I had my POST-MATCH smack post all lined up and ready to go. I was going to smack Jason, and smack him good. I thought for sure we would pounce on what Sir Alex called a “wounded animal” and take care of business. It turns out that I was the one getting smacked.
At least I got to watch the horror alone, without the clever remarks and the constant “ooooooo” that would have been flung at me by my fellow Thugs, as Livapoo pressed all game. Liverpool played like they had to win, and United played like we shouldn’t lose, and you all know where that gets you. Without a killer instinct, the best result you can get is a draw, and Liverpool wouldn’t even allow that.
The upside is that whenever United and Liverpool square off, the Thug that is victorious owes the losing Thug a beer. I arrived home to not only one beer, but to an entire six pack. That’s how bad the loss felt, and how good the win must have felt for Jason. Well played J, well played.