Fernando Torres, made his club debut against Werder Bremen in Grenchen, Switzerland, - Picture: MARTIN BIRCHALL _158

MONEY can’t buy you love. It can’t even buy a quality striker nowadays.

After weeks of ill-disguised stroppiness Rafa finally got his big-name signing, albeit with money raised by discarding other strikers and at a price still well below that of the blank-happy Shevchenko.

We’re nearing the end of a profligate decade, one that’s seen huge amounts spent on Heskey, Diouf, Cisse and Kuyt.

Add all those other bargains like Morientes, Crouch and Bellamy, and still we await The New Owen.

I’d settle for another Collymore at this point. It remains to be seen whether Torres can break this increasingly mouldy mould.

Pre-season games are boring. I’ve never had the urge to visit Melwood, so the thought of watching glorified training sessions is similarly unappetising.

They’re also a pretty useless barometer. I once saw us slam seven past Tranmere and predicted a bright red future for Paul Stewart.

Instead, oblivion beckoned. Well, Sunderland.

Some of us dispute the theory that a rapidly thinning chequebook cures all ills, so an outbreak of vigorous head shaking greeted the news of Torres’ arrival.

It’s actually a win-win situation. If he can hit the target regularly the cherished ‘Title Challenge’ will cease to be an illusion.

There is also the notion that Rafa’s caution, particularly away from home, will be abandoned to make his shiny new toy look good. That would help loosen the purse strings further still.

Yet what if he becomes the latest damp squib? Is it possible we could revert back to what once was the Liverpool Way after a decade-plus of trying to bury our striker problems under a mountain of crisp fivers?

The irony of Voronin making the more impressive beginning is a delicious one, but memories of Prenton Park will stifle any attempt to play Nostradamus in this household.