During the mid-2000s, when internet football forums were at the absolute height of their popularity, a campaign began on the reputable LFC website RAWK for song-sheets to be handed out at matches, to preserve some of the old favourites that were being gradually phased out by the Soccer Am-inspired atmosphere of modern football grounds.
The vast majority of fans in English stadiums are reading off the same script. After kick-off, the first mistake by a player has to be greeted with a "wheeeeeyyy, who are ya, who are ya?" Once the crowd has got bored after the initial footballing exchanges have died down, usually around 90 seconds in, that old classic "your support is fucking shit" will get a loud airing, and if we're really lucky, a bit of "sign on, sign on." And of course, if a goal is scored, so long as its not one of those grounds that chooses to play Groove Armada at every opportunity, you'll even get clap-accompanied chants of "easeh, easeh." All for just £50.
Although the song-sheet idea shows a few people on the internet have their heart in the right place, the suggested solution and its breeding ground are themselves part of the problem. The only thing worse than no atmosphere at the match, is a fake atmosphere at the match, perfectly encapsulated at Stamford Bridge yesterday as Chelsea fans finally cracked the code to one of life's most evasive philosophical posers, answering the question that the travelling Shed End has asked itself many times; "where's your famous atmosphere?"
Painfully, match-goers were converted from supporters to customers a long time ago, and there are very few opportunities for fans to reclaim their patch and pride. Sloppy, often hypocritical social network grumbles are plentiful - many of us baulk at ticket prices while Premier League stadiums continue to fill every week - but chances for fans to make their presence and views seen and heard, in order to have an impact on the running of their club, come very rarely.
Chelsea fans are understandably angry and embarrassed at recent events. Roberto Di Matteo, a crowd favourite as a player in the 90s, was sacked within six months of achieving legend status after overseeing the greatest night in the club's history and the ultimate objective of his chairman's reign. This is when football supporters, as the largest and most diverse collectives that regularly come together for a common cause, can come into their own. However, within 48 hours, it became apparent that we were about to witness the defining moment in this era of the manufactured football atmosphere.
Sunday was the opportunity for Chelsea fans to show that no matter what happened over 90 minutes against Manchester City, whether a title is won this season or not, they will not stand for one of their 107-year-old club's heroes being disposed of so disdainfully by a fleeting wealthy tourist, whether that man's questionably-sourced funds have bankrolled a few trophies or not. We often remind Chelsea fans about 'history,' and they hate it, yet they witnessed their own in Munich and they should be fighting like bloody hell to protect it. But rather than make a real point to Abramovich, they elected for the internet-warrior-generated 'protest' which turned out every bit as plastic as those infamous flags
They decided to vent all their displeasure at Benitez on the basis the Spaniard was manager of Liverpool during a period when the two clubs were frequently drawn against each other in domestic and international cup competitions. That, and the fact he and Mourinho wound each other up a few times in the build-up to high-stakes intense semi-final clashes. Nothing more. Its not quite El Clasico, the origins of which can be traced back to the execution of former FC Barcelona President Josep Sunyol at the hands of General Franco's troops, sowing the seeds of discontent between the Catalans and Real Madrid. Chelsea v Liverpool became a 'rivalry' in the short-term, tabloid sense, swept along by Sky Sports' montages, but there is no historical basis for it, which should trump the mere emotions stirred by a series of coincidental cup draws.
As a result, thousands of Chelsea fans were doing such innovative and penetrative things as booing, singing offensive songs about a fat waiter, and even the odd witless banner was hoisted in another hurried attempt to mimic our own formerly famous atmosphere. 'Rafa Out Fact' doesn't quite have the same ring to it as our 'Joey ate the frogs legs...' effort of 1977.
The dull and predictable, droning sounds of baseless boos sandwiched a minute's applause for Dave Sexton, the former Chelsea manager who sadly passed away last week. Unfortunately, too many were more interested in their faux anti-Benitez campaign and as such, the Stamford Bridge announcer had to beg for quiet and respect so that the club's tribute, which descended into a farcical inconvenience, could be breezed through.
