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.
Saturday, 1 September 2012
Rodgers Must Prove Coaching Credentials To Earn Transfer Kitty
For a large amount of modern day fans, it seems who we buy and sell is more important than the actual results on the pitch, more interesting than the performance and development of players, and stirs more emotions than derby wins or last minute goals. The summer is spent constantly speculating and debating targets and guessing budgets, and the moment the window shuts, eyes are cast towards 1st January. Consequently, 31st August 2012 will go down as just about the worst day of a lot of Liverpool fans' lives. I can only sympathise.
The least enjoyable weeks of the football calendar are now over and at last, the season can begin - for 15 blissful days, until the international break ruins it all.
Of course, yesterday was disappointing, mostly because we have a new manager who we assume was promised certain funds to spend, and ruthlessly disposed of certain players, even resorting to publicly criticising players he's worked with for a matter of weeks, and ended up with no replacements. Rodgers fully committed himself to lowering the wage bill, and creating space in the squad for new recruits, and wasn't able to fill those gaps. The immediate concern is Rodgers' relationship with the owners, and whether it has already been damaged, while wider questions need to be asked about FSG's long term strategy.
However, this absurd competition amongst Internet-warrior fans to be the most infuriated at yesterday's events, calling for the heads of the individuals they can only guess are responsible, even making baseless suggestions that FSG are looking to sell up, is just another tiresome phase that will predictably pass as soon as the team starts winning. I can understand some of the intense paranoia and frustration when thinking back to the Hicks, Gillett and Benitez years, but it is clear that, while I'm not siding with the current owners, it is a completely different situation to that which Rafa faced in 2009.
Here's why this is no time to panic.
Of course, yesterday was disappointing, mostly because we have a new manager who we assume was promised certain funds to spend, and ruthlessly disposed of certain players, even resorting to publicly criticising players he's worked with for a matter of weeks, and ended up with no replacements. Rodgers fully committed himself to lowering the wage bill, and creating space in the squad for new recruits, and wasn't able to fill those gaps. The immediate concern is Rodgers' relationship with the owners, and whether it has already been damaged, while wider questions need to be asked about FSG's long term strategy.
However, this absurd competition amongst Internet-warrior fans to be the most infuriated at yesterday's events, calling for the heads of the individuals they can only guess are responsible, even making baseless suggestions that FSG are looking to sell up, is just another tiresome phase that will predictably pass as soon as the team starts winning. I can understand some of the intense paranoia and frustration when thinking back to the Hicks, Gillett and Benitez years, but it is clear that, while I'm not siding with the current owners, it is a completely different situation to that which Rafa faced in 2009.
Here's why this is no time to panic.
What many are failing to realise is that even if we'd signed Dempsey, Sturridge and Walcott, sixth place was still our likely maximum finish, given the existing gulf between us and the top five and their own current levels of investment. As it is, we're going to have some competition for that spot, possibly from Everton and one or two surprise packages, but if we have a strong season, and no repeat of last season's off-field chaos, the squad we have is more than capable of securing more points, and a higher position than last season, which I suppose is the definition of progress.
It is that sort of progress, albeit modest by a club of our standards, that the owners can rightly expect to demand before they inject serious cash once more. Therefore, the onus is on Brendan Rodgers, who is only 157 matches into a managerial career which has delivered reasonable, but not spectacular results, to prove that he is the coach worthy of a bottomless pit of transfer funds, which will provide us with a reasonable expectation of challenging for a return to Champions League football within the next three seasons. To those who haven't been behind the team long enough to stomach waiting that long, again, I'll offer token sympathy.
It is that sort of progress, albeit modest by a club of our standards, that the owners can rightly expect to demand before they inject serious cash once more. Therefore, the onus is on Brendan Rodgers, who is only 157 matches into a managerial career which has delivered reasonable, but not spectacular results, to prove that he is the coach worthy of a bottomless pit of transfer funds, which will provide us with a reasonable expectation of challenging for a return to Champions League football within the next three seasons. To those who haven't been behind the team long enough to stomach waiting that long, again, I'll offer token sympathy.
Although last year's £100 million summer spend was accounted for by a large chunk of sales, it was still £100 million sanctioned for purchases by FSG that ultimately resulted in a side that grossly under-performed beyond Christmas on the pitch, while off-pitch matters descended to a new low. That squad was more than capable of finishing sixth, and should have done so.
Now what on earth are John Henry and Tom Werner, if they don't learn from experiences and mistakes?
If Rodgers wants to have this glorious, league-title-guaranteeing 'backing' that everyone keeps going on about, perhaps he should at least prove his credentials as a coach first? Just a thought. It's what he is here for, after all. Now this may disappoint the twitter-fans, but I am far, far more interested in what Rodgers can do with what is at his disposal, than any hypothetical signings. I am fascinated to see him continue to impose his philosophy and style on our squad, something we saw encouraging signs of materialising against City.
Furthermore, Rodgers made the considerable step up to manage a Liverpool team in one of its most desperate states of recent times, in a summer that contained both a European Championships and an Olympic Games, making for the trickiest of transfer markets. The squad meanwhile, was littered with players who simply weren't worth their wages, meaning sales would be doubly tougher than purchases, making shrewd squad turnover incredibly difficult. It is no wonder, again, that FSG were reluctant to take risks, given that the maximum likely return on that investment in the first year would be sixth position, and a Europa League place. The clear priority was to reduce that wage bill and relieve the club of dead-weights who were simply sucking away their funds and not contributing on the pitch. Some, like Joe Cole, still refuse to budge, and will continue to hold us back.
Rodgers may be paying for the mistakes of previous regimes, but if he is as progressive and philosophically sound in his approach to the transfer market and squad development as he is to playing style, then I am sure he won't allow yesterday's events to linger in his mind in the way it will for many fans. Who knows, he may even look back one day, with a quiet nod of approval to his bosses, and think that it was a necessary struggle.
