So I’m sat there, fresh brew in one hand, remote clutched in the other in case anyone dares flip from the footy. Sky’s forecasting ‘defensive stability’ at Liverpool, which is news to me, since I haven’t seen a proper defence since Carra was yelling at people in a Scouse accent sharp enough to cut through granite. But now they’re banging on about Ronald Araujo, the so-called stopgap come to fix the mess. Behave yourself. Stopgap? You want stopgaps, I’ll give you stopgaps. I remember Bjorn Tore Kvarme.
Look, Araujo’s barely had his tracksuit off since ditching sunny Catalonia for Walton’s finest drizzle, and already some lad at the pub is saying he’s our next Jamie Carragher. Everyone’s too quick with the statues these days. Yes, he looks like he could wrestle a bear and win, and he’s not gone missing during the big games, which is more than I can say for certain ‘big money’ defenders in the past. That’s all sound, but let’s have a think before we stick him on the mural at the Albert.
Modern Football and the ‘Stopgap’ Craze
Here’s what bugs me: in my day, a ‘stopgap’ was that fella who filled in at left back after they’d run out of subs, usually a centre mid who fancied a jog. Now it’s a label the club throws on a player to avoid admitting they spent daft money and still haven’t replaced Hyypiä properly. Araujo might be boss (see, I can say it if I have to), but no one’s a solution after a handful of games in a league where half the teams defend like it’s a sponsored sleepwalk.
Let’s see how he gets on when he’s marking Haaland away and the game’s gone full Benny Hill and VAR’s having another breakdown. If he comes through that and still wants to stay, then I’ll start talking banners at Anfield.
Comparisons Are a Mug’s Game
I know what you’re thinking, ‘give the lad a chance, yer misery’. Alright, I will. But don’t kid yourself – stopgap or not, he’s got to jump into a defence that’s been held together with sticky tape and Andy Robertson’s scowling. The real test isn’t when you’re playing Burnley and their centre forward’s built like a coat rack. It’s when you’re up against proper strikers, in cup finals, when the back four’s down to two and everyone’s knackered. That’s when I’ll be made up if he’s still standing.
Until then, let’s not have any daft talk about the long-term solution. This is Liverpool. You’re two games from a mural, three mistakes from being compared to Djimi Traoré. That’s football these days. If you want my advice, don’t get anyone’s name on the back of your shirt unless they’ve been here longer than a hungover seagull at the Pier Head.
Anyway, if you want the official version where nobody’s having a whinge, go read the BBC Sport article. As for me, I’ll believe in defensive solutions when I’ve seen them last past Bonfire Night. Now, where’s me remote? Someone’s put the rugby on and I’m fuming.
