Gerrard: My Autobiography (50 page)

But that’s now Steve McClaren’s decision. I’d watched the FA’s hunt for a new manager with interest. I wasn’t bothered about whether Sven’s successor was English or not. If the foreign candidate was best, then appoint him. But I’m happy the FA decided on Steve. I just hope he believes in me as Sven did. Steve certainly knows my game. He can get the best out of me. I respect him. All those who doubt his credentials should give him a chance. As he tries to steer England towards Euro 2008, people should judge Steve on his ideas and what changes he makes, not on what happened under Sven. Sven made all the big decisions, while Steve did his job really well as coach. Under Sven, Steve took a lot of training, which was second to none. His coaching’s top class. I’d come off the training pitch thinking, ‘I really enjoyed that.’ People claim Steve is a better coach than manager, but that’s rubbish. He proved at Middlesbrough he is a good manager as well as a fine coach. He tried to improve me as a player, tried to improve the team shape in certain situations. That’s good management. He’s honest. Having worked with McClaren, I’m convinced England have the right man. I listen closely to Steve, and 99.9 per cent of what he says is right. He knows his stuff, and he’s more in your face than Sven. Noisier. Livelier. He’s excellent at speaking in front of the England squad and also very good at one-on-ones. He deserves a go at being England
manager. If he hadn’t become manager, we might have missed out.

Steve will improve this England team but I’m not making any predictions about Euro 2008. Germany taught me to be more cautious in public. Defeat in the World Cup hit me hard. I had to get away quick. I took Alex off to St Tropez. Just the two of us. Five days’ complete break; just what the doctor ordered, although nothing could cure the frustration I felt over England’s World Cup display.

On our last night, Sunday 9 July, I couldn’t help but turn on the telly to watch the final. Alex didn’t mind this intrusion into our romantic break. She was busy packing. So I sat there, and watched France lose to Italy. After the early goals, Italy and France could still have been playing now and not notched a winner. I was still stunned by Zinedine Zidane’s head-butt on Marco Materazzi. Even though I idolize Zidane, and understand he got provoked, you simply can’t do what he did. It was crazy. France could have done with him in the shoot-out. Watching the pens brought painful flashbacks for me. When I then saw the Italians celebrating, I thought: ‘That could have been us.’ Neither Italy nor France produced anything special, certainly nothing that would have scared England. It reinforced all my regrets over England’s 2006 World Cup campaign.

SOMEONE TOLD ME
that as I walked past the penalty spot on our sad lap around the pitch that the Gelsenkirchen DJ played ‘I Will Survive’. And I will. My future promises so much. Alex and I will marry in the summer of 2007 and I want a son to play football with. There is rebuilding work to be done with England under Steve McClaren. In August 2006, Steve asked me to be England vice-captain, supporting John Terry, and it was an honour I immediately accepted. JT and Steve know they will always have my whole-hearted commitment. There will be more trophies to chase with Rafa and Liverpool. And one day, I’d love to manage Liverpool. I want to stay at Anfield in any capacity. I’m learning under Rafa and looking to do my coaching badges. I just want to help Liverpool. Me and Liverpool Football Club are a love affair that will never, ever end.

AS THE 2006/07
season unfolded, it felt like Liverpool’s destiny to reach the European Cup final again. It was our calling, as if we were being swept there on a wave that crashed over others.

No-one could claim we enjoyed an easy route to Athens, venue for the final on 23 May 2007. When Liverpool were drawn against Barcelona in the last sixteen, many people thought that was it. Season over. Liverpool would never beat the mighty Barcelona, the team of Ronaldinho, Deco and Lionel Messi. That’s what the critics said. My first reaction when we were drawn against the European champions was excitement. Brilliant. Bring it on. Another chance to play in the Nou Camp. Soon, though, that initial buzz faded. Christ, this was some task. Barcelona were the holders, boasting a who’s who of the world’s best players.

The first leg was at the Nou Camp on 21 February. We had to make sure a candle of hope stayed lit for the second leg at Anfield. To sharpen our concentration, Rafa
took the lads to Portugal to train. It made sound sense. There was a ten-day gap between games in the Premiership and the Champions League, and Rafa wanted us away from Melwood, sweating hard in a climate similar to Barcelona. He wanted us away from our families, away from all the expectation swirling around Merseyside. All Rafa thought about was the Nou Camp. Liverpool were on a mission, and nothing could distract us. Rafa was really confident we could get a win, not just a draw, in Barcelona. I admired his belief. I said to Carra, ‘I’ll take a draw, even a slight defeat, as long as the tie is alive going back to Anfield.’ That was the key: we all knew Barcelona would find it difficult in front of the Kop.

