On a night when Liverpool’s vulnerabilities were once again laid bare, the spotlight that has recently followed Mohamed Salah shifted sharply onto another of Anfield’s established icons. Virgil van Dijk—long regarded as the defensive pillar of Liverpool’s modern success—found himself the central figure in an increasingly uncomfortable narrative.
Salah’s drop in influence has dominated discussion this season, underlined by his second consecutive Premier League benching as Sunderland arrived at Anfield. Yet in the 1–1 draw, it was the erring captain who drew scrutiny. Van Dijk, who at his peak redefined standards for Premier League defending, now appears to be sliding away from the formidable presence that once anchored Liverpool’s trophy-laden era.
Both Van Dijk, 34, and Salah, 33, signed lucrative two-year extensions last summer, deals that at the time prompted optimism rather than hesitation. Today, they read more like high-stakes bets on legacy—and early evidence suggests both are struggling to justify such confidence.
Liverpool’s issues are not confined to a single player. The £450m overhaul sanctioned by Arne Slot has yet to remodel Liverpool into a side of substance. Defensive instability has persisted from the opening weeks, a problem compounded by Van Dijk’s decreasing reliability.
His aura—once unshakeable—has dimmed. The decline is visible in both decision-making and execution. Against PSV in the Champions League, a panicked handball gifted a penalty. Against Sunderland, the turning point came in minute 67: Van Dijk surrendered possession, backed away rather than engage, then turned from Chemsdine Talbi’s strike. The deflection wrong-footed Alisson, Sunderland deservedly led, and Liverpool buckled.
Criticism followed swiftly. Former England captain Steph Houghton called his retreat “the wrong decision,” lamenting his lack of assertiveness. Jamie Redknapp, once an admirer of Van Dijk’s imperious consistency, observed a player now “second-guessing himself.”
For a defender of his generational pedigree, such lapses feel jarringly uncharacteristic.
Van Dijk remains a player of enormous achievement—two league titles, a Champions League crown, and a defining role in Liverpool’s greatest modern era. A poor run should not erase that. Yet the numbers support the eye test: recoveries, tackles, and interceptions sit notably below his peak levels.
Leadership, too, was lacking. A Liverpool team once defined by emotional intensity instead drifted, devoid of drive or authority. The fact that Van Dijk ended the match stationed as an emergency striker symbolised the disarray rather than a solution to it.
Sunday’s victory over West Ham now looks like an exception—not a revival.
Slot retained the XI that ended a dire run of form at London Stadium, yet the momentum did not travel with them. Salah’s second-half introduction was intended to energise; instead, it merely underlined his own subdued influence. Alexander Isak, £125m of expectation, barely registered.
Liverpool required a stroke of luck to even escape with a point, Florian Wirtz’s equaliser arriving via a heavy deflection. In stoppage time, only Federico Chiesa’s remarkable recovery prevented outright defeat after Wilson Isidor rounded Alisson.
Anfield felt tense, relieved rather than satisfied.
Liverpool’s stuttering title defence cannot be separated from Wednesday’s malaise. Slow in transition, lacking creativity, and short on conviction, they looked every inch a fading champion. Their late push carried more hope than threat—a stark contrast to Sunderland’s clarity, aggression, and ambition.
Regis Le Bris’ side, now sixth on 23 points, left Anfield lamenting two dropped points rather than celebrating one gained. Their evolution has been impressive; Liverpool’s regression has been alarming.
The broader concern is not simply that Van Dijk is struggling—it is that Liverpool are, too. The captain is emblematic of a wider problem: a squad rebuilt expensively but not effectively, led by a manager still searching for cohesion, guided by leaders no longer able to impose themselves as they once did.
Van Dijk may find resurgence. Salah may rediscover rhythm. Liverpool may yet recover shape and identity. But on this evidence, decline is no longer hypothetical—it is visible, measurable, and accelerating.
For Slot and his squad, the solution now begins with honesty: the standards that once defined Liverpool have slipped, and unless they are rediscovered quickly, this season may drift beyond rescue.
It is, unmistakably, back to the drawing board.
