It was four minutes and nine seconds of mayhem, a comparatively short passage of time that could prove pivotal in Liverpool’s season. It contained no goals, no shots on target, nothing definitive but magnificent madness.
If football’s appeal lies in individual brilliance, superb illustrations of teamwork or perfect demonstration of skills, injury time at The Hawthorns on Sunday had little attraction. Yet if it revolves around drama, a strange combination of the unlikely, the inept and the important, it made for riveting viewing.
Game plans seemed to go out of the window. The tactics owed something to the playground. The West Bromwich Albion goalkeeper Ben Foster spent much of stoppage time in the Liverpool half. He mounted a desperate attempt to halt Georginio Wijnaldum, going to ground semi-comically in a failed sliding tackle after trying to jockey the Liverpool midfielder when he embarked on one solo run. He found himself in the inside-right channel at one stage, a supposed shot-stopper in a prime crossing position. He was nearer the right touchline when he found teammate James McClean, only for the winger to be dispossessed by Alberto Moreno.
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The Spaniard began added time as an unused substitute. He ended it being hugged by Jurgen Klopp. In between he conjured a miss to rank among Liverpool’s most infamous. It was not quite as glaring as when Ronnie Rosenthal struck the bar at nearby Villa Park in 1992 but, with Foster stranded way out of his goal, Moreno took aim from 45 yards and missed an open goal, his shot resembling a putt that was always tailing away.
There is something endearingly enjoyable about seeing highly paid, highly skilled professionals fail at the basic tasks. It is easier to relate to their failings than otherworldly examples of virtuosity. It added to the sense of mayhem.
There was little structure, hardly any composure. Liverpool ignored the convention that a team seeking to waste time takes the ball to the corner flag. Instead, Wijnaldum, still going strong at the end of 90 gruelling minutes, embarked on a long and winding run that encompassed no fewer than 12 touches.
None of which prevented Albion from attacking again. A side that won two corners in regulation time had as many in added time. Liverpool required two crucial, brave punches from the much criticised Simon Mignolet, showing character as he got clattered. There was desperation and defiance in equal measure, a diet of direct football, dictated by urgency, and the sight of virtually every player converging on the visitors’ penalty area.
While some games peter out, this acquired extra momentum. The first 90 minutes teed up the breathless finale. It was not a classic match. It was a compelling ending. If the nature of it owed something to Albion’s ability to launch aerial attacks, there was a time-honoured element to their approach. Pack the box with six-footers, send the goalkeeper up for a late corner, try to score amid an atmosphere of bedlam: this was quintessentially British football played largely by foreigners.
Perhaps it helped, too, that Liverpool are managed by an Anglophile. Klopp embraces the energy of the occasion. His pressing game owes much to English football in the 1980s. His euphoric reaction at the end was of a manager aware how important the three points may be in the quest for Uefa Champions League qualification, but also of one who enjoyed the hectic final few minutes.
Klopp feels an anomaly, a manager who feeds off emotion. Many of his counterparts want control, either of possession or within a defensive structure. Klopp can savour something rawer, at least when his side wins.
In the modern game, there is a form of brilliance that feels bloodless. It is the problem with sterile domination. This was its antithesis, a fast, furious and flawed throwback, marked by mistakes, in both decision-making and execution. It was not about technical perfection, but entertainment and unpredictability. Perhaps the chaos was not for the connoisseur. But in its own way, it was football at its best.
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