With Rafa so bullish, the mood quickly became buoyant among the lads in Portugal despite one or two problems. The set-up there wasn’t the best. Liverpool booked the place on the Internet, and it looked lovely. I went on the web myself and checked it out: nice pools, good training facilities, top gym. We were in for a shock. When we arrived, the lads soon realized it was not up to the standard we were used to. The training pitch wasn’t the best, and the hotel was damp. But all the lads knew not to complain. Just focus on the Nou Camp. Think of Barcelona. Train hard, get the small details right, and reward will follow in Catalonia.

We worked so well, doing double sessions, that one day Rafa called us together and announced, ‘Because you are training so well, go out and have a meal, and enjoy yourself.’ The manager is big on team spirit, and he thought a night out would do us good. ‘But I want you all back by midnight,’ he added. I felt immediately that that was a bit
of a mistake on Rafa’s behalf. If the manager had just left the time open, the players would have come in at a sensible hour. We went out quite late, which meant we were always going to struggle to meet Rafa’s deadline. He should have given us more leeway. The decision came back to haunt him.

As we headed out into the night, the lads briefly complained about the midnight curfew. We soon forgot about it. We were in a great bar, having a top time. When the beers and laughter are flowing it is difficult to remember what time it is. And when the karaoke gets started, all sense gets drowned out. I was partly to blame. The lads were having a great craic on the karaoke, and I should have checked my watch. I’m Liverpool captain, after all. I should have said, ‘It’s ten minutes to midnight. Listen, we’re all going, no matter what. Rafa’s orders.’ I knew what the response would be from the lads if I suggested we left: they would have turned the volume up on the karaoke and got more beers in. To be honest, I wasn’t keen to go home myself. I was enjoying myself. And why not? I’d trained all week, sweated my guts out. Why shouldn’t I have a few beers? I was up for staying on for another hour. I’m not really big on karaoke, unless I am in the right company, but I loved the scene. The lads gave me loads of stick for not singing. ‘Come on,’ they shouted, ‘your turn.’ Liverpool punters were there, as well as players. In the end, they dragged me up to do a Beatles number. I can’t remember which one – I’d had too many by then. Then I went back to my seat, happy to watch the others.

It was a great night. I did notice a bit of handbags
between John Arne Riise and Craig Bellamy over the karaoke, which led to a bigger incident later on when Bellamy hit Riise with a golf-club. But the incident was never as bad as the media made out. Players fall out, and make up in seconds. It happens. Move on. Forget it.

The next morning, Rafa called the players together, and turned to Craig and Ginger. ‘I’m not really interested in what happened,’ he said to them, before addressing the rest of us. ‘You are all out of order for not coming in on time.’ He dished a few fines out. We paid up. Craig and Ginger shook hands, and decided not to take it any further. They both deserve a lot of credit for that. Rafa was brilliant. The manager’s handling of the situation was spot-on. Some of the other players, me included, intervened as well. ‘We have got a big game coming up,’ I said to Craig and Ginger. ‘Put it to bed.’ They did. Time is a big healer. A couple of days down the line, both players had put the incident behind them. The press hadn’t, of course. A real storm broke. We saw the headlines, felt the heat, and used it to Liverpool’s advantage. All the fuss fuelled our motivation, creating a siege mentality in our dressing-room. Come on, lads, they are all against us. Let’s show them. In a funny way, that karaoke-night bonding session in Portugal got us in the right mood to take on Barcelona.

Rafa’s game-plan was to shock
Barcelona. Do the unexpected. Barcelona felt Liverpool would be really negative: two banks of four, rarely cross the halfway line. Rafa did the opposite: go on the front foot, go for the jugular. Stand firm, and get stuck into them. Even when Deco scored early, we stuck to our tactics. Our plan was to hurt Barcelona down the sides, in the full-back areas. Bellamy’s job was to race down the channels, either side of Barcelona’s centre-halves Carles Puyol and Rafael Marquez. All the build-up had revolved around the golf-club incident in Portugal, so when Craig scored, setting up a famous 2–1 win, he celebrated with a golf swing. When I saw it, I had to have a little chuckle. In all the pictures, I’m in the background coming to the celebration, laughing. Inside, though, I had a thought for Ginger. He seemed OK about it, and in the dressing-room afterwards we all joked about it. No wonder we were laughing. We had just beaten the European champions at their place – and Riise had scored the winner off a Bellamy pass.

