The night was supposed to be a moment of redemption for Liverpool. The Champions League was the one competition where the team had still been shining, even while their Premier League form collapsed like a house made of sand. Fans arrived at Anfield with hope in their hearts and anxiety in their stomachs, praying that the team would finally deliver a performance that reminded the world of what Liverpool football club truly stands for. But instead of glory, the night delivered humiliation, frustration and pain. Instead of belief, the night delivered a reminder that the team was drowning deeper than anyone imagined. When the full-time whistle blew and the scoreboard confirmed PSV’s victory, the atmosphere inside the stadium felt colder than winter. What hurt the most was not just losing, but the way Liverpool lost. Without fight, without control, without leadership, without identity. The player ratings after the match were not numbers on paper, they were emotional wounds. The fans could not hide their disappointment and anger because they did not see the Liverpool they loved. They saw a team completely lost. They saw a team broken.

Virgil van Dijk was the biggest shock of the night. For years he was the giant, the general, the calm leader who made the defense feel safe with just his presence. But against PSV, he did not look like a leader, he did not look confident, he did not look like the Van Dijk fans adored. He made mistakes that fans were not used to seeing. He lost challenges he normally wins. He reacted slowly when danger appeared. He allowed PSV to grow stronger and stronger. His body language did not show control. Instead it showed confusion and frustration. Fans could not believe their eyes when Van Dijk received a rating of 3 out of 10. It was the second time this season and the third time in recent months that the captain had been given such a low rating. It felt unbelievable. It felt painful. It felt symbolic of Liverpool’s crisis. When your captain is struggling, the whole team struggles. When your leader is unsure, the whole team becomes unsure.

Ibrahima Konate did not have a good night either. At times he used his strength, but other times he was too aggressive or out of position. His rating dropped heavily because he failed to organize the defense with Van Dijk. The two centre-backs who were once considered one of the best partnerships in Europe looked like strangers who did not trust each other. Every time PSV counter-attacked, panic followed. Every pass from the opponent looked dangerous. Every shot looked like it could become a goal. Fans wondered how a team with defenders of this level could look so fragile. And instead of responding with leadership, the backline collapsed under pressure.

Dominik Szoboszlai, normally one of the brightest players, also struggled badly playing out of position at right-back. He tried to push forward, he tried to attack, he tried to deliver crosses, but every time the ball was lost behind him PSV found space to exploit. He was caught between two responsibilities, attack and defend, and he failed to do both at the level the match required. Fans watching from the stands shook their heads in confusion. Nobody blamed Szoboszlai as a person, but the decision to play him at right-back once again looked desperate and risky. The cracks in Liverpool’s squad were too obvious. The injury problems were too deep. And the tactical decisions were not working anymor

Milos Kerkez fought with energy, but energy was not enough. He lost the ball too often, struggled to handle pressure and did not support the attack at the right moments. Every mistake he made drew louder sighs from the crowd. The stadium atmosphere slowly changed from excitement to anger. Every misplaced pass, every failed tackle, every slow reaction added more frustration. The left side of Liverpool’s defense felt like an open door for PSV. The opponents could smell the fear. They could feel the weakness. They attacked there again and again, and Liverpool could not close it.

In midfield, Alexis Mac Allister tried to control the match, but he was surrounded by chaos. His passes did not find targets. His tackles did not stop the danger. The match moved too fast for him. Gravenberch, beside him, looked powerful in moments but disappeared too many times when the team really needed him. Curtis Jones ran, pressed and tried to show personality, but even he could not carry the midfield by himself. Liverpool lost the battle in the center of the pitch and once you lose the midfield, you lose everything. That was exactly what happened.

Up front, Liverpool had firepower but no spark. Mohamed Salah was isolated. He barely touched the ball. PSV defended him with two or three players every time he tried to turn. Without support, without combinations, without rhythm, Salah could not impact the game the way he usually does. Cody Gakpo tried to drop deeper to collect the ball, but it only left the box empty. Hugo Ekitike tried to press, but pressing alone means nothing. There was no connection between the attack and the midfield and without connection, there can be no danger. Shots were weak. Creativity was missing. The confidence was gone.

And then came the substitutions, and this is where the humiliation grew even deeper. Alexander Isak came on with a point to prove. He wanted to show that his benching was a mistake. But instead he looked heavy, frustrated and uncertain. The ball bounced off him too easily. His first touch was not sharp. His movement did not scare the opponents. Fans expected him to change the game, but the game swallowed him instead. For the second match in a row, Isak looked like a ghost. The pressure on him is now enormous. The pressure on Slot’s decision making is even bigger.

Federico Chiesa also came on, and fans hoped he would add energy and creativity. But instead he looked off rhythm and disconnected from his teammates. His runs did not receive passes. His passes did not create danger. It felt like eleven individuals on a pitch rather than one united team. And football always punishes disunity.

By the time the final minutes arrived, the body language of the Liverpool squad said everything. The heads were down. The shoulders were heavy. The urgency was gone. The fight was gone. The spirit was gone. Nobody looked like they believed a comeback was possible. Nobody looked like they wanted the ball. PSV, on the other hand, smelled blood. They played freely. They controlled the tempo. They laughed, they smiled, they celebrated every clearance as if it were a goal. They were having fun while Liverpool were suffering.

The final whistle sounded like a warning siren. The humiliation was complete. The numbers on the scoreboard were one thing, but the energy in the stadium was something completely different. Fans booed. Some clapped the players off the pitch because they still care about the club, but even those claps sounded sad, like claps of disappointment rather than claps of support. People walked out quietly, shaking their heads. Some were angry. Some were tired. Some were speechless. The once-fearless European Liverpool now looked like a team without direction.

And that is why the player ratings hit so hard. They were not just numbers — they reflected the crisis the club is facing. Van Dijk receiving *three separate 3/10 ratings* across recent matches was like seeing a mirror shatter. When your captain loses form repeatedly, the problem is bigger than one performance. It means something deeper is wrong. It means confidence is gone. It means leadership is failing. It means the team is mentally broken.

Players who once looked like warriors now look like they are carrying 50-kilogram weights. The joy has disappeared from their football. The intensity that made Liverpool feared across Europe has vanished. Opponents no longer panic when Liverpool attack. Opponents no longer freeze when they hear the Anfield crowd. Opponents now walk into matches believing that Liverpool are beatable.

And as the stadium emptied, one question floated in the wind: where does Liverpool go from here? Do the players still believe in the system? Do they still believe in the manager? Do they still believe in each other? Because a team without belief cannot win anything. A team without identity cannot compete at the highest level. A team without leadership cannot survive.

The humiliation against PSV will stay in the memories of the supporters. Not because it was a defeat, but because of *how* it happened. A team that once demanded excellence now accepts disaster too easily. A team that once led Europe now looks confused and fragile. A team that once terrified opponents now terrifies its own fans.

Liverpool will play again. Liverpool will recover someday. Liverpool will rebuild because big clubs do not die. But this match, these ratings, this humiliation will not be forgotten quickly. The world saw a team without confidence, without organisation and without fight. And unless something changes, unless someone takes responsibility, unless unity returns, the shadow of this defeat will continue to follow them.

For now, the image remains clear in the minds of supporters. Van Dijk walking off the pitch, eyes down, silence in the stadium, ratings dropping like stones, and the painful feeling that Liverpool were once mighty, but tonight, they were simply not good enough