chocolate drops in the dressing room. As Tommy Smith growled in the
pressbox: "It's Liverpool against Manchester United, for Christ's
sake."
It would be unfair to make Carrick the only scapegoat for United
when the truth is that so many of Ferguson's players could have
done better. Wes Brown demonstrated at times why Ferguson has not
started him in the Premier League for over a year; Wayne
Rooney was on the edges; the usually unflappable Edwin ver dar Sar
had a bad afternoon; and we have dealt with Nani above. Yet Carrick
leaves you wanting so much more. This is a man who could be
United's Xabi Alonso but who never steps forward, as though he does
not have it in his personality to decide it is going to be his
moment. Is it a question of self belief? Carrick is 30 this year
and at that age it is fair to say we will probably never see the
player he really could be. He signed a new contract at Old Trafford
last week and the reaction among the supporters was underwhelming,
to say the least.