As time waited for no man in the countdown to the transfer deadline, all clocks stopped at Molineux.
Like a bored, bemused child in the backseat of the family estate, a fan cried out for help: “Is it nearly full time yet?”
Another asked if there was still time left in the window to sign Mark Fotheringham, while the rest pursued a conversation away from the scene – a sea of faded orange seats telling its own story.
And amid it all, that gargantuan North Bank monstrosity yawned over the remaining few, in Steve Morgan’s tribute to Dr Frankenstein.
At least the spin might just subside for a day or two after this latest Molineux horror show.
No more spiel about Frimpong the saviour, with Mick McCarthy putting pay to our one final flickering hope of the season by playing him deeper than a sweeper and nullifying youthful exuberance.
The 18 year-old’s verve and attacking vigour dispensed with, as our boss ordered him to stay away from Liverpool’s half at all costs. ‘Defensive midfield signing’ Eggert Jonsson was instead employed further up the pitch, but lacked an ounce of attacking ability to make a difference anyway.
Michael Kightly, our other last lingering hope, was nowhere near his Villa vintage, and so Mick McCarthy’s best laid plan was out the window.
In the absence of 2008 Championship winning influence, we hoofed the ball long, and gave the ball away.
With tactics like that, it made no difference that we’d had 12 days off and Liverpool barely any, as we were more jaded, lethargic and listless having chased the ball in a style that’s known as ‘commitment.’
Aside from a great early Edwards opening that he really should have done better with, Pepe Reina may as well pictured Sky Sports News on one of our seamless video walls. Not that they work either.
The entire course of the game would be decided on whether Liverpool were good enough in the final third.
In the first half they weren’t. In the second half, they were.
Gal shy Andy Carroll scored the most inevitable goal ever, thanks to a great assist from our ball boy who threw Craig Bellamy the ball like a love sick puppy.
With everyone still up the other end of the pitch seconds after our corner, the ball boy should now be loaned out to Nottingham Forest forthwith as punishment, for not leaving it where it was.
Hennessey, having repelled every other effort on goal before all this, then morphed into Wolfie the Wolf, doing what our furry friend did for 10 minutes at half time when faced with a clutch of six year-olds…Dive over the ball in slow motion.
Not that Wayne could be blamed. He was the only player on the pitch who could hold his head up, having made numerous saves.
Roger Johnson then got a bit angry with those hardcore, vigilante thugs in the Billy Wright family enclosure, pointing and glaring at all those ‘mindless idiots’ who were clearly to blame for the entire fiasco.
Kuyt then scored a third to give the scoreline the reflection it deserved, before Sylvan smashed the post from 30 yards to prompt the first genuine cheer of the night.
And that was that.