As Micah Richards visibly worked through the five stages of grief for his professional career pre-match, he declared: “Manchester City need to do their talking on the pitch”.
They did, emphatically. But allowing this result to reframe the conversation around their guilty verdict, introducing an element of grudging respect for their players and supporters, would be an error and should be resisted.
This match took a long time to get going. One of the best things about football is how perverse it can be, how hype-resistant it can be in defiance of modern marketing.
It can only have been invented in Britain, the country where ‘nah, you’re alright’ is a national catchphrase.
So it was a surprise that anyone was surprised when the first half, arguably the most eagerly anticipated in Premier League history, turned out to be duller than ditchwater.
Two expensively-assembled teams full of players inhibited by their own shadow, the ball ricocheting off limbs and too many content with a medium-paced jog in the autumn sunshine.
In a way, that’s rather wonderful. Billions and billions of pounds have been spent on this ‘product’ and several rubberneckers would’ve sacked it off in favour of Celebrity Traitors after 25 minutes.
All the action was in the stands. The away end at Anfield was a sea of inflatable bananas, a nod to when City were essentially the northern West Ham: downtrodden on the pitch, good-humoured off it and loyalty that defied logic.
The Poznan was rocked pre-match, as was an ‘Abu Dhabi Job’ banner. This being 2026, it was made using AI.
It was a fascinating scene. City seemed to want to revert back to being regarded as lovable underdogs, not realising the years of unprecedented success have changed both the club and themselves irrevocably.
It was also a big day for Sky Sports. How best to cover their discredited crown jewel, when the result could soon prove to be meaningless?
Their pundits went through the motions beforehand. Roy Keane claimed the Anfield atmosphere was ‘brewing’ in a naked act of narrative manufacturing and that ‘Liverpool have to plug into that energy’.
In fact, the crowd rarely made this uncomfortably hostile for City. The muscle memory of all Those European Nights was reduced to rounds of ‘You Cheating B*stards’ and fury at Nico O’Reilly stealing a yard at throw-ins.
You also sensed that Peter Drury had been waiting two weeks for this, with more time spent on his monologue than the Good Friday agreement.
“After everything, one day City had to play again”, was his opening gambit. ‘They knew how the return would be”. Hmm.
It took three minutes for Florian Wirtz to overhit a through ball to Milos Kerkez when he should’ve shot.
Wirtz’s confidence is only detectable using the Hubble Telescope, with four corners failing to clear the first man. It also seems to have transmitted to Bradley Barcola, who looked very hesitant throughout.
Both were humbled by Lewis Koumas, the 21-year-old making his first Premier League start as Liverpool’s lone striker.
He committed himself admirably, leaving the back of Marc Guehi’s shirt drenched in sweat, but faded after the break.
Jamie Carragher declared it was “by far the best Liverpool have played this season”. That bar had been set at ankle height on this evidence.
The match turned on Ryan Gravenberch’s sending off, awarded two yellow cards for two yellow card infringements. There was no injustice, only more evidence of football’s perverse nature.
City had already tightened their grip on the game, slow and vice-like, and introduced Jeremy Doku for the ineffective Iliman Ndiaye minutes before. Now they pounced.
Erling Haaland broke the deadlock, before Doku curled a wonderful shot into the corner for an old-fashioned one-two. Liverpool’s spirit had broken.
Rayan Cherki’s contender for Goal (and Celebration) of the Season sealed a statement victory for City and Enzo Maresca, who revealed himself to be a fine forward-defensive batsman in this week’s press conferences.
It’s this squad depth, City shuffling their pack of £50million+ options until something clicks, that feels hollow now. A position of strength engineered by the cooking of books, turbo-charging the club’s rise until the revenue cycles became self-sufficient.
Their fans cared not one jot, taunting Liverpool supporters as Anfield emptied. In a contextless world, this is how it should be, of course. An uncomplicated revelling in a brilliant result and bragging rights in the bag.
But none of this was about football. Not really. And that’s arguably the biggest crime committed by City’s owners.