To top it off, the barracking of Benitez means that the 16th minute tribute to Di Matteo (who wore 16 in his playing days) sadly went unnoticed by those not at the match, and will barely be remembered, even by many attending Chelsea fans, in the way that such a fine gesture should be. The memories won't be about Di Matteo, or Abramovich - it will be 'the match where we booed are own manager. Fact.'
It was one of those to slot into the 'when football dies' category. Naturally, we have to feel sorry for many of those Chelsea fans, particularly those who pre-date the Abramovich era, who are constantly conflicted as the man who is largely responsible for them fulfilling their dreams is the same that represents a lot of what is wrong with the game. Unfortunately for them, they are increasingly becoming the minority, and they weren't given their rightful platform for public voice on Sunday, while the majority read from their 'scouse bastard' script.
When Chelsea visit Anfield later in the season, and their own manager is given a standing ovation by the Kop, it'll be interesting to see if the travelling support will leave their song-sheet outside.
Monday 26 November 2012
Friday 16 November 2012
English Football Snobs & Their Zlatan Apologies
In the 48 hours since Zlatan Ibrahimovic's remarkable performance against England, no one has summed up the mood of the English press more so than the Daily Mail's Dominic King, who published "An Apology for Zlatan." King, in what he probably considered as honourable honesty in a world of willy-waving, admitted that over the years and as recently as Euro 2012, he simply "didn't get" the Swedish striker, but after his four goals on Wednesday, he finally saw the light.
He's not the only one. Its easy to picture the press box at the Olympic Stadium in Kiev, with the clique of British tabloid reporters sat together, all 'not getting' Zlatan, having never seen him do anything of note in what they consider a big game. Then when Andy Carroll climbs to head England into the lead, an exchange of knowing looks and back-slaps - "he's unplayable, him."
It's worth pointing out firstly that Zlatan Ibrahimovic, having won nine domestic league titles in the last ten years with the likes of Ajax, Internazionale, Juventus, Milan and Barcelona, and who recently gave himself a ten out of ten for his international career, probably doesn't give much of a hoot what Dominic King or Andy Townsend think. Or Jamie Redknapp for that matter, who decided that Zlatan finally "announced himself to the world" this week.
But more importantly, what was it about this friendly between Sweden and the second-string of an entirely average England squad, arranged as a curtain-raiser for the new stadium in Stockholm, which makes it the match by which any player can be realised as a true great of the sport? How is this irrelevant practice match which contained as many substitutions per-team as the excellent goals we saw, being talked about on the same plane as the 1958 World Cup Final, when a 17-year old Pele first became a superstar?
Interspersed with exasperations at how teenagers like Raheem Sterling and Wilfred Zaha could even contemplate playing for their country of birth over the mighty England, ITV's Tyldesley and Townsend gave us continual reminders of Zlatan's mediocre scoring record against English teams. It was held up as a justification for their 'enigma' tag, as if scoring goals against English teams live on ITV is the standard to which all footballers around the world should aspire to.
As the son of a Bosnian father and Croatian mother, born and raised in Sweden, I don't quite envisage a young Zlatan Ibrahimovic dribbling a ball through the Rosengard streets with Brian Moore's voice in his head, thinking "one day, when I score, Ron Atkinson might refer to me as Zlatty."
Come the final whistle, the awkward backtracking had begun, yet the resigned speech from Townsend and King's gushing in the Mail the next day were not apologies, regardless of the article headlines, in the sense that they were admitting they'd got it wrong all along. They were knowing nods from football's head office towards this foreign enigma, as if to say "well done son, you've finally done what I've always thought you capable of."
Meanwhile, Zlatan's not arsed. After his second goal, a smartly taken volley, he was more concerned that he'd injured Gary Cahill with his follow-through than with his equaliser. The shirt came off after the fourth goal, and why not, given he'd just scored one of the most extraordinary goals seen on any football pitch? It became a memorable match because of his performance, but this was never meant to be a particularly special game for the striker, despite Townsend's insistence that because of his record on live British television in the past, it turned out to be the night of his reckoning. Zlatan had nothing to prove to anyone, just as when he was asked about being offered a trial by Arsene Wenger some years ago, he responded with "Zlatan doesn't do auditions."
