Red Or Dead

As Foul Play writes, the public houses of London, Dublin and Oslo are in euphoric uproar following yet another jammy last-minute winner for the long-distance lags of Manchester United.

This one, the second in as many weeks, came against Charlton, which was rather depressing for the romantics among us, but then many would have it that supporting Manchester United and being a footballing romantic are mutually exclusive frames of mind.

Not this hack, though. Although it was impossible to disagree with most people's assessment that Liverpool did not deserve to lose last Sunday week's FA Cup tie, on the evidence of United's second-half onslaught alone it was equally difficult to assert that the home team didn't deserve a route back into the tie.

Ole Gunnar Solskjær's winner led to a weird exchange between Bob Wilson and Kenny Dalglish on ITV's coverage of Arsenal v Wolves later on. As the highlights of the game ended to reveal the pundits sitting in the studio, the camera caught Dalglish wearing a smirk several sizes too big for his usually po-faced visage.

"I'm surprised you're smiling, after that," said Wilson, understating the case magnificently. "That's almost unbelievable."

"Ah, I'm just smiling 'cause I'm happy," replied Kenny, smiling happily.

Happy or not, an old stager like him will have realised that a setback such as the one Liverpool suffered a week and a half ago has the potential to turn into something rather more destructive than a painful late exit from the FA Cup; namely, an inferiority complex towards United which may, in the future, cause Liverpool to throw away matches against their hated rivals that they should have otherwise won by half-time.

Over three years have now passed since Liverpool defeated United in any competition, and I don't say that with as much pleasure as you might expect from a United fan. The last time they gave Ferguson's team a hiding was in a 2-0 win at Anfield in December 1995.

That day, Fowler scored both goals, James had not a single serious shot to save, and United were wearing the grey shirts. If Schmeichel and, improbably, David May had not each given the performances of their lives, we would have needed an abacus to keep track of the scoreline.

Five months later came that stinker of an FA Cup final, in which Cantona's coruscating late winner couldn't erase the memory of all the foul football that had gone before. It's irrefutable that Liverpool have never really recovered from that defeat.

The average Liverpool fan would doubtless find their team's recent dismal record against United more palatable if it followed the usual conventions of poor form against a bogey team. Instead, typically perversely, the 'Pool have played to a far higher standard at Old Trafford in recent seasons than they have against United at Anfield.

At United's place, there was the 1-0 win for the home team in late '96, in which Collymore, Berger and McManaman pissed away enough scoring opportunities to win four matches, and in which Beckham put away the one decent half-chance his team were given. There was the 1-1 draw last season, when Owen scored an opportunistic equaliser and then, still buzzing from the experience, attempted to detach Ronny Johnsen's foot from the rest of his body. And, of course, there was Cantona's comeback in October '95, which featured two fabulous goals from Fowler, an awful lot of ineffectual messing about by United in the middle third, and a quite scandalous penalty which The King duly tucked away to give United an undeserved equaliser.

In contrast, my boys have battered the Scousers senseless in each of the last two seasons at Anfield, winning 3-1 both times. The first of those meetings, in particular, epitomised why one club has usurped the other as the dominant, agenda-setting force in English football during the '90s, with Gary Pallister being gifted two easy headed goals by a back five of Maginot-Line flakiness. Andy Cole, who was in the middle of easily the worst season of his life, scored as well. It was that sort of crazy day.

For now, Liverpool don't believe that they can do United over any more. Although they lost the Cup game 2-1 on the day, they lost a much bigger mental battle the moment that Cole set up a soft equaliser for Yorke in the 88th minute. The winner was almost incidental in psychological terms. Yorke's goal alone would have done enough damage to Liverpool's spirits simply to take them back to Anfield for a replay after they'd led for nearly the entire game.

Their recent excellent run in the Premiership duly ground to a halt six days later, against a mediocre Coventry side who, a week earlier, would have been grateful for an odd-goal defeat from this fixture. Pounce on these guys immediately after United have had their wicked way with them, the Midlanders seemed to be saying, and they're anybody's.

Gérard Houllier was, of course, indirectly addressing this issue when, in one of the post-match interviews eleven days ago, he passionately spluttered, "I can promise you this—one day, we will beat Manchester United."

The implicit, unspoken coda to this defiant proclamation consisted of the words "in my lifetime".