Carra: My Autobiography

by Jamie Carragher

  The Liverpool crowd has been credited with dragging us across the winning line. I've never heard the same said of England fans at Wembley, who are more likely to help the opposition by turning on their own. Supporters of Liverpool, Manchester United, Chelsea and Arsenal rarely boo their own players during a game, and they're more accustomed to success. That's why some of us prefer club football to internationals.

  I was never in love with playing for England in the first place. By the time I stopped, I felt a huge weight lifting. I took criticism for my decision, but when I look over my international record, I believe I was more sinned against than a sinner. I never ducked out of a call-up, never pulled out with a slight twinge, and never looked for an excuse to swerve a meaningless friendly. If the cap fitted, I wore it with pride. I know players who've deliberately got themselves booked and suspended because they didn't fancy going on the next unattractive foreign trip. Not me. If fit, I was always available when called upon. And, despite being continually seen as a deputy for others, I never complained. Wherever Sven-Göran Eriksson or Steve McClaren asked me to play, I stepped up with no fuss. I've even cancelled summer holidays to join England squads as a late call-up. For a while, I held the record for Under-21 caps. That was because I was so committed, turning up for every squad.

  Having said that, I was no worshipper at the altar of St George. My international career almost ended at Under-21 level as swiftly as it began.

  When the England Under-21s, the supposed cream of up-andcoming talent, get together, the rivalry is intense. Nothing is more competitive than the sight of the most impressive defenders, midfielders and strikers fighting it out to be seen as the thirstiest drinkers and horniest shaggers in the country. At the peak of immaturity, respect on the field is secondary to the admiration you earn through your capacity to be 'one of the lads' off it. The Under-21 manager's job must be one of the most demanding in football. You're dealing with twenty-two rough diamonds many of whom need a regular polish.

  Not surprisingly, given my earlier reputation at Lilleshall, I tended to find myself involved in most disciplinary mishaps. I wasted no time consolidating my position as a trouble magnet.

  The first lapse arrived shortly after my introduction to Under- 21 duty, in 1997. With manager Peter Taylor's permission, I went drinking in the hotel nightclub, accompanied by Jody Morris, then at Chelsea, and Sheffield Wednesday's Lee Briscoe. I found to my cost that when the manager said we could have 'a drink' after the game he meant in the singular sense. Our interpretation differed. Taylor caught me taking a piss against the wall of our Swindon base, and grabbed me by the scruff of the neck as I was finishing off. I staggered back to my hotel room, struggling to keep my balance. 'No matter, plenty of strike-outs left,' I thought, Taylor's growls still ringing in my ear. My presumption was wrong. The manager's patience was wearing thin.

  The next fixture coincided with England's final World Cup qualifier in 1997, when Glenn Hoddle's side secured an heroic 0–0 draw in Rome to book the trip to France. We'd shown similar battling qualities a day earlier, winning 1–0 in Rieti despite being down to ten men for eighty minutes. Kieron Dyer scored. It was traditional for the Under-21s to head to the senior game twenty-four hours after their own. They did, except for the rogues gallery of five forced straight to Rome airport as punishment for yet more indiscretions the night before. Rio Ferdinand, Frank Lampard, Ben Thatcher, Danny Murphy and I watched events unfold in an airport lounge, banished for breaking a curfew after our match.

  Thatcher's performance in Italy had been especially impressive. Not only was he the player sent off early in the game for elbowing, I then watched in awe in the bar a few hours later as he managed to keep hold of a pint and continue to take swigs while being grabbed by the neck from behind by his manager. This after he'd already knocked back ten lagers. My respect for such a manoeuvre didn't cut it with Taylor, whose rage with Thatcher rubbed off on the rest of us.

  'You're finished with England,' he told me.

  The Sunday People splashed with our 'shame' the following week, but any fears of a backlash at Anfield were ill-founded. Roy Evans and Ronnie Moran thought it was funny. Had the incident occurred under the next Liverpool manager, I'd have been training with the Academy players for the next month.

  Taylor's promise to end my international career was hollow. Far from being sent to the wasteland, I was soon threatening appearance records. Twelve months after my debut, my transformation from demon to angel was set to be confirmed with the Under-21 captaincy. It was an honour I'd set my heart on the more I contemplated the possibility.

  Taylor was considering me and Lampard for the role. We were room-mates at the time, and although I got on with Frank, privately I believed I'd get the nod as the older, more experienced player. The manager called us into his room separately, but as soon as I looked into his eyes I felt deflated.

  'Sorry, Jamie, you've missed out this time,' he said.

  I didn't agree with Taylor's decision, but I respected it. I rated him as a manager and had grown to like him the longer I'd worked with him. The sense of disappointment didn't fester, although I didn't relish having to return to my room to face the elated Lampard. I was pleased for him, but anyone who tells you private battles between team-mates aren't important is kidding. The 'team first' ethic doesn't always apply. We both wanted the armband and I was hurt to be overlooked.

