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Everything's the Worst: Tempus Edax Rerum Edition

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It is finished.

Michael Regan

We cannot fully appreciate something in its absolute fullest, with every straining emotion and thought until it appears to move away from us. Even if it is just a matter of millimetres in one's full gaze. What is it that we have waited for? What have we turned to in its absence? How will we feel once we are back in its warm, reassuring glow? It has not even been an age but why do we feel that the time spent apart has changed us, educated us, and infuriated us? Nonetheless, we have done what we always did and continued to huddle together, finding solace among kindred spirits while we wait. We have witnessed another of our number struck down with accursed injury and observed the remaining common sense left in the England camp swept away by the deluge otherwise known as Roy Hodgson. Finally. After such a long time. It is over. We survived. Liverpool will play again.

Don't run away. Stay. Just for a while. You may be surprised to find something different here. Are you not relieved? Do you not lie in wait for a brighter day? It is coming. After six referees survey the field before blowing their whistle definitively, it will be Liverpool's turn to contribute to the weekend's action in pursuit of consecutive league wins for the first time this season. A minute milestone, one that should have been accomplished by now and not worthy of any excessive celebration. However, we will still betray our our predilection for dissatisfaction after an unworthy September and give thanks to the Football Gods. For neither international break nor Harry Redknapp shall halt what should be a small step in what is still a young season.

Be blessed with the continued favour of existence, one will notice that time invariably eats and eats well. It will have its day again, and again, and again. Set goals and make plans. Speak of things to come and plead for more of what could damn you. No matter, time will not fail to meet you for an extempore and casual judgement. Seven is three short of ten. Ten games. Ten. Ten. Ten is the number that Brendan Rodgers cites to possibly assess where Liverpool are as a unit and perhaps deliver some form of diagnosis. Queens Park Rangers is the first of the three steps to ten since Rodgers delivered that figure, one that has been used for many seasons by managers for an early assessment of sorts.

It is strange. Quite the peculiarity indeed. Liverpool have stuttered, stalled, staggered, and stumbled. It has not been mortal and further fumbling this month would not alter this fact, even if undesirable results this month would thicken the clouds surrounding the club. Dispiriting performances have worried some into such frenzied panic that there were actual wails for an early managerial sacrifice. From Liverpool. Those sentiments merit no such attention, yet there they are. Out there. Without the necessary embarrassment that should accompany such impatient, inane, and insufferable ideas.

There are others who will not descend into an unshakeable and needlessly dramatic den of despair. Well, what of them? What of the ones who hold reason and patience close? Worry exists. What will become of a Liverpool side that achieved so much so quickly? Perhaps that is what troubles us most in those fleeting tranquil seconds before bellowing in support of those affiliated to the seemingly resurgent Liverbird. Maybe we declare our utmost confidence in the manager and the players in the knowledge that nothing looks certain. Of course, there are some certainties in football. Chelsea will not finish lower than second. A fool should bequeath the Football Gods every bodily organ if doubts existed about Manchester City's place in the top four. Certainties exist.

Queens Park Rangers. Mashed by Manchester United. Defensively disastrous. Thrashed by Tottenham Hotspur. Brittle. Frail. Fragile. No disrespect is intended in an attempt to provide an objective appraisal of the league's bottom side. Excluding the unthinkable defeat or draw options floating in the universe for Brendan Rodgers' side, what else is out there? Win and meet expectations. Barely. Collect three points unconvincingly and feel the burning breath of loyalists. Secure victory in a fashion belonging to last season and watch as naysayers point to other league members boasting emphatic victories.

This could be a game where what returns to us looks so bright and familiar, comforting even. Our expectations and the diminished status of Liverpool's opponents pose a different problem, one that curiously we have been waiting for.