Furthermore, Rodgers made the considerable step up to manage a Liverpool team in one of its most desperate states of recent times, in a summer that contained both a European Championships and an Olympic Games, making for the trickiest of transfer markets. The squad meanwhile, was littered with players who simply weren't worth their wages, meaning sales would be doubly tougher than purchases, making shrewd squad turnover incredibly difficult. It is no wonder, again, that FSG were reluctant to take risks, given that the maximum likely return on that investment in the first year would be sixth position, and a Europa League place. The clear priority was to reduce that wage bill and relieve the club of dead-weights who were simply sucking away their funds and not contributing on the pitch. Some, like Joe Cole, still refuse to budge, and will continue to hold us back.
Rodgers may be paying for the mistakes of previous regimes, but if he is as progressive and philosophically sound in his approach to the transfer market and squad development as he is to playing style, then I am sure he won't allow yesterday's events to linger in his mind in the way it will for many fans. Who knows, he may even look back one day, with a quiet nod of approval to his bosses, and think that it was a necessary struggle.
Monday, 13 August 2012
Britain's Women Could Inspire True Olympic Equality
After an Olympic Games which has inspired so many and so much, it is perhaps ironic that one of the most powerful messages of the past two weeks not only prompted the creation of new words below, but also a wish to eat so many from the past.
On the fifth day since the Games were declared open, British nervousness and self-awareness set in, as medals had trickled through, but as yet, no gold. Then came rowers Helen Glover and Heather Stanning, who not only won GB's first gold of the Games, but the first ever by female British rowers. Four-years ago, Glover still harboured hopes of achieving her goal in international hockey, while Stanning was embarking on international service of an altogether different kind, with the Royal Artillery.
Two weeks on, and with a few eyes already turning to the closing ceremony, 22-year old Samantha Murray claimed a superb silver in the Modern Pentathlon, the event founded by modern Olympic creator himself, Pierre de Coubertin. Four years ago, while others in Beijing were already laying the foundations for success at the home Games to come, Murray was on the verge of quitting her sport altogether. Her on-camera message of believing in your dreams will be beamed around the world well beyond the completion of these Games.
Two contrasting, but equally impressive and memorable examples of sporting excellence and character, at the culmination of years of dedication amongst fluctuating fortunes, from Great Britain's female athletes. And they would become the perfect, appropriate bookends of GB's medal rush, and one of the biggest influences that this Games may have on subsequent Olympics, and on global sport in general.
At London, we arrived at the most gender-equal Games of all-time. A record 45% female competitors, a first Saudi woman Olympian, and both sexes in all events for the first time in history, among the statistics that had Seb Coe purring. There are still, of course, many imbalances, not least because there still exist some unjustified differences in male and female formats within certain sports. However, it is undeniable that we are heading in the right direction.
Yet this change is not purely driven by the men in suits at the top of the IOC, as if kindly providing the equal opportunities off their own backs, out of the goodness of their hearts, but crucially, by the athletes themselves. It is not that women have achieved more at these Games in terms of sporting excellence, in comparison to men, than they have in the past, thanks to increased opportunity. Women have always excelled at the Olympics, since they were given their rightful chance. Rather they have continued, despite remaining prejudices and imbalances, to slam the heavy roller on this playing field. Come Rio, we could see it truly levelled.
Because they don't run as fast, hit tennis balls as hard or lift the heaviest weights, women's sports have so often been regarded as watered down versions of the main events. Most of us are guilty. We question technical, psychological and professional proficiencies, leading us to debate about prize money and media coverage. In the early days of these Games, some even questioned the legitimacy of a woman's performance, Chinese swimmer Yi Shiwen, because she dared to swim faster than a man.
While the successes and failures of male athletes are usually only reflected upon themselves, those of our women are a reflection of an entire gender's participation in sport. A major result doesn't merely create a new champion or a sporting legend, it is then placed in the context of its impact on women's sport as a whole. British boxer Nicola Adams encapsulated this with her magnificent display on the way to gold, proclaiming it a "dream come true, a dream since I was 12 years old." More so, it will go down as the first ever gold medal by a female boxer, with women allowed to box in the Games for the first time, albeit in a slightly different format. The IOC may have finally deemed women physically and mentally tough enough to compete in Olympic boxing, but it is Adams who silenced any lingering debates. Hopefully she can enjoy the gold medal for what it is.
But perceptions could be about to change for the long-term, and if in Rio we have a 50/50 gender split, and sports mirrored in formats, perhaps the most telling contribution of all the British athletes at London 2012 occurred on the first morning of the track and field events. The Olympic stadium, with a capacity crowd over-spilling with emotion, expectation and feverish excitement, were ready and waiting for the Games' flagship events, and the pressure on the home favourites was about to be cranked up.
As Brits, we often expect brave failure from our sportsmen and women. The effort, commitment and courage will always be obvious, but at the crucial moment, we lack our foreign opponents' ability to keep emotions in-check at crunch time. Usain Bolt may have a case to claim otherwise, but the pressure on Jessica Ennis as she walked onto the track on that Friday morning, arguably supersedes that faced by any other athlete at these Games.
Like Michael Johnson in 1996, and Kathy Freeman in 2000, she has been the face of London 2012, the most visible athlete around not just the city, but the country. Simply, above and beyond all other competitors, male or female, she had to win. When watching Johnson in Atlanta or Freeman in Sydney, there was something powerfully inevitable about their victories, yet with Ennis, there would always be the nagging element of British doubt. Missing the sudden-death penalty, dropping the baton, falling at the last hurdle, when facing the prospect of a breakthrough victory - that is what we do.
As Ennis stood at the start line, she was subjected to the most sensational, spine-tingling roar from the crowd. At first she looked nervous, briefly waving, in comparison to the excited reactions of Katrina Johnson-Thompson, another joy of these two weeks.