Of course, scoring four goals in a game is rare, but Wednesday was essentially a magnificent footballer having a great time surrounded by average ones, with only Steven Gerrard in his pomp worthy of the same category. Zlatan's fried bigger fish in the past, and contrary to popular belief, in far bigger one-off games too, such as Spain's El Clasico, the Milan derby, and league title deciders. As recently as November 6th, he delivered a Champions League masterclass with something equally as rare as four goals, when he provided four sumptuous assists for Paris St. Germain.
Along with a title collection that trumps many of the sport's undeniable all-time legends, he's closing in on 250 club goals and 100 assists, as well as 40 international goals for an average team, all struck at that 1:2 ratio that strikers are often judged on. He's also no stranger to Youtube moments, with his back-healed-volley in the last minute against Italy at Euro 2004 not far behind Wednesday's acrobatics, not to mention a stunning solo goal for Ajax and an absurd kung-fu pass to Dejan Stankovic when at Inter. He also scored a splendid back-healed winning goal against England in 2004, and two beauties at the Emirates in a Champions League knockout tie two years ago - the awkward anomalies that not many wanted you to hear about before Wednesday's match.
It should be a journalistic criminal offence to spout what the likes of King and Townsend have this week, but in the spirit of free speech and thought, everyone is entitled to an opinion on the qualities of a particular player, no matter how shit and wrong it is.
However, it is quite another issue when those delivering analysis and insight of the world's most popular game to the masses, place them on such a skewed version of the football landscape by constantly positioning England at the top-centre. We claim to have the best league in the world, the best fans and the longest, proudest history. We claim to have invented football and as such we have the final say on its every global movement; what's right and wrong with the game, who the great players are, who is hosting the next World Cup, dual-nationality, goal-line technology and financial fair play - its all based on this idea that English football is the pinnacle, for us and for everyone else looking in. Stan Collymore may not be as naturally-gifted and well-educated a journalist or commentator as those who came through the media ranks, but he absolute nails it when he talks about British football's snobbery.
And so as King and company continue to wriggle and squirm out of the hole they've dug themselves by writing off such a brilliant, unique and entertaining footballer over the years, we can come back to yet another quote from the man himself, when once asked what he'd buy his partner for her birthday:
"Nothing, she already has the Zlatan."
Yes. We do.
He's not the only one. Its easy to picture the press box at the Olympic Stadium in Kiev, with the clique of British tabloid reporters sat together, all 'not getting' Zlatan, having never seen him do anything of note in what they consider a big game. Then when Andy Carroll climbs to head England into the lead, an exchange of knowing looks and back-slaps - "he's unplayable, him."
It's worth pointing out firstly that Zlatan Ibrahimovic, having won nine domestic league titles in the last ten years with the likes of Ajax, Internazionale, Juventus, Milan and Barcelona, and who recently gave himself a ten out of ten for his international career, probably doesn't give much of a hoot what Dominic King or Andy Townsend think. Or Jamie Redknapp for that matter, who decided that Zlatan finally "announced himself to the world" this week.
But more importantly, what was it about this friendly between Sweden and the second-string of an entirely average England squad, arranged as a curtain-raiser for the new stadium in Stockholm, which makes it the match by which any player can be realised as a true great of the sport? How is this irrelevant practice match which contained as many substitutions per-team as the excellent goals we saw, being talked about on the same plane as the 1958 World Cup Final, when a 17-year old Pele first became a superstar?
Interspersed with exasperations at how teenagers like Raheem Sterling and Wilfred Zaha could even contemplate playing for their country of birth over the mighty England, ITV's Tyldesley and Townsend gave us continual reminders of Zlatan's mediocre scoring record against English teams. It was held up as a justification for their 'enigma' tag, as if scoring goals against English teams live on ITV is the standard to which all footballers around the world should aspire to.
As the son of a Bosnian father and Croatian mother, born and raised in Sweden, I don't quite envisage a young Zlatan Ibrahimovic dribbling a ball through the Rosengard streets with Brian Moore's voice in his head, thinking "one day, when I score, Ron Atkinson might refer to me as Zlatty."
