Carra: My Autobiography (24 page)

The contradiction in all this is, when everyone was fit, McClaren was right. If I'd been England manager, I'd have picked Terry and Ferdinand as first-choice centre-backs. Ferdinand didn't deserve to be dropped as the balance was better with an out-and-out defender like Terry alongside him. Though it was hard to admit at the time when I was fired by an ambition, even a conviction, to claim that England centrehalf berth as my own, the fact was I was too similar to Terry. He's a better version of me. This was the reality I had to come to terms with if I remained with England, but I didn't want or need to. As things stood, there was no point in my continuing as a player who'd never be first choice. I wasn't taking a decision out of anger or bitterness, but through common sense. I weighed up the pros and cons of staying with England and realized there was more to be gained in the long term by focusing exclusively on Liverpool.

There were some regrets. I'd long admired Terry Venables as a coach and wished I could have worked with him longer. I also welcomed many of the changes McClaren introduced in his backroom team. Sports psychologists are often maligned, and some can come across as quacks, but Bill Beswick was an excellent addition to the England set-up. I'm a player who embraces rather than resists change, and any innovation that can add a small percentage to a player's performance is welcome. There are some who aren't mentally tough enough at the highest level, and Beswick can only help. The only concern I had was this: McClaren became too dependent on Beswick's words of wisdom. There were times I was listening to team-talks uncertain if McClaren was presenting a prepared speech Beswick had written for him.

I recognized the inspiring stories and language Beswick used because I'd enjoyed my own appointments with him. He was particularly useful to me at the start of the 2006–07 season when I suffered a dip in form. 'I'm obsessed with football,' I told him. He advised me to learn how to switch off and develop more interests outside the game. Whether it helped or not, I played some of my best football a few months later. It certainly didn't do me any harm.

Not even an appointment with Beswick would change my mind about England, though, although McClaren's demise and the appointment of Fabio Capello led to a fresh attempt to bring me back into the international fold.

I would have loved to work with Capello. He's my idea of a proper football manager, so whenever the lads come back from an England get-together now, I'm always quizzing them about what he's like and how he compares to others they've worked with. All the reports I've had so far have been what I'd expect. He's very impressive.

I could have discovered this for myself had I responded to the calls from his staff to make a comeback. Briefly, I considered meeting for a chat, but it was more through politeness. At the end of January 2008 Liverpool had a match against West Ham in London, and I arranged to talk to Capello's right-hand man Franco Baldini. As the meeting approached I had second thoughts and cancelled. I didn't want to waste anyone's time.

There was a second phone call to my agent from the England camp at the end of the season.

'We've noticed Jamie is playing rightback for Liverpool again. Would he like to consider this position for England?'

Again, there was a courteous reply thanking the manager for his interest, but I wouldn't be changing my mind.

I've every confidence Capello will do a brilliant job for England, but I don't agree with the FA appointing him. To me, the England manager and all his backroom staff should be English. It's not a patriotic statement I'm making, but a practical one. We're supposed to be competing against other countries, not stealing their expertise. It's meant to be our best against their best, and for me that not only means players, but the manager and his coaches. If our best isn't good enough, tough. We should be doing more to ensure we improve. Head-hunting managers from abroad is an acceptance of defeat. Capello was the best candidate for the job, but it doesn't mean he was the right choice.

From now on I can make such comments as an observer rather than a participant in international football. I reached the end of my tether. Unless you're an established first-team starter, international football is a young man's game. I'd rather add two more years to my Liverpool career than jeopardize this for England. As I approached the age of thirty I lost my interest in being the dependable reserve. A career at the highest level is too short to waste your energy, especially when the trips away become more gruelling than exciting. I wasn't making a choice between playing for or turning my back on my country, I was picking between staying at home during international weeks with my wife and children or heading off to Estonia, Russia, even London to sit in a hotel for days and maybe, just maybe, get on the pitch for a few minutes if required. Those long, dreary afternoons in hotels were purgatory for me. I needed to escape. It would have been tolerable had I known I was going to get a game at the end of the week, but there was little prospect of more than a substitute appearance unless Ferdinand, Terry, Woodgate and King were all injured or suspended.

