by Michael Cox
The final against AC Milan featured a truly legendary comeback. Liverpool were 3–0 down at half-time, having been destroyed on the counter-attack, but after a change of system and the introduction of Hamann, Liverpool recovered to 3–3 within 15 minutes. In simple terms it was the most effective, decisive half-time tactical switch in football history. The reality is considerably more complex.
Benítez’s initial decision to omit Hamann was hugely surprising. Although he’d sometimes used a two-man central midfield of Alonso and Gerrard in the Premier League, Liverpool’s European progress depended upon fielding a holding player. Bišćan, the Croatian defensive midfielder, had started all six knockout matches, three times paired with Hamann to provide a very defensive shield. Besides, Benítez was obsessed with reacting to the opposition, and Carlo Ancelotti’s Milan featured three outright playmakers: Andrea Pirlo, Clarence Seedorf and Kaká in a midfield diamond alongside workhorse Gennaro Gattuso. In fact Ancelotti had sometimes gone even further by including Rui Costa in place of a striker and switching to 4–3–2–1. Milan boasted more midfield creativity than any side in Europe.
Although Benítez, as always, didn’t tell his players the starting XI until shortly before kick-off, he’d already confided to Gerrard that he intended to deploy a 4–4–2, with Harry Kewell just behind Baroš, leaving Gerrard and Alonso together in midfield. When Gerrard informed Carragher, the centre-back couldn’t believe it. ‘There was no question in my mind Didi was the man to nullify Kaká’s threat. It had never occurred to me, or him, that he wouldn’t start the final … I wasn’t supposed to know the team until shortly before kick-off, but part of me wanted to speak out and tell the boss he’d got it wrong.’ Hamann was similarly shocked, and when Benítez announced the XI in the dressing room and named Gerrard as a deep midfielder, Hamann didn’t initially grasp the reality – his first thought was ‘I can’t believe he’s not playing Xabi.’
Benítez hadn’t overlooked the threat of Kaká – inevitably he’d watched dozens of Milan’s matches, and his pre-match tactical video concentrated upon the Brazilian’s movement. But Alonso and Gerrard simply couldn’t cope. ‘Never in my career had I encountered anyone as fast with the ball at their feet,’ Gerrard gasped. ‘Kaká was lightning.’ Milan went ahead through an early Paolo Maldini set-piece goal, and although Liverpool enjoyed spells of possession, Milan were brilliant on the break. Kaká burst into the space created by the runs of Andrei Shevchenko and Hernán Crespo, who dragged Carragher and Hyypiä into wide areas. Crespo scored the next two goals, with his second particularly magnificent – Kaká received a pass and turned Gerrard beautifully before curling a perfect ball in behind, which allowed Crespo to stab into the far corner, first-time, with the outside of his right foot. 3–0, and goodnight. At half-time Carragher was imploring his teammates to avoid a massacre.
Then came the changes. Benítez wanted to switch to a three-man defence, so immediately told Djimi Traoré to take a shower because he was coming off, and summoned Hamann, explained his role on the chalkboard – stop Kaká – then told him to go out early to warm up. Benítez had planned to make another substitution, bringing on Djibril Cissé, until a colleague reminded him he’d already introduced Šmicer for the injured Kewell midway through the first half, and it would be dangerous to use all three substitutes by half-time. Suddenly, Liverpool’s physio announced – much to the player’s fury – that right-back Steve Finnan might not last 90 minutes and so should be substituted. This forced Benítez to summon Traoré back from the shower, with the defender frantically trying to find his discarded socks as Benítez explained the new system.
The chalkboard was now a complete mess; a couple of players recall it briefly depicting Liverpool with 12 players for their second-half shape, although Benítez remembers it as ten, having removed Luis García from the right but forgotten to place him in his new central position. As Liverpool filed out onto the pitch, where Hamann was waiting, he was stunned to see Traoré – whom he’d previously seen half-naked on the way to the showers – reprising his defensive role.
