Carra: My Autobiography

by Jamie Carragher

  It was an unnecessary episode that showed how much Rafa enjoyed overseeing every detail of the club. With a more tactful approach it would have been resolved much quicker. I couldn't help but feel let down. I believed I'd become a confidant of the new manager during his first season. Now I sensed he saw me in the same way he saw every other player. Gérard Houllier or Roy Evans would have said to me, 'Get what you can, son, you deserve it.' If I was a manager and saw a player contribute as much as I had the previous season, this would have been my message too. The incident showed no matter how close you thought you were to Rafa, he'd always find a way to remind you who was the boss.

  Once Struan and Rick met, the negotiations were concluded as swiftly as ever, but this time the usual PR claiming I'd agreed and signed within two minutes was wide of the mark. My experience was hidden from public view, partly because Rick, Rafa and Struan were involved in a far more explosive contract story.

  I was always intending to commit myself to the club, but any hopes of Istanbul removing the mist that had been hovering over Steven Gerrard's future the previous season were short-lived. When the European Cup became a permanent resident of the club museum, Liverpool fans thought they could see nothing but golden skies again. We were champions of Europe – sounded great, that – we had an outstanding manager who'd proved he could outwit the best, and the threat of our skipper leaving appeared to have been erased when Shevchenko struck his penalty, Jerzy made the save and our players ran like maniacs in the direction of the fans. 'How can I leave after this?' was Stevie's immediate reaction to lifting the European Cup. All those lingering problems on and off the pitch could be put to rest now, we hoped. Well-documented financial problems appeared to be eased by the UEFA winnings, top players fancied a taste of the unique Anfield atmosphere which had been restored, and after questioning the direction of the club even Stevie was ready to banish the doubts and join the queue of those hoping to pen new deals.

  Rafa had been trying to make the captain commit his future throughout the previous year, but Stevie was understandably biding his time while so many unanswered questions remained. Once he'd lifted the Champions League trophy, destiny had spoken and, briefly at least, he knew exactly what he wanted. The club should have shoved the contract straight in front of him on the plane home. He'd have signed it.

  Instead, a potentially calamitous mistake was made after the homecoming: everyone went on holiday.

  While we were enjoying our break and I was preparing for my wedding, Stevie was becoming increasingly unsettled by the delay sorting out his future. There had been an urgency for him to commit himself before the European Cup Final, but now we'd won it was presumed the panic was over. It wasn't.

  After weeks of becoming frustrated at the lack of negotiations, the captain was confused when he returned to training to discover there was no offer on the table, which seemed strange since he had been asked to sign on three separate occasions a few months earlier. The conspiracy theories went into overdrive. He believed Rafa was now stalling because he was secretly planning to sell him and use the money to reinforce other areas. Reports in a Spanish paper linking Stevie with a move to Madrid made the skipper think there was a plan afoot to sell him to raise funds. When Chelsea made another bid, Rafa believed Stevie wanted to go. It was the mother of all misunderstandings.

  I knew we were in trouble on the day of my wedding when I saw Struan, who also represented the captain, and Stevie heading to the corner of the room and talking frantically on their mobile phones. Now a transfer request was being prepared. That was a mistake born out of frustration. Unlike 2004, there seemed no way back. We had several training sessions without him. It was as if he'd gone already.

  I couldn't understand why Stevie had thought of leaving a year earlier, and I was bemused at how the latest crisis had come about, but I'd sympathized with him during the course of the previous season. He was one of the best players in the world, and with two years left on his contract he knew the next move would determine the rest of his career. He had his choice of clubs, so if he felt Liverpool weren't going to be competitive, or, even worse, didn't want him, it was easy to see why he thought of moving on. Although we were progressing through the rounds in the Champions League, realistically we were still way off the pace in terms of fighting for the title and he had to be sure he was prepared to be part of the rebuilding job.

  As the last remaining Academy players, I'd become a lot closer to Stevie over the previous twelve months, and I felt more confident about offering advice.

  'If you go, don't go to Chelsea,' I told him. 'If you go there, it won't matter how many League titles you win, you'll never be able to come home and have the respect of the Liverpool fans. You've got to think beyond your career and consider the implications for the rest of your life. Go abroad instead and do what Ian Rush did. Then you can always come back.'

  He could have taken out the Champions League brochure and picked a destination. Real Madrid, Barcelona, AC Milan and Inter would have taken him. But it was the Premier League title he craved.

