Carra: My Autobiography (27 page)

I felt sorry for Rafa because every new manager needs time and he was struggling to come to terms with the peculiar demands of the English game. He'd underestimated the scale of the rebuilding job, but he needed to see the side's weaknesses fully exposed week in, week out before he accepted what we knew when we'd met him in Lisbon.

Midway through the season he was under no illusions how far behind we were, and how much he'd misjudged the capacity of some of his own buys to cope with the Premier League. We were also suffering from injuries. Cisse broke his leg at Blackburn early in the season, Baros returned from international duty with a nagging strain, and Xabi was out with ankle ligament damage. For much of the season the inexperienced Neil Mellor was our only fit forward.

During my meetings with Rafa I got a sense of him planning ahead, recognizing the need to bring in players more suited to our physical, fast-paced style. 'Managers have no power at this stage of the season,' he told me. 'I can't do anything until the summer. You can't drop or threaten to sell players now, so we'll have to wait and try our best with what we've got.' He was privately critical of our squad, which was reassuring in some respects, although he was just as negative about the Valencia side he'd left, which I'd thought was so good. In fact, you'd be hard pressed to get Rafa to say anything positive about any player or team he's worked with.

With regard to that 2004–05 Liverpool side, plenty were agreeing with Benitez's downbeat conclusions. The flak was flying again, but much of it was aimed at him. Every decision was being questioned, from the rotation policy and the position of Gerrard to the zonal marking he introduced. Every goal conceded from a set-piece triggered another debate about the validity of the system. It's impossible for any side to go through a season without conceding from a corner or freekick, but overall I believe we've conceded fewer since Rafa introduced zonal marking. It may seem like more only because if you lose a goal with zonal marking, the system always gets the blame; if you do so with man-to-man, an individual gets the blame. As a defender, the only thing that matters to me is this: either way, the ball is in the back of the net.

Now, even minor details were being overblown as part of a wider critical look at the club. Some of it couldn't be ignored. Our League form was atrocious, and the only relief when we played our final home match to Aston Villa was the European final we had to look forward to. We'd dropped a place to fifth, but worse still it was Everton who'd taken our Champions League qualifying spot. The state of the League table horrified me. Everton deserved credit and merited their position, but we'd consistently underperformed.

Fortunately for us, the so-called power shift in Merseyside football lasted no longer than ten days. The League Cup and Champions League offered salvation. Without our sometimes staggering progress in those competitions, I dread to think where the club might be today. As others have written, we really were teetering 'on the brink'.

We'd ridden our luck on our way to Cardiff. Not until the semifinal did Rafa use any of the 'big guns', as it was a tournament he was prepared to sacrifice in pursuit of fourth spot. By the time we faced Chelsea in the first of our epic cup battles in 2005, priorities were being reassessed. Everything was geared towards stopping Jose Mourinho claiming his first trophy in English football.

The personal duel between Benitez and Mourinho was still in its early days, and despite our obviously higher profile worldwide and richer history, to some extent it seemed a mismatch. Mourinho had the luxury of instantly building a formidable side; Benitez felt he hadn't even started his reconstruction of Liverpool yet. In the summer of 2004, either could have ended up at Anfield or Stamford Bridge, and the fans who so loathed Rafa and Jose in Liverpool or west London would have been praising them. Rafa was always able to claim he'd taken on the tougher job as he didn't have the finances to build a side like Mourinho. He tried to belittle Mourinho's achievements by saying Roman Abramovich was really 'the special one' at the club. That was harsh – having so much money brings a different type of pressure: spending it properly and creating a winning team is not a formality – but it was a clever comment that went down well on Merseyside.

Mourinho liked to criticize our style of football, suggesting we were defensive and cautious. We were what we were because we had to be. They had better players than us, so our manager always organized us to nullify Chelsea and try to nick a win. The League Cup Final on 27 February was almost our first success. We led for seventy-eight minutes and were looking comfortable when Stevie scored a freakish owngoal and we lost in extra time. Mourinho celebrated the equalizer by taunting our fans, putting his finger to his mouth in a 'shh' gesture because, unsurprisingly, the travelling Kop had been so vocal when we were ahead.

I'm not sure if he knew what he'd let himself in for. I suspect he'd have wished to reconsider his actions two Champions League semifinals later when he saw the venomous response to him at Anfield.

