by Michael Cox
From his early teenage years Benítez was a great lover of chess and clearly viewed football in a very similar way. ‘In football, like chess, you have to think and analyse what’s going to happen, to have a plan A, plan B and even a plan C,’ he said. ‘You have to calmly evaluate action before you put it into practice, and be prepared, foreseeing the different options of the opponent.’ That could be an analysis of any sport, but Benítez’s outlook on chess and football was more specific. ‘You have to control the middle of the park, to wait for the right moments to attack,’ he said of chess. ‘Some people are very aggressive, very offensive, but in chess it’s sometimes dangerous because if the other is good at defending, they can play counter-attack.’ That’s a perfect summary of Benítez’s approach with Liverpool, and particularly the games against Mourinho’s Chelsea; his opponents were excellent at attacking transitions, so Liverpool were cautious, refusing to play into their hands. Accounts from his former players suggest Benítez viewed them rather like chess pieces – functional objects who served a purpose, rather than people with personalities who occasionally needed support and encouragement. ‘I am not sure he is that interested in players as people,’ suggested captain Steven Gerrard.
After Benítez’s playing career was compromised when he picked up a knee injury while representing Spain in the World University Games – an apt summary of his academic pedigree – he rose through the coaching ranks at Real Madrid, enjoying a brief spell as assistant manager to future Champions League and World Cup-winning manager Vicente del Bosque. When Del Bosque departed in 1994 and was replaced by Jorge Valdano, a footballing romantic, Benítez was demoted to B-team coach. Valdano and Benítez fell out, particularly over a young midfielder named Sandro, a diminutive, creative, typically Spanish playmaker whom Valdano believed deserved a free role in Benítez’s B-team. But Benítez complained about Sandro’s lack of tactical awareness and often omitted him from the side. That was Benítez – tactics over talent.
Benítez, who as a player filmed his own matches for self-analysis, was obsessed with creating a footballing video library. At one stage, before he could count upon an analysis team, he owned a TV connected to two video recorders – one to tape the whole match, the other focusing on specific situations. His library grew extensively, and Benítez introduced regular video sessions for his squad ahead of matches, a new practice to many. At Valladolid he suffered a minor car accident, and upon his return to the dressing room was greeted by one of his attackers mocking him with, ‘We’re glad you’re alright – we were worried the video player would miss you.’ Benítez was clearly more comfortable studying the tapes and compiling analysis than engaging with his players. He was an early adopter of the ZX Spectrum and Atari to store information, and later dubbed himself – somewhat sadly – as ‘a loner with a laptop’, which at least proves his technology evolved. His office at Liverpool’s training ground was dominated by a huge wall of DVDs, some of which he lent to defender Jamie Carragher, including an example of how his Valencia side defended and how legendary centre-back Franco Baresi commanded AC Milan’s back line.
That Milan side, coached by the revolutionary Arrigo Sacchi, was Benítez’s main inspiration – they offered ‘quality, discipline and intensity’, in his words. Although a relentless attacking force, Sacchi’s Milan became renowned for their aggressive offside trap and tremendous defensive organisation in a 4–4–2 system, boasting incredible compactness from front to back, denying the opposition space between the lines. ‘If we played with 25 metres between the last defender and the centre-forward, given our ability, no one could beat us,’ said Sacchi. ‘And thus, the team had to move as a unit, up and down the pitch, and also from left to right.’
This was the key characteristic of Benítez’s Liverpool. He was fortunate to inherit the team from Gérard Houllier, who believed heavily in lateral compactness to the extent that he often fielded a defence featuring four natural centre-backs, and jettisoned proper wingers to play central midfielders in wide positions. Benítez, however, focused on vertical compactness from front to back. He’d often stand nervously on the edge of the technical area, encouraging the defensive, midfield and attacking lines to squeeze closer together with a hand gesture that looked like he was miming playing the accordion. ‘Teams hated playing against us,’ Carragher said later. ‘The games would be horrible for the opposition because we would not give them any space to breathe. If you asked me to say the one word I heard most during training and games, it would be him shouting “Compact!” After the first year of working with Rafa, we were like robots, we knew exactly what he wanted us to do. This came about through repetition on the training ground, the drills being done over and over again until he was satisfied.’