  When the news broke of Chelsea's bid, I was as devastated as every Liverpool fan. The blame game went into full swing. For a while it was less about keeping Steven Gerrard at Liverpool and more about ensuring one side or the other was apportioned responsibility for his departure. Even poor Struan was getting stick, but all he'd ever done was present the options and respect our decisions. I've never been advised to do anything I didn't want to do, and Struan's never done anything on my behalf I haven't asked him to do. The same applies with Stevie. When Chelsea made their move, he was obliged to let Stevie know of their interest. I often think what an awkward situation Struan found himself in two years on the run, having to tell Chelsea the deal for Stevie was off. Thankfully, that's what he had to do after another epic night of soul-searching by the skipper. I'd say he had another change of heart, but deep down I think he always wanted to stay. He just needed to get his head around what had gone wrong and feel convinced the club wanted to keep him.

  I was having breakfast in the Melwood canteen when Rick Parry popped up on Sky TV accompanied by the yellow breaking news ticker.

  'Steven has decided to stay,' he said.

  I spat out my cornflakes.

  People said Stevie's heart ruled his head. I think that was more true in the summer of 2004 than 2005. There were far more valid footballing reasons for staying at Anfield now.

  Stevie and I can examine our careers and recall the same highs and lows. Our medal collection is identical. We have every honour in European club football except one. He could have gone to Chelsea and completed the set with the Premier League, but the satisfaction of one title with Liverpool, no matter how long it took to get it, would eclipse three or four won at Stamford Bridge. Ultimately, he realized that. There was never going to be an instant fix at Anfield, but we still had plenty of years ahead to claim the trophy we craved most.

  Stevie returned to the Melwood dressing room to be greeted by his relieved and elated team-mates, but some unfinished business remained. Rafa called a few senior players to his office to address the issue of the captaincy. 'Stevie should keep it,' I insisted, knowing I'd be next in line for the armband but uncomfortable at seeing my friend effectively punished for considering a move. I did impose a condition, however. 'We can't have this every season,' I said. 'That's got to be it now. He's got to stay for good. Stevie's the captain. We can't have another year like the last one where we're answering questions about his future every week.'

  To my and the Liverpool fans' relief, Stevie agreed.

  We signed our new four-year deals at the same time, posing for the happy, smiling photographs as if we didn't have a care in the world. The press made comparisons between Stevie's long-drawn-out affair and my instant, uncomplicated agreement. The fans did the same. 'You don't get any of that messing with Carra,' some of them said. 'He just signs and gets on with it.' I read such comments and nodded my head.

  'Usually . . .'

&n
bsp; With his vice-captain and skipper on board ('the two best signings of the summer' according to the club's press release), at least the manager could now turn his attention to new recruits.

  Becoming European champions usually signals the climax of a manager's rebuilding process. In 2005 we'd done it back to front. Winning the Champions League couldn't disguise the lingering flaws in our squad. As Rafa contemplated the direction we should take, it was our League rather than European form which was the basis for his conclusions. If he'd underestimated the scale of the restructuring job in 2004, not even the European Cup could deflect his attention from our weaknesses in the summer of 2005. The manager struck me as a quick learner, which gave me confidence he'd bring in the right players, suitable for English football, and allocate whatever money he had wisely. He'd spent a season analysing the Premier League, recognizing before we could even think of winning the title that we had to make ourselves difficult to beat again. Those miserable afternoons at venues such as Goodison, St Andrew's and Selhurst Park had to end. We needed to be more consistent, to show the physical strength that had been so visible during Gérard Houllier's more successful period.

  Managers like to talk about their ideas as working in stages, and although Benitez never spoke publicly about 'five-year plans', it was obvious things had to progress a step at a time. We finished thirty-seven points behind Chelsea in 2005. There could be no Istanbul-style miracle to turn that deficit around within one year. Rafa's first season was about getting us through the turmoil. Somehow we emerged with an inexplicable triumph. Year two was focused on strengthening the spine of the side, making us more competitive and giving us a platform on which to improve later. He achieved this, although my big regret was our failure to add a proven goalscorer to the ranks at the same time – or, more specifically, a proven goalscorer from Real Madrid.

  If the conclusion of the second instalment of the Gerrard saga prompted a sense of déjà vu, there was more to come when Michael Owen's future dominated the headlines again. Rafa confided with me he was considering bringing Michael back, and I couldn't get on the phone quick enough to try to make it a reality. My mobile bill probably hit record levels over the next few days. There had been a suggestion Manchester United were ready to make a move, but I believed Mo was exactly the kind of player we still needed and I knew there was only one club in England he wanted to join. The problem was the price, and no matter how eager I was to have my room-mate home, I could understand Liverpool's reluctance to get involved in a bidding war with other clubs. On a matter of principle, you can't pay £16 million for a player you only sold for £8 million a year earlier.