Come the final whistle, the awkward backtracking had begun, yet the resigned speech from Townsend and King's gushing in the Mail the next day were not apologies, regardless of the article headlines, in the sense that they were admitting they'd got it wrong all along. They were knowing nods from football's head office towards this foreign enigma, as if to say "well done son, you've finally done what I've always thought you capable of."
Meanwhile, Zlatan's not arsed. After his second goal, a smartly taken volley, he was more concerned that he'd injured Gary Cahill with his follow-through than with his equaliser. The shirt came off after the fourth goal, and why not, given he'd just scored one of the most extraordinary goals seen on any football pitch? It became a memorable match because of his performance, but this was never meant to be a particularly special game for the striker, despite Townsend's insistence that because of his record on live British television in the past, it turned out to be the night of his reckoning. Zlatan had nothing to prove to anyone, just as when he was asked about being offered a trial by Arsene Wenger some years ago, he responded with "Zlatan doesn't do auditions."
Of course, scoring four goals in a game is rare, but Wednesday was essentially a magnificent footballer having a great time surrounded by average ones, with only Steven Gerrard in his pomp worthy of the same category. Zlatan's fried bigger fish in the past, and contrary to popular belief, in far bigger one-off games too, such as Spain's El Clasico, the Milan derby, and league title deciders. As recently as November 6th, he delivered a Champions League masterclass with something equally as rare as four goals, when he provided four sumptuous assists for Paris St. Germain.
Along with a title collection that trumps many of the sport's undeniable all-time legends, he's closing in on 250 club goals and 100 assists, as well as 40 international goals for an average team, all struck at that 1:2 ratio that strikers are often judged on. He's also no stranger to Youtube moments, with his back-healed-volley in the last minute against Italy at Euro 2004 not far behind Wednesday's acrobatics, not to mention a stunning solo goal for Ajax and an absurd kung-fu pass to Dejan Stankovic when at Inter. He also scored a splendid back-healed winning goal against England in 2004, and two beauties at the Emirates in a Champions League knockout tie two years ago - the awkward anomalies that not many wanted you to hear about before Wednesday's match.
It should be a journalistic criminal offence to spout what the likes of King and Townsend have this week, but in the spirit of free speech and thought, everyone is entitled to an opinion on the qualities of a particular player, no matter how shit and wrong it is.
However, it is quite another issue when those delivering analysis and insight of the world's most popular game to the masses, place them on such a skewed version of the football landscape by constantly positioning England at the top-centre. We claim to have the best league in the world, the best fans and the longest, proudest history. We claim to have invented football and as such we have the final say on its every global movement; what's right and wrong with the game, who the great players are, who is hosting the next World Cup, dual-nationality, goal-line technology and financial fair play - its all based on this idea that English football is the pinnacle, for us and for everyone else looking in. Stan Collymore may not be as naturally-gifted and well-educated a journalist or commentator as those who came through the media ranks, but he absolute nails it when he talks about British football's snobbery.
And so as King and company continue to wriggle and squirm out of the hole they've dug themselves by writing off such a brilliant, unique and entertaining footballer over the years, we can come back to yet another quote from the man himself, when once asked what he'd buy his partner for her birthday:
"Nothing, she already has the Zlatan."
Yes. We do.
Tuesday 6 November 2012
Gerrard & Carragher : Fans Relishing A Club Of Strangers Must Walk Alone
Sometimes it feels like football has just died; When plastic flags are handed out to fans before a European Cup semi-final. When music blares out of the stadium speakers after a goal. Any chant which begins with "he scores when he wants" or "we know what you are." Nani.
There are occasions when being a Liverpool fan feels like never-ending death, and this has nothing to do with trivial, incidental things like mid-table mediocrity, being played off the pitch by Swansea or a senior member of staff threatening to post shit through the letterbox of a fictional internet character. This is about something more than an element, more important than the next game or what January's transfer budget will be.
The cliche that there is no player bigger than the club may be true, but stick Steven Gerrard and Jamie Carragher side-by-side outside the Shankly Gates and the Anfield backdrop that was once a fortress that put the fear into even Jose Mourinho, begins to resemble the toilet Bill himself referred to upon his arrival in 1959.