But as Ennis settled into the blocks, we needn't have worried or hoped. She was ready. She was always ready. She didn't just win that 100m hurdles, she achieved a world-best time that would've won her a gold medal in the individual event in Beijing. It was a true champion's performance - defined not just by its quality, but by its timing. As Federer serves the aces on break points and Woods sinks the pressure putt on the last hole, Ennis was delivering her best performance at the most important moment under the most excruciating expectation, the true hallmark of a world class athlete.
Others too, have bucked the trend of British bottling and shown admirable strength of body and mind when faced with their destiny. In an era where every physical blemish is scrutinised, gold medal cyclist Joanna Roswell says her alopecia spurred her on to her moment of glory in the Velodrome. Meanwhile, the image of 25-year old judo silver medallist Gemma Gibbons offering a quiet message to her late mother at the moment of triumph, will be one of the most enduring of the Games.
We will continue to compare and contrast the male and female events, but this piece isn't quite the time and place for it. And this is not designed to take anything away from Bolt, Farah, Phelps and other men who've lit up these Games. This piece isn't about men versus women on or off the field. On the contrary, it's about the importance of continually striving for true gender equality at the Olympics, for when it has been partially granted, albeit woefully overdue, and gradually edged nearer, the response from the female athletes has been emphatically vindicating, leaving many of us, as men, rather embarrassed of the past.
On the fifth day since the Games were declared open, British nervousness and self-awareness set in, as medals had trickled through, but as yet, no gold. Then came rowers Helen Glover and Heather Stanning, who not only won GB's first gold of the Games, but the first ever by female British rowers. Four-years ago, Glover still harboured hopes of achieving her goal in international hockey, while Stanning was embarking on international service of an altogether different kind, with the Royal Artillery.
Two weeks on, and with a few eyes already turning to the closing ceremony, 22-year old Samantha Murray claimed a superb silver in the Modern Pentathlon, the event founded by modern Olympic creator himself, Pierre de Coubertin. Four years ago, while others in Beijing were already laying the foundations for success at the home Games to come, Murray was on the verge of quitting her sport altogether. Her on-camera message of believing in your dreams will be beamed around the world well beyond the completion of these Games.
Two contrasting, but equally impressive and memorable examples of sporting excellence and character, at the culmination of years of dedication amongst fluctuating fortunes, from Great Britain's female athletes. And they would become the perfect, appropriate bookends of GB's medal rush, and one of the biggest influences that this Games may have on subsequent Olympics, and on global sport in general.
At London, we arrived at the most gender-equal Games of all-time. A record 45% female competitors, a first Saudi woman Olympian, and both sexes in all events for the first time in history, among the statistics that had Seb Coe purring. There are still, of course, many imbalances, not least because there still exist some unjustified differences in male and female formats within certain sports. However, it is undeniable that we are heading in the right direction.
Yet this change is not purely driven by the men in suits at the top of the IOC, as if kindly providing the equal opportunities off their own backs, out of the goodness of their hearts, but crucially, by the athletes themselves. It is not that women have achieved more at these Games in terms of sporting excellence, in comparison to men, than they have in the past, thanks to increased opportunity. Women have always excelled at the Olympics, since they were given their rightful chance. Rather they have continued, despite remaining prejudices and imbalances, to slam the heavy roller on this playing field. Come Rio, we could see it truly levelled.
Because they don't run as fast, hit tennis balls as hard or lift the heaviest weights, women's sports have so often been regarded as watered down versions of the main events. Most of us are guilty. We question technical, psychological and professional proficiencies, leading us to debate about prize money and media coverage. In the early days of these Games, some even questioned the legitimacy of a woman's performance, Chinese swimmer Yi Shiwen, because she dared to swim faster than a man.
While the successes and failures of male athletes are usually only reflected upon themselves, those of our women are a reflection of an entire gender's participation in sport. A major result doesn't merely create a new champion or a sporting legend, it is then placed in the context of its impact on women's sport as a whole. British boxer Nicola Adams encapsulated this with her magnificent display on the way to gold, proclaiming it a "dream come true, a dream since I was 12 years old." More so, it will go down as the first ever gold medal by a female boxer, with women allowed to box in the Games for the first time, albeit in a slightly different format. The IOC may have finally deemed women physically and mentally tough enough to compete in Olympic boxing, but it is Adams who silenced any lingering debates. Hopefully she can enjoy the gold medal for what it is.
But perceptions could be about to change for the long-term, and if in Rio we have a 50/50 gender split, and sports mirrored in formats, perhaps the most telling contribution of all the British athletes at London 2012 occurred on the first morning of the track and field events. The Olympic stadium, with a capacity crowd over-spilling with emotion, expectation and feverish excitement, were ready and waiting for the Games' flagship events, and the pressure on the home favourites was about to be cranked up.
As Brits, we often expect brave failure from our sportsmen and women. The effort, commitment and courage will always be obvious, but at the crucial moment, we lack our foreign opponents' ability to keep emotions in-check at crunch time. Usain Bolt may have a case to claim otherwise, but the pressure on Jessica Ennis as she walked onto the track on that Friday morning, arguably supersedes that faced by any other athlete at these Games.
Like Michael Johnson in 1996, and Kathy Freeman in 2000, she has been the face of London 2012, the most visible athlete around not just the city, but the country. Simply, above and beyond all other competitors, male or female, she had to win. When watching Johnson in Atlanta or Freeman in Sydney, there was something powerfully inevitable about their victories, yet with Ennis, there would always be the nagging element of British doubt. Missing the sudden-death penalty, dropping the baton, falling at the last hurdle, when facing the prospect of a breakthrough victory - that is what we do.
As Ennis stood at the start line, she was subjected to the most sensational, spine-tingling roar from the crowd. At first she looked nervous, briefly waving, in comparison to the excited reactions of Katrina Johnson-Thompson, another joy of these two weeks.
But as Ennis settled into the blocks, we needn't have worried or hoped. She was ready. She was always ready. She didn't just win that 100m hurdles, she achieved a world-best time that would've won her a gold medal in the individual event in Beijing. It was a true champion's performance - defined not just by its quality, but by its timing. As Federer serves the aces on break points and Woods sinks the pressure putt on the last hole, Ennis was delivering her best performance at the most important moment under the most excruciating expectation, the true hallmark of a world class athlete.
