Champions vs. Contenders screamed the Sky Sports pre-game promos, seductively edited packages of clips displaying the usual degree of adolescent-boy-discovers-page-three over-excitement deemed necessary on such occasions. So, the hype machine was fully wound up, but did the actual game live up to its billing?
The opening exchanges saw a red wave of frenzied Liverpool pressing wash over a Man City side left floundering like deck chairs in the tide. Without time to think, Man City played with all the poise of a substitute teacher on their first day at school, panicking as soon as the slightest pressure was applied. For a team of photo-shopped perfection, the opening flurry threatened to become a warts-and-all exposé. Witnessing a PEP GUARDIOLA side misplace passes or occasionally just hoof it, was like seeing a super-model reveal her cellulite, it caused you to question everything you thought you knew.
From a Liverpool perspective, this was football as a cardio-vascular endeavour, played to a soundtrack of wheezing lungs at 200 bpm. Yet, for all the heart thumping frenzy, there was precious little incision, precious little quality in truth. The clearest opening, from the edge of the box, was snatched at by Salah, his effort trickling harmlessly wide to a collective lament of "if only it was last year".
Pep, from experience, was keenly aware that Liverpool are at their most potent during transitional phases. Last season's 4-3 defeat, when the longest time between Liverpool winning the ball back and scoring was 14 seconds, exemplified the threat. Duly chastened, this time Pep cut his cloth accordingly. Mendy and Walker played like throwbacks to a bygone era of muddy pitches and tactical rigidity, forsaking their attacking instincts in favour of defensive solidity. If either of them did venture forward the other was instructed to sit back to form a back three. It was clear that under no circumstance was Pep going to display the Tottenham style naivety of leaving 2 defenders to handle to Liverpool's explosive attacking trident.
Operating as the No. 10 in a 4-4-1-1 formation, David Silva shimmered between the lines like a trick of the light. The Spaniard was an almost psychological presence in the game, his 5"7 of insouciant brilliance a paranoid expression of Liverpool's worst fears. Klopp's midfield succumbed to doubt, the early braggadocio of their pressing gave way to timid eyes-across-the-dancehall flirtation and critically offered City a foothold in the game.
Elsewhere, Fernandinho displayed his mastery of the innocuous foul. Is there anyone to rival him for balletically stumbling into a tackle and making the deliberate seem accidental? Here he played his twin cards of shithousery and puppy dog eyes to perfection. Any time Liverpool looked like they might surge forward, there he was tripping over himself, the ball, the Liverpool player and the referee's leniency to stall the attack. The time taken, for the Ref to deliver a stern "this is your very-very-very last chance, I mean it this time" talking-to, was more than enough for Man City to regain their defensive shape.
Frustrated, Liverpool turned to launching long balls over the top for Salah to run onto. But, given Pep's caution, the tactic was of limited efficacy; another miscued half chance for the Egyptian the best the route one approach delivered. Herein lies a problem for Liverpool. Against elite opposition the Merseysiders rely too much on energy to open up defences and can lack subtlety. If they aspire to being football's answer to Led Zeppelin, then while they already capture the relentless thunder of Jon Bonham's drumming, they need to find a bass player capable of matching John-Paul Jones' grace notes. There was a reason they coveted Nabil Fekir's "je ne sais quoi" during the off-season; they miss Phillipe Coutinho.
The inclusion of Dejan Lovren raised eyebrows before the game, but likely owed much to defensive pragmatism on Klopp's part. The demotion of Trent Alexander-Arnold a subtle nod to the youngster's defensive deficiencies. The rejigged back four weren't exactly run ragged by a slightly off-key City attack, but vulnerabilities, particularly in decision making, were nonetheless exposed. Lovren exceeded Graeme Souness' reservation of "he's got one in him" by twice nearly conceding a penalty; both were of the "I've seen them given" variety. But for Man City it was a case of third time lucky after Virgil van Dijk's uncharacteristically thoughtless lunge on Sane offered them a golden chance to seal a rare Anfield victory .
It seems atypical for the micro-manager's micro-manager to have been unaware of Mahrez's previous penalty taking record. But, in light of the Algerian's gravity defying, Chris Waddle tribute act, that is an oversight Guardiola is unlikely to repeat and surely something that he is privately ruing. This was an opportunity to reassert dominance, to gain a psychological edge, to end the Anfield hoodoo. What might have been?
In truth, the opening minutes and a brief post penalty resurgence aside, City, without ever dominating per se, maintained the upper hand throughout. Normally a devout and unbending disciple of the grand tiki taka traditions, by bowing to pragmatism on this occasion, Pep was tacitly acknowledging the threat Liverpool pose his side. Indeed, this, the revelation that Pep considers Klopp's side as legitimate title contenders, rather than the scoreline, is the most telling result of the game. Champions vs. Contenders, indeed.
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