Carra: My Autobiography (36 page)

Overall, I rated that season much higher than 2004–05. We were strong, consistent, in tune with Rafa's methods and tougher to beat. In terms of my personal performances week in, week out, 2005–06 was my best season. Throughout my career there have been times it seemed there was too much responsibility on me or Stevie to pull the side through; the encouraging aspect of this year was the broader input of every player. We had six or seven contributing at the highest level rather than two or three in the campaigns before. That's why I rate it above the others, even if the trophy return wasn't as illustrious as 2000–01 or 2004–05. There was a real sense of progress across the pitch. We only finished a point behind Manchester United and nine points behind Chelsea, which was an exceptional turnaround within two years of Rafa's arrival. It felt as good as the 2001–02 side again, with just a few minor alterations needed to ensure we could finally challenge for the title.

There were disappointments, certainly. Our European campaign ended much earlier than it should have following defeat to a Benfica side that punished us for uncharacteristic mistakes. We were better than a year earlier, and Benfica were nowhere near as good as Juve, Chelsea or AC Milan, but we never played to our potential.

But in general, I'm not sure Rafa received as much credit as he was due for the astonishing upturn in our League form. He oversaw a transformation during unstable times, with Michael leaving, Stevie's future in the balance, a host of poor, overpaid players to shift out and expectations as great as ever. Because we have the name Liverpool, it's taken for granted we should be competing for top honours every season, but circumstances don't always permit that. Rafa had to cope with some of the toughest conditions any Liverpool manager has ever experienced on and off the park (which were about to get worse), but we still managed to win trophies and finish with a points tally which in some years would have been enough to take the title.

Throughout his period, it's often seemed as though there have been as many battles to win off the park as on it. It's staggering how many obstacles and distractions we've had to overcome. We even had to fight for the right to defend the European Cup, as UEFA decided whether we or Everton should be England's fourth representative. The FA insisted Everton take their spot for finishing in the top four, and there were those making the astonishing claim we should be the first European champions in history not to compete for their own title. Much was made of the controversy, but I never doubted we'd both end up in the competition.

The compromise meant we played in three qualifying rounds against a series of part-timers. It was no great hardship, as the games were little more than glorified preseason fixtures without the mass substitutions, but I'm sure they took their toll by the time we reached the World Cup in 2006, and had a roll-on effect at the beginning of the following season. Some of us effectively played a full twelve months, including a December trip to Japan for the World Club Championship.

Those days in Japan were traumatic on and off the pitch too. Many regarded the championship as a distraction, a Mickey Mouse tournament not to be taken seriously. Not me. It's the toughest domestic tournament in the world to qualify for, and the fact Liverpool hadn't won it made it an illustrious honour so far as I was concerned. We prepared for the tournament as well as for any Champions League game.

Prior to our final against São Paulo, Rafa's father died. We were desperate to win the trophy for him, and the sense of deflation when we lost was as great as any I'd felt. This was a rare chance to create history which might not come our way again. I don't know how Rafa coped with the strain of being so far from his family during such demanding circumstances. His professionalism and dedication to the team were exceptional. I know I wouldn't have been able to concentrate on football in such a situation.

Our form at that time was majestic. During our first game in Japan we broke the club record for consecutive clean sheets by a Liverpool side, although I was fuming with Rafa for forgetting the milestone in the closing stages against Costa Ricans Deportivo Saprissa. We were 3–0 up so Rafa decided to sub Sami Hyypia and give him a rest fifteen minutes from time. I was doing my nut, waving at Rafa not to change the back four. He was looking at me confused as to why I was so annoyed. Only after the game did he realize I was thinking about the record, which was eleven shut-outs, a game better even than Alan Hansen and Mark Lawrenson twenty years earlier. 'I completely forgot about that,' Rafa admitted, able to afford himself a smile that his substitution hadn't made any difference.

Defensive records tumbled throughout that season, and I hold those as dear as some of my winners medals. At one point we went 762 minutes without losing a League goal, and a further 573 minutes in Europe. No Liverpool side had ever done that. Strikers are able to measure themselves by their goals-per-game ratio; I do the same in terms of how many we've conceded. A clean sheet is a job done, so no matter what the score or how far we're ahead, there's no such thing as a 'meaningless' goal against us. You'll have seen me as annoyed conceding a goal in the last minute of a match we're winning 3–0 as if it was 1–1. That's how all defenders should be. My regret from that 2005–06 season was failing to beat the club record for most clean sheets in an entire season. We had thirty-two shut-outs in sixty-two games, just one behind the target.

I must pay tribute to my defensive partner, Sami Hyypia, for his part in this. There have been numerous overseas players in the Premiership who've been described as the best imports there have been, but pound for pound, none has eclipsed Sami. You don't get so many headlines when you're a defender, but for him to spend ten years at Liverpool playing to the standards he has puts him not only with the best foreigners we've seen, but with the greatest defenders ever to grace Anfield. When you talk about Alan Hansen, Mark Lawrenson, Phil Thompson, Emlyn Hughes, Tommy Smith and Ron Yeats, you won't be able to leave Sami's name out. He's up there with them. He's arguably the bargain buy in Anfield's history too. People talk about Shankly finding Kevin Keegan at Scunthorpe. Bringing in Sami for £2.5 million from Willem II, in modern terms, is at least the equal of that.

Sami and I were proud to return from Japan having secured some defensive records, and I was just as relieved to get back to England having narrowly escaped getting a criminal one following an impromptu brush with the law.

