Carra: My Autobiography

by Jamie Carragher

  I admit I had some doubts about his step up, though. There are times when promoting from within works, but so soon after the Eriksson era, with everyone, including the players, fancying a change, the timing was tough for McClaren. He had to handle a lot of the baggage from the World Cup. You always felt his toughest task was earning the respect a new England manager deserves. His early results and performances made it doubly difficult. There was no honeymoon period for him, but I was initially optimistic about my future under his leadership.

  I also delayed quitting because I felt my form was as good as ever heading into 2006–07. John Terry is one of the best central defenders in the world, but over the previous two years I thought he was the only English centre-half who'd played better than me. I was confident I could challenge Rio Ferdinand for the second central defensive spot. Sol Campbell had been left out of McClaren's first squad, so I'd pushed ahead of him in the queue. A potential vacancy was there. All I needed was a chance. If I was given one big game alongside Terry, I was sure we'd be so formidable as a pairing the manager would have to keep me in. The opportunity never arrived. McClaren called up Jonathan Woodgate, and then he selected Ledley King ahead of me when Ferdinand was absent in what became my final international involvement, in Estonia in June 2007. Five days earlier I'd been sent back to full-back on my Wembley debut against Brazil. That Brazil game sealed the deal for me, but I wasn't prepared to cause a stir ahead of an important qualifying game. McClaren was oblivious to how upset I was, but when I was overlooked again for King I couldn't wait any longer.

  All this came at the climax of a season when I felt my game was better than ever. I'd won man of the match against Barcelona, the most destructive attacking force in the world. McClaren had been at Anfield on the night we kept out Ronaldinho, Messi and Eto'o in the Champions League. Still I couldn't play centre-back for my country.

  Enough was enough. I called McClaren shortly after the Estonia trip and told him I wouldn't be available for England the following season. He was shocked, and pleaded with me to delay my decision. 'I promise you'll play the full ninety minutes against Germany at centre-half,' McClaren said, referring to the forthcoming friendly. 'In my mind, you are third-choice centre-back.'

  I was taken aback by how surprised he was, but I'd rehearsed my responses.

  'If I'm really third choice,' I said, 'why didn't I play in the middle against Brazil and Estonia?'

  There was no comeback to that.

  His vow to pick me next time didn't make me feel better. I wouldn't be in the team on merit, but because I'd forced the manager into a corner. That wouldn't have been right or fair on the other defenders. If I'd played badly in the next game, I wouldn't have been able to look McClaren in the eye.

  McClaren even asked John Terry to call me and get me to think again. Terry had told the manager he thought I should partner him in the notorious fixture in Estonia, and he told me as much.

  The only concession I agreed was not to announce my intentions, but it was leaked to the press so I had no choice but to confirm the story. Stupidly, I left a get-out clause saying I'd return 'in an emergency', but all this did was make me anxious about Terry and Ferdinand picking up injuries – which they both did. There was no way I was going to reverse my decision, no matter what.

  I confirmed this to McClaren during one final meeting.

  'The door is always open for you, Jamie,' he said.

  I walked behind him and closed it.

  I doubt the England fans would have had me back anyway, given their reaction.

  As I drove away from Melwood during pre-season, I switched on TalkSport and heard a discussion about my decision. The presenter, Adrian Durham, accused me of being a bottler. I was raging. If the intention was to provoke a response, it worked. I felt compelled to defend myself, so I called Durham on air to confront him. I wasn't thinking about the publicity for the radio station, which they predictably milked for all it was worth, more about my own pride. I'd never imagined the news would provoke such hostility. I considered myself a fringe player, so why the fuss? I have no issue with anyone claiming King or Woodgate are better centre-halves, I just didn't agree with it. I'd reached the point where competing for the right to be number three centre-back wasn't on my agenda. I was ready to step up and play alongside Terry. My record for Liverpool, and my dependability when it came to injuries, entitled me to feel I was worth a look.

  The contradiction in all this is, when everyone was fit, McClaren was right. If I'd been England manager, I'd have picked Terry and Ferdinand as first-choice centre-backs. Ferdinand didn't deserve to be dropped as the balance was better with an out-and-out defender like Terry alongside him. Though it was hard to admit at the time when I was fired by an ambition, even a conviction, to claim that England centre-half berth as my own, the fact was I was too similar to Terry. He's a better version of me. This was the reality I had to come to terms with if I remained with England, but I didn't want or need to. As things stood, there was no point in my continuing as a player who'd never be first choice. I wasn't taking a decision out of anger or bitterness, but through common sense. I weighed up the pros and cons of staying with England and realized there was more to be gained in the long term by focusing exclusively on Liverpool.