If I loved playing for my country as much as my club, perhaps the thought of retirement would never have occurred to me. That it did tells everyone I made the right call. I wasn't giving up my football career or my ambitions. Only England.

Rafa Benitez introduced himself, apologized for his English, shook hands and invited the observations of the three most senior players at Anfield. If he was hoping for the first vote of confidence of his reign, he was disappointed.

'I'm not sure you appreciate how bad we are,' was the blunt response.

Welcome to Liverpool, Rafa.

I'd like to say it was me who fearlessly looked the new Liverpool manager in the eye and delivered this frank warning during our opening exchanges. It was Steven Gerrard who hit him with the home truth as if he was launching into one of his most ferocious ball-winning tackles.

The meeting was being held in the England team's hotel in Portugal where Stevie, Michael Owen and I were about to kick off the 2004 European Championship. Rafa was walking into a blizzard of uncertainty at Anfield, but none of us was convinced he recognized the seriousness of the situation on that blistering day when the temperatures in the hotel room matched those on Lisbon's burning pitches.

As a football club, we were at a crossroads that summer. Chelsea were closing in on Stevie's signature, and after Gérard Houllier's sorry final season we were anxious to hear the new man's plan to make us competitive again. If Liverpool got this appointment wrong, instead of regaining our place alongside the elite forces of Europe we were in danger of drifting further into the pack. For me, shaking hands with Benitez and hearing his strategy was the most important event of the tournament. For others, it would determine if they played another game for the club. The identity of those he was going to buy and sell would influence our mental well-being for the rest of the summer, and we were all hoping to hear revelations about members of Benitez's all-conquering Valencia side coming from the Mestalla with him. Aimar, Vicente, Baraja and Ayala had become household names on Merseyside, even more so since word of Benitez's arrival had leaked. Every Liverpool fan was eager for at least one to follow his former manager.

Rafa's initial observations said a lot about what was to come. Sammy Lee's decision to accept a full-time job with England meant that for the first time since Bill Shankly's arrival in 1959 there would be no ex-Liverpool players on the senior coaching staff. Rafa told us he was bringing his own men in, including his long-time assistant manager Pako Ayesteran.

'Pako is the best fitness coach in Europe,' he announced.

Then Rafa asked each of us what we thought of the team.

'There's not enough pace in it,' I told him, repeating a familiar complaint throughout the Houllier era. 'It's the one area we're lacking more than any other. In the Premiership, you've got to have the legs to survive.'

I listened attentively as Rafa explained his ideas. He sketched out a team, leaving a couple of gaps to be filled when the players he was targeting were signed. He had me down as a rightback, had no right-winger, and said he also wanted to buy a centrehalf. The right midfielder turned out to be Luis Garcia, whom he bought from Barcelona. He agreed about the pace, but Djibril Cisse was arriving from Auxerre in a deal sealed by Houllier. Then he turned to Stevie.

'I've watched your games on video,' he said. 'Your problem is you run around too much.'

I stared at Stevie and could see the deflation. This was the player who'd just carried us into the Champions League. In the final games of the previous season Stevie had been inspirational, playing in the middle but popping up on the left and right for our cause in a desperate bid to compensate for our overall inadequacies.

Without him taking that responsibility we'd never have been in the Champions League for 2004–05, and might never have been able to tempt a manager of Benitez's repute to the club. It was no wonder Stevie had done so much running in 2003–04, and now we had to be careful he didn't do a runner.

I felt sorry for him, but there was also truth in Rafa's observation. Anyone watching videos of our season from a strictly neutral perspective would have agreed the skipper was doing far too much for a central midfielder. I and everyone else connected to Liverpool knew it was out of necessity, but Rafa was hinting that Gerrard had unbalanced the side. They were both right.

