Keith Duggan/Sideline Cut: It will be best if Liverpool FC slide and falter through the remaining games of the season rather than scrape into the Champions League. A final placing in the irrelevant echelons of the upper tier would reflect that a once-great club has become depressingly ordinary and muted.
And such a pointless end to a largely pointless season would inescapably call time on the era of Gerard Houllier. The Frenchman may be a thoughtful and empathetic manager who has never lost the loyalty of his players but ultimately he has failed to arrest the steady decline of a club that was once the bright envy of Europe.
Long after the Beatles had disbanded and the docks had fallen into obsolescence, Liverpudlians had the unfailing splendour of Anfield teams to put their city on the continental map. Nowadays, Liverpool teams do not even shine bright in England.
The exit from the UEFA Cup in the atmospheric shipping city of Marseille encapsulated all the problems that have dogged the Houllier era. As ever, the night ended in a litany of ifs and buts and postulations and wistful scenarios. And because Houllier is such a charming and reasonable man, his grievances sounded genuine and plausible - and some were rooted in fact. Things went against the team - again. They created chances and failed to execute in moments of delicate balance - again. But it is the manager's job to drive his team into overcoming such grievances, not to philosophise on them. After Marseille drew 1-1 at Anfield last week, Houllier lamented that the sound of the visitors' singing in celebration in their dressingroom was "premature and indecent". He said his compatriots had provided him with half his team-talk for Wednesday night's return leg.
In the wake of Liverpool's none-too-surprising exit, the French team's early celebrating does not seem indecent, merely prescient. Visiting Anfield is not a sacred or fearful experience any more. Having secured their away goal, a relatively undistinguished French team felt confident of dispatching Liverpool in their own stadium and they were correct. Instead of bemoaning their lack of manners, Houllier ought to have hammered his own team for their lack of ruthlessness, their error-ridden ways and their almost constant failure to realise their collective promise - whatever that is worth.
But Houllier cannot risk too much of his wrath on his players, as they are his last allies. Nobody can doubt his commitment to Liverpool; this is a man who scarcely blinked after an 11-hour heart operation before returning to the club and this season opened a letter containing a death threat. His loyalty to the club is faultless, and in a way it is heartening, given the callous treatment meted out down in London to Claudio Ranieri, that David Moores has stood so resolutely behind Houllier.
But the time comes when such support crosses the line from unfailing to blind.
In fairness to Houllier, he inherited a club in the throes of a personality crisis. It is arguable that nothing much good has happened to Liverpool since the Heysel disaster in 1985, that the club and its supporters have been caught under a cloud of bad karma ever since. But they continued to light up the domestic winters in the bleak, isolated seasons that followed, and their last great push for glory coincided with the equally appalling vista at Hillsborough on that sickening day in April, 1989.
Of course, Liverpool's emotional crusade for the English league/cup double was sensationally rubbed out by Arsenal's Michael Thomas with the last meaningful kick of that season. And Liverpool's decision to subsequently buy Thomas as one of their own just seems like one of the many bad jokes the club has inflicted on its supporters ever since. It is nothing to do with Thomas' ability but this was a player who inflicted sporting trauma on the zealous Red fans at the climax of a year of actual life-changing trauma. How they were ever supposed to embrace him as a member of the cause is a mystery. The nerve-ridden mid-season departure of a haunted Kenny Dalglish, the weak and indulgent reign of Roy Evans, the investment of faith by a Liverpool god like Graeme Souness in the flaky Dean Saunders, the shameless FA Cup final walkabout in those infamous white suits - Liverpool just took wrong turn after wrong turn in the last decade.
Houllier's unexpected and bountiful treble-cup-winning season in 2001 led to optimistic appraisals that a new and glorious epoch was on the horizon, but three years later the club's influence on the outcome of the big competitions has become less persuasive than ever. Since that time, the only significant occurrence has been the sale of Robbie Fowler, a player whose precocity and wit and accent made sense to Liverpool fans; he could and should have become the emblem of the team. Instead, Houllier tinkered with his confidence, felt that Fowler and Michael Owen were peas in a pod and decided the future lay in the abysmal Emile Heskey as a partner for Owen. Nothing good could come of the sale of Fowler, whose sporadic flashes of speed and intent for Manchester City are poignant reminders of what he once was - and where he isn't playing.
Michael Owen, meanwhile, celebrated his 50th appearance in Europe this week by cutting an equally desolate figure up front as Liverpool, restricted to 10 men, altered their shape. Towards the end, he limped off with the kind of injury that is becoming alarmingly regular, and he is now dealing with the terrible news that a local builder with whom he was embroiled in legal proceedings has killed himself. The combination of those omens may well convince him that the time is right to leave Liverpool.
Qualifying for Europe is surely a prerequisite if Owen is to join his England colleague Steven Gerrard in tying the key years of his career to the unreadable future of Liverpool Football Club. It is inconceivable that England's first-choice striker would sign a contract that would keep him off Europe's only relevant stage for at least another season.
In a season sensationalised by the machinations in the boardroom at Manchester United and the gluttonous ambition at Chelsea, it is encouraging that Liverpool remain a private interest with familial links that date back through the venerable days of Shankly and Paisley. But the decision this week to reject the offer of shareholder Steve Morgan to increase his interest in the club with a £50-million injection in cash leaves you wondering where the club is going. There is no clear direction: Anfield, for all its storied past, is no longer an adequate ground for a club that believes itself to be among the elite of the English game.
When Liverpool are mentioned in that breath though, it is only out of respect for tradition. They are a lost club. With visits to Old Trafford and Highbury to come, there is no reason to predict they will salvage anything of note out of this season. Then Gerard Houllier will be forced to acknowledge that he has played his best hand and failed and can walk with honour. But even that will bring no magic solution.
The Liverpool name still holds enough mystique to attract the brightest and best names, with Martin O'Neill the most heavily touted successor to Houllier, should he go. But that allure is fading. If the next managerial stint is inconsequential and if Liverpool do not roar in anger soon, then they will not again. Meanwhile, it is late March and the mighty Reds, with hope in their hearts, are away to Leicester.