Benítez, or one of his coaches, would set up Liverpool’s XI on the training pitch and walk into different zones with the ball, commanding the nearest player to pressure him, while everyone else shifted positions accordingly, always remaining compact and denying space between the lines. It was a method borrowed from Sacchi, whose training sessions Benítez had observed twice in the 1990s during his spells with Milan and the Italian national side. It will have particularly pleased Benítez that Sacchi later described his Liverpool side as ‘exemplary in two ways: their spirit and tactical organisation. Benítez knows what he is doing. His team lacks talent, but they are a true team, compact and modern.’ At their best, Liverpool were tactically flexible enough to play a deep defensive line or a very aggressive offside trap – but they always remained highly compact, which included the goalkeeper. Jerzy Dudek was surprised when Benítez immediately placed such emphasis upon him remaining close to the back four. ‘It took most of the season to adapt,’ he admitted. Meanwhile, Benítez was already lining up Pepe Reina, a more comfortable sweeper-keeper.
Liverpool’s players were shocked by the frequency of tactical sessions during Benítez’s first pre-season, while Benítez was similarly taken aback by his players’ limited tactical understanding. He believed Liverpool played too intuitively and demanded they performed in a more methodical manner, telling Steven Gerrard he ran around too much. He was also surprised by the limitations of the forwards, who played little part in build-up play. Benítez fashioned a considerably more organised, structured Liverpool side.
Benítez considered the opposition as much as his own team, sometimes compiling 30-page dossiers before condensing that information into a 15- or 20-minute talk for his players. He was obsessed with keeping his game plan secret and only announced his starting XI to his squad shortly before matches. This irritated some players, as they found it difficult to prepare mentally, but Benítez was determined to guard against leaks to the opposition. Again, this was very Benítez, concerned more with how the opposition might adjust rather than his own players’ mentality.
In his first game at Anfield, a 2–1 victory over Manchester City, Benítez claims he was dismayed by the close proximity between the two benches and was worried that the opposition manager could overhear his instructions. He therefore decided to start shouting in his native language to Josemi, telling the Spaniard to translate the message for his teammates so the opposition manager wouldn’t understand. Ironically, the opposition manager was Kevin Keegan, who, unless his mentality had changed drastically since his Newcastle days, paid no attention to the opposition’s tactics anyway.
The players initially protested at Benítez’s use of zonal marking when defending set-pieces, which involved each player occupying a specific area rather than concentrating upon the runs of opponents, a system that was widely mocked when Liverpool struggled in the early days, and later lent its name to a football-tactics website. ‘A zone has never scored a goal’ became the standard rebuke from pundits. The criticism continued but soon became academic; in Benítez’s first season Liverpool conceded 12 set-piece goals, the fourth-best record in the Premier League. Then, in both 2005/06 and 2006/07 they conceded only six goals from dead-ball situations, the best record in the division. Liverpool’s
players were initially determined to revert to man-to-man, but Benítez insisted a zonal system would work in the long run – and he was right.
‘Overall I believe we conceded fewer since Rafa introduced zonal marking,’ said Carragher. ‘It may seem like more only because if you lose a goal with zonal marking, the system always gets the blame – if you do it with man-to-man, an individual gets the blame.’ It was peculiar that it was always considered a ‘foreign’ idea, however – George Graham’s Arsenal side, the most revered defence of the 1990s, also organised themselves zonally at set-pieces. What it demonstrated, though, was that Benítez had tremendous belief in his principles and wouldn’t waver simply because players expressed doubts. Even the nature of zonal marking itself reflected his approach, being about teamwork and structure rather than individuals. Benítez was also criticised for favouring squad rotation, receiving an unreasonable share of the blame for a concept that most top-level coaches had already embraced.