It was then that Stevie responded by reminding Benitez he'd inherited a poor squad. 'If you think there's not a lot of work to be done here, you'd better think again,' was the subtext of the not-so-subtle message.

Michael was also feeling somewhat underwhelmed by the experience of meeting Benitez. The immediate impression was of a manager who believed he could transform Liverpool into contenders with a few minor alterations, but we didn't have the same faith in the squad Houllier had left behind. Messages about fine-tuning and evolution were no good. It was a revolution we wanted, and needed.

I can't say we left the hotel room feeling rejuvenated by the thought a bright new era was upon us. Our first opportunity to find meaningful answers had left us asking one another more questions. I was thrilled to meet the new manager, and thankful he'd made the effort to come to Portugal. It suggested he saw all of us as key to his plans, and I was optimistic we'd appointed the right man for the job. But I also knew there were unresolved issues and was worried Rafa wasn't fully aware how fed up Michael and Stevie were. They were hoping for a sense of purpose to clear their minds.

What followed were more weeks of stress, at the end of which two of my closest friends at the club would go, though the one I thought most likely to leave remained.

A month earlier there had been a different mood when the same players were in conversation with Rick Parry, enthusiastically greeting news of an exciting appointment. We'd all craved a new manager and a fresh start, regardless of our personal affection for Houllier. In the days following Gérard's departure, Rick visited Stevie at home, and I was invited along as the club gauged our thoughts on the identity of the next manager. Various candidates were being touted on a daily basis, and Rick admitted he'd sounded out a few of those being mentioned in the papers. He informed us the two up-and-coming British managers Alan Curbishley, then at Charlton, and Gordon Strachan, who'd done well at Southampton, had been interviewed. The Scot had impressed Rick most. Rick also told us neither was the club's first choice.

'How would you feel about a continental manager?' Rick asked. 'The chairman is concerned you might not want another foreigner.'

Jose Mourinho was the name on everyone's lips as he'd recently won the Champions League with Porto. 'I like his arrogance,' Rick said of him. 'He's a winner.' Mourinho shared an agent with Bruno Cheyrou, who informed us he was a supporter. He even had the club crest on his mobile phone.

If Liverpool were determined to look abroad, there were two names I'd been considering. Javier Irureta had led Deportivo La Coruña to the La Liga title in 2000, despite having moderate resources. I liked his team's style of football. The other manager who excited me was Benitez. Valencia had broken the monopoly of Barcelona and Real Madrid, and Rafa's sides had outclassed Liverpool in the Champions League and in a couple of preseason friendlies. We'd come off the pitch on each occasion having scarcely touched the ball, and few other sides except Arsenal had impressed me with their technical expertise.

So when Rick suddenly began talking about Benitez in glowing terms, my eyes lit up. It became obvious the other candidates were red herrings and they'd already decided who they wanted. Benitez had spent time at David Moores' Spanish villa where Rick and the chairman were suitably convinced of his credentials during the course of a five-hour meeting. They'd been tracking him since Valencia had demolished us in Europe, and Rafa wanted to come. This was a done deal.

'He already knows a lot about Liverpool,' Rick explained. 'When he was talking about the squad he was asking me how Stephen Warnock was getting on.'

At that time Warnock was a reserve who'd been on loan at Coventry. It seemed Rafa had already done his homework in readiness for a move to Merseyside.

'Stephen Warnock?' I said, feeling relieved at the new man's knowledge. 'In that case he must know who I am.'

I began my own research into the new boss, trawling any old magazines that referred to Valencia. 'They call him God over there,' I read. 'Not the fans, but the players. Rafa thinks he knows everything.' That stuck in my mind.

Benitez's appointment became the worst-kept secret in Liverpool's history. They stopped taking bets in the city's bookmakers before the club finally confirmed the news to an unsurprised world a week before Euro 2004.