They are not going to be around forever, and so many of you are missing out on them, perhaps too distracted by a Suarez nutmeg or a Sterling step-over, too busy comparing the net spends of our rivals or scouring Twitter to find out who has passed through John Lennon airport that day. Whatever the reason for the indifference, or even waves of criticism coming the way of the two most important players of this club from the past 15 years, some of it verging on abuse in Carra's case, it fills me with the disappointment of a thousand deadline days.
To a fan, successes and failures, elations and frustrations tend to go in cycles of varying lengths, whether its good or bad players, managers, executives or results. Some of us can handle the reality that five years of feasting in the Champions League were always likely to be followed by five of bedtime on an empty stomach after an unsatisfying Thursday 6pm kick off. Others, often those for whom Istanbul was the catalyst rather than the climax of their Lfc experience, tend to recycle their views on a match-by-match basis. They demand heads on sticks one week after an undeserved loss at home to United, then crow about a routine win at Norwich the next.
Whatever works for you. As Nick Hornby, author of 'Fever Pitch' said, "If you lose the final in May, there's the third round to look forward to in January. What's childish about that? Its actually pretty comforting when you think about it."
But when Steven Gerrard and Jamie Carragher leave Liverpool and retire from football altogether, whether we are closer to Champions League or Championship, it could leave this club permanently unrecognisable to a lot of us. There is nothing comfortable about that. When they are gone, who will take over the role as the worldwide faces of this club? Who are the fans' real representatives on the pitch? Who are the kids' heroes? Luis Suarez may have wooed you for now, but the law of averages suggests he'll be gone before too long, given that he's bloody brilliant, and we're not. Even Raheem Sterling, a magnificent 17-year old prospect just making the breakthrough, has turned down a £15,000-per-week contract as he (or whoever advises him) is aware that he will be interesting a host of clubs who can afford, financially and morally, to throw obscene money at a kid.
To make things worse, there is a desperate lack of patience, passion and pride amongst the fan-base these days for players who come through the academy. I'm not talking about the likes of Sterling, who the club, given his age, have already spent big money on to ensure he stayed out of the clutches of other big European teams. Fans grew tired of Jay Spearing quickly, even though Darren Fletcher spent several seasons being slaughtered as a functional midfielder at Old Trafford before proving his worth. They are bored of Martin Kelly and even teenager Jon Flanagan too, despite the promise both have shown at a young age. The attitude seems to be unless they arrive in the first team with a YouTube reputation, deemed 'good enough' to play in a title-winning team in the future, then they aren't encouraged, and replacements are demanded. Staggering and sad, not to mention naive when you consider the medal hauls of Phil Neville and Nicky Butt.
If Jamie Carragher had made his debut on Sunday against Newcastle, he'd have been torn apart by the majority within weeks. This was a player who, despite scoring a neat header on his league debut against Aston Villa over 15 years ago, barely resembled a footballer for three years, but a pissed giraffe looking for his dinner in the desert. Yet his worth ethic and studious approach to defending endeared him to Gerard Houllier, who eventually turned to Jamie to solve a long-standing left-back problem. Even the Frenchman, the ultimate function-over-finesse coach was convinced that more naturally gifted defenders existed on the circuit and made several moves to phase Carra out of his first eleven (Vignal, Riise, Xavier, Finnan). He then came to realise he simply could not do without him, shifting him through the positions until Benitez arrived and helped him become a genuinely world class centre-half.
It is easy to point out players who failed to live up to their early hype and to speculate over the reasons why, particularly in the modern era of fame and fortune for all. In Carragher's case, through some substantial sacrifices and a borderline unhealthy obsession with clean sheets, he became one of a handful who have comprehensively surpassed expectations. If he retired tomorrow, he could feel confident that he saturated his potential and rang himself bone-dry of every drop of promise. A European Cup winner, and a serial snuffer of world class forwards in the world's biggest club competition; Berbatov, Ibrahimovic, Drogba, Ronadinho, Eto'o, Messi, Raul - they all came in the Champions League, they all failed, leaving us dreaming of a team of Carragher's.
