After a week of European football that saw the two English candidates suffer 2-0 home defeats the weekend's action seemed a little more pedestrian. And predictable. Of course the main reason Citeh and Arsenal lost in midweek were the two red cards, both of which were mourned by the respective managers.
Wenger thought that the ref should have changed the rules for Szcezsny. Pellegrini thought the ref should change his nationality, what with Sweden being a two-bit backwoods nation (unlike Chile).
As Man City's dizzying heights recede into the past (the 1-0 v Stoke being further evidence of fantasy football fatigue) Liverpool seem bent on serving up goal-fests every time they take to the park. Rogers' team play like a frantic ship's crew in a holed boat, relying on the bailing out ability of their main men, while the other dolts plod recklessly about in the hull, putting their feet through more rotting planks and threatening to capsize the whole vessel.
It's 24 years since Liverpool won the title so these are bound to be heady days at Anfield. So what's the secret of Brendan's success - always allowing for the fact that he's won eff-all so far.
A month ago you would have said Luis Suarez. He's still their outstanding player, of course. There are times when the Uruguayan is so inventive and nimble that you wonder why he gave up the day job at the circus. It's entirely believable that Luis goes to and from training on a unicycle, all the while doing seamless keepy-uppies with three footballs and a couple of Granny Smiths, those fine front choppers chomping away on the apples as he goes.
Yes he still flops to the floor like a set of tumbling dominos when the mood takes him, and although he hasn't been scoring with the frequency of an Operation Yewtree trial, he is still serving up more chances on a plate than a Yo-Sushi! conveyor belt.
Leading the feeding frenzy is one Daniel Sturridge, a lad capable of looking both sorry and sublime within the same minute. Despite his strike rate, his finishes are never nailed-on. He is, nevertheless, the best English centre-forward currently playing. Yes, better even than Andy Carroll, Jermain Defoe and Grant Holt (irony alert).
Sturridge has his faults - well one mainly - he's a greedy bastard. Still you'd rather that than the timid roll it across the six-yard box merchants. And it's easy to forget that here's one lad who - and it's his own fault - spent a few seasons decorating benches in Manchester and West London rather than developing his career.
If it were down to me I'd ban any youth international from the books of Citeh and Chelsea in order to ensure they get to kick a football in earnest once in a while. (Anyone remember Jack Rodwell? From what I hear Jack Rodwell doesn't even remember Jack Rodwell).
Rogers' greatest triumph as a coach however comes in the form of Jordan Henderson who has this season started to look okay as a footballer. Gerrard's withdrawal to in front of the back four has given Jordan a bit more space to operate and while for a while he looked like a agoraphobic meerkat, he seems to have settled into the role now. He's playing well.
As is Raheem Sterling, another off the production of twinkle-toed wastrels that this country specializes in right now: Young, Adam Johnson, Walcott, Lennon, Townsend - truly, Hodgson is spoilt for choice and yet only Townsend has really threatened in an England shirt. Sterling stands out because he seems to have coupled pace with an ability to pick a pass in recent weeks.
Elsewhere, Coutinho is clearly class, and the lad Flanagan looks very good going forward.
The troubles are at the back, where Skrtel in particular continues to turn in performances that make you long for his name to become a verb. In the film 'Skrtel' he would be played by a madcap Jim Carrey, who would delight us by Skrtelling into opposition forwards and Skrtelling crosses into his own net.
When the defence is spared a Skrtelling it gets 'Kolo-ed'. A Kolo is scored when a defender's error is so calamitous it might as well be an own goal. (see Santiago Vergini's Kolo at the Emirates this weekend).
Of course, not doing much last season has probably helped Liverpool in this one. They don't have to beetle off to the arse-end of nowhere of a Thursday night this season. Like Spurs, who always come back from the Europa League like they've been on a flaming booze cruise.
Indeed there is something a bit Keeganesque about Liverpool's harem-scarem approach to winning footy matches this year and it's a delight to behold. And in such contrast to the niggardly attitude of Mourinho's league leaders who are turning this season into an exercise in grinding pragmatism.
Jose, while not denigrating Arsene Wenger for his failures, has been returning to form with a charmless Chelsea team that, once Hazard is shackled, looks unlikely to cause alarm to anyone. They are still horribly short of a proper goalscorer and yet, and yet, and yet... they might just teeter over the line in first even with a front one or two with the cutting edge of an air-bed.
In a season of such attacking flamboyance for their three nearest rivals this would be a major disappointment for all of us who love life. Still, the Happy One beams his snidey smile, and the likes of Martinez can bleat away in the trophyless wastelands of not-near-enough and never-weres and he will shrug and say 'what have they won?'
The more the Blue Meanies sneak scruffy late victories the more you want someone - anyone else - to win the bleeding thing.