Amid this chaos various players suggest Benítez suddenly projected an air of confidence and calmness. Most importantly, he switched to the obvious system to blunt Milan, a 3–4–2–1. This offered a spare man at the back, which meant Shevchenko and Crespo’s runs would cause fewer problems; four against four in central midfield, where Liverpool had been overrun; and even the correct wing-back balance, with a natural defender, John Arne Riise, on the left against the attack-minded Cafu, while Šmicer could play a more advanced role against Maldini. Considering Liverpool had played a similar system away at Juventus, it was surely something Benítez had considered beforehand.
The new system was effective at blunting Milan’s attacking play, but getting the three goals was all about Gerrard. With Hamann behind him, Gerrard pushed up and embarked upon one of his classic one-man midfield displays, driving Liverpool forward in search of an unlikely fightback. He headed the first goal, briefly took up a right-wing position that allowed Šmicer inside to score a long-range second, and then burst into the box, was fouled by Gattuso, and Alonso scored the rebound having seen his initial penalty saved. It defied logic; Liverpool had scored three times in seven minutes against a Milan defence comprising Cafu, Jaap Stam, Alessandro Nesta and Maldini, possibly the most fearsome defence the Champions League has seen.
The remaining hour, including extra-time, was tense but less eventful, the crucial change involving Ancelotti’s introduction of speedy left-winger Serginho in place of Seedorf. Gerrard was therefore switched to right-wing-back, although he was understandably exhausted, and Serginho became the game’s most dangerous player, sending in a stream of crosses, including one that resulted in Dudek’s extraordinary double save from Shevchenko. The Polish goalkeeper was also the hero in the shoot-out, making saves from both Pirlo and Shevchenko. Liverpool were, almost inexplicably, European champions.
That Istanbul comeback was peculiarly similar to Liverpool’s other trophy success under Benítez, in the following year’s FA Cup Final. They again performed poorly, trailing 2–0 and then 3–2 to an average West Ham side, before Gerrard scored a quite incredible stoppage-time equaliser from 35 yards, his second of the game. Liverpool won on penalties. There’s something inappropriate about Benítez, the master of research, preparation and control, winning his two Liverpool trophies in such dramatic, improbable and manic circumstances. Neil Mellor, the youth product who provided some crucial goals during 2004/05, summarised it best. ‘For all Rafa’s tactics – which were important – some of his best results were achieved in chaos.’
Throughout Benítez’s six-year period at Liverpool his teams were always extremely solid in central positions, but his tactical demands made it difficult for wide players to thrive; his full-backs were expected to tuck inside, which meant Liverpool lacked the attacking thrust required to break down inferior opponents, while his wide midfielders were allowed little positional freedom and were tasked with joylessly shuttling up and down the touchlines. During his first three months at Liverpool he deployed one of the previous season’s full-backs – Finnan or Riise – in a wide midfield role to provide balance and shape. Although he gradually played more attack-minded wingers, that underlined what Benítez wanted.
The story of Dirk Kuyt was typical. Signed in 2006 from Feyenoord as an exciting striker, having smashed in 91 goals in four seasons in the admittedly unreliable barometer that is the Eredivisie, Benítez converted the Dutchman into a functional, hard-working wide midfielder renowned for tracking opposition full-backs diligently. Benítez and Mourinho shared an obsession with wide midfielders working hard defensively, a direct response to the rise of attacking full-backs. Tellingly, Benítez once wanted to sign Daniel Alves – who would become the world’s best right-back at Barcelona – to play on the right of midfield.
The likes of Albert Riera, Jermaine Pennant and Mark González, all considerably below the standard required to win titles, were recruited be
cause they fitted the template of a Benítez wide midfielder: up-and-down players who retained the team’s shape. Riera recalls his manager’s instructions for a 1–0 victory at Real Madrid in 2009 – Benítez had concluded that if Real’s right-winger Arjen Robben wasn’t regularly involved, Liverpool would probably keep a clean sheet. So Riera’s primary job was to remain solidly in front of Liverpool left-back Fábio Aurélio, denying passes from Real right-back Sergio Ramos into Robben. Riera therefore wasn’t allowed to leave his wide-left position at all, effectively being banned from drifting inside. It worked a charm with that memorable victory at Benítez’s boyhood club – and few would question his European record – but denying his wide players any spontaneity harmed Liverpool when trying to break down weaker opponents.