  There were some regrets. I'd long admired Terry Venables as a coach and wished I could have worked with him longer. I also welcomed many of the changes McClaren introduced in his backroom team. Sports psychologists are often maligned, and some can come across as quacks, but Bill Beswick was an excellent addition to the England set-up. I'm a player who embraces rather than resists change, and any innovation that can add a small percentage to a player's performance is welcome. There are some who aren't mentally tough enough at the highest level, and Beswick can only help. The only concern I had was this: McClaren became too dependent on Beswick's words of wisdom. There were times I was listening to team-talks uncertain if McClaren was presenting a prepared speech Beswick had written for him.

  I recognized the inspiring stories and language Beswick used because I'd enjoyed my own appointments with him. He was particularly useful to me at the start of the 2006–07 season when I suffered a dip in form. 'I'm obsessed with football,' I told him. He advised me to learn how to switch off and develop more interests outside the game. Whether it helped or not, I played some of my best football a few months later. It certainly didn't do me any harm.

  Not even an appointment with Beswick would change my mind about England, though, although McClaren's demise and the appointment of Fabio Capello led to a fresh attempt to bring me back into the international fold.

  I would have loved to work with Capello. He's my idea of a proper football manager, so whenever the lads come back from an England get-together now, I'm always quizzing them about what he's like and how he compares to others they've worked with. All the reports I've had so far have been what I'd expect. He's very impressive.

  I could have discovered this for myself had I responded to the calls from his staff to make a comeback. Briefly, I considered meeting for a chat, but it was more through politeness. At the end of January 2008 Liverpool had a match against West Ham in London, and I arranged to talk to Capello's right-hand man Franco Baldini. As the meeting approached I had second thoughts and cancelled. I didn't want to waste anyone's time.

  There was a second phone call to my agent from the England camp at the end of the season.

  'We've noticed Jamie is playing right-back for Liverpool again. Would he like to consider this position for England?'

  Again, there was a courteous reply thanking the manager for his interest, but I wouldn't be changing my mind.

  I've every confidence Capello will do a brilliant job for England, but I don't agree with the FA appointing him. To me, the England manager and all his backroom staff should be English. It's not a patriotic statement I'm making, but a practical one. We're supposed to be competing against other countries, not stealing their expertise. It's meant to be our best against t
heir best, and for me that not only means players, but the manager and his coaches. If our best isn't good enough, tough. We should be doing more to ensure we improve. Head-hunting managers from abroad is an acceptance of defeat. Capello was the best candidate for the job, but it doesn't mean he was the right choice.

  From now on I can make such comments as an observer rather than a participant in international football. I reached the end of my tether. Unless you're an established first-team starter, international football is a young man's game. I'd rather add two more years to my Liverpool career than jeopardize this for England. As I approached the age of thirty I lost my interest in being the dependable reserve. A career at the highest level is too short to waste your energy, especially when the trips away become more gruelling than exciting. I wasn't making a choice between playing for or turning my back on my country, I was picking between staying at home during international weeks with my wife and children or heading off to Estonia, Russia, even London to sit in a hotel for days and maybe, just maybe, get on the pitch for a few minutes if required. Those long, dreary afternoons in hotels were purgatory for me. I needed to escape. It would have been tolerable had I known I was going to get a game at the end of the week, but there was little prospect of more than a substitute appearance unless Ferdinand, Terry, Woodgate and King were all injured or suspended.

  If I loved playing for my country as much as my club, perhaps the thought of retirement would never have occurred to me. That it did tells everyone I made the right call. I wasn't giving up my football career or my ambitions. Only England.

  8

  Rafa

  Rafa Benitez introduced himself, apologized for his English, shook hands and invited the observations of the three most senior players at Anfield. If he was hoping for the first vote of confidence of his reign, he was disappointed.

  'I'm not sure you appreciate how bad we are,' was the blunt response.

  Welcome to Liverpool, Rafa.

  I'd like to say it was me who fearlessly looked the new Liverpool manager in the eye and delivered this frank warning during our opening exchanges. It was Steven Gerrard who hit him with the home truth as if he was launching into one of his most ferocious ball-winning tackles.

  The meeting was being held in the England team's hotel in Portugal where Stevie, Michael Owen and I were about to kick off the 2004 European Championship. Rafa was walking into a blizzard of uncertainty at Anfield, but none of us was convinced he recognized the seriousness of the situation on that blistering day when the temperatures in the hotel room matched those on Lisbon's burning pitches.

  As a football club, we were at a crossroads that summer. Chelsea were closing in on Stevie's signature, and after Gérard Houllier's sorry final season we were anxious to hear the new man's plan to make us competitive again. If Liverpool got this appointment wrong, instead of regaining our place alongside the elite forces of Europe we were in danger of drifting further into the pack. For me, shaking hands with Benitez and hearing his strategy was the most important event of the tournament. For others, it would determine if they played another game for the club. The identity of those he was going to buy and sell would influence our mental well-being for the rest of the summer, and we were all hoping to hear revelations about members of Benitez's all-conquering Valencia side coming from the Mestalla with him. Aimar, Vicente, Baraja and Ayala had become household names on Merseyside, even more so since word of Benitez's arrival had leaked. Every Liverpool fan was eager for at least one to follow his former manager.