After a week away, and deflated by our 1–0 final defeat, we were determined to see more of Tokyo than the inside of our hotel room. Whatever the result of the final, we'd decided a night out was the least we deserved for our efforts. No sooner had the coach returned to the hotel than most of us sneaked away to meet up with my mates who'd made the journey to Japan. Rafa didn't give us permission, but he was relaxed enough to let it go, recognizing the hard work we'd put into the tournament.

Arsenal and Chelsea were playing that afternoon so we headed to a bar and settled down to enjoy the game, although it should be remembered a four p.m. kickoff in England was around eleven p.m. in Tokyo. By the time the game finished the drinks had been flowing for a few hours and we'd gone from drowning our sorrows at our loss and Chelsea's win to drunkenly singing Kop songs with the fans who'd been growing in numbers as news of our presence spread. Every away supporter in Tokyo had now found the pub with the Liverpool squad, no doubt texted by all their mates as to where to head.

At which point things started to get messy. Most of the lads decided to return to the hotel, which was the cue for the supporters to jump on the taxis to stop them driving the players home and bringing their night out with the Liverpool squad to a premature end. This chaotic scene prompted the Japanese police to decide enough was enough.

The arrival of their local constabulary wasn't exactly met with a shudder of fear. They're not the most towering, physically intimidating race in the world, the Japanese, and this didn't go unnoticed. In fact, faced with the sight of a dozen or so short policemen, one of the supporters shouted out, 'Where's Snow White?' The response was a series of arrests of anyone within jumping distance of a cab, including me, Didi Hamann and my mate Mick Laffey. We were all too busy laughing at these little fellas shouting at us in Japanese to realize what was going on.

Then it suddenly dawned on us we'd be in severe bother if we were flung in a cell overnight because our flight home was first thing the following morning. It was apparent the police were serious about keeping hold of us, so there was only one option. We had to do a runner.

'I'll get a couple of lads to start some more bother to distract their attention, and you two do one as quick as you can,' Mick suggested.

We weren't handcuffed, so there'd be no problem getting away.

As we were led towards the police station, the operation was put into practice, and when the police pounced on the fans, I sprinted as fast as possible in the opposite direction, screaming at Didi to do the same. After going full pelt for ten minutes, I finally found an alley where I hid for the next half an hour, removing my Liverpool tracksuit top to ensure I wasn't spotted as I made my way through the deserted streets of Tokyo at four a.m. I finally felt safe enough to get a cab back to the hotel.

I immediately called Didi's room. He was sharing with Sami, who wasn't pleased to be woken up at such an unholy hour.

'Is Didi there?' I asked.

'No. He's not come back.'

I couldn't sleep and kept trying the room every hour. Sami grew increasingly agitated.

By breakfast there was still no sign of Didi, and I resigned myself to the possibility of us heading to the airport without him, and the likelihood of our trip ending in a drunken scandal. Just as I was thinking I'd have to explain the situation to Rafa, I looked out of the window and saw Didi get out of a taxi and head straight to the breakfast room, trying to disguise the fact he was still half-cut.

Where had he been for the last five hours?

'I didn't get away when you did a runner,' Didi explained. His pace was never his finest asset.

Mick had accepted all responsibility for the bother outside the pub by saying he'd started a fight with Didi, whom he insisted was an innocent bystander.

'Why would you, Liverpool supporter, start fight with him, Liverpool player?' asked the policeman.

Mick had scratched his head for a second, before confidently bluffing his way through an elaborate fairy story.

'Well, the thing is, my favourite Liverpool player of all time is Kevin Keegan,' explained Mick, not even pausing as the bullshit steamed from his mouth. 'In 2001, this fella alongside me scored the winning goal at Wembley which forced my hero to resign as England manager, and I've never forgiven him since. I've been waiting for my chance to get him back, so when I saw him tonight I had a go at him.'

There were tears streaming from our eyes as Didi told this story. Fair play to Mick, we all thought. Never has so much inspirational shite been spoken for such a needy cause.

Didi still spent the night in the cell, but fortunately was able to join us on the flight home without anyone hearing about the incident. Until now, Rafa didn't know about it, and the journalists who shared the eleven-hour flight home from Japan with us never got a sniff either. It was a lucky escape though.

Japan and the Champions League may have been disappointments, but the season ended in more triumph thanks to the FA Cup, as Rafa banished those memories of the Burnley defeat in the 'Gerrard Final'.

So much has been written about Steven Gerrard's contribution to Liverpool FC. It's been impossible to write this book without Stevie's impact overlapping mine, and I'm proud our careers have become so interconnected with each other. People look at us as the symbols of the side and I've felt privileged to be on the same pitch as him for so long. I'll look back in years to come and be thankful I was playing in the same era. He's one of those rare players who can turn a good team into European champions. Without him, our recent history wouldn't be so illustrious.

That's why I'm prepared to say, alongside Kenny Dalglish, he's the greatest footballer ever to wear a Liverpool shirt.

I know that statement will be questioned by others. I can hear the groans now from those who'll say Kenny is and always will be the number one, out there on his own and untouchable. I'm biased, I know that, but I'm persuaded by the context in which these legends played.

Kenny will always be the favourite at Anfield for his overall contribution as player, manager and ambassador for the club. But when it comes to just playing, even he might admit Stevie has matched his efforts. Kenny played alongside numerous worldclass players and joined Liverpool when he was twenty-seven, when we were already European champions. He made us virtually unbeatable for a spell, but he was part of solid foundations. Steven Gerrard has shone under more trying circumstances. He's elevated dreadful seasons with a series of individual performances the likes of which I've never seen in the modern game. He's also made his mark on the biggest occasions when only he could have turned the game back in our favour, not only in the Champions League, but in the FA Cup Final. The list of seasondefining games where his contribution is the most significant is in double figures. Most players can pick out one or two in a lifetime, but it's virtually one a season with Stevie.