Benítez’s debut league campaign was disappointing, with the club slipping to fifth place, and it took until the Champions League knockout stage before Liverpool really impressed. This was Benítez in his element, approaching two-legged matches when Liverpool’s main task was stopping superior opponents. In fact, Liverpool’s Champions League triumph was remarkably similar to Manchester United’s in 1999; they showed tremendous tactical maturity throughout the knockout stage, until the final, when they were completely outclassed before launching an unthinkable comeback.
Liverpool’s knockout stage effectively started in their final group game, at home to Olympiakos. Having collected just seven points from their previous five matches, Liverpool required a victory to move onto ten points alongside the Greek side and stand a chance of qualification. They’d lost 1–0 away in Athens, and because teams level on points were separated by their head-to-head record, if Liverpool conceded an away goal they’d need to score three. So when Rivaldo curled in a free-kick, Liverpool required a miracle.
At half-time Benítez went for broke. He switched to a three-man defence by taking off left-back Djimi Traoré and introducing French forward Florent Sinama Pongolle, who took just two minutes to equalise. On 78 minutes Benítez replaced Milan Baroš with youngster Neil Mellor – and he also took just two minutes to score, meaning Liverpool required one more to progress. The hero, inevitably, was Gerrard, latching onto Mellor’s intelligent knock-down just outside the box and thumping a stunning half-volley into the far corner. It was a legendary individual moment from Liverpool’s skipper, but behind that was something more significant: a decisive half-time change of system, which allowed Liverpool to score the three second-half goals they required – not for the last time.
In the second round Liverpool faced Bayer Leverkusen. Although a relatively simple draw on paper, this opposition provided painful memories. Two years earlier, when Houllier was in charge, Liverpool took a 1–0 first-leg lead to Leverkusen at the quarter-final stage. After an hour in Germany the score was 1–1 and Liverpool were on course to progress. But then Houllier made a curious change, removing German holding midfielder Dietmar Hamann and introducing the more attack-minded Vladimir Šmicer. Things fell apart dramatically, with Liverpool conceding three goals in half an hour and losing 4–2. They were eliminated, and Houllier called an impromptu meeting at Liverpool’s hotel that night, where he explicitly told his players that they were banned from discussing his substitutions with the media. He realised he’d made an error, and that was arguably the beginning of the end for Houllier.
In 2005, Hamann was one of Liverpool’s key players against Leverkusen home and away, Liverpool winning 3–1 in both games, with the two Leverkusen goals mere late consolations. Liverpool were narrow and compact, their forwards pressed to disrupt Leverkusen’s build-up play, and Hamann protected the back four excellently alongside Igor Bišćan in the absence of Xabi Alonso. Funnily enough, Benítez actually made the same substitution as Houllier after an hour: Šmicer for Hamann. By this point, however, Leverkusen required six goals, the tie was over and Benítez was simply resting Hamann.
Next up were Juventus. At home Benítez selected a 4–4–2 formation, with young Frenchman Anthony Le Tallec playing his best game for the Liverpool up front alongside Baroš. Liverpool went ahead through a set-piece routine from the training ground, scored by Sami Hyypiä and assisted by Luis García, who promptly smashed in a stunning second. Liverpool again played narrow, crowding out Juve’s brilliant playmaker Pavel Nedvĕd, and while Fabio Cannavaro nodded in a late goal, Liverpool were in control.