Others too, have bucked the trend of British bottling and shown admirable strength of body and mind when faced with their destiny. In an era where every physical blemish is scrutinised, gold medal cyclist Joanna Roswell says her alopecia spurred her on to her moment of glory in the Velodrome. Meanwhile, the image of 25-year old judo silver medallist Gemma Gibbons offering a quiet message to her late mother at the moment of triumph, will be one of the most enduring of the Games.
We will continue to compare and contrast the male and female events, but this piece isn't quite the time and place for it. And this is not designed to take anything away from Bolt, Farah, Phelps and other men who've lit up these Games. This piece isn't about men versus women on or off the field. On the contrary, it's about the importance of continually striving for true gender equality at the Olympics, for when it has been partially granted, albeit woefully overdue, and gradually edged nearer, the response from the female athletes has been emphatically vindicating, leaving many of us, as men, rather embarrassed of the past.
Monday, 23 July 2012
Luis Suarez: Try Not To Get Too Attached
It may be wise to gently warn your children not to get too attached to Luis Suarez.
To be clear, by all reliable accounts, Suarez is happy at Liverpool and has no intention whatsoever of asking for a move this summer. However, if Liverpool fans were to be entirely honest with themselves, whether Juventus are able to tempt Suarez away this summer or not, the Uruguayan is extremely unlikely to be a Liverpool player at the start of the 2013-2014 season. As for this time in two years, after the next World Cup, you can almost certainly forget about it.
Suarez is arguably the most naturally gifted attacking player Liverpool have acquired since John Barnes, and given the position we were in at the time, it was a remarkable buy. As such, he's going to attract the interest of the very top European clubs. Currently it seems to be the progressive Italians of Turin who are expressing the interest, in an ambitious attempt to create a Suarez-Van Persie sharp end to their already solid side which went the entire 2011-2012 Serie A season unbeaten.
If Suarez stays, and doing so would mean he will surely have signed a new contract, then his first full, uninterrupted, non-disrupted season at Liverpool will make him the most desired footballer on the planet this time next year, and his value will go through the roof. Among the suitors will doubtlessly be Barcelona, for whom Suarez is a perfect fit in footballing style, and a convenient long-term replacement for David Villa to boot.
Under FSG, Liverpool's only realistic hope of keeping Suarez long-term (and lets forget any notion of Suarez, or indeed any purchased player, 'loving the club') is to become one of the top teams in Europe, and quickly. That would involve qualifying for the Champions League this season, minimum, and John Henry himself has already indicated that no such immediate objective exists. Dalglish was not sacked because his team didn't reach a particular position in the league table. Rather he was identified as not the right man to take this club forward, and Brendan Rodgers was brought in to make a year zero, fresh start at Anfield, and will be given the time to do so.
What has also become clear is at this early stage in the club's rebuilding, while Liverpool remain a developing power, every player has their price. Andy Carroll, for example, is not being touted to clubs explicitly because Brendan Rodgers doesn't rate him as a player, nor consider him incapable of fitting into his style of play. Rather it is part of FSG's preference for Rodgers to identify which members of the squad with the highest market value, and/or the club's highest earners, are non-essential to the team's immediate future. That Andy Carroll, as a young, talented, hyped English footballer, could still command a fee of £20 million despite having barely hit the net in 18 months, will have interested FSG. The question will have been asked of Rodgers whether Carroll is a must-have, and given the system he prefers, the big man would certainly not be a first-pick every week. Therefore, if Liverpool want to invest in the 2-3 (after Borini) signings Rodgers has targeted, he is the obvious, necessary sacrifice.
Suarez doesn't fit into that category, of course. However, when you start getting into the £30 million plus range, any offer has to be at least contemplated, for Liverpool are highly unlikely, even in two or three years time, to be able to compete with the likes of Manchester City, Barcelona and Real Madrid on a footballing or financial level.
The club's desire to tie Suarez to a new contract this summer is about protecting his transfer value as much as it is about ensuring he stays in a red shirt as long as possible. FSG simply won't allow themselves to be backed into a corner by a player in the manner Arsenal have over Fabregas, Nasri and Van Persie in recent seasons, despite the fact Suarez has not yet indicated he wants to leave.
If Luis signs a fresh four-year deal after the Olympics, many will be fooled, as it won't mean he's committed his future to 2016 - it will have just secured a hefty fee for him in a year's time. If the club were taking a not-for-sale approach, Suarez would've been asked to sign on the dotted line before going to the Olympics, and it seems there has been nothing more than polite, preliminary conversation so far. Rodgers has publicaly voiced a desire to get him a new contract,understandably, but it seems the possibility of listening to bids for Suarez, or indeed any other player, has been entertained as part of the year zero approach.
So how much would Liverpool actually miss Luis Suarez?
Of course, any team would miss a player of his ability, and he is realistically irreplaceble on a like-for-like basis. But for a team that hasn't got short-term designs on challenging for the major titles, is having an outstanding superstar in the team really a must-have, when a £35 million fee could be reinvested in key areas of the squad (i.e two forwards instead of one) to ensure that within three years, we have at least made it back to the Champions League?
If LFC adopt that approach, is 4th place attainable within three years and sustainable thereafter? Answer: Yes. If you would consider a 5th place finish next season as progress, then consider that Chelsea's leading scorers last season in the league were Frank Lampard and Daniel Sturridge, who both managed a modest 11 goals each. The latter will likely seek a move elsewhere this summer. Any team is a sum of parts.
And what about the fans themselves? Would we be losing a club hero? Inevitably, many on Twitter are threatening suicide over a Suarez sale, yet there is a general feeling that Liverpool fans have guarded against getting too attached to the number 7, after what happened with Fernando Torres in 2011. A realistic air of resignation has began to drift over some, and I'd advise the rest to suck it in.
