I was doing so well….for the first time in 17 years of supporting Liverpool, and after 17 consecutive years of shattered dreams, I awaited the season in a darkly pessimistic mood, having somehow managed to convince myself for the first time in my life that this wouldn’t actually be our year. It must have been some sort of self-protection mechanism akin to amnesia after a traumatic experience, albeit taking 17 fucking years to develop.

Anyway, I convinced myself that a defeat or even a draw at Villa Park followed by a spirit crushing opening home defeat to the cockney twats of Chelsea would have signalled the death knell for a championship hopes within the first week of the season. Having wanted us to sign Torres for years and been ridiculously excited when it actually happened I somehow managed to convince myself that the sceptics were right and he would struggle to adapt and would never become a twenty goal a season man. Equally, having convinced myself, after watching a two minute you-tube montage containing about four goals, that Ryan Babel was the next Thierry Henry, or might even live up to his own modest claims that he would become even better, a pre-season spent watching him display a first touch about as subtle as a Bernard Manning gag made me pine for the days of Heskey or Diouf. Okay I may be exaggerating a little about Heskey and Diouf but you get the picture.

Having watched the Newcastle Bolton game with what seemed like hundreds of Geordies in the only bar in the toon showing the match via the illegal Arabic channel, me and my now delirious Geordie mate (none other than EFP’s own toon dog) made our way to a quieter boozer to watch the reds. I was determined that my new found pessimism was here to stay. Rafa’s team sheet, with Arbeloa and Risse in left back and left mid positions respectively, immediately triggered the instinctive but unbelievably fickle annoyance at the man who inconceivably brought old big ears back home.

Despite this slightly worrying opening day team sheet Gerrard’s position at the fulcrum of the team stirred a flicker of hope. By the end of the match I had truly been through the wringer, nervously enduring the laboured opening, before the ecstasy of the Torres inspired and for once lucky break of an opening goal. The encouraging second half with the increasingly prominent Gerrard only being denied sealing a comfortable three points by Stuart Taylor somehow turning into a world class keeper was slowly chipping away at my resistance to unbridled optimism when disaster struck as Carragher had an aberration and villa inexplicably equalised from the spot. Same old story was ringing in my ears as I made a complete and utter dick of myself by punching a wall. When Gerrard conned the ref into awarding a free kick I could barely bring myself to watch seeing it as sick little sprinkling of salt in the gaping wound of my resurrected hopes.

The way it arched in and the maniacal celebrations coupled with the context of the game made it almost impossible to banish thoughts that this could indeed actually be Gerrard’s and Liverpool’s year. There seems to be a destiny about Gerrard and Liverpool, the way he pulled that goal against Olympiakos out of the bag, his one-off Mario Jardel impression in the final that year, and his truly unbelievable equaliser against West Ham in the cup final a year later. As he pointed out a couple of days later if Liverpool do go on to win the league this year that goal could be just as vital.   

Since then I’ve been fighting a gallant, largely unsuccessful battle, trying to regain my pessimism. The Toulouse away game didn’t alter much aside from reminding me what an awesome player Javier Mascherano is and consolidating a long held view that the central midfields of our rivals don’t compare. This view was further underlined in mackem land when momo’s goal capped an impressive return to form. The Chelsea game similarly didn’t see me getting too carried away, as despite out-playing them for large parts and being scandalously robbed by one of the most outrageous judgement calls since Jude Law cheated on Sienna Miller with that skanky baby-sitter, we had battered them at Anfield more comprehensively last year and the true tests of Benitez’s improved team was never going to be in one off games against title rivals at Anfield. Indeed, on the back of the close escape at Villa Park, the fact we had only taken a point from such a game seemed to be a worrying echo of last season’s deficiencies, especially the sickening united game at Anfield.

Having said all that, the nature of our goal with Gerrard sliding Torres through and seeing a Liverpool striker for the first time in years skin a defender before finishing clinically did suggest some sort of corner may have been turned. This theory was further underlined at the preposterously named stadium of light. While we again wasted a host of opportunities, with Torres missing at least three gilt-edged chances, and had to wait until the last minute for the score line to even begin to reflect our superiority, the sight of Torres bursting past Nosworthy and McShane early in the second half was evidence of the new dimension he gives us. This combined with the metamorphosis of Jermaine Pennant into a star player and the electric pace and moments of unpredictable genius of Babel have transformed the attacking aspects of the side beyond recognition.

The ten goals and consummate ease of the victories against Toulouse and Derby merely served to bolster the belief that this is a new team with both victories showing the kind of commitment rarely seen at Anfield in such supposedly straight forward matches. Moreover, whilst the weakness of the opposition in these two games needs to be remembered, the smoothness of transition following a number of changes in both matches suggests that Rafa may finally have a squad good enough to endure the highly necessary rotation policy the press are so obsessed with.

Thus, while I am well aware that the season is only six games old and much sterner tests, including an inevitably revitalised united, will come, my pre-season pessimism went out the window almost as early as my usual optimism does; and another away win at Fratton Park would almost definitely tip me back into the dangerous state of belief that this is the year….