Gavin Cooney

A SHATTERING NIGHT for Liverpool, the whole of its sheer badness evident in its discrete fragments. 

Virgil van Dijk, feet planted and arms hunched, obscuring his goalkeeper’s view as he stood caught in Jadon Sancho’s stare as if he was some kind of Mancunian Medusa with Bruno Fernandes literally pointing at the corner of the net into which the ball was about to roll. 

Roberto Firmino lining up a cross-field pass for a volley and executing a swaaack at thin air. 

Luis Diaz, shoved to the ground by his own corner flag, scrambling around and desperately clawing at the ball with his knees as Scott McTominay looked down at him with the brusque and withering contempt of a nasty step-dad.

Manchester United did to Liverpool at Old Trafford what Liverpool used to do everyone else. United brought the chaos whereas Liverpool brought the clamminess: they smashed into tackles and snapped onto every loose ball, and left Liverpool reeling.

In his recent book, Liverpool assistant manager Pep Lijnders repeats the mantra that “Intensity is our identity”, but on the basis of last night, indifference would be a more snug fit. Another of Liverpool’s principles expounded in that book is “first pass forward”, but United were its faithful adherents last night. Their approach was furious but simple: they swallowed their opponent’s creaking, depleted midfield whole and then instantly exposed oceans of space between and behind the Liverpool centre-backs. 

They did in the first minute, the third minute, and then the ninth minute, when Anthony Elanga hit the post. Elanga proved crucial to the opening goal, ghosting behind Trent Alexander-Arnold to take an Eriksen pass before pulling it back for Sancho, who had an age to pick his spot. Alexander-Arnold, unfathomably and unforgivably, quit twice in the same move: stopping first to allow Elanga behind him, and then standing in his own box as Sancho shaped to shoot. His last-gasp lunge from flat feet fell just short. Alexander-Arnold’s wasn’t the only fault, Van Dijk’s statue routine was baffling, and a furious James Milner harangued him in full view. 

The second goal had a ring of nostalgia about it, as Rashford ran clear behind the right side of Liverpool’s defence to smash confidently beyond Alisson. That Rashford suddenly found that confidence in Cristiano Ronaldo’s surly absence may not be a coincidence. This was a very significant night for Erik ten Hag on many fronts, and he set the tone for it with his team selection, benching Ronaldo and Harry Maguire. 

Marcus Rashford scores the winning goal. PA PA

United simply couldn’t have unsettled Liverpool as they did with Ronaldo leading in the line, and this game was the ultimate proof of the folly of his signing. Lisandro Martinez was outstanding, this the kind of aggressive, low-altitude game he was made for. 

Manchester United managers have lacked true authority at the club for years, but that ten Hag delivered a performance and result like this with his captain and his best-paid player on the bench is a sign he may be on the road to earning it. The club is chaotic in so many ways, but this gives it a sense of purpose and direction. 

Mohamed Salah gouged out a late goal for Liverpool as United sagged deep and Old Trafford hung nervily quiet, though this was less to do with any kind of relentless Liverpool pressure than it was a fraying of United’s long-damaged nerves. Ultimately, their explosive start ultimately propelled them across the finishing line.

Who expected this? Jurgen Klopp did. He spent the build-up hailing United and forecasting their hunger, to the point that he wrote an obituary for Gabby Agbonlahor’s mentions. His players were either not ready for what United brought, or, worse, were prepared for it but couldn’t react. 

Yes, Liverpool are ravaged by injuries – their midfield ranks have been winnowed to almost nothing – and yes, the game was ultimately decided by tight margins. Rashford’s goal would have been flagged offside under VAR a couple of seasons ago before they shifted the emphasis for attackers, and, as Duncan Alexander gloriously pointed out, Bruno Fernandes’ miscue in front of his own goal would have cannoned into the net off Lisandro Martinez’ waist had he been a little bit taller. 

But more concerning for Liverpool was the manner of the defeat.

There are the recurring issues. This was the seventh-straight game in which they conceded the first goal, and yet another game when the a half-metre off a counter-press suddenly exposes acres of green grass behind Alexander-Arnold. 

There are the individual issues. James Milner looked to have finally lost his battle against time; Andy Robertson’s deliveries remain errant and poor; Luis Diaz lacks Sadio Mane’s strength; Roberto Firmino now does all of his best work outside the box, whereas once it was merely most of it; Mo Salah is spending too much of the game too wide; and, above all, Van Dijk is suddenly looking human and searching for a lost aura. 

And there is the fundamental issue of time. They are refurbishing the front three – a process made more painful by the injuries and Darwin Nunez’ moronic suspension – but what is frightening is whether they have underestimated the scale of the job. 

This was a night where United could finally clasp at the first outlines of a true identity, but for Liverpool, this was an identity crisis. 

Whereas United’s performance was something they had not seen before, Liverpool’s was something they did not recognise. 

United will be emboldened, and Liverpool unnerved.