Let's get this out the way. Luis Suarez, for one reason or another, has never received anywhere near the level of adulation that Torres was afforded in his time here. The Spaniard, within six months of being at Anfield, was as worshipped as Gerrard or Carragher. He'd became one of the club's favourite sons, and he just seemed to 'get' LFC, becoming a fine ambassador as well as a goal machine. He's been widely panned since he left for Chelsea, and memories are being clouded and concealed, but Torres, when at Liverpool, may as well have been born into one of the toilets under the Anfield Road End, such was his relationship with the fans. Despite his struggles in the Hodgson months, with Kenny to the rescue and Hicks & Gillett long-gone, Torres' demands to leave the club were genuinely shocking. The lesson must be learnt.
As for Suarez, there's no doubt his unique technical ability combined with his high-effort, all-action style makes him a huge fans' favourite. But whether its his solid, rather than spectacular goal-ratio so far, his irritating tendency to scream and wrythe when brushed, or any sub-conscious awkward feelings over the Evra mess, he isn't quite Kop idol status yet. And with a move away looking so inevitable, sooner or later, there is a suggestion he never should be.
The gut feeling is Suarez will stay for the forthcoming season, but it will only be delaying the inevitable, bar an incredible 2012-2013. The hope must be that Rodgers and FSG are bearing this in mind as they are moulding their long-term strategy.
To be clear, by all reliable accounts, Suarez is happy at Liverpool and has no intention whatsoever of asking for a move this summer. However, if Liverpool fans were to be entirely honest with themselves, whether Juventus are able to tempt Suarez away this summer or not, the Uruguayan is extremely unlikely to be a Liverpool player at the start of the 2013-2014 season. As for this time in two years, after the next World Cup, you can almost certainly forget about it.
Suarez is arguably the most naturally gifted attacking player Liverpool have acquired since John Barnes, and given the position we were in at the time, it was a remarkable buy. As such, he's going to attract the interest of the very top European clubs. Currently it seems to be the progressive Italians of Turin who are expressing the interest, in an ambitious attempt to create a Suarez-Van Persie sharp end to their already solid side which went the entire 2011-2012 Serie A season unbeaten.
If Suarez stays, and doing so would mean he will surely have signed a new contract, then his first full, uninterrupted, non-disrupted season at Liverpool will make him the most desired footballer on the planet this time next year, and his value will go through the roof. Among the suitors will doubtlessly be Barcelona, for whom Suarez is a perfect fit in footballing style, and a convenient long-term replacement for David Villa to boot.
Under FSG, Liverpool's only realistic hope of keeping Suarez long-term (and lets forget any notion of Suarez, or indeed any purchased player, 'loving the club') is to become one of the top teams in Europe, and quickly. That would involve qualifying for the Champions League this season, minimum, and John Henry himself has already indicated that no such immediate objective exists. Dalglish was not sacked because his team didn't reach a particular position in the league table. Rather he was identified as not the right man to take this club forward, and Brendan Rodgers was brought in to make a year zero, fresh start at Anfield, and will be given the time to do so.
What has also become clear is at this early stage in the club's rebuilding, while Liverpool remain a developing power, every player has their price. Andy Carroll, for example, is not being touted to clubs explicitly because Brendan Rodgers doesn't rate him as a player, nor consider him incapable of fitting into his style of play. Rather it is part of FSG's preference for Rodgers to identify which members of the squad with the highest market value, and/or the club's highest earners, are non-essential to the team's immediate future. That Andy Carroll, as a young, talented, hyped English footballer, could still command a fee of £20 million despite having barely hit the net in 18 months, will have interested FSG. The question will have been asked of Rodgers whether Carroll is a must-have, and given the system he prefers, the big man would certainly not be a first-pick every week. Therefore, if Liverpool want to invest in the 2-3 (after Borini) signings Rodgers has targeted, he is the obvious, necessary sacrifice.
Suarez doesn't fit into that category, of course. However, when you start getting into the £30 million plus range, any offer has to be at least contemplated, for Liverpool are highly unlikely, even in two or three years time, to be able to compete with the likes of Manchester City, Barcelona and Real Madrid on a footballing or financial level.
The club's desire to tie Suarez to a new contract this summer is about protecting his transfer value as much as it is about ensuring he stays in a red shirt as long as possible. FSG simply won't allow themselves to be backed into a corner by a player in the manner Arsenal have over Fabregas, Nasri and Van Persie in recent seasons, despite the fact Suarez has not yet indicated he wants to leave.
If Luis signs a fresh four-year deal after the Olympics, many will be fooled, as it won't mean he's committed his future to 2016 - it will have just secured a hefty fee for him in a year's time. If the club were taking a not-for-sale approach, Suarez would've been asked to sign on the dotted line before going to the Olympics, and it seems there has been nothing more than polite, preliminary conversation so far. Rodgers has publicaly voiced a desire to get him a new contract,understandably, but it seems the possibility of listening to bids for Suarez, or indeed any other player, has been entertained as part of the year zero approach.
So how much would Liverpool actually miss Luis Suarez?
Of course, any team would miss a player of his ability, and he is realistically irreplaceble on a like-for-like basis. But for a team that hasn't got short-term designs on challenging for the major titles, is having an outstanding superstar in the team really a must-have, when a £35 million fee could be reinvested in key areas of the squad (i.e two forwards instead of one) to ensure that within three years, we have at least made it back to the Champions League?
If LFC adopt that approach, is 4th place attainable within three years and sustainable thereafter? Answer: Yes. If you would consider a 5th place finish next season as progress, then consider that Chelsea's leading scorers last season in the league were Frank Lampard and Daniel Sturridge, who both managed a modest 11 goals each. The latter will likely seek a move elsewhere this summer. Any team is a sum of parts.
And what about the fans themselves? Would we be losing a club hero? Inevitably, many on Twitter are threatening suicide over a Suarez sale, yet there is a general feeling that Liverpool fans have guarded against getting too attached to the number 7, after what happened with Fernando Torres in 2011. A realistic air of resignation has began to drift over some, and I'd advise the rest to suck it in.
