No therapist in the world could undo collective childhood trauma like Liverpool has by skull fucking Man United regularly.
You need to recognize this era, stand back and drink it in. If you are of my generation, take that scared little boy deep in your memory and give him a hug, say come on, come with me, check this out.
"I'm not going to get raped again am I mister?"
"What?! No. No, I'm here to help. Wait? I was raped? Actually, there's no time for this, we are in a very dubious repressed memory on a football forum, come with me, there's something you need to see."
"Well ok, but that's what the last guy said."
You don't start by showing him the scorelines. It'd be too much to take in all at once. Instead it's the mundane things. The routines. The United manager having to get public reassurances over his position after a humping. Season after season.
The utter failures of players who crumble and crumple and fail. The delicious way the players expect it now, and the even more delicious way the supporters still do not. Their captain. Our captain. Their ground. Our ground. Wives expressing public support for their husbands due to their part in the tragedy.
Keeping the legs fresh and sticking on the subs after a job done at 60 minutes. The stadium leaking water and supporters in wild torrents.
The normality of humiliation, humiliations without consolation.