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As a seething, soaking wet Anfield braced itself for one last Real Madrid fling, a narrative that had assumed pantomime quality throughout the evening threatened to turn more consequential. Trent Alexander-Arnold shaped to unfurl one of those dipping deliveries that have more than paid the Kop their due over the years and the thought flickered that, were it executed correctly, he might depart having helped to earn a point his team did not remotely deserve.
Any fears were unfounded. For one thing, in keeping with a pallid display, Real’s attack had neglected to offer Alexander‑Arnold a target. For another, when his cross swung out to no man’s land with Vinícius Júnior in half-hearted pursuit, a familiar obstacle lay in wait. Conor Bradley had thundered through the Brazilian, perfectly cleanly, near the byline in his previous foray and was not about to let anything go now. Seeing the ball out as his opponent went flying in desperation, Liverpool’s current right-back completed a night’s work that rendered sideshows irrelevant.
What a triumph this was for Bradley, who must fancy being wheeled out against La Liga’s leaders every week. Almost a year ago he had ground Kylian Mbappé into submission here when a similarly dopey Real were beaten 2-0. This time he faced the more natural wide threat of Vinícius, who was unable to make the trip then. It was the latest test in an academy product’s stop‑start senior career; an even more almighty assignment given the gaze on his returning predecessor, with the inevitable invitations to compare and contrast.
Alexander-Arnold was booed when he emerged for the warm‑up; he was booed when the Real substitutes’ names were announced; he was booed when he walked back inside; he was booed when entering in the 82nd minute for his first football since mid-September, and he was booed in those moments when, the clock ticking down, he sought to prompt a fightback. If the overnight defacing of a mural bearing his likeness brought darker undertones, in truth invective levels inside the ground barely rose above the procedural.
Quite right, too. Maybe some who vented their fury in May have come to their senses and understood there was rather a lot to like about Alexander-Arnold’s 21 years and six major trophies with Liverpool, a city which he will be an exceptional ambassador for while working overseas. But the night’s events had plenty of bearing, too. It became clear early on that Arne Slot’s players had Real’s number once more and that, with the chance to heave their season back on track, distractions should take a back seat.
It made for one of those fabled European atmospheres and a roar at full-time that, following quickly from the relief of defeating Aston Villa, felt cathartic. Matches in this phase of the new-look Champions League often perplex. Matches of this stature, at this early stage, become annual events: familiarity breeds content. Liverpool and Real will surely both sail straight into the knockouts but the local context, quite independent of their spot in the 36-team sprawl, was that a marker needed laying down.
Florian Wirtz set about asserting it with a mugging of Dean Huijsen, who was an awkward figure all night. This was not quite to be a night of arrival for Wirtz, beloved of Xabi Alonso for their work together at Bayer Leverkusen, but he fizzed with invention and was denied a deserved assist when Thibaut Courtois made the first of several outstanding saves from Dominik Szoboszlai. Even if Wirtz and the rangy, urgent, sometimes balletic Hugo Ekitiké are not always on the same wavelength, the direction of travel is positive.
For all Wirtz’s admirable work, it was Bradley who set the tone in winning his first duel against Vinícius. Soon he was emboldened to turn him and jink past Jude Bellingham, a laboured figure whose messy foul brought the free-kick from which Alexis Mac Allister headed the winner. Later Bradley outmuscled the Real left-back Álvaro Carreras, spared the Trent treatment despite his Manchester United connections, and 30 seconds after Alexander-Arnold’s arrival he brought the Kop to song by squeezing Vinícius out once again.
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It has not been a straightforward season for Bradley. He has jostled with Jeremie Frimpong and, earlier, Szoboszlai for his place amid a sense that Liverpool are yet to compensate for the range and craft they once possessed in that position. Smothering the world’s best winger and helping to fuel a dynamic, encouragingly balanced all‑round display with his incursions upfield was a useful way to stake his claim. At 22 Bradley has the time, grounding and quality to make the shirt his own.
Perhaps Alexander-Arnold would have told him that when the pair briefly embraced at full time, had Real not felt obliged to scuttle off with tails between legs. Only one right-back had really mattered in the previous 90 minutes and, perhaps, pointed the way to a resumption of Slot’s full‑throttle service.