Let's get this out the way. Luis Suarez, for one reason or another, has never received anywhere near the level of adulation that Torres was afforded in his time here. The Spaniard, within six months of being at Anfield, was as worshipped as Gerrard or Carragher. He'd became one of the club's favourite sons, and he just seemed to 'get' LFC, becoming a fine ambassador as well as a goal machine. He's been widely panned since he left for Chelsea, and memories are being clouded and concealed, but Torres, when at Liverpool, may as well have been born into one of the toilets under the Anfield Road End, such was his relationship with the fans. Despite his struggles in the Hodgson months, with Kenny to the rescue and Hicks & Gillett long-gone, Torres' demands to leave the club were genuinely shocking. The lesson must be learnt.
As for Suarez, there's no doubt his unique technical ability combined with his high-effort, all-action style makes him a huge fans' favourite. But whether its his solid, rather than spectacular goal-ratio so far, his irritating tendency to scream and wrythe when brushed, or any sub-conscious awkward feelings over the Evra mess, he isn't quite Kop idol status yet. And with a move away looking so inevitable, sooner or later, there is a suggestion he never should be.
The gut feeling is Suarez will stay for the forthcoming season, but it will only be delaying the inevitable, bar an incredible 2012-2013. The hope must be that Rodgers and FSG are bearing this in mind as they are moulding their long-term strategy.
Wednesday, 18 July 2012
Yossi Benayoun Ruined My Life
Yossi Benayoun ruined my life. That may seem like an obscene over-dramatisation, but since the most tragic of fans often use football as a metaphor for real life, I'm going to stick by that claim in the spirit of this post, and explain why. And you'll have to forgive my rare venture into the first-person, but pre-season does funny things to a man.
In years to come, Yossi Benayoun will go down as one of many recent talented yet trophy-less entries into the Liverpool encylopedia of players past and present, with the stand-out moment in his 134-game Anfield career being a winning goal against Real Madrid in the Bernebeu on 25th February 2009. In that respect, he's earned a small place in our history. Harmless.
However, it was another of the Israeli's 29 Liverpool goals, five weeks later, which would change my relationship with the club permanently.
All Liverpool fans face daily reminders of our 22-year (and counting) wait for a league title, by fans of other clubs, the press, but mostly from ourselves. With United relentlessly charging towards our precious 18, and with Hicks & Gillett preparing a fire sale to clear their debts, 08-09 felt like our last realistic chance of returning to our perch, even if only briefly.
As usual, the season was a pukey ride, against the backdrop of anti-owner protests, which fans of other certain troubled clubs should note, continued consistently despite good on-field results. Unlike many of the false dawns over the last two decades, we were still in with a great shout when spring came, thanks to having lost just two matches all season. We had the players; Reina, Carragher, Mascherano, Alonso, Gerrard, Torres, with a tactical genius at the helm who installed an air of calm and self-belief in the squad that enabled it to handle the heavyweight Champions League occasions, and the domestic form was starting to follow.
Traditionally, March signals the start of United's late charge, stringing together wins regardless of performance levels, while the competition wilts under the pressure and surrenders meekly before things get too exciting. This season was shaping up differently. United had endured an uncertain defence to their title, and Ronaldo's goals had opened up only a slender lead, looking over their shoulders at what they knew was a superior machine, ready to put an end to their domination, painstakingly prior to reaching its ultimate aim.
'Rafa's rant' is a phrase which seems to bring with it ridicule and negativity, though one of the 'facts' is that after Benitez read from his script, United got stage fright and began to choke.
A showdown at Old Trafford couldn't have come at a better time. Benitez and Liverpool quietly knew we'd gained a psychological edge, and although almost certainly out of contention if we lost, knew that such speculative pessimism was worthless. We were just too good. We showed mercy on United, inflicting a 4-1 crushing that flattered the hosts. A week later, we stuck five past Aston Villa without shifting to third gear, and United were stuffed at Fulham, in a game controlled by Danny Murphy, to add an extra sweetener. The wait was going to be worth it.
4th April 2009 - 17:30 - Fulham v Liverpool. Putney Stand, block P5, row 4, seat 117. Here lies...
If Liverpool could succeed where United had collapsed a week before, we would go top of the league before United played Villa the following day. There was no chance Fulham would break us down, we just had to make sure that, unlike when we'd met at Anfield earlier in the season, that we squeezed the ball over the line just one more time, by whatever means, and the sense was it would be our title to lose.
93 long, painful minutes of sheer insufferable hell. For the first 45, we were magnificent in our build-up and luckless in front of goal. Skrtel glanced a header onto the bar, before Alonso hit the same spot of the woodwork with a crisp volley. Torres ran clear after a typically penetrative link-up with Gerrard, and I could feel the wave of fans behind me, ready to mob the Spaniard as the ball crawled towards the corner before turning like a Shane Warne leg-break and clipping the foot of the post. I'd barely removed the hands from in front of my eyes before Andrea Dossena's diving header walloped off the bar.
From chaos to catastrophe, the second half was even tougher to take, as the chances became less frequent and the energy and vibrancy of the first began to dissipate, though we never once resorted to desperation football. All season, we'd found ways to win games in the same infuriating ways United had managed over the Premier League years. We just needed one more moment of magic or maddening fortune. The 4th official lifted his board to signal the start of a four-minute-long end of the world. Three minutes went by and the dream was slipping away.
What happened next makes the spine tingle and heart sink in equal measure.
Watching the action unfold at the far end from the front rows of Craven Cottage's away stand wasn't easy, squinting, trying to decipher the angles and distances, never quite knowing if Gerrard was within shooting range or if the play was opening up for Torres. Last chance. Ryan Babel cut inside from the left and we didn't know whether to scream for him to shoot, or implore him to pass - and in the end he predictably did neither of note. I'm still not sure how, but the ball was deflected into the path of Yossi Benayoun on the right side of the area. It was impossible to know how tight the angle was, but it was clear he was going to shoot. He had no choice, this was it, now or never. As City fans will testify after watching Aguero stepping into a similar position back in May, everything happens in slow motion. The ball flew across Schwarzer's dive, but it felt like an age waiting to see if the inside-net of the left-hand post would ripple.
