It’d been a while since I’ve felt it: that gnawing in the pit of my stomach that feels like an eternal churn combined with the floor dropping out from under you. The sense that you really have no idea what’s coming except you’re feeling like, whatever it is, it isn’t good.
I’d like to think I came into this edition of the Merseyside Derby, the first of two in six days, knowing anything could happen. I’ve got like, what, nearly 30 of these under my belt in my time as a supporter? I should know.
After Megan Finnegan’s goal put Everton ahead, that’s when the familiar feeling returned. The goal came against the run of play. And even though Liverpool only had two recorded shots on goal, one of the shots considered off the mark was Ceri Holland’s absolute smacker off the woodwork. Even ignoring the offside call on Missy Bo Kearns, the Reds had chances.
And that’s really what stings here: Liverpool did enough to earn that win. At the very least, to split the points. We could have chalked it up to the derby and been disappointed, but it wouldn’t feel too unjust. But to not have anything to show for it - with late chances from the likes of Natasha Flint to boot - it’s a bit of a hard pull to swallow.
So here I am, pawing at my keyboard, trying to make sense of what happened at Anfield and draw something to link what may come on Saturday. Trying and coming up empty.
Except for that nagging sense that everything’s all on the table again. The Derby is capital D Derby again. And also, I guess, that the fire’s been re-lit, too. Nausea and passion. Bring on Saturday.