  Rafa's initial observations said a lot about what was to come. Sammy Lee's decision to accept a full-time job with England meant that for the first time since Bill Shankly's arrival in 1959 there would be no ex-Liverpool players on the senior coaching staff. Rafa told us he was bringing his own men in, including his long-time assistant manager Pako Ayesteran.

  'Pako is the best fitness coach in Europe,' he announced.

  Then Rafa asked each of us what we thought of the team.

  'There's not enough pace in it,' I told him, repeating a familiar complaint throughout the Houllier era. 'It's the one area we're lacking more than any other. In the Premiership, you've got to have the legs to survive.'

  I listened attentively as Rafa explained his ideas. He sketched out a team, leaving a couple of gaps to be filled when the players he was targeting were signed. He had me down as a right-back, had no right-winger, and said he also wanted to buy a centrehalf. The right midfielder turned out to be Luis Garcia, whom he bought from Barcelona. He agreed about the pace, but Djibril Cisse was arriving from Auxerre in a deal sealed by Houllier. Then he turned to Stevie.

  'I've watched your games on video,' he said. 'Your problem is you run around too much.'

  I stared at Stevie and could see the deflation. This was the player who'd just carried us into the Champions League. In the final games of the previous season Stevie had been inspirational, playing in the middle but popping up on the left and right for our cause in a desperate bid to compensate for our overall inadequacies.

  Without him taking that responsibility we'd never have been in the Champions League for 2004–05, and might never have been able to tempt a manager of Benitez's repute to the club. It was no wonder Stevie had done so much running in 2003–04, and now we had to be careful he didn't do a runner.

  I felt sorry for him, but there was also truth in Rafa's observation. Anyone watching videos of our season from a strictly neutral perspective would have agreed the skipper was doing far too much for a central midfielder. I and everyone else connected to Liverpool knew it was out of necessity, but Rafa was hinting that Gerrard had unbalanced the side. They were both right.

  It was then that Stevie responded by reminding Benitez he'd inherited a poor squad. 'If you think there's not a lot of work to be done here, you'd better think again,' was the subtext of the not-so-subtle message.

  Michael was also feeling somewhat underwhelmed by the experience of meeting Benitez. The immediate impression was of a manager who believed he could transform Liverpool into contenders with a few minor alterations, but we didn't have the same faith in the squad Houllier had left behind. Messages about fine-tuning and evolution were no good. It was a revolution we wanted, and needed.

  I can't say we left the hotel room feeling rejuvenated by the thought a bright new era was upon us. Our first opportunity to find meaningful answers had left us asking one another more questions. I was thrilled to meet the new manager, and thankful he'd made the effort to come to Portugal. It suggested he saw all of us as key to his plans, and I was optimistic we'd appointed the right man for the job. But I also knew there were unresolved issues and was worried Rafa wasn't fully aware how fed up Michael and Stevie were. They were hoping for a sense of purpose to clear their minds.

  What followed were more weeks of stress, at the end of which two of my closest friends at the club would go, though the one I thought most likely to leave remained.

  A month earlier there had been a different mood when the same players were in conversation with Rick Parry, enthusiastically greeting news of an exciting appointment. We'd all craved a new manager and a fresh start, regardless of our personal affection for Houllier. In the days following Gérard's departure, Rick visited Stevie at home, and I was invited along as the club gauged our thoughts on the identity of the next manager. Various candidates were being touted on a daily basis, and Rick admitted he'd sounded out a few of those being mentioned in the papers. He informed us the two up-and-coming British managers Alan Curbishley, then at Charlton, and Gordon Strachan, who'd done well at Southampton, had been interviewed. The Scot had impressed Rick most. Rick also told us neither was the club's first choice.

  'How would you feel about a continental manager?' Rick asked. 'The chairman is concerned you might not want another foreigner.'

  Jose Mourinho was the name on everyone's lips as he'd recently won the Champions League with Porto. 'I like his arrogance,' Rick said of him. 'He's a winner.' Mourinho shared an agent wit
h Bruno Cheyrou, who informed us he was a supporter. He even had the club crest on his mobile phone.

  If Liverpool were determined to look abroad, there were two names I'd been considering. Javier Irureta had led Deportivo La Coruña to the La Liga title in 2000, despite having moderate resources. I liked his team's style of football. The other manager who excited me was Benitez. Valencia had broken the monopoly of Barcelona and Real Madrid, and Rafa's sides had outclassed Liverpool in the Champions League and in a couple of pre-season friendlies. We'd come off the pitch on each occasion having scarcely touched the ball, and few other sides except Arsenal had impressed me with their technical expertise.