Next thing I know, friends cling to my legs as I balanced on the back of the creaking seats, conducting the crowd through an absurd collection of words that I never thought I'd utter even in my wildest dreams, let alone bellow with 3,000 others:
"We're gonna win the league, we're gonna win the league. And now you're gonna believe us, and now you're gonna believe us, and now you're gonna believe us. We're gonna win the league."
The celebrations carried on long after the final whistle but I could've stayed all night. This was the moment to be able to say "I was there," We'd make it mathematically safe soon enough, but it would always be Craven Cottage where we won it. Fans from the 70s would recall the comeback at Molineux, and in the 80s, Kenny's winner at Stamford Bridge, and now I was living those video clips in an appropriately old-fashioned stand. The consensus on leaving the ground was simple - it doesn't get any better than that. That should've been the moment...
What happened in the weeks after Yossi's goal, i still can't fathom. United were fluffing it again against Villa, before the distinctly average Federico Macheda scored an inexplicable goal to rescue them, and did so again the following week when a wayward shot struck him and spun into the Sunderland net. When Spurs took a 2-0 lead at Old Trafford a couple of weeks later, surely the game was up this time? But as so often, what the footballing Lord giveth, Howard Webb taketh away. Its quite some effort to become less reliable than an Aston Villa outfit, but Spurs managed it once Webb manufactured a United penalty out of a clean challenge from Gomes on Carrick. The 5-2 win would be enough to galvanise United to the finish line, leaving Liverpool far and away the best team in the league in almost every statistical column, but with no trophy to show for it. Teams have bottled huge leads, such as Newcastle in 96 or United themselves last season, but this was worse. We were the better team, and hit top form at the right time, and we had celebrated a moment where it felt as if the weight of history was about to shift as United faltered and floundered. Macheda didn't even play enough games to get his hands on a winners' medal, and United are still struggling to give him away today. His face haunts me, but I'm still blaming Yossi.
Throughout that season, some had hope, while others even dared to believe, but Yossi gave us a deadly mixture of both, and the hangover has lingered ever since. 18 months later, the club was utterly unrecognisable. Purslow, Hodgson, Poulsen, Konchesky. A manager who dragged us into a relegation battle, then lamented the presence of a club legend in the stands, and blamed fans for a lack of support for the shambles they sat through.
I say 'they', because I haven't been to a Liverpool match since 4th April 09. I was never an every week match-goer but I've turned down plenty of tickets since then that I'd have snapped up in seasons past. My mind occasionally drifts back to row 4 seat 117 and I conveniently forget the context within which those Craven Cottage celebrations sit and just remember the sheer mayhem that followed Benayoun's wonder strike, and wonder if it will ever get as good as that again. And if so, can I trust that Howard Webb won't come along and destroy it? That's when it seems like Liverpool and I need our space.
At first the hangover masqueraded itself as a boycott due to the club's ownership situation, but even long after H&G's departure, with Kenny in charge and the enjoyable end to 10-11, or the cup finals the following year, the motivation still hasn't fully returned. I get the occasional itch go back to Anfield, but rather to pay my respects to the past than to celebrate the present. I still love the club, but we don't really romance each other anymore, as I watch from the safe distance of the pub stool.
The brief renaissance under Kenny, who began repairing the wreckage of the Hodgson months, was tragically short, as he was discarded by the second American regime without a moment's thought for what he means to the club and to its fans. But now with Brendan in charge, promising his unique 'Rodgeball' tiki-taka, there seems to be some cautious hope around again. Though, mercilessly, we're still a million miles away from the torture of another Yossi moment, and that's probably for the best.
In years to come, Yossi Benayoun will go down as one of many recent talented yet trophy-less entries into the Liverpool encylopedia of players past and present, with the stand-out moment in his 134-game Anfield career being a winning goal against Real Madrid in the Bernebeu on 25th February 2009. In that respect, he's earned a small place in our history. Harmless.
However, it was another of the Israeli's 29 Liverpool goals, five weeks later, which would change my relationship with the club permanently.
All Liverpool fans face daily reminders of our 22-year (and counting) wait for a league title, by fans of other clubs, the press, but mostly from ourselves. With United relentlessly charging towards our precious 18, and with Hicks & Gillett preparing a fire sale to clear their debts, 08-09 felt like our last realistic chance of returning to our perch, even if only briefly.
As usual, the season was a pukey ride, against the backdrop of anti-owner protests, which fans of other certain troubled clubs should note, continued consistently despite good on-field results. Unlike many of the false dawns over the last two decades, we were still in with a great shout when spring came, thanks to having lost just two matches all season. We had the players; Reina, Carragher, Mascherano, Alonso, Gerrard, Torres, with a tactical genius at the helm who installed an air of calm and self-belief in the squad that enabled it to handle the heavyweight Champions League occasions, and the domestic form was starting to follow.
Traditionally, March signals the start of United's late charge, stringing together wins regardless of performance levels, while the competition wilts under the pressure and surrenders meekly before things get too exciting. This season was shaping up differently. United had endured an uncertain defence to their title, and Ronaldo's goals had opened up only a slender lead, looking over their shoulders at what they knew was a superior machine, ready to put an end to their domination, painstakingly prior to reaching its ultimate aim.
'Rafa's rant' is a phrase which seems to bring with it ridicule and negativity, though one of the 'facts' is that after Benitez read from his script, United got stage fright and began to choke.
A showdown at Old Trafford couldn't have come at a better time. Benitez and Liverpool quietly knew we'd gained a psychological edge, and although almost certainly out of contention if we lost, knew that such speculative pessimism was worthless. We were just too good. We showed mercy on United, inflicting a 4-1 crushing that flattered the hosts. A week later, we stuck five past Aston Villa without shifting to third gear, and United were stuffed at Fulham, in a game controlled by Danny Murphy, to add an extra sweetener. The wait was going to be worth it.
