SIDELINE CUT:LIVERPOOL is the most sentimental of cities and yet again, its most famous sporting club is teetering on the brink of calamity, writes KEITH DUGGAN

Tomorrow, Michael Owen, nursed in the Anfield academy and a favourite of the Kop End, will return to his old club in the colours of Manchester United.

Late in his career, after an injury blighted and generally ignominious spell at Newcastle United, the diminutive Chester lad might well win the precious league medal that eluded him during his years with Liverpool.

Although old boys generally get a warm reception when they visit Anfield, Owen and Manchester United is much too toxic a combination. It is all the more galling that Alex Ferguson acquired the services of the veteran striker for free, another sign, surely, that the fates are tripping over themselves to please the gimlet-eyed Scot.

But as Owen prepares himself for an interesting reunion with his old club, news of the fall of another Anfield favourite illustrated once more just how rapidly the English game has departed from its roots. John Barnes, recently deposed as boss of Tranmere Rovers, filed for bankruptcy earlier this week. In the mid to late 1980s, the winger was one of the most dazzlingly skilful players in the English game. It was his misfortune to peak at a time when all English clubs were isolated in disgrace from European competition and when the England national team was always just one poor game away from being the butt of a national joke.

In addition, Barnes, of Jamaican background, had to play in a period when racist abuse was as much a part of the English Saturday afternoon terrace experience as pie and ale. Barnes was, presumably, one of the best-paid English players in the league at that time. Handsome and articulate, he looked set for a smooth ascension to the football afterlife, either joining the ex-Anfield brigade who habituate the football sofa at BBC or moving into management.

As recently as 2000, he was boss at Celtic FC with Kenny Dalglish the godfather of the entire enterprise. But it was there Barnes’ shortcomings – the niceness from which he could not escape – were exposed and throughout this decade, his signal became weaker and finally disappeared off the radar.

There was only about a five-year gap between Barnes’ last season playing for Liverpool and the exuberant debut season of Michael Owen. But in that time, the money flooding through the veins of the most marketable clubs changed the nature of the game inordinately.

One of the most famous quips about Bill Shankly is told by Tommy Solomons. After Liverpool had won the FA Cup one year, Shankly and two players went into a chip shop across the road from Anfield. They were wearing full blazers and ties and Shankly ordered fish suppers for the squad before they embarked on their open-top bus tour of the city. When the girl taking the order asked if they shouldn’t really be having steaks, Shankly replied: “No lass. They’ll get steak suppers when they win the double.”

By the time Owen was playing for Newcastle, he used to travel across from his home in Chester by Chinook helicopter and had to postpone his plans to learn to fly the thing himself because the insurance costs imposed on the club were astronomical.

More than any club, Liverpool seem caught between those two worlds. Ambition and tradition has dictated the club must progress in synchronicity with the prevailing trends. And so the old habit of bumping back-room boys up the ladder – Bob Paisley was a self-taught physiotherapist before he reluctantly inherited the vacancy left by Shankly and led the club to three European titles – was replaced by scouting for managers with solid credentials.

The desperate need for a bigger chequebook saw ownership of the club passing from a local merchant family to American businessmen. Plans for a new stadium up the road were put in motion and after a long and ultimately failed relationship with Gerrard Houllier, came the appointment of a mildly eccentric and intractable Spaniard named Rafael Benitez.

In the five years since “Rafa” became an honorary and sometimes beloved Scouser, Liverpool’s form has lurched between unexpected glory and crashing disappointment. This year, however, with the season about to enter November, the mood has turned dark. The ridiculous goal which they conceded against Sunderland a week ago – in off the balloon – captured the propensity for bad comedy that visits Liverpool every now and again.

The Champions League was the one arena in which Benitez’ unorthodox flair for the game seemed to suit the nature of his players, but the midweek home loss to Lyon represented a new low. Now, the English headlines are anticipating that the future of Benitez at Liverpool depends on the bitter and intriguing derby against Manchester United tomorrow.

There is, of course, a perfectly good reason why Benitez has failed to land Liverpool’s first league title since 1990: the competition for that title has never been so fierce.

It is because Manchester United, under the relentless watch of Alex Ferguson, have mastered the art of scavenging for the dull and priceless wins away to Grimsby or Derby that ultimately result in league titles.

When the Premier league was concocted, Manchester United got a run on Liverpool in terms of making the leap to modernity and the Anfield club has been chasing them ever since. Benitez, for all his foibles, has made progress.

If Liverpool do lose tomorrow, the prevailing culture will demand the removal of Benitez just as much as the inevitable booing of the dismayed locals.

Benitez has it all to do. The disaffected are being sought out to talk about life under the old regime. Jermaine Pennant, a bit-part player under Rafa, has spoken out about how Benitez inhibited players and repressed their natural instincts, pointing out the failure of attackers like Robbie Keane and Peter Crouch to thrive there. He fails, though, to explain why Benitez’s caution has rarely failed to prevent Steven Gerrard or Fernando Torres from scoring.

Benitez has made mistakes – his treatment of Keane last season was disgraceful and his public utterances are frequently gnomic – but there can be no question of his desire to succeed with Liverpool and of his understanding of what the club means to his city.

If Liverpool ditch Benitez just two months into a strange and blighted season, then the game is up. They may as well take down the iconic “This Is Anfield” sign that greets the teams as they walk down the steps onto the field and which Michael Owen will touch for luck tomorrow afternoon.