  My wounds didn't bleed for long. My personal setback was put into perspective when Taylor left as part of the Hoddle controversy a few months later.

  Taylor was dismissed for no other reason than short-sighted FA politics – typical of the illogical decisions that have plagued the organization for decades. Howard Wilkinson, then the technical director, had been eyeing the Under-21 post. Hoddle's departure led to Taylor following him out the door in what seemed to me at the time a nonsensical decision.

  Taylor was respected by the players and had nurtured us well since those misdemeanours in Swindon and Rieti. I reckon his treatment was shameful. Taylor's twenty-three matches included fourteen victories, six draws and three defeats, only one of which was in a competitive fixture. Those he brought through the ranks gave credibility to the view that the next generation of England players had the potential to end our trophy drought. Lampard, Dyer, Heskey, Ferdinand and I were linchpins of the team, all capable of serving our country for the next decade. All we lacked was a prolific striker, and that was because Michael Owen had bypassed the Under-21s and headed straight into the seniors. We won six out of six in qualifying for the 2000 Under-21 European Championship – quite a foundation on which to lose your job. Training sessions were inventive and enjoyable, and there was a focus on developing the technical side of our game. This disappeared when Wilkinson – Mr Functional – took over.

  Taylor broke down in tears during a team-talk prior to his last game in charge. All the players felt for him. I don't know anyone involved in the Under-21s at that time who understood why he was told to go.

  The FA must accept responsibility for the drop in standards since. 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it' the saying goes. Not only was the structure that brought players like me from Lilleshall through the Under-21s not in need of repair, it seemed to be operating successfully. Since Lilleshall closed, and Taylor's first stint with the Under-21s ended, the conveyor belt of talent hasn't created the same results. Perhaps it's a coincidence. I'm convinced my route through the system helped turn me from a very good Premier League player into an international-class one.

  Wilkinson was in charge of the Under-21s when we arrived at the finals in Slovakia and wasted no time enforcing his reputed disciplinary techniques. Lee Hendrie was grabbed by the throat at half-time during a group game for what Wilkinson called 'shitting out of a tackle', which goes to show the new man wasn't as bad as some suggest. There were parts of Wilkinson's approach I liked, but the enjoyment Taylor instilled into our game was gone. A successful era was ending, and those of us who'd played our part were ready to move on – some q
uicker than others. I'd won my record-breaking twenty-seventh cap for the Under-21s against Slovakia in our final match of a sadly typical unfulfilling tournament. The step up beckoned.

  My first taste of senior international action had actually arrived a year earlier. Kevin Keegan suffered a series of injury withdrawals prior to a trip to Hungary at the end of April 1999. I wasn't in the original squad, but was drafted in as a replacement. Midway through the second half I received the call, and in a move of irresistible symbolism given what would follow over the next ten years, I replaced Rio Ferdinand at centre-half. The game finished 1–1.

  There was a lengthy delay before my second call-up, which was the first time I was named in the original twenty-two-man squad on merit. It turned out to be an especially significant occasion: the home World Cup qualifier with Germany in October 2000.

  My promotion shouldn't have come as a surprise. It was a natural progression from the Under-21s, and at the time Liverpool were rapidly improving under Gérard Houllier. But it wasn't as though I was banging the door down to be called up. There wasn't a great clamour for me to get my chance. Because I was no longer eligible for the Under-21s, there was a sense I had nowhere else to go but to get fast-tracked into the full squad. If I'd drifted into the international wilderness having been such a solid member of the Under-21s, it wouldn't have reflected well on the system. But the way I've progressed since suggests they made the right call.

  Hopefully it wasn't my presence at Wembley that tipped Keegan over the edge, because he quit immediately after the game. I'd been in the stands thinking about how I'd cope with the stick my German mate Didi Hamann would give me at Melwood after he scored the winner – the last goal at the old Wembley. By the time I made it to the dressing room Keegan had already made his announcement to the players. The Adams family, Tony and Crozier (then FA chief executive), were desperately trying to talk Keegan into a rethink. It was a surreal introduction for me.

  Keegan later accepted he might have overestimated his capacity to cope with the pressure at that level. From a personal perspective, I didn't work with him long enough to assess how good a coach he was. All I can remember from my time under his management is him telling me how much I looked like Robert Lee. Certainly his team-talk before his final game made what followed unsurprising. I was sitting near Paul Ince when Keegan fatefully announced Gareth Southgate was preferred in central midfield. Ince wasn't even on the bench. Keegan didn't need a resignation letter. His teamsheet did the job.

  The timing of his quitting was amazing, though. You don't leave three days before a World Cup qualifier. I faced a similar situation when I quit internationals as I reached a definite decision while with England between fixtures prior to a key Euro 2008 match. Because I didn't want to cause a distraction, I said nothing until a more opportune moment afterwards. Keegan must have had his reservations before the Germany game, and I sympathized with his honesty when he said he wasn't up to the job, but having committed himself to carrying on he ought to have continued for a final match, not left the players in the lurch as he did.