What made victory particularly special was that Barcelona were a class side. For the first twenty minutes they really made us sweat. That was the first time I had run into Ronaldinho in a competitive game, and the Brazilian didn’t disappoint. He was difficult to knock off the ball, and blessed with two good feet that could spirit the ball through a road-block. I felt that when Ronaldinho was in possession, anything could happen. One touch of magic could cast a spell over us. We couldn’t afford to let him get going. He never got a chance. Carra was fantastic against Ronaldinho, getting blocks in, blotting him out. Carra was man of the match by a country mile. No surprise: all the way to Athens, Carra was world class.

Back in the Nou Camp dressing-room, Carra, me and all the lads were buzzing. It felt as if Liverpool had won something that night. In a way, we had. We had earned ourselves a massive confidence boost. Barcelona away was such a big game, and no-one expected us to draw, let
alone win, but we’d done it. Liverpool had beaten Barcelona. In the showers at the Nou Camp, all the players were singing, shouting and celebrating a famous victory.

I didn’t want to throw cold water over the lads, but we couldn’t risk any complacency. ‘It’s not over,’ I warned. ‘Barcelona will come at us at Anfield. They’ve got the quality to destroy us.’ But they didn’t, mainly due to another tactical master-stroke from Rafa. Our tactics on 6 March caught Barcelona out again. Rafa ordered us to play deeper than we had at the Nou Camp. Come and break us down. No chance. Not with Carra barring the way. Eidur Gudjohnsen scored, but it was too little too late. The away goals took us through.

Next up were PSV Eindhoven, and we were really shifting now: 3–0 in Holland, 1–0 at Anfield. Job done. The semi-final draw brought familiar faces: Chelsea. Jose Mourinho. John Terry. Frank Lampard. Joe Cole. The road to Athens had become a trip down memory lane. Two years ago, Liverpool squeezed past Chelsea to reach Istanbul. The same obstacle to the final reappeared. And this tie would be as tough. Both Liverpool and Chelsea were well organized and strong defensively. That’s the way both managers like it. Rafa is dead keen on a tight defence. From speaking to the Chelsea lads, I know Jose hates conceding and spends ages in training working on the back-four. We knew one goal could separate the teams, just as it did in 2005.

Also similar to back then, a war of words broke out between the two managers. Rafa went on the offensive about Jose, saying Liverpool fans are the real Special
Ones. No messing from Rafa. Straight in. Bang. Take that, Jose. Rafa’s attitude surprised the players. Our manager is not one for talking much in the media, or getting involved with other managers, but he went to town on Jose. By saying Liverpool’s supporters were the real Special Ones, Rafa was being really clever. Having to overcome Chelsea’s 1–0 first-leg lead, Rafa knew he would need the fans passionately behind us at Anfield on 1 May.

The Kop played their part again, big-time. Chelsea walked into another wall of noise. They also walked into a classic sting. Mourinho’s players were caught completely cold by our goal, when I knocked a free-kick to Daniel Agger, who scored from the edge of the area. The move was straight out of Melwood, one we’d practised ever since Rafa arrived. The manager is really big on small details. He analyses the stats, knows that set-pieces settle many matches, and drills us on dead-ball situations, day in, day out. Whatever the occasion, massive European night or modest Carling Cup tie, Liverpool are ready with set-piece weapons. We’d tried the Agger move before, and come really close, but we don’t overuse it as opponents will get wise. Chelsea were stunned. Simple as that. They had no inkling of what we’d planned when I pulled the ball back to Agger. Rafa had really done his homework on Chelsea. While watching tapes of them, we noticed that when defending a free-kick in wide areas, they backed off. So if you piled a lot of bodies into the box, distracting John Terry, Ricardo Carvalho and Michael Essien, the pull-back was on. Chelsea very nearly did it to us once. In the Premiership game on 20 January 2007, when we beat them 2–0, Lamps pulled the ball back to Didier Drogba,
but he did a fresh-air shot. Agger connected sweetly, and it was off to penalties. We held our nerve, Chelsea didn’t. Pepe Reina was sensational, and we were off to Athens. Brilliant.