I enjoyed an altercation of my own with Mourinho during the game when he accused Luis Garcia of taking a dive and began complaining to the referee. You have to bear in mind I'd watched the Porto side Mourinho had led to European success. I can say without hesitation I'd never seen a more cynical diving team in my career than the one that beat Celtic in the UEFA Cup Final of 2003. I ran over to the touchline, and shouted, 'Don't you fucking start about diving – your Porto side was the fucking worst!' Mourinho was having none of it. We spent the next thirty seconds telling each other to 'fuck off' in as many different forms as we could manage.

Our fans loved it. So did his.

To his credit, he hunted me down after the game and asked, almost apologetically, 'You do know why I was complaining, don't you?' He was just fighting for his team, as I was for mine.

'Fair enough,' I said. The game was over now.

We shook hands and that was it, although that fiery introduction would continue into our next meetings.

I took Mourinho's comments in the press for what they were: deliberate attempts to take the pressure off his players and pile it on to himself. As long as he wasn't having a pop at Liverpool it was amusing. I wouldn't miss any of his interviews, they were so entertaining. Our fans didn't like him because of what happened in Cardiff, his ongoing war of words with Rafa, and the fact Chelsea were openly pursuing our captain, but he was a pantomime villain in the grand scheme of things, and we used the hostility of The Kop to our advantage when it mattered.

Many have tried to present Rafa and Mourinho as different characters, but I don't see it that way. The pair arrived in England as the two most respected coaches in Europe, breaking the monotony of the annual Wenger v. Ferguson conflict which had dominated our game. For all the barbed comments that flew between them, there was mutual respect. Mourinho was more brash and brazen in his arrogance, prepared to announce his special status to the world, but Rafa is just as certain of his own ability, even if he's more subtle in how he expresses it. All the top managers have big egos, motivated by an unwavering belief in their own ability. They all think they're doing as well as possible in their jobs and that they'd do better in someone else's. Few of them talk positively about their rivals, pointing only to their weaknesses. Benitez and Mourinho are cut from the same cloth.

I've never seen any evidence of Rafa's certainty in his own talent being shaken. He attributed our poor League form in his first season to the circumstances he'd inherited. In his mind, there was nothing more he could have done. His plans for the following season, allied to our progress in Europe, proved how good he really was. If he hadn't already been given the nickname 'God' by the Valencia players, and had it confirmed by our dressing room, he'd have been given it by the Liverpool fans.

The events in Turkey in the glorious summer of 2005 would have seen to that.

It was a little after midnight on a sizzling May evening when Steven Gerrard was handed Liverpool's first European Cup for twenty-one years. I was standing to his left, poised to pounce on to his shoulders as the UEFA official presented the most precious piece of silver in club football. Red confetti and ticker tape began to shower across the podium, but as I prepared to start my celebratory jig I felt a twinge rush through my legs. While the rest of the players danced, I fell out of sight.

The muscle cramps that had flared up during extra time against AC Milan had made an unwelcome and untimely return. As vice-captain, the first images beamed across the world ought to have placed me alongside my skipper as he lifted this cup of life-changing beauty. Instead, somewhat poignantly given how my career has progressed, I was hidden in the background while the spotlight shone on others.

It didn't matter. A bout of cramp wasn't going to diminish my sense of satisfaction. It healed soon enough once I got my hands on that trophy. The agony eased by the ecstasy of victory summed up the previous three hours. I'd plummeted to the deepest pit of misery, only to instantly recover to ascend the highest of peaks. It seemed appropriate to have a lingering reminder of the torment I'd been through to reach the summit.

There's yet to be a top-class sportsman who hasn't come face to face with the impostors of triumph and disaster. What's rare is sharing a date with the most extreme of these emotions on the same mind-blowing night. That's the best way to describe the events in the Ataturk Stadium, Istanbul, on 25 May 2005. None of us would have chosen such a way to win a final. No footballer fancies a sneak preview of the most humiliating defeat in sporting history. But having staged a comeback that will echo in eternity, none of us would want it any other way.

Istanbul – such epic nights can be recognized simply by naming the venue – is the greatest event in the history of Liverpool Football Club.

Fans across the generations can argue this for decades to come, but the evidence is too compelling. From the manner in which we reached the final through to the circumstances of our victory, nothing can compare. In contrast to Liverpool's previous four European Cup-winning teams, we were an imperfect side that not only punched above its weight, it floored the previously undisputed champions. And not only that, we did so having been on the verge of being knocked out several times before we'd even reached the last rounds. We would have welcomed our bid for glory being stopped by the referee on compassionate grounds at one stage.

