Tottenham’s late defeat to Liverpool is more emblematic of their problems than recent Newcastle drubbing

At one point, it looked like we were heading for another refund. After a quarter of an hour at Anfield, Tottenham were three goals behind and enduring the waking torment of a lucid deja vu. Four of their first 15 completed passes came from the centre spot. By the time the final whistle sounded, you couldn’t help wondering whether the travelling support would have felt less heartache had they suffered another complimentary 6-1 drubbing.

When reflecting on a match like the one we saw on Sunday afternoon, it can be difficult to know where to begin. Here at 3 Added Minutes we publish a weekly reaction column called ‘The Rebound’ in which we take a retrospective glance over the weekend’s footballing action. If we were to dedicate tomorrow’s article to Liverpool’s last ditch 4-3 triumph we would have to rechristen it ‘The Bullet Ricocheting off the Walls of a Panic Room’.

This was exactly the kind of prime cut of peak Barclays that lingers in the collective consciousness and that gives the admins of various Twittersphere banter accounts excited heart palpitations at the prospect of mining it for years to come. It was melodrama on mescaline, schadenfreude on speed.

Had you tuned in at any point after the half hour mark, you might have been forgiven for believing that Sky Sports were having technical difficulties with their scoreboard graphic. As slow as Tottenham started - and believe me, there are racing snails that come out of the blocks faster than Spurs did on Merseyside - they eventually steadied themselves to such an extent that they actually, all things considered, put in a relatively decent away performance.

Curtis Jones, a returning Luis Diaz, and Mohamed Salah’s calmly emphatic penalty had catapulted the hosts to a commanding advantage within 15 minutes, but from there, Tottenham slowly began to scrabble and crawl their way back into contention. It was almost as if Liverpool, lulled by the bland opposition before them, settled into a state of creeping drowziness. Before half-time, the visitors had pulled one back.

One of the tetchiest debates of the modern Premier League era is whether breaking the divison’s all-time goalscoring record without winning a trophy would tarnish Harry Kane’s legacy. Given recent happenings, perhaps a more relevant question would be how the England captain will be remembered if he surpasses Alan Shearer by only scoring the odd consolation in humiliating and painful defeats from here on out. His goal at Anfield, Tottenham’s first, nearly mattered for something. In the end, it did not.

Really though, this was all prologue - set dressing and establishing context for the unhinged ruckus of the second half. Credit where credit is due, Ryan Mason (interim²) must be able to deliver one hell of a team talk. His side came out after the interval looking like a new animal entirely; Spurs by name, spurred by nature. It’s just a shame that the proverbial horse didn’t stop running once it reached the sheer drop of a cliff face.

And that’s ultimately the thing that should worry supporters and club chiefs alike. Maybe it’s naivety, maybe it’s a lack of confidence, maybe it’s the residual malignancy of a hitherto forgotten curse placed on the ground upon which the Tottenham Hotspur Stadium was built by a coven of pagan witches - whatever the root cause is, this Spurs squad simply do not know how to maintain advantageous positions in football matches. And that, however you dissect it, is a problem.

For large swathes of the second half, Tottenham were the better team. They certainly came close to scoring often enough. There were so many strikes involving the post that CWU bosses must have been watching on at home with a proud tear in their eye. On the occasions that the woodwork didn’t come to Liverpool’s rescue, Alisson Becker - kitted out in all black like a stagehand or a Johnny Cash impersonator - did.

The breakthrough would come when Son Heung-min raced on to a deft through ball, as he so often has in the past, and slotted home. The comeback was on, and shortly after so too was Richarlison.

Now, adrenaline is a crazy, crazy thing. It can make unsuspecting swimmers fend off shark attacks and give terrified parents the incomprehensible strength to lift crashed cars from their terrified children. It can also, seemingly, inspire you to connect with an equalising stoppage time diving header, rip your shirt off in front of the Kop, and cluck about like a farmyard bird in celebration. You know what they say, though - you should never count your chicken dances before they hatch.

Of course, it had to be Richarlison. That’s just how football works. The former Evertonian - oft-maligned by Liverpool supporters, never afraid to dole out the digs or pick at the bitter scabs of rivalry - was always going to score. And then, as soon as he removed his jersey and received the customary booking for his bare-chested elation, Spurs were always going to come a cropper. Again, it’s just how football works.

A minute or so later, Lucas Moura miscontrolled a cushioned back pass and Diogo Jota swept through a gaping, porous defence to restore Liverpool’s lead with the final kick of the game - give or take. Tottenham were furious, Jurgen Klopp pulled his hamstring abusing a match official, and the Reds - who had mustered just four shots on target in 94 minutes - won 4-3. These are the details, the footnotes and addendums of the post mortem, but for Spurs, there are bigger, broader troubles that must be addressed.

Nobody knows who will be in charge in North London by the time the season starts, but whoever it is has a gargantuan task on their hands. Where Tottenham are concerned, you fear that they are far beyond the stage of making a few new signings and hoping for the best. There has to be a fundamental change in the mindset and culture of the club if they are to ever break free of this perpetual cycle of aching disappointment and infuriating nearness. And in a way, Sunday’s late defeat at Anfield was far more emblematic of that than any 6-1 bludgeoning ever could be.