Away in Turin, Liverpool produced a classic Benítez performance; they didn’t manage a single shot on target but achieved the goalless draw required. Crucially, Benítez demonstrated his determination to keep the opposition guessing. In response to Juventus’s narrow system and two-man strike force, he deployed an unusual 3–5–1–1 formation for the first time, and Liverpool inevitably spent all week practising the system in training. But when Dudek was summoned to a UEFA press conference on the eve of the game, Benítez told his goalkeeper to keep repeating that Liverpool would play 4–4–2, tricking Juventus coach Fabio Capello. Sure enough, at kick-off, Liverpool lined up in that 4–4–2 shape but were under instructions to subtly shift to 3–5–1–1 inside the first couple of minutes, outfoxing Juve. Capello’s side tried to play through the centre into the feet of Nedvĕd, Alessandro Del Piero and Zlatan Ibrahimović, but Liverpool’s three centre-backs and three central midfielders dominated that zone.
Then came that famous European semi-final: Mourinho’s Chelsea against Benítez’s Liverpool, the moment when it felt like Premier League clubs had finally cracked the Champions League, thanks largely to the two foreign managers who had succeeded in Europe the previous season. This was probably the most tactical tie ever contested by two English clubs, with Mourinho and Benítez concentrating almost solely upon stopping each other. It was hyped like a final, but on paper was a complete mismatch; Liverpool would finish an astonishing 37 points behind Chelsea in the Premier League that season, meaning they were considerably closer to bottom-placed Southampton in points’ terms than to the champions. ‘The only way we could make up for the difference in quality was to focus,’ Benítez said later. ‘We named a line-up whose emphasis was very much on solidity … it would be an evening for resilience rather than beauty.’ At one stage in the build-up to the game, Benítez worked for 22 hours, non-stop, on his research and game plan.
The first leg was a truly turgid 0–0, with both sides concentrating on preventing the other counter-attacking, a blatant example of the defensive football prospering under the two managers. ‘The game was a bit of an anti-climax, really, it never sparked into life; we both played cagey football,’ said John Terry. ‘They were cautious and we were too … it felt as if the tie hadn’t really started.’ But Liverpool were delighted with the goalless draw. ‘It was all down to the work we had done the week before,’ said Benítez’s assistant Pako Ayestarán. ‘We spent a great deal of time analysing Chelsea, using a lot of taped material – far beyond the normal extent … it wasn’t a beautiful game, but it was one of those that you’ll go back to watch again and again because it involved perfect planning and execution.’
The key incident saw Alonso, the tie’s most inventive midfielder, ruled out of the second leg when Eidur Gudjohnsen theatrically collapsed after no contact whatsoever from the Spaniard. Some newspapers reported that Gudjohnsen later told Alonso he deliberately dived because he was aware of his precarious disciplinary situation. That felt grimly appropriate for this tie – an otherwise wonderful footballer given information about an opponent and exploiting it cynically, focusing upon nullifying the opposition’s strengths rather than playing to his own. In the Stamford Bridge dressing room afterwards, Alonso was in tears.
In the second leg at Anfield Liverpool triumphed 1–0. In front of a raucous crowd, it was another tight, tense, tactical game, with Hamann the outstanding performer – ‘He played a blinder,’ said Terry. The
German’s dominance of midfield prompted Chelsea to play simple long-ball football, with Mourinho remembering how Chelsea had done similar in the League Cup Final against Liverpool, forcing Gerrard into a headed own goal. Centre-back Robert Huth, a considerable aerial force, was introduced up front as Chelsea went route one.
The controversial winner was scored early by Luis García, a goal that might not even have been legitimate, with William Gallas hooking the ball out from on – or possibly just behind – the goal line. Mourinho complained for years about the goal, although he ignored the fact that, had it not been awarded, the referee would probably have given Liverpool a penalty and dismissed Petr Čech for a last-man foul on Baroš seconds earlier. It felt fitting that García was the matchwinner; in a structured, organised, attritional game of football, the diminutive Spaniard was the only player providing unpredictable movement, attempting trickery in tight situations and launching ambitious efforts at goal. He always seemed a peculiarly un-Benítez player; he drifted away from his position and was infuriatingly inconsistent, but was a welcome source of random brilliance in an otherwise frustratingly systemised tie. This winner against Chelsea was his fifth goal in six knockout games; much like Liverpool, he came alive on European nights.