Gerrard: My Autobiography

by Steven Gerrard

  22

  My Future

  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.

  23

  Athens, Andorra and the Altar

  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 b
ig 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.

  Chelsea’s players were good in defeat. JT grabbed me. ‘Go and win it again,’ he said. That’s John Terry the man for you. A class guy. Frank shook my hand. So did Jose. Mourinho’s impressive like that. Whatever the result between us, whether I have beaten him or he has won, Jose always comes across, shakes my hand and says, ‘Well done.’ I admire Mourinho for that. Everyone talks about the rivalry between Liverpool and Chelsea, between Rafa and Jose, between the fans. I feel the tension rippling between Anfield and Stamford Bridge. Liverpool have had the upper hand on Chelsea in Europe, but they have dominated us in the Premiership. But only one emotion guides my view of Chelsea: respect. Between the players, a mutual respect exists. When I talk to JT, Lamps or Joe Cole at England, they always say the same thing: ‘Anfield is a nightmare to play at.’ I tell them, ‘Stamford Bridge is really tough for us.’ Under Mourinho, Chelsea have become a formidable team. It seems to me that if Liverpool are to win a cup, we have to knock Chelsea out on the way. That shows how good Jose and his team are. It’s the same in the Premiership. For Manchester United to finish as champions they had to deal with Chelsea’s unbelievable threat.

  One area where Chelsea and United cannot touch Liverpool is in the amazing noise generated by our fans. I’m not worried that the new stadium planned in Stanley Park will lose that atmosphere. No chance. It’s the people who make the atmosphere, and those supporters will never disappear. When I warm up, I watch and listen to the fans. I love their passion, their will to win – qualities you see in Liverpool’s homegrown players. I know how much Liverpool means to the fans. Before and after games, I receive text messages from family and friends, all mad about Liverpool. I read the letters in the local papers. The fans’ obsession with Liverpool is deep and unending. If the new stadium is built right, the atmosphere will lift to an even higher level. The noise and intensity will be unbelievable. It has been delayed an extra year because the club want to build a Kop, recreating the best parts of Anfield. If Liverpool do have a Kop, with more people in, the atmosphere on big Champions League and Premiership occasions will be out of this world.

  Liverpool’s new American owners, Tom Hicks and George Gillett, are doing things the right way. They are classy guys, with sharp business minds. I spoke to some rival bidders, the Arab people, who were nice, but it was only a ten-minute chat. Liverpool’s board then met Hicks and Gillett and decided to go down that route. The first time I encountered the Americans, I was bowled over by the enthusiasm pouring from the pair of them. Hicks and Gillett are winners. I saw the ambition in their eyes, heard it in their words. They told me and Carra about what they’d achieved in other sports. I sat there, listening and thinking to myself, ‘If we can channel all that energy and good ideas into the football side, we’ll really take off.’ The Americans’ passion for their new adventure is obvious. Hicks and Gillett are always popping into Melwood, saying ‘hi’ and chatting to the players. Top guys. They move quickly, too. When a new contract was mentioned, the Americans were superb, Rick was sharp, Rafa wanted it done, I wanted it done. My adviser Struan had a couple of meetings and it was a done deal. Simple. I admired Hicks and Gillett for that.

  When Carra and I talked to Liverpool’s new owners, we had one important request: ‘Please keep David Moores involved.’ He will always be chairman in my eyes. Always. He’s a Liverpool fan, and a good friend of mine. He even invited me to a ball at his house recently. David Moores has a great relationship with the players and everyone at Anfield. Thankfully, that bond will continue strong. Hicks and Gillett told me and Carra how much they wanted Mr Moores to stay around. They know what a fantastic job he has done for the club. They realize that he is a committed fan who wears his heart on his sleeve. For me, David Moores will always be the main man upstairs. The Americans understand that.

  When Chelsea visited on that memorable European night, the Americans were spellbound by the Anfield atmosphere. They came into the dressing-room afterwards, clutching bottles of champagne. As Hicks and Gillett stood there in the middle of the room, shaking hands and congratulating us, I saw mischievous looks leap into my team-mates’ eyes. I knew what the lads were thinking. Our new owners deserved a celebratory dip in the bath.

  ‘Come on,’ someone whispered to me, ‘let’s throw them in.’

  I stole a glance at Hicks and Gillett. They were just standing there, toasting us, laughing, oblivious to any possible ambush. It didn’t seem right to bundle them into the bath. They’d only just arrived at the club. The lads decided to let the Americans off on their first visit to the dressing-room. Next time, though, both are going in the bath. No ifs, no buts, no mercy. Straight in.

  When the party finished on Merseyside that night, our thoughts turned to Athen
s, to another final. Again our opponents were AC Milan, but contrasts with Istanbul soon surfaced. The organization of the European Cup final in Turkey had been excellent, but things weren’t right on the trip to Greece. I’m no whinger, but Liverpool’s hotel wasn’t up to scratch. Rafa wasn’t happy, and neither were the players. The bedrooms were nowhere near good enough: tiny single beds and a room so small that I could sit on the toilet and have a shower at the same time. It might have been funny if the situation had not been so serious. For a Champions League final, when you know people have gone over to inspect facilities in advance, it was disappointing. While preparing for such a massive event, I didn’t want to be distracted by switching rooms, hauling my gear down corridors, and trying to get the air-con to work. It was like Rafa said: the small details must be right. So much is at stake: glory, pride, money, reputations. Everything had been spot-on in Istanbul, but we were let down in Athens. Even the flight home was all wrong, with little leg-room, knees crammed in. Liverpool should travel on bigger planes, where players can move around, stretch our legs. I was disappointed with the whole set-up.

  That was frustrating because Liverpool’s tactical preparations were perfect. As against Barcelona at the Nou Camp, Rafa came up with the right game-plan in Athens. We all knew Milan’s strengths, the class they had in midfield, so Rafa went 4–5–1 to nullify the Italians’ threat. Although Milan set up 4–4–2, their shape quickly became 4–3–2–1 with Gattuso coming into the centre alongside Pirlo and Ambrosini while the full-backs, Massimo Oddo and Marek Jankulovski, bombed on. We swamped the middle. Javier Mascherano got tight on Kaka, doing a really good job and keeping him quiet. The threat is always there with Kaka. Always. When he receives the ball, you must have two men around him. And that gives Milan space in other areas.

  Liverpool still controlled the final, without really creating. Many of our best moments in the first half flowed from Jermaine Pennant out on the right. He got in one great cross that I just failed to convert. Jermaine finished the season strongly, showing his terrific potential. At the moment, though, it’s just potential. Jermaine needs to deliver week in, week out, season in, season out. How well he does at Liverpool is up to Jermaine. No-one else. Not Rafa. Not the other players. Jermaine possesses every attribute to be a top winger for Liverpool. Touch and pace come naturally to him. Liverpool fans are warming to him because he is going past people and whipping crosses in. He has changed his mentality after getting a bit of criticism. Jermaine’s been a lot more focused and professional. Now it’s up to him. Jermaine Pennant can be as good as he wants to be. He can hit the heights or slide back. We’ll have to wait and see.