This was an unparalleled football revival. Three–nil down at halftime to one of the most technically and tactically sound teams ever to have played, we looked dead and buried. Never have Liverpool's combined strengths as a football club been so necessary and so visible. No club other than Liverpool could have won the competition in such a fashion, bringing so many of the positive elements of our tradition together.

Because our fans played such a pivotal role at crucial times during our run to Istanbul, and during the game itself, this was the ultimate collective victory. Our pride at being a club that values the unique bond between players and supporters came to the fore when it was needed most. Even the mighty AC Milan, with all its superior skill and a three-goal advantage, couldn't survive.

We weren't the best team in Europe. We were nowhere near it. Player for player, if you compared us to those sides that didn't reach the final you would never have believed we'd be there. But on that particular night we were brave, the most passionate on and off the pitch, the team with the severest will to win.

I'd fantasized about winning the Champions League – there were even times during Gérard Houllier's reign I thought it might be possible – but when I was asked about our chances before we played our qualifying match against AK Graz of Austria in August 2004, I politely told journalists to think of a more serious question. The fixture was overshadowed by Michael Owen's imminent transfer to Real Madrid. Our star striker was on the way out, and the new manager had inherited a side much of which he didn't rate. I didn't think we were much good either. As an opening scene to what would become the greatest drama of our careers, this was a first draft badly in need of a rewrite. Fortunately, we could rely on a central performance from the captain, who would dazzle as the production progressed. Steven Gerrard set the tone for his tournament by scoring twice in Austria, but we were made to sweat at Anfield in the return, losing 1–0 to the minnows.

This was not the form of future champions, and our erratic work in the group offered no clue as to how much we'd improve the following spring. Olympiakos, Monaco and Deportivo La Coruña made for a tricky rather than intimidating trio in the early phase of the competition, but by the time we played the Greeks in the final match of the first stage, elimination was on the horizon. The pre-match talk wasn't focusing on how we'd fare if we secured the two-goal win we needed, but the repercussions of our probable failure.

Stevie had been asked to UEFA's press conference on the eve of the game and was hit, predictably, with an onslaught of questions about his future. Our struggles in the League made a top-four finish increasingly unlikely, so he was more forthright than had been imagined. 'I don't want to wake up on the morning after the match and be out of the Champions League,' he said. 'If we don't qualify for next season, I'll have to consider my future.' He could have straight-batted his responses, and I'm sure if he is ever again faced with the same situation he will do so, but the truth probably looked a lot worse in print than it sounded out loud.

The repercussions were felt for the rest of the tournament. From the moment we kicked off against Olympiakos, it seemed winning was as much about keeping Stevie at Anfield as lifting the trophy. There were times I privately began to resent this. I'd be asked the same question after every game, win or lose: 'What do you think this means for Gerrard's future?' Even if Stevie wasn't in the side and we played well and won, everyone wanted to talk about the implications of the result for his state of mind. 'There's more than one player at this football club, you know!' I felt like shouting. That is no criticism of my captain, but of the preoccupation with him by the media and even some of our own fans.

Despite all this, it could be argued his pre-Olympiakos comments actually helped us win the competition, because there was no shortage of inspiration from his boots in the months that followed, starting on 8 December against the Greeks. Stevie's twentyfive-yard piledriver in the eighty-sixth minute completed a stirring fightback: 1–0 down to Olympiakos at halftime, we'd needed to win 3–1 to qualify on goal difference.

The Kop said the evening revived memories of the famous encounter with St Etienne in 1977, when Liverpool won by the same scoreline in virtually identical circumstances. 'You can't really compare this to that,' I'd say to supporters. 'Not unless we go on to win the competition like the 1977 team.'

I'd have been mad to presume we would. Realistically, I still believed qualifying from the group stage was little more than an extension of our mini adventure into Europe rather than a statement of intent.

The teams of the 1970s and 1980s entered the competition expecting to win, but clearly it was a different Liverpool Football Club that returned to the European Cup after the Heysel ban. I hoped we could excel, but the experience of facing the greatest players of my generation as well as the crucial financial rewards to ensure we remained competitive at home had become a more sensible priority. Match previews seemed to focus less on the games and more on how much reaching the next round was worth to the club. Winning the tournament was a wish more than a demand of our fans, unlike the early eighties when failure sent shockwaves across the continent.

During our sixteen-year spell outside the tournament, Liverpool fans and ex-players couldn't stop themselves saying how much easier it was to win under the new format. 'It's the get beat and have another go league now,' supporters would say, especially to Manchester United fans as they struggled in Europe year after year before finally winning it again in 1999. When we were participating, we felt differently. Allowing four teams from each major country to take part certainly made it easier to qualify. As for winning it . . . it's harder now than it was during Liverpool's heyday.

