Tottenham are not the first group of players to stumble blindly from the green acres of Anfield feeling like this, not the only ones to be stripped of purpose, belief, hope and dignity. Nor will they be the last if Arne Slot and his team continue to play like this.
This was supposed to be a cup semi-final in the balance, a meeting of minds and styles, a contest. But it was not remotely that. It was an evisceration of white by red. It was a dismantling, a disrobing, a humbling. It was four but it could have been six or seven.
Tottenham were simply never in it – their hopes of a season-saving cup final torn from them without mercy – as Liverpool produced a performance that was almost without defect.
Maybe it was perfect. Is there such a thing in sport? Perhaps not. But this was as good as it needed to be and perhaps almost as good as it ever can be on an occasion as important as this.
Liverpool didn’t just reach the first cup final of the Slot era, they did so in classical Anfield style. Four goals, 26 shots, ten of them on target. Tottenham? They didn’t work Liverpool goalkeeper Caoimihn Kelleher all night.
Ange Postecoglou’s players did their best. In the first half, they played sensibly as they tried to protect their slender first leg lead and keep Liverpool at arm’s length. They compromised their manager’s attacking principles, sat in, compressed space and worked hard. They did the same at Brentford at the weekend and won 2-0. But this was different.
