The Carling Cup comes calling, Liverpool left lamenting

Well, the curtain has been drawn on the Carling Cup for another year, and after the stands had emptied, Champagne spilled and the floodlights turned off, it was Manchester United who left the ground as winners.

As the players had strode up the steps to receive the cup, Ben Foster carried on that unusual trait of goalkeepers by leaving his gloves on for the celebrations. Perhaps he was scared of dropping his Man of the Match bottle of bubbly or even the Carling Cup, a trophy notable only for its lack of size. It reminds me of the trophies my father used to bring home after once again winning Player of the Year in his local pool league.

I had my usual cider haze going on that just about dulled the edge of nerves. Actually, I was still essentially sober at kick off. I found it hard to get worked up for this one from the edge of my sofa, a hotel room going to waste down in London as I failed to secure tickets in time, but by the latter stages of the game both my nerves and the Strongbow were running on empty. I made a strange comment, well for me anyway, as the game progressed through extra time, to my girlfriend... “I just can't see us losing this, there's something about us this year.” and even a post made on a forum as I waited for the penalties proclaiming that Tevez would take the first penalty (he didn't), would go the same side he always does (he did) and he would miss (thankfully, he did not) was more said in preparation to be shocked rather than honest belief.

Once again we looked assured at penalties, almost German to use a stereotype, with four excellent spot kicks being enough to seal the win after O'Hara hit a weak spot kick that Foster saved well and the massively disappointing David Bentley failed to even find the target from just 12 yards. It was fitting that Foster had a winning ticket in the lottery of penalties, having kept us in the game twice with smart saves from Aaron Lennon and Darren Bent. The former was especially impressive, having a field day against Patrice Evra who looked at odds with the former Leeds player's direct running at times but once again Lennon's final ball wasn't quite up to scratch.

Overall, the game won't leave too many lingering memories, it wasn't a showcase of fantastic football. There were a couple of talking points along the way... how did John O'Shea stay on the pitch after as blatant a second yellow tackle you'll ever see? What was going through Foy's mind when he booked Ronaldo for clearly being taken down after a good bit of footwork saw him nip the ball away from Ledley King's despairing lunge? A combination of not wanting to send anyone off and fear of being labelled a ref willing to accept Ronaldo's perceived diving I guess. Either way, even these thoughts will fade into the mists of time as there can be little time for panegyric as time moves fast in football these days and the small matter of a game at St. James' Park on Wednesday closes in, a game I do have tickets for in a marathon couple of weeks of football for myself.

I started this off with the pleasure of taking up a seat at the Riverside Stadium on Saturday afternoon, hopeful, but not expectant, that our dear old friends from Teesside could fashion a nail for the Anfield coffin. As always, I had a couple of pints down my neck by the time I took my seat, and was actually reasonably impressed by the Riverside Stadium. It gets a reputation as a soulless, empty bowl but there was good voice on show on this day and the stadium looked full to my eye. The Liverpool fans were located in the stand to my right (as time went on in the game, it became clear that there were also away fans located in the three seats immediately to my right as well as directly behind me) and I could not help but be unimpressed with the so called legendary travelling Kop.

Like most away sides they piped up early on with their biggest songs, You'll Never Walk Alone aka The Celtic Song, Fields of Anfield Road aka a butchered version of the other Celtic song, a couple of other nice ditties before their Torres song, which apparently we stole to sing about John O'Shea. Ahem. Needless to say, not a peep was to be heard once the first goal went in, right in front of their stand, as the woeful Skrtel tried to hide from all around and Xabi Alonso stared to the skies, presumably offering a prayer for the dying title challenge.

The man sitting directly to my right could do nothing but offer muted applause as the locals danced and cheered around him. I assume his mate was trying to be even less conspicuous, wearing an England shirt (Liverpool fans, like our own, famously don't have much time for their national team... although is that now Spain in their case? Yea, they won the Euros, they'll be having some of that then) but his face visibly soured as time pressed on and he disappeared for a while, probably to fill up on some of the familiar Carlsberg on offer from the concourse bar. At full time, the Scouser sat behind me muttered to his mate, “We've just handed the Mancs the title.” which I don't agree with just yet. I even heard one of the Boro fans saying, “The only bad thing about today is helping United”. Bad thing? Wash your mouth out, fella. This was a glorious day. Even as I made my way back into town, I received a text message informing me that Kapo had equalised for Wigan just for Lampard to net an injury time winner I had to smile as it meant Liverpool had dropped to third. Next year will be your year, friends. Next year.