Liverpool almost there but not quite.

Liverpool almost there but not quite.

There's one match to go and the waiting is over. Still, the feeling persists that a heavy cloud of anti climax hangs over Liverpool football club. The fact of course remains that after 30 years Liverpool will once again be acclaimed as Premier League champions( or the old First Division in the old currency) tonight if Manchester City stumble against Chelsea and lose. Finally, it all seems to be coming together for Liverpool and how good it'll feel when, as opposed to if, they hold the Premier League title aloft in maybe a matter of hours although certainly days now.

By way of an irony Manchester City's opponents Chelsea will know exactly how Liverpool are feeling since they have likewise clinched Premier League titles in recent years. And Liverpool will not need reminding of that embarrassing moment when Steven Gerrard lost the ball on the halfway line against Chelsea to hand one of their title chasing rivals Manchester City  the Premier League trophy. The image of Gerrard stumbling on the ball to allow Demba Ba to race away and score for Chelsea was all the more galling because the other title chasers Manchester City would go on to claim the Premier League.

Last night's 4-0 victory for Liverpool against Crystal Palace at Anfield must surely have felt like a coronation but the pomp and ceremony that normally marks a Premier League title- winning season will be missing and how Liverpool's fanatical fans will feel that grievous loss. There will be no fanfares, no trumpets, no adulation and, above all, no fans to witness that street carnival after winning the League, nobody on the Kop and nothing but a distinctly uneasy atmosphere.

We know it has to be this way but of all the teams to win a Premier League title Liverpool will no doubt know better than most that when you've waited for 30 years for a party invitation your supporters should be ready to celebrate the homecoming with an open top bus celebration. There are those of us who may feel an enduring sympathy for some of the most adoring and loyal football supporters in the land since Liverpool have had it all sewn up during the 1970s and 1980s and finally 1990.

Time was of course when Anfield was that impregnable fortress, that sturdy ship out at sea, a side with the most watertight and impenetrable defence, a midfield who were just models of synchronicity and an attack with an insatiable appetite for goals. Liverpool managers became legendary figures, men of wit, humour, timeless class and utter diplomacy who loved Liverpool with an almost unreasonable passion. Their names were carved into the Anfield bricks and mortar, clearly legible on tablets of stone. But the next couple of hours or days will not of course feel the same. So let's turn the clock back and remember how it all started for them.

When Bill Shankly arrived at Liverpool in 1959 Liverpool were ordinary, mediocre, almost anonymous and completely out of contention for any conceivable trophy. But then came the 1960s and an empire was built, a winning mentality implemented almost immediately and Liverpool became unbeatable. There was the rock known as Ron Yeats, midfield engineers such as Ian Callaghan, and Gordon Milne, a wondrous wing magician in Peter Thompson and the voracious Ian St John, a striker of pace, power and persistence.

During the 1970s of course as Bill Shankly handed over the reins to Bob Paisley, Liverpool seemed to get progressively stronger, more inventive, even harder to beat and full of goals from everywhere. There was Phil Thompson at the back, Phil Neal and Emlyn Hughes putting up the defensive shutters, Chris Lawler, Brian Hall and the academically comfortable Steve Heighway, a whirling dervish of a winger, teasing and tormenting with that distinctively upright style, ball firmly glued to feet.

And then there were Liverpool's trump cards up front. Throughout the 1970s Kevin Keegan and John Toshack were two of English football deadliest strikers. One was a muscular terrier of a striker, squat and stocky but full of powerful running and tirelessly busy, a livewire nuisance to hapless defenders, full of scurrying and scampering runs into space, a player of grit and industry. Kevin Keegan was here, there and everywhere, ubiquitous, a pain in the neck and full of footballing stubbornness. Keegan dominated old First Division defenders and Toshack was his willing accomplice.

Then there was John Toshack, a Welsh beanpole, as tall as Blackpool tower, quite the most magnificent of presences in oppostion penalty areas and a natural aptitude for scoring goals. Bought from Cardiff, Toshack announced himself to the Liverpool with a glut of goals and from that point innumerable old First Division championships. Toshacks were scored predominantly with his head but once the scent of goals was in his nose Toshack was unstoppable, feeding off Keegan telepathically and then surging into the six yard box with an electrifying menace.

After the imperious reign of Graeme Souness, Ray Kennedy, Terry Mcdermott and still quite remarkably an ageless Ian Callaghan, Liverpool were still breathing fire during the 1980s. When Liverpool won yet more League championships during the 1970s and 1980s it almost felt as if the club had been given some special medicine that would be guaranteed to bring them home the old First Division title.

Now Liverpool would invest in one of their shrewdest signings. Kenny Dalglish was one of Celtic's most wondrous of attacking talents, a force of nature, a forward besotted with the art of scoring goals on an almost weekly basis. In the year before Liverpool's second consecutive European Cup Final victory against Bruges at Wembley, Keegan had left Liverpool with a stunning 3-1 victory against Borussia Monchengladbach and Dalglish inherited Keegan's throne. Dalglish was quite the most gifted striker, always popping up in dangerous areas, turning defenders rather like a man easing his way through a revolving door. Dalglish would score goals with effortless ease over and over again.

And so to the present day and modern times. In 1989 on that last fascinating match of the season Arsenal pipped Liverpool to the old First Division championship with that final, nail biting burst into the penalty area where the Gunners stylish midfield player Michael Thomas squeezed home the winner that stopped Liverpool in their tracks. It left the likes of John Barnes, Steve Mcnamanan and manager Kenny Dalglish stunned and speechless. Liverpool had been denied by a Thomas that certainly wasn't doubting.

The following year Liverpool redeemed themselves and this time the moon was in the right position. This time though there were no cliff hanging finales. Liverpool breezed through to the finishing line and ensured themselves of  what was then their 18th League title. Who knew then that it would take another three decades to add to their now ever- expanding collection of trophies?

Who knew that while thousands of Liverpool and Nottingham Forest were tragically losing their lives in an an FA Cup semi final that would prove the ultimate turning point in fan crowd control. And yet here we are again today proudly acknowledging Liverpool's latest escapade, a long overdue receipt of  their first Premier League trophy or the League championship. It is now only days away before the city pays homage to its beloved red idols. How deservedly so.

Frustratingly though this was not the way they would have wanted to sing their praises, eulogising and lionising the individual brilliiance of Sadio Mane, Mo Salah, James Milner, the superb Jordan Henderson, the outstanding Virgil Van Djyk at the back, the delightfully overlapping Andrew Roberston on the flank and all of those whose contribution may have been overlooked as the unsung heroes. You'd be inclined to think that they may well have been few and far between.

It does seem a crying shame that Liverpool will indeed have to do without their Kop choir, a huge congregation of natural singers whose voices will not be accompanying that final whistle when  Liverpool will be declared the new Premier League champions. In a season that now feels as though it'll go on forever, even the club's now historic anthem 'You'll Never Walk Alone' begins to sound like the most pertinent of hymns. Oh if only Bill Shankly, Bob Paisley and Joe Fagan could see the present day faces of Liverpool. Even without the Kop the roar, somewhere, will be heard the length and breadth of Britain.