He may not be the player he was, but given his attitude, experience and achievements, how many better and more reliable 4th choice centre-backs are there in the Premier League? In a painfully thin squad, he remains an essential option across the back four, albeit not in the same way he was in 2005 when he was the continent's outstanding defender. He is also there to set an example to the younger players, to remind them of why representing Liverpool is different to being at any other club, something too often scoffed at by those who think that because they know Joe Allen's pass completion rate, that they know what this club is about.
As for Steven Gerrard, we are not just talking about a two-time footballer of the year who joined the club he supported as an eleven year old boy and is now approaching ten years as its captain. We are talking about arguably the greatest player that the greatest English club has ever seen. True, he hasn't been fortunate enough to play alongside the long list of famous Liverpool names of the seventies and eighties, which dominated the sport, and therefore he remains without the league titles he deserves. However, that he even remains at this club twelve years after he made his England debut, since when he could've had his pick of others (and admittedly nearly did) is a miracle in itself. 600 games, almost 150 goals from midfield and a share of Carra's medal collection, with both players representing the club on and off the pitch in impeccable manner, making us proud regardless of the missing league title.
He continues to perform with remarkable consistency and intelligence, if not with the same spectacular interventions as before, gradually altering his game each week as he comes to terms with his ageing body. In both the recent Merseyside Derby and at home to Newcastle, 100 mile-an-hour matches, he was able to play his own game, rarely looking rushed by the mayhem around him. The bursts forward into the box were few and far between but almost every one produced an opportunity for himself or a teammate, while for all Rodgers' pass-pass-pass philosophy, Steven's set-pieces remain our most likely goal source at the moment. He's also twice shown street smarts to ensure Sterling hasn't been sent off, protecting Liverpool's future while striving to improve the present, as he wears the burdens of the past more than any other player.
In trying to back-up an argument for benching Gerrard and retiring Carragher, plenty point out their respective salaries, and suggest that given our weak squad, a gaping hole in the wage bill could be filled by some of football's brightest young international talents, rather than blowing six-figure sums per week on footballers who are apparently not good enough anymore. The Football Manager approach. "Look at his stats!" they cry. Christ.
Not that its worth dignifying with a justification, but both rightly earn more than the majority because they have been at the club the longest and have contributed more to it, in football and beyond, than anyone else in our current squad has or in all likelihood ever will. There are several players at this club on substantial wages who have contributed very little positive, and we all know who they are, and they don't deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as either Gerrard or Carragher. There are some very, very decent players too, one or two world class, and they're still miles away. Try sticking around for a decade first, to help the team improve rather than just yourselves, and then we'll start the debate.
It would also be incredibly obvious and easy to refer to Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs at this point, but I'm going to do it anyway, because it really is that bloody obvious. If you can't see the value of them in United's squad over the past 8-10 years, which is around the time that has passed since either player was at his peak, then stop reading. Rio Ferdinand too, like Carragher, is all but finished as an international force, and once Jones, Smalling and Vidic return, he'll drop down the pecking order. Most teams don't have a 5th choice specialist centre-back, let alone a multi-title winning one. Yes, I'm even referring to the qualities of that insufferable shithouse to back-up my point.
I'm making largely football defences here, but I shouldn't have to. We shouldn't feel comfortable about a club of strangers, which is what we'll become when these two unique servants leave us. Gerrard and Carragher have already done enough to demand the respect of any owner or manager that walks into this club, and any fan that watches on, whatever their standard of display that day. Yes, their inevitable 'decline' will have to be managed, and that will be a test for Rodgers, but blindly bombing them out the team or the club would be a catastrophic mistake, which is why its never entered the man's mind. Thankfully.
This club has had enough problems to deal with, whether it be the highest of high profile disciplinary cases, grossly unprofessional behaviour from some in suits and underwhelming results to boot. Carragher and Gerrard, as our most trusted representatives, whether it be at Anfield, Melwood, at a press conference or at a charity event, should remain our shining lights and not the scapegoats for the failings of those around them.
There are occasions when being a Liverpool fan feels like never-ending death, and this has nothing to do with trivial, incidental things like mid-table mediocrity, being played off the pitch by Swansea or a senior member of staff threatening to post shit through the letterbox of a fictional internet character. This is about something more than an element, more important than the next game or what January's transfer budget will be.
