Virgil van Dijk may well go down as Liverpool’s greatest centre-back, but more importantly he’s a reminder of how far this team have come…
I COULD write about Trent Alexander-Arnold.
But then you know my thoughts. I still believe it would be a PR disaster.
I’m enthused by Real Madrid’s approach because it tells me that moving to Spain this summer is far from a done deal.
You know my thoughts, but feelings fleet and change.
Can you make your right-back your highest earner? Is he now a right-back for the rest of his career? What does Arne Slot want from these positions on the pitch?
The pinch of anxiety around the contracts lingers like a New Year hangover. You had a great night, but the fear persists due to the ropey rendition of ‘Rock The Casbah’ you performed impromptu at 3am in someone’s kitchen.
Abstinence from such nagging doubts would be welcome.
Mohamed Salah reminds you every week how it’s still possible to be in love with footballers no matter your age or outlook on life.
Anfield’s most cantankerous, most weather-beaten and old in the tooth are coming to adore them, but mainly him.
Manchester United on Sunday. He likes playing against them, but the beauty of him is this applies across the league.
The scourge of English counties. The boogie man of Watford to Leeds and everywhere in-between.
To us, an Egyptian prince turned King. A ruler of records increasingly. I love how much Ian Rush’s achievements in front of goal for Liverpool winds him up.
He’s convinced himself they weren’t playing with goalkeepers in the 1980s, it’s the only way his record is possible.
One left out of the three. One more thud of melancholy reserved for the captain.
It’s funny Virgil van Dijk’s leadership is yet to define him in the way it does other captains. Even when he threw in the most Hollywood performance of all at Wembley last season to lift the Carabao Cup. You couldn’t have written a script for a leader any better.
I believe it’s because Liverpool have had so many leaders all over the pitch from 2018 that you take it somewhat for granted.
I remember growing up watching teams of the 1990s and simply thinking they were shrinking violets. Nobody across a back four wanted the responsibility. The shirt was a deadweight from John Scales to Phil Babb.
When players like Neil Ruddock and Paul Ince attempted to be that person, it looked horribly contrived and dripping in faux machismo.
Virgil remains the somewhat hipster choice of most important of all three because of Salah’s goals or Alexander-Arnold’s age.
The reality is he’s the best centre-back to grace the Premier League and possibly Anfield’s esteemed turf because of how easy he makes it look.
I could pull out numbers and stats, but the reality is that Sunday will mark eight years exactly since his debut and his levels have been nothing short of stratospheric.
I remember writing on these pages the night he signed about how, if he carried himself like the world’s most expensive defender, it was half the battle won.
I had also misjudged the sheer amount of talent he has. He might be my favourite ever Liverpool captain if he stays. Simply because I want more of his cool, his talent, at times his sheer boredom that this is too easy.
United this weekend, then. I have no interest in wasting your time or mine on them. It will be perilous because every league game is when the stakes are at our level.
Dreams are starting to form. The seriousness of what’s at stake is dawning.
No distractions, only focus. Led by one of the best, possibly the best centre-back in the history of the game.
He’s that good. They’re that good.
Enjoy them, enjoy this.
Buy Dan Morgan’s book ‘Jürgen Said To Me’ on Klopp, Liverpool and the remaking of a city…
