Sport

TV View: Squeaking from Liverpool bottoms was deafening

Back in the studio the whiteness of the beaming gnashers is blinding

Liverpool’s Mohamed Salah celebrates his team’s 2-1 lead against Spurs. Photograph: EPA/Peter powell

Mary Hannigan's face
Mary Hannigan
Sun Mar 31 2019 - 22:10

Mayo players celebrating upon hearing a full-time whistle in Croke Park and Liverpool emoting after winning the Premier League title at Anfield.

There are people of a certain youthful vintage out there for whom these sporting sights were unprecedented, never, ever having borne witness to them before; never, ever believing they were even possible.

Pernickety quibblers will, of course, point out that Liverpool haven’t technically won anything at all yet, what with Manchester City having a game in hand which, if won, would put them a point clear with just six games to go.

Semantics, though.

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Yes, technically, they still have some work to do before they end their 29 years of hurt, but Moussa Sissoko’s miss followed by Hugo Lloris and Toby Alderweireld’s one-two that resulted in Liverpool’s late winner confirmed what we already sensed when Jordan Pickford presented them with an 152nd minute Merseyside derby-clinching goal back in December: Name. On. Trophy.

“And sometimes you do think, ‘is your name written on it?’,” as Jamie Carragher put it come full-time – the wonder being that the lad was able to speak at all, so guttural a roar had he emitted when Alderweireld inserted the ball in to the back of his own Spursy net.

Gary Neville, sitting in the same commentary box, just sounded like he needed to vomit.

“It feels like the last 10 seconds of the season around here,” he said when Anfield celebrated the goal like it was 1989-90, after which season Liverpool fell off their perch and have failed to remount it ever since.

And the squeaking from the Liverpool faithful’s bottoms was deafening after Lucas Moura equalised, said bottoms in need of toilet paper when Sissoko advanced on their goal soon after. But they needn’t have fretted, he showed all the poise of Geoff Thomas in Wembley back in 1992. (Ask your grandparents). Alderweireld’s touch in front of goal, albeit the wrong one, proved much more clinical.

Three points in the bag, Liverpool back on top.

Dazzling gnashers

Jürgen Klopp, having just completed his customary camera-shy air-punching lap of honour, beamed. And so Bee Gee white are those gnashers of his this weather, you’d be in danger of contracting snow blindness just watching him on the telly.

“There are 500 ways to win a football game and today was slightly ugly . . . who cares?”

Andy Robertson, surely the lovechild of Danny McGrain and Archie Gemmill, such a blood and thunder tartan throwback he is, concurred when he chatted with Sky after the game, his cross for Roberto Firmino’s opening goal a thing of such loveliness it even had Gary purring. And you’d have a notion that if Liverpool do win the title, the one thing that would ease Neville’s pain would be Robertson, a fellow member of the full-backs’ union, joining the Premier League title-winning club.

Neil Warnock has no such concerns about this title-chasing lark, his Cardiff City side lodged at the other end of the table, trying to stave off away trips to Brentford and Millwall next season.

Warnock, whose teeth are almost as remarkable as Klopp’s, had reason to feel aggrieved after his side lost 2-1 to Chelsea, having led with six minutes to go, the assistant linesman somehow missing the mother of all offsides when César Azpilicueta equalised.

“It’s the best league in the world with probably the worst officials at the minute. Is it me? Is it payback time for me over the many years? Are they thinking, ‘let’s get him out of the way?’ I honestly don’t know,” he said to Sky.

Broadcaster Jacqui Oatley somewhat deliciously pointed out that Warnock only chuckled when Cardiff beat Brighton with a late offside winner back in November, “my wife doesn’t read tea leaves but she told me that my luck would change so I will have to get her a drink,” he said, flashing his Colgate smile while Chris Hughton bit his lip. Swings and roundabouts, like.

Warnock, incidentally, is a hardcore Brexiteer, the only thing he doesn’t want to leave is the Premier League. His wife’s tea leaves, alas, most possibly read: “There will be a Cardiff City withdrawal from the top flight any day soon, unless you escape by the skin of your shiny white teeth. Unlikely, though.”

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