Earning the right to enter was the toughest part for Bob Paisley's and Joe Fagan's men. Under the old rules, we'd still be trying to enter. The European Champions Cup was exactly that, first place only was the criterion for participation, and many believe it was better for it. But once in it, it's no wonder the dominant Liverpool side performed so consistently. The strongest nations had only one entry each rather than four. I'm not demeaning their success. They were the best team in Europe, and probably lost out a couple of times because of the instant knockout format in the early stages as much as they benefited from it. Unlike today, one bad night in October was all you needed to miss out twenty years ago. Had it been a league then, who's to say there wouldn't be six European Cups engraved on Anfield's Paisley Gates instead of three?

But in today's competition, once you get to the last sixteen, it's impossible to win without meeting two, three or even four of Europe's strongest teams, back to back. It's possible to have to play all four of Italy's top clubs, or those from Spain, before you reach the semifinal. Every season the same names are there: Barcelona, Manchester United, Real Madrid, Arsenal, Chelsea, Inter Milan . . . The fact we'd even joined this list was to our credit. Beating them was going to take a monumental leap in class, and I didn't feel we had the players to do it.

Being paired with Bayer Leverkusen in the first knockout round of 2005 offered a chance of further progress, although we paid the price longer term for what was, on paper at least, an attractive draw. The Germans' star striker was Dimitar Berbatov. Benitez had revealed to me earlier in the season he hoped to sign Berbatov during the January 2005 transfer window; he and Fernando Morientes were the two candidates he was considering. Unfortunately, once we'd been paired against Bayer there was no prospect of them selling us their best player ahead of our meeting. That gave the club no choice but to pursue Morientes, and we never had another chance to sign the Bulgarian, who's since gone on to treble his value at Spurs.

In fairness, few of us could have foreseen that over the course of those two legs. He was anonymous as we battered Leverkusen 6–2 on aggregate, avenging our defeat in the quarterfinals three years earlier. What was most significant was the manner of our success home and away. With Gerrard unavailable for the home tie, Igor Biscan played central midfield and belatedly produced his best performance for the club. To go any further in the competition our best players needed to play to their maximum, and our limited ones had to show quality beyond that which I'd seen before, and in some cases more than I thought they were capable of.

My lack of belief in our ability to win the Champions League wasn't just based on a lack of strength in depth. I didn't believe our best starting eleven was anywhere near good enough at the time either. We defied our own expectations as much as those across the rest of Europe. Thrillingly, many of the fringe players, some of whom knew they had no future at Liverpool beyond the end of that season, found form at exactly the same time. It was as if the Champions League anthem were transforming certain average players into world-beaters.

Juventus's arrival at Anfield for the first leg of the quarterfinal summed it up. Scott Carson, just nineteen, was thrust in for his European debut with French forward Anthony Le Tallec, who had barely played under Benitez. I didn't believe Le Tallec would start another senior match under his management, but in our 2–1 first leg win he was exceptional. The Kop played their part by creating a feverish atmosphere and we took advantage of the Italians' failure to come to terms with the hostile environment to lead 2–0 within twenty minutes. That blistering opening effectively won us the tie. Juventus had possession for the remaining seventy minutes of that night, and the entirety of the second leg, but they only scored once. Liverpool home advantage really could be worth a goal start. In that case, it was the equivalent of a two-goal lead.

After that home win but before the trip to Italy, I felt proud we'd given ourselves a fighting chance, but I still thought of us as outsiders. My lack of confidence was fully exposed during a conversation with my captain. Stevie told me he'd felt his hamstring in training and asked me what I thought he should do. I had no doubts.

'We can't afford to lose you for the rest of the League season,' I told him. 'Don't risk it against Juventus. We only need to lose 1–0 and we're out, and if you get injured, that's it for us this season. We won't catch Everton.'

My long-term fear was Stevie was a bad injury away from leaving Liverpool. Keeping him fit enough to finish fourth was my priority, not risking him in a competition where the prospect of winning was such a long shot.

He didn't travel to Italy, but with Xabi Alonso back from injury Rafa out-thought Fabio Capello tactically. We played a 3–5–2 formation, nullifying the threat of Pavel Nedved by packing midfield. Juve hardly had a sniff of goal. It was a tactic we'd successfully use again later in the competition, although in far more dramatic and desperate circumstances.