Ryan Babel, a speedy wide forward considered ‘the next Thierry Henry’ upon his arrival in 2007, infuriated Benítez because he eternally cut inside, but that was natural for a right-footed player deployed on the left. Benítez devised a series of one-on-one training exercises with the Dutchman, at one point formulating a drill where Babel had to cut inside or go down the line depending upon which foot he initially controlled the ball with, essentially meaning Babel had no freedom to direct his dribbles in response to the positioning of opponents.
Craig Bellamy, capable of playing wide or up front, experienced something similar. ‘Rafa’s tactical work was very, very good. I learned a lot from him in that area. But he couldn’t come to terms with the idea that some players need an element of freedom and that we express ourselves in different ways,’ he said. ‘Defensively, Rafa was exceptional. He was very good on the opposition and how to nullify their threat and stifle their forward players. He would use video analysis to go through the opposition’s strengths and weaknesses, nothing was left to chance … but there was no scope for spontaneity. None. Of all the managers I have worked with, he trusted his players the least.’ Confusingly, however, despite all these instructions it was difficult to find a genuine identity in Liverpool’s attacking approach. They were well defined without possession, organised and compact, but there was no overwhelming philosophy with the ball.
Benítez came closest to winning the title in his fifth season, 2008/09, when Liverpool finished second behind Manchester United. The spine – Reina in goal, Carragher and one of Daniel Agger, Martin Škrtel and Sami Hyypiä at centre-back, a midfield trio of Javier Mascherano, Alonso and Gerrard, with Fernando Torres up front – was arguably the strongest the Premier League has ever seen. Liverpool took all 12 points from the four matches against champions Manchester United and third-placed Chelsea. There wasn’t quite enough attacking variety to win the title, however, and although Liverpool finished as the division’s top goalscorers, they recorded five goalless draws: at home to Stoke, Fulham and West Ham, plus away at Aston Villa and Stoke again, all comparatively poor sides.
Break down that season’s Premier League table and the situation becomes clear – against fellow top seven sides, Liverpool were unbeaten and collected ten more points than champions Manchester United. But against sides who finished 8th and below, United won 14 extra points. Benítez’s cautious and reactive approach was perfect against strong opposition, but the Premier League is equally about overpowering minnows, where Liverpool were found wanting. ‘We’ve always done well against the bigger teams,’ Steven Gerrard said many years later. ‘But we’ve always struggled against a Fulham at home or a West Brom at home, when they park the bus and we haven’t got that bit of magic to open them up.’
Indeed, passages of Benítez’s autobiography would suggest he focused too much upon big matches – consider, for example, his approach to set-pieces. ‘If you see from the reports of the opposition that they are weak at the near post from corners, then maybe in the preceding two games, you play all your corners to the far post, or deep into the box. Anywhere but to the near post.’ There’s clearly some logic in this approach, and it’s easy to identify Liverpool working clever set-piece routines in big matches, often with surprise scorers – Agger against Chelsea in 2007, Yossi Benayoun against Real Madrid in 2009. But the emphasis upon surprising major opponents surely harmed them in those preceding matches against smaller teams, who presumably found Liverpool’s routines somewhat predictable.
Interestingly, upon his arrival in 2004 Benítez had been given a three-year ‘rebuilding’ window by the board, reflecting the enormity of the change required at Anfield. Once over, Liverpool would be expected to compete. But Benítez’s three major achievements came in cup competitions during those first three seasons: the Champions League and FA Cup successes in 2005 and 2006, then reaching the Champions League Final against Milan again in 2007, when Liverpool performed considerably better than in 2005 and were unfortunate to lose to two Pippo Inzaghi goals.
During this reactive era – the three seasons Mourinho and Benítez were together in the Premier League – they battled it out no fewer than 15 times, five each season. Nine of these matches produced no goals or one goal. As they regularly met in European competition, foreign observers noticed the significant shift towards defensive, physical, heavily systemised football, epitomised by both teams. The aforementioned Valdano – the Argentine World Cup winner who coached Real Madrid, where he fell out with Benítez – had become a respected football writer in Spain and delivered an astonishingly strong, almost unprecedented rebuke after the 15th meeting between Mourinho’s Chelsea and Benítez’s Liverpool – the Reds came out on top that night, although Mourinho got the better of Benítez 7–5 overall.