  His resignation was a poignant moment for English football. The failure of a coach who seemed to epitomize the spirit and enthusiasm we needed appeared to make the FA lose faith completely in English managers. The door closed on homegrown coaches taking the step up, and opened for a foreigner with seriously impressive credentials.

  The Sven era was upon us.

  I was never sure if Sven-Göran Eriksson was an international manager or international playboy. I know what he was best at. If his style of football had been as entertaining as his private life, England would have been world champions and he'd have been handed a twenty-year contract. The longer he spent in the job, the worse his status became as a football coach and the better it became as a Casanova.

  His record still stands scrutiny against any of his predecessors', though. He reached three consecutive quarter-finals in major championships and boasted an impressive record in five years of qualification, losing only once. Nobody can deny he got results. His England side also claimed two of the most prized scalps in our modern history, defeating Argentina in the World Cup group stages and securing a 5–1 win against Germany in Munich. There are those who say he underachieved with the best squad England has had since 1966. I'm inclined to think he led England to its rightful level but fell short of adding the extra ingredient needed to upset the odds. Sven did a good job rather than an extraordinary one.

  He arrived with a terrific reputation. His success at Lazio didn't especially convince me because he received considerable financial backing from Sergio Cragnotti. But his achievements with Benfica, Sampdoria and especially an unfashionable club like Gothenburg suggested this was a man who knew what he was doing. The Swedes won the UEFA Cup under him, Benfica reached the European Cup Final in 1990, and Sampdoria regularly won and challenged for honours.

  Originally, we had this image of a rather dull, methodical, ultra-professional Swede who'd bring some stability to the job and demand everyone's respect. This didn't quite match the reality. No sooner had Sven arrived than we realized our preconceptions were ill-founded. We were given an early clue about his colourful lifestyle. Before one of his early World Cup qualifiers, a story broke about girls finding their way into the team hotel to provide some of the players with pre-match 'entertainment'. Eriksson summoned us for what we expected to be a stern warning. Instead, we received some fatherly advice.

  'There's no need to have girls in the team hotel,' Sven told us. 'If you see someone you like, just get her phone number and arrange to go to her house after the game. Then we will have no problems.'

  There was chuckling around the room, which was sparkling thanks to the twinkle in Eriksson's eye. We weren't exactly sure how serious he was. Looking back, I think he was being genuine. He was giving us his best tips.

  Under his management, I was either doing the hokey-cokey or playing musical chairs. I was in and out of the team, usually in a different position from one game to the next, and could never establish myself as first choice. I accepted this. When everyone was fit, I never expected to start. There were more established players in all the roles I filled. Disappointments came if players were injured, particularly before big games. That's when you want to sense you've got the manager's trust. I never did.

  I appreciated he had managerial talent. His CV speaks for itself. He undoubtedly brought something new to the dressing room, I just struggled to see what it was. He was an introverted character who rarely displayed emotion or revealed his innermost thoughts. If we won, lost or drew, his reaction was identical. This is the trend in many modern coaches. They're careful with their choice of words, using the language of politicians rather than football managers. My preference is to know where I stand. I don't like guessing games. I crave knowing if the manager thought I played well. I'm thirsty for some of their experience or knowledge so I can learn from them. I want to understand the reasons behind every tactical change or selection they've made. There was none of this with Sven. I'd leave training sessions and games none the wiser about why I'd played, been left out or been used as a sub. Some players love this approach. They just want to go into work, get told what to do, play the game, go home and forget about it. That's not me. I relive every kick, watch reruns of the match and try to analyse what went right or wrong. Under Houllier and Benitez, I had managers willing to go through the ninety minutes with me and explain where I could improve. Eriksson was the opposite. I wanted to become an England regular under him, but there was no sense of guidance or advice about what more I needed to do to achieve this ambition. I was always a peripheral figure, although I managed to play my part in his finest hour.

  The 5–1 win in Germany in September 2001 should have been the platform for a sustained period of success for England. I was especially proud of the Anfield influence on the result. Mo, Steven Gerrard, Nick Barmby, Emile Heskey and I (as a sub) all played in the match. The goals were scored by Liverpool players. Eriksson can
consider himself unlucky with injuries prior to the 2002 World Cup, which meant this performance was never repeated. Stevie pulled out because he needed a groin operation, while Mo and David Beckham weren't 100 per cent fit. I struggled with a knee injury all season and needed an operation. I faced a stark choice by May. If I'd gone to the World Cup, it would have delayed surgery and seen me miss the start of the 2002–03 season. The club came first. Eriksson told me I'd be in his squad, but there was no way I'd risk missing pre-season training with Liverpool, especially as I was always wary of new players impressing the manager. Besides, I knew I'd spend most of the tournament on the bench. The longer this was the reality, the less content I became to be a mere deputy.