4th April 2009 - 17:30 - Fulham v Liverpool. Putney Stand, block P5, row 4, seat 117. Here lies...
If Liverpool could succeed where United had collapsed a week before, we would go top of the league before United played Villa the following day. There was no chance Fulham would break us down, we just had to make sure that, unlike when we'd met at Anfield earlier in the season, that we squeezed the ball over the line just one more time, by whatever means, and the sense was it would be our title to lose.
93 long, painful minutes of sheer insufferable hell. For the first 45, we were magnificent in our build-up and luckless in front of goal. Skrtel glanced a header onto the bar, before Alonso hit the same spot of the woodwork with a crisp volley. Torres ran clear after a typically penetrative link-up with Gerrard, and I could feel the wave of fans behind me, ready to mob the Spaniard as the ball crawled towards the corner before turning like a Shane Warne leg-break and clipping the foot of the post. I'd barely removed the hands from in front of my eyes before Andrea Dossena's diving header walloped off the bar.
From chaos to catastrophe, the second half was even tougher to take, as the chances became less frequent and the energy and vibrancy of the first began to dissipate, though we never once resorted to desperation football. All season, we'd found ways to win games in the same infuriating ways United had managed over the Premier League years. We just needed one more moment of magic or maddening fortune. The 4th official lifted his board to signal the start of a four-minute-long end of the world. Three minutes went by and the dream was slipping away.
What happened next makes the spine tingle and heart sink in equal measure.
Watching the action unfold at the far end from the front rows of Craven Cottage's away stand wasn't easy, squinting, trying to decipher the angles and distances, never quite knowing if Gerrard was within shooting range or if the play was opening up for Torres. Last chance. Ryan Babel cut inside from the left and we didn't know whether to scream for him to shoot, or implore him to pass - and in the end he predictably did neither of note. I'm still not sure how, but the ball was deflected into the path of Yossi Benayoun on the right side of the area. It was impossible to know how tight the angle was, but it was clear he was going to shoot. He had no choice, this was it, now or never. As City fans will testify after watching Aguero stepping into a similar position back in May, everything happens in slow motion. The ball flew across Schwarzer's dive, but it felt like an age waiting to see if the inside-net of the left-hand post would ripple.
Next thing I know, friends cling to my legs as I balanced on the back of the creaking seats, conducting the crowd through an absurd collection of words that I never thought I'd utter even in my wildest dreams, let alone bellow with 3,000 others:
"We're gonna win the league, we're gonna win the league. And now you're gonna believe us, and now you're gonna believe us, and now you're gonna believe us. We're gonna win the league."
The celebrations carried on long after the final whistle but I could've stayed all night. This was the moment to be able to say "I was there," We'd make it mathematically safe soon enough, but it would always be Craven Cottage where we won it. Fans from the 70s would recall the comeback at Molineux, and in the 80s, Kenny's winner at Stamford Bridge, and now I was living those video clips in an appropriately old-fashioned stand. The consensus on leaving the ground was simple - it doesn't get any better than that. That should've been the moment...
What happened in the weeks after Yossi's goal, i still can't fathom. United were fluffing it again against Villa, before the distinctly average Federico Macheda scored an inexplicable goal to rescue them, and did so again the following week when a wayward shot struck him and spun into the Sunderland net. When Spurs took a 2-0 lead at Old Trafford a couple of weeks later, surely the game was up this time? But as so often, what the footballing Lord giveth, Howard Webb taketh away. Its quite some effort to become less reliable than an Aston Villa outfit, but Spurs managed it once Webb manufactured a United penalty out of a clean challenge from Gomes on Carrick. The 5-2 win would be enough to galvanise United to the finish line, leaving Liverpool far and away the best team in the league in almost every statistical column, but with no trophy to show for it. Teams have bottled huge leads, such as Newcastle in 96 or United themselves last season, but this was worse. We were the better team, and hit top form at the right time, and we had celebrated a moment where it felt as if the weight of history was about to shift as United faltered and floundered. Macheda didn't even play enough games to get his hands on a winners' medal, and United are still struggling to give him away today. His face haunts me, but I'm still blaming Yossi.
Throughout that season, some had hope, while others even dared to believe, but Yossi gave us a deadly mixture of both, and the hangover has lingered ever since. 18 months later, the club was utterly unrecognisable. Purslow, Hodgson, Poulsen, Konchesky. A manager who dragged us into a relegation battle, then lamented the presence of a club legend in the stands, and blamed fans for a lack of support for the shambles they sat through.
I say 'they', because I haven't been to a Liverpool match since 4th April 09. I was never an every week match-goer but I've turned down plenty of tickets since then that I'd have snapped up in seasons past. My mind occasionally drifts back to row 4 seat 117 and I conveniently forget the context within which those Craven Cottage celebrations sit and just remember the sheer mayhem that followed Benayoun's wonder strike, and wonder if it will ever get as good as that again. And if so, can I trust that Howard Webb won't come along and destroy it? That's when it seems like Liverpool and I need our space.
At first the hangover masqueraded itself as a boycott due to the club's ownership situation, but even long after H&G's departure, with Kenny in charge and the enjoyable end to 10-11, or the cup finals the following year, the motivation still hasn't fully returned. I get the occasional itch go back to Anfield, but rather to pay my respects to the past than to celebrate the present. I still love the club, but we don't really romance each other anymore, as I watch from the safe distance of the pub stool.
The brief renaissance under Kenny, who began repairing the wreckage of the Hodgson months, was tragically short, as he was discarded by the second American regime without a moment's thought for what he means to the club and to its fans. But now with Brendan in charge, promising his unique 'Rodgeball' tiki-taka, there seems to be some cautious hope around again. Though, mercilessly, we're still a million miles away from the torture of another Yossi moment, and that's probably for the best.
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