‘Put a shit hanging from a stick in the middle of this passionate, crazy stadium [Anfield] and there are people who will tell you it’s a work of art. It’s not: it’s a shit hanging from a stick,’ Valdano blasted. ‘Chelsea and Liverpool are the clearest, most exaggerated example of the way football is going: very intense, very collective, very tactical, very physical, and very direct. But, a short pass? Noooo. A feint? Noooo. A change of pace? Noooo. A one-two? A nutmeg? A backheel? Don’t be ridiculous. None of that. The extreme control and seriousness with which both teams played the semi-final neutralised any creative licence, any moments of exquisite skill.
‘If Didier Drogba was the best player it was purely because he was the one who ran the fastest, jumped the highest and crashed into people the hardest. Such extreme intensity wipes away talent, even leaving a player of Joe Cole’s class disoriented. If football is going the way Chelsea and Liverpool are taking it, we had better be ready to wave goodbye to any expression of the cleverness and talent we have enjoyed for a century.
‘[Mourinho and Benítez] have two things in common: a previously denied, hitherto unsatisfied hunger for glory, and a desire to have everything under control. Both of these things stem from one key factor: neither Mourinho nor Benítez made it as a player. That has made them channel all their vanity into coaching. Those who did not have the talent to make it as players do not believe in the talent of players, they do not believe in the ability to improvise in order to win football matches. In short, Mourinho and Benítez are exactly the kind of coaches that Mourinho and Benítez would have needed to have made it as players.’
It’s a particularly strong rant, but Valdano’s final conclusion is genuinely intriguing: Mourinho and Benítez appeared entirely distrustful of flair, spontaneity and individual brilliance. Interestingly, Valdano later became a Real Madrid director but was dismissed in 2011 after falling out badly with the club’s manager – Mourinho. ‘He’s a figure who is perfectly suited to these bombastic, shallow times,’ Valdano complained. ‘I’ve never heard him say a single thing about football worth remembering, whether in public or in private.’ Neither of the two key coaches in the Premier League’s reactive era satisfied the demands of this footballing romantic.
But to merely blame Mourinho and Benítez for making the Premier League more cautious would be ignoring their role in the division’s greatest tactical leap forward. This duo studied the opposition in greater depth, they emphasised defensive shap
e – to the extent their teams were defined by their appearance without possession – and they attempted to dominate the centre of midfield with 4–3–3 and 4–2–3–1 systems that often outwitted the English 4–4–2. They showed the importance of being both compact and quick at transitions.
More than anything it felt like their sides’ shape was ‘top-down’ rather than ‘bottom-up’. Whereas the successful Manchester United and Arsenal systems of the 1990s were largely dictated by the particular characteristics of individuals, Chelsea and Liverpool throughout the mid-2000s were essentially a reflection of their manager’s strategic vision. For the first time, managerial philosophy had become more important than the style of players.
15
The Midfield Trio
‘Gerrard and Lampard were both intelligent footballers. If one player went forward, the other had to stay back. It was not more difficult than that.’
Sven-Göran Eriksson
The most significant tactical change during the first few years of the 21st century was the shift towards one-striker formations, essentially started by Sir Alex Ferguson’s decision to switch from 4–4–2 to 4–5–1 in 2001. Although the initial focus was on the striker, suddenly forced to cope alone against two centre-backs, the midfield zone experienced an equally significant revolution.
After all, the reason for this shift was to beef up midfield with an extra man. As English clubs increasingly realised the importance of keeping possession in the centre – or, looking at it from a more reactive perspective, not being overrun in that zone – managers increasingly needed three central midfielders. It’s worth remembering Sir Alex Ferguson’s assessment of this zone in the 1990s. ‘In Europe they pass to each other in midfield,’ he said. ‘They play in little triangles and keep it there, they play one-twos against you in midfield, whereas our midfielders service the wide players, the full-backs and the frontmen.’ In the 1990s the primary instinct was to get the ball out of the midfield zone. In the 2000s it was all about keeping it there.