The cliche that there is no player bigger than the club may be true, but stick Steven Gerrard and Jamie Carragher side-by-side outside the Shankly Gates and the Anfield backdrop that was once a fortress that put the fear into even Jose Mourinho, begins to resemble the toilet Bill himself referred to upon his arrival in 1959.
They are not going to be around forever, and so many of you are missing out on them, perhaps too distracted by a Suarez nutmeg or a Sterling step-over, too busy comparing the net spends of our rivals or scouring Twitter to find out who has passed through John Lennon airport that day. Whatever the reason for the indifference, or even waves of criticism coming the way of the two most important players of this club from the past 15 years, some of it verging on abuse in Carra's case, it fills me with the disappointment of a thousand deadline days.
To a fan, successes and failures, elations and frustrations tend to go in cycles of varying lengths, whether its good or bad players, managers, executives or results. Some of us can handle the reality that five years of feasting in the Champions League were always likely to be followed by five of bedtime on an empty stomach after an unsatisfying Thursday 6pm kick off. Others, often those for whom Istanbul was the catalyst rather than the climax of their Lfc experience, tend to recycle their views on a match-by-match basis. They demand heads on sticks one week after an undeserved loss at home to United, then crow about a routine win at Norwich the next.
Whatever works for you. As Nick Hornby, author of 'Fever Pitch' said, "If you lose the final in May, there's the third round to look forward to in January. What's childish about that? Its actually pretty comforting when you think about it."
But when Steven Gerrard and Jamie Carragher leave Liverpool and retire from football altogether, whether we are closer to Champions League or Championship, it could leave this club permanently unrecognisable to a lot of us. There is nothing comfortable about that. When they are gone, who will take over the role as the worldwide faces of this club? Who are the fans' real representatives on the pitch? Who are the kids' heroes? Luis Suarez may have wooed you for now, but the law of averages suggests he'll be gone before too long, given that he's bloody brilliant, and we're not. Even Raheem Sterling, a magnificent 17-year old prospect just making the breakthrough, has turned down a £15,000-per-week contract as he (or whoever advises him) is aware that he will be interesting a host of clubs who can afford, financially and morally, to throw obscene money at a kid.
To make things worse, there is a desperate lack of patience, passion and pride amongst the fan-base these days for players who come through the academy. I'm not talking about the likes of Sterling, who the club, given his age, have already spent big money on to ensure he stayed out of the clutches of other big European teams. Fans grew tired of Jay Spearing quickly, even though Darren Fletcher spent several seasons being slaughtered as a functional midfielder at Old Trafford before proving his worth. They are bored of Martin Kelly and even teenager Jon Flanagan too, despite the promise both have shown at a young age. The attitude seems to be unless they arrive in the first team with a YouTube reputation, deemed 'good enough' to play in a title-winning team in the future, then they aren't encouraged, and replacements are demanded. Staggering and sad, not to mention naive when you consider the medal hauls of Phil Neville and Nicky Butt.
If Jamie Carragher had made his debut on Sunday against Newcastle, he'd have been torn apart by the majority within weeks. This was a player who, despite scoring a neat header on his league debut against Aston Villa over 15 years ago, barely resembled a footballer for three years, but a pissed giraffe looking for his dinner in the desert. Yet his worth ethic and studious approach to defending endeared him to Gerard Houllier, who eventually turned to Jamie to solve a long-standing left-back problem. Even the Frenchman, the ultimate function-over-finesse coach was convinced that more naturally gifted defenders existed on the circuit and made several moves to phase Carra out of his first eleven (Vignal, Riise, Xavier, Finnan). He then came to realise he simply could not do without him, shifting him through the positions until Benitez arrived and helped him become a genuinely world class centre-half.
It is easy to point out players who failed to live up to their early hype and to speculate over the reasons why, particularly in the modern era of fame and fortune for all. In Carragher's case, through some substantial sacrifices and a borderline unhealthy obsession with clean sheets, he became one of a handful who have comprehensively surpassed expectations. If he retired tomorrow, he could feel confident that he saturated his potential and rang himself bone-dry of every drop of promise. A European Cup winner, and a serial snuffer of world class forwards in the world's biggest club competition; Berbatov, Ibrahimovic, Drogba, Ronadinho, Eto'o, Messi, Raul - they all came in the Champions League, they all failed, leaving us dreaming of a team of Carragher's.
