Jack Grealish, Manchester City’s coolest kid, teaches Liverpool a lesson

I s anyone in Britain currently having more fun than Jack Grealish? Two minutes before the end of this 4-1 annihilation of Liverpool at the Etihad Stadium Grealish left the pitch to a standing ovation, met by a tender, oddly sensual full body hug from Pep Guardiola, who for a while just wouldn’t let him go, patting his buttocks, whispering in his ear, hungry for Jack love.

It isn’t hard to see why Guardiola likes Grealish. He has a way of turning mavericks, flashy destroyers, skill poppets into team cogs. And Grealish does things Pep likes, holding the ball as well as anyone, providing control and a safe space on the left. Also, isn’t there just a little bit of nerd-love for Pep’s hype man, his charisma magnet, the coolest kid in the class?

Mainly, though, Grealish had spent the previous 88 minutes playing supremely well. He romped. He feinted and pranced and trotted like a pedigree dressage horse.

It all just looks so easy right now. Since the World Cup Grealish has eight assists and four goals. He lives in the city centre with his girlfriend and his dog. Presumably this bravura lunchtime victory will be celebrated with his now infamous Chinese takeaway mashup. Here is a man whose life is basically the perfect weekend stag do. Maybe, in a time of gloom, Grealish is the hero we need.

At times this was the Jack show. With 26 minutes gone he could be seen sprinting back in pursuit of a Liverpool break, a lone figure, hair flapping behind him, in place to cut out Mohamed Salah’s pass in front of goal and draw huge applause from all four stands. This was a piece of tracking back so heroic it felt almost staged, the kind of tracking back managers watch deep into the night over half a bottle of single malt.

A minute later