The fans took to the choice instantly, recalling as we all did the stylish way the Spanish champions had performed in our previous encounters. His team handsomely beat Marseille in the 2004 UEFA Cup Final, the side that had knocked us out of the competition. The viewing figures for that game on Merseyside must have hit a peak as anticipation grew.

Benitez's track record in Spain suggested he was perfect. He'd taken on the rich Spanish clubs by turning a team with potential into champions and European winners. Without the finances to compete in the transfer market, Benitez was now expected to upset Chelsea, Manchester United and Arsenal like he had Real Madrid and Barcelona. We wanted Liverpool to become the new Valencia, and Benitez was confident he could repeat his La Liga success without splashing millions.

That was the criterion on which he was given the job.

Liverpool's financial problems were well documented. The club was pursuing a new stadium, and no manager was going to come to Anfield expecting to make a series of record signings. He would have to be adept at getting the best out of what he had. To outsiders we appeared to be a promising squad that wasn't fulfilling its potential. With improved coaching, decent players would become good ones and the worldclass ones would sustain a title challenge.

Unfortunately, whatever the brochure looked like when Rick and the chairman convinced Benitez to accept the Liverpool position, he must have thought the landscape less glamorous once he arrived. The economic muscle of Chelsea was now even greater than Real Madrid or Barca, while Manchester United had built a formidable side over twenty years under Ferguson, and Arsenal had just gone a season unbeaten. Winning the Premier League with Liverpool was not comparable to winning the title with Valencia. Benitez may initially have believed he could repeat his trick by reorganizing our existing squad and adding a few new faces, but it wasn't long before he was singing a different tune. What should have been a summer honeymoon, raising expectations and building a vibrant squad, descended into a messy introduction.

The first crisis involved the skipper.

I knew Stevie was seriously considering his future when we met Rafa in Portugal, and nothing had been said or done to erase those nagging doubts. The rumours about Chelsea had begun when Claudio Ranieri was still the manager. Tentative moves to tempt Stevie to London were made in the summer of 2003. Roman Abramovich's takeover had led to constant speculation about £30 million bids. By the time of Euro 2004, tabloid gossip had proved a reality. Stevie was away from home hearing different voices every day (some undoubtedly with a cockney accent), many of them telling him his career would progress more at Stamford Bridge. All the indications pointed to another prolonged period of rebuilding at Anfield. Liverpool were at a junction, and so too was Stevie's career.

The decision he had to make was this: could he afford to be patient and follow the signposts telling him to wait a couple more years for a realistic title and Champions League challenge, or should he follow the course towards Mourinho's promise of instant success as part of the most expensive squad in the world?

Stevie's mind was being tugged in the direction of Stamford Bridge, but on the few occasions I had a chance to speak to him in the England hotel I urged him not to succumb to the temptation. I wasn't as close to Stevie then as I am now so I never felt in a position to pry too much into his state of mind, or persistently tell him what he should do. All I could do was appeal to the Liverpool fan in him to give Benitez at least one chance. I wanted his heart to rule his head. If there were no signs of improvement within a year, there was still time for him to move on. The summer of 2004 wasn't the right time for him to walk out of Anfield. But I never imposed my view or put pressure on him because, ultimately, he had to make the decision for himself. By the end of the tournament, like every Liverpool fan, I was resigned to his departure.

It was a depressing thought, losing our best player to Chelsea. It was crucial Benitez built a side around the captain rather than being forced to use funds from his sale to bring in replacements who could never be as good. I spent hours trying to think who we could sign and how the team could be restructured in his absence. It was a nightmare. We'd have needed three or four class players to compensate for his loss, and it would have sent out the wrong message to the football world. No matter how much we'd have received, people would have begun to see Liverpool as a club whose local stars could be lured away.

It's true no one is bigger than any football club, but in the context of our position, Stevie was far more than just another player. He was a symbol of the club, a Liverpool lad who'd come through the ranks whom the fans saw as living their dream. Had he gone, it would have been the first time in our history a Liverpool captain had taken the decision to join one of our rivals. We'd have struggled to come to terms with that.