He may not be the player he was, but given his attitude, experience and achievements, how many better and more reliable 4th choice centre-backs are there in the Premier League? In a painfully thin squad, he remains an essential option across the back four, albeit not in the same way he was in 2005 when he was the continent's outstanding defender. He is also there to set an example to the younger players, to remind them of why representing Liverpool is different to being at any other club, something too often scoffed at by those who think that because they know Joe Allen's pass completion rate, that they know what this club is about.
As for Steven Gerrard, we are not just talking about a two-time footballer of the year who joined the club he supported as an eleven year old boy and is now approaching ten years as its captain. We are talking about arguably the greatest player that the greatest English club has ever seen. True, he hasn't been fortunate enough to play alongside the long list of famous Liverpool names of the seventies and eighties, which dominated the sport, and therefore he remains without the league titles he deserves. However, that he even remains at this club twelve years after he made his England debut, since when he could've had his pick of others (and admittedly nearly did) is a miracle in itself. 600 games, almost 150 goals from midfield and a share of Carra's medal collection, with both players representing the club on and off the pitch in impeccable manner, making us proud regardless of the missing league title.
He continues to perform with remarkable consistency and intelligence, if not with the same spectacular interventions as before, gradually altering his game each week as he comes to terms with his ageing body. In both the recent Merseyside Derby and at home to Newcastle, 100 mile-an-hour matches, he was able to play his own game, rarely looking rushed by the mayhem around him. The bursts forward into the box were few and far between but almost every one produced an opportunity for himself or a teammate, while for all Rodgers' pass-pass-pass philosophy, Steven's set-pieces remain our most likely goal source at the moment. He's also twice shown street smarts to ensure Sterling hasn't been sent off, protecting Liverpool's future while striving to improve the present, as he wears the burdens of the past more than any other player.
In trying to back-up an argument for benching Gerrard and retiring Carragher, plenty point out their respective salaries, and suggest that given our weak squad, a gaping hole in the wage bill could be filled by some of football's brightest young international talents, rather than blowing six-figure sums per week on footballers who are apparently not good enough anymore. The Football Manager approach. "Look at his stats!" they cry. Christ.
Not that its worth dignifying with a justification, but both rightly earn more than the majority because they have been at the club the longest and have contributed more to it, in football and beyond, than anyone else in our current squad has or in all likelihood ever will. There are several players at this club on substantial wages who have contributed very little positive, and we all know who they are, and they don't deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as either Gerrard or Carragher. There are some very, very decent players too, one or two world class, and they're still miles away. Try sticking around for a decade first, to help the team improve rather than just yourselves, and then we'll start the debate.
It would also be incredibly obvious and easy to refer to Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs at this point, but I'm going to do it anyway, because it really is that bloody obvious. If you can't see the value of them in United's squad over the past 8-10 years, which is around the time that has passed since either player was at his peak, then stop reading. Rio Ferdinand too, like Carragher, is all but finished as an international force, and once Jones, Smalling and Vidic return, he'll drop down the pecking order. Most teams don't have a 5th choice specialist centre-back, let alone a multi-title winning one. Yes, I'm even referring to the qualities of that insufferable shithouse to back-up my point.
I'm making largely football defences here, but I shouldn't have to. We shouldn't feel comfortable about a club of strangers, which is what we'll become when these two unique servants leave us. Gerrard and Carragher have already done enough to demand the respect of any owner or manager that walks into this club, and any fan that watches on, whatever their standard of display that day. Yes, their inevitable 'decline' will have to be managed, and that will be a test for Rodgers, but blindly bombing them out the team or the club would be a catastrophic mistake, which is why its never entered the man's mind. Thankfully.
This club has had enough problems to deal with, whether it be the highest of high profile disciplinary cases, grossly unprofessional behaviour from some in suits and underwhelming results to boot. Carragher and Gerrard, as our most trusted representatives, whether it be at Anfield, Melwood, at a press conference or at a charity event, should remain our shining lights and not the scapegoats for the failings of those around them.
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