Welcome to a brand new era of virtual Liverpool FC. Jürgen’s left the building, Arne Slot’s gone missing, and somehow the board has handed the keys to the kingdom to yours truly: Mr. Wattie McVerdict.
The mission is to put Liverpool FC back on their perch.
Wattie McVerdict
EA Sports and playstation network
A gamer emulating the trophy laden eras of Liverpool managers Bill Shankly, Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan, Kenny Dalglish and Jürgen Klopp from his bedroom. Using any spare time between sleep, band practice, sleep, homework, eating, sleep and writing content for this site that some folk actually read.
Wattie’s not here to play sensible, tiki-taka keep the ball, and settle for 1-0 nonsense. And it’s not real, so I setup our squad for heavy metal football that hits harder than Mike Tyson. I’ve binned the traditional playbook and rolled out a frankly psychotic 4-2-4 formation. You want defensive solidity? Watch snooker, chess or that other game the Yanks call football.
I play to outscore absolutely everyone. Like 1970’s Brazil, or Kevin Keegans Newcastle team in the 1990’s.
A 5-4 victory’s still 3 points right?
Just look at this lineup we’ve got Florian Wirtz in a two man midfield and Dominik Szoboszlai playing at right back for crying out loud! Pure, unadulterated chaos.
The Transfer
But before we even kicked a ball in anger, we had to get busy in the market. We had a war chest, and we were absolutely spunking it. We needed a strike force capable of giving Premier League centre halves night terrors. Enter Victor Osimhen.
We dragged the masked menace away from Galatasaray for a cool 70 million quid, plonking him right next to Alexander Isak up top. After a bit of tense back and forth across the manager’s desk, our new striker is sitting pretty on a 5 year contract at £115,000 a week, with a cheeky £1.3 million signing bonus just to sweeten the deal. At 26 years old and 86 overall, he’s signed up to be a crucial squad role and sniper at Liverpool.
Matchday: Community Shield vs Crystal Palace
First half
So, off to Wembley we went. For reasons known only to the footballing gods and my own tactical genius, Jeremie Frimpong was handed the captain’s armband for the day, leading out a side built for nothing but pure vibes.
Things started off tighter than a camel’s arse in a sandstorm. Palace actually drew first blood early on. Jean-Philippe Mateta bundled one in from a corner after Alisson was left flapping at it like a seagull over a dropped chip. A right pudding of a goal to concede, but we didn’t panic.
Cometh the hour, cometh the Egyptian King. Mo Salah stepped up to stroke home a penalty, sending Dean Henderson to the shops for a pint of semi skimmed. 1-1.
Just a few minutes later, it was vintage Salah. He gets it out wide on the right, drops the shoulder, cuts inside leaving Tyrick Mitchell looking for his dignity in row Z, and finesses it beautifully into the far corner. We are absolutely cooking.
Second half
We kept our foot on the gas. Cody Gakpo, operating out on that left flank, picks the ball up, predictably cuts inside towards the the D and unleashes an absolute piss whistler. Top bins. 3-1. Thanks for coming, and goodnight Eagles.
But because this is Wattie McVerdict’s Liverpool and we only have two midfielders, we had to make it twitchy. In the 82nd minute, Adam Wharton decides to turn into prime Zinedine Zidane, waltzing through the middle of the park to poke one home. 3-2. Squeaky bum time under the arch.
We needed a hero to put the game to bed, and the £70 million man delivered. Deep into stoppage time, Osimhen picks it up, looks up, and hits a finesse shot from outside the box that curls sweeter than a stolen custard cream into the back of the net.
4-2. The referee blows his whistle, and that is the first piece of silverware in the cabinet. The tactics are chaotic, the wage bill is massive, and we are absolutely loving it.
Hang fire. The league format’s going to be a bumpy ride.
Click here for more imaginary procrastination.
