If Sheffield Wednesday are to amaze everyone and avoid relegation their season cannot now get any worse before it gets better.
Another defeat, another blow to already fragile confidence, has moved the country's least successful team to the point of no return; the margin for further error is now wafer thin.
Sixteen games in and Wednesday have amassed just six points, the poorest start to a season by any club since the Premiership was formed seven years ago.
The only consolation for Danny Wilson and his boys is that they are not the worst team in the Steel City.
"I do think that we can still get out of this mess," said Wilson. "We still have 60 points to play for and we will not be throwing the towel in." There is an almost tangible air of resignation hanging over Wednesday as a campaign of jaw-dropping calamity unfolds before a general public which, it would seem, is taking pity rather than pleasure from the sight of a grand old club dying on its knees.
Actually, it is rather difficult to decry the south Yorkshire belief that the Premiership does hold less competent, less diligent teams, than the one fashioned by Wilson.
It is to Wednesday's eternal credit that they continue to believe both in miracles and in the restorative powers of football's more traditional values, remaining grimly determined to play, rather than scrap, their way out of trouble.
While often outwitted in central midfield and exposed for pace down the flanks, Wednesday acquitted themselves rather well during the course of an opening half which was too fractured to maintain any real momentum.
In their desperation to lay food and drink upon Michael Owen's table, Liverpool were too easily parted from the ball; the wonder-kid was asked to prosper on a diet of half-baked scraps.
The afternoon had been largely chance-less until Wednesday placed a cat amongst Scouse pigeons in the 18th minute. It was an exceptional goal, if simple in its conception and execution.
As Liverpool back-pedalled in anticipation of a cross to the far post, Wim Jonk knocked the ball square to Niclas Alexandersson who rifled home a shot of such venom that goalkeeper Sander Westerveld did not even feign interest.
Wednesday's inability to jealously protect an advantage was illustrated in a recent game at Upton Park and yesterday they were again guilty of appalling mental sloppiness.
Less than three minutes after Alexandersson's goal Liverpool were level, Sami Hyypia rising almost unchallenged to head in David Thompson's corner.
Worse was to follow for the Yorkshire-men. Three minutes before the interval Kevin Pressman reached, but crucially could not hold, a Thompson drive and Danny Murphy - unmarked, unseen - stepped forwards to plant a volley just inside the far post.
There was a Wednesday rally of sorts but once Westerveld had beaten aside another Alexandersson drive their spirit was broken and they were to be torn to pieces in the afternoon's final quarter.
Liverpool did make rather hard work of finishing off a wounded and dazed animal but Steven Gerrard and Thompson applied the decisive blows with sublime solo goals - great runs climaxed by exquisite finishes.
Although his side now stand within touching distance of the Premiership summit, Houllier insisted he would not be reaching for the champagne.
"I don't think that we are contenders for the title yet but we are improving, we are not far away," he said.
Liverpool: Westerveld, Henchoz, Song (Carragher 73), Hyypia, Matteo, Gerrard, Hamann, Murphy (Staunton 77), Thompson, Camara, Owen (Fowler 81). Subs Not Used: Meijer, Friedel. Booked: Thompson, Henchoz. Goals: Hyypia 21, Murphy 41, Gerrard 69, Thompson 79.
Sheffield Wednesday: Pressman, Atherton, Jonk, Thome, Walker, Booth, Rudi (Quinn 89), Alexandersson, Nolan, Briscoe (Sibon 81), De Bilde (Cresswell 81). Subs Not Used: Haslam, Srnicek. Booked: Thome, Rudi. Goals: Alexandersson 18.
Referee: P Durkin (Dorset).