  Newcastle ruined our chances by making a ridiculous offer, which ended up messing with Michael's head.

  He made no secret of his preference, announcing Liverpool were his first choice. At the Super Cup Final in Monaco, the Liverpool fans even started singing his name as a deal seemed to be edging closer. On the August Bank Holiday, the last day of the transfer window, I was on the phone to Michael every hour checking developments. He met Rick and Rafa before heading to the north-east for talks, but my confidence was draining as midnight approached.

  Correctly, we weren't prepared to match Newcastle's bid. To get his number 10 shirt back Michael was going to have to call Madrid's bluff and insist he wouldn't go anywhere but Anfield. He was unable to take the risk. With his family desperate for him to come back to England, he was compelled to accept the only offer on the table rather than get stuck in Madrid any longer. No matter how much I tried to change his mind, or he willed Liverpool to make a firm bid, there was no solution.

  We met up for an England get-together on the day he was unveiled at Newcastle. I still couldn't believe what he'd done. 'They're bottom of the League!' I said. 'I can't believe you've gone there.' But as I said, family rather than football reasons made his mind up. I'd never criticize him for making what he believed was the right decision for his wife and children, but he should be a Liverpool player today.

  For some reason, our fans were less understanding. Michael returned to Anfield in Newcastle colours later that season and was the recipient of shameful abuse from a section of The Kop. I was disgusted on his behalf. As he stood in the penalty box at The Kop end the crowd began singing 'Where were you in Istanbul?' I could see the deflation in his eyes, and recognized how hurt he was after the game. He'd have been entitled to turn on all those supporters jumping on the bandwagon, a few of them who were no doubt singing his name in Monaco when they thought he was coming back, and ask, 'Where were you in Cardiff in 2001?' To see a player who'd played his heart out for us on the end of a reception so untypical of those that former Anfield heroes normally get was depressing. Over the years I've seen players who didn't contribute half as much as Michael, and in some cases were only here a season or two, being welcomed back to Liverpool as if they'd played five hundred games and won dozens of trophies. It made no sense to me for Michael to be targeted like this, and having spoken to many fans since, I think there is a certain level of shame at what happened on his return. I was happy it wasn't repeated on Michael's next visit to Anfield during 2007–08 – he missed the 2006–07 encounter with his cruciate injury – and I'm sure, given time, in future years The Kop will show their appreciation and give him the kind of reception usually accorded to ex-players.

  Our loss opened the door for others. There would be an emotional return for another Anfield striking legend the following January. Robbie Fowler it was who made the improbable homecoming, signing for free from Manchester City. It was a move that delighted the players as much as the fans, even if it was only a brief cameo at Anfield for 'God'.

  Michael's move to St James's Park also led to a reprieve for Djibril Cisse, who'd earned sympathy for the way he was treated during the pre-season. Cisse, who'd spent just twelve months at Anfield and had battled back bravely from an horrific broken leg, would have had to make way had Michael returned. Rafa was frantically trying to agree a deal for him or Milan Baros to raise funds for a bid for Mo. Football is a ruthless business, and the fans could see Rafa's cold streak in the way he left Cisse and Baros on the bench for our Champions League qualifiers: neither played a minute of the matches to avoid being cup-tied. Beneath the pity for the pair it was also impressive to see the manager deal with a delicate situation in such merciless style. Baros was sold to Lyon and Cisse was interesting Marseille, but the breakdown of talks with Michael meant he lived to fight another season.

  Djibril would have to be content with back-up status, though. For the 2005–06 campaign The Kop welcomed a new and unlikely striking hero from Southampton in a transfer that shocked us as much as the rest of football. Our defeat to the recently relegated Saints the previous year was one of our most miserable of the season, but the performance of Peter Crouch had made a huge impression on Rafa. He'd decided the side needed to be strengthened down the middle, with Crouch the focal point of his system. So, along with Pepe Reina, the Villarreal keeper he'd been pursuing for over a year, and Momo Sissoko, an athletic, ball-winning midfielder he'd managed at Valencia, Rafa bought Crouch, the giant target man he'd hoped Morientes would be.

  For Benitez, it was all about finding pieces for his chessboard, and he's never made a more astute series of moves. Crouch wasn't regarded as a world-class striker, but for the tactics we played in Benitez's second season he was ideal. Since Heskey's departure we'd had no one who could make it stick upfront to allow our strongest players in midfield to get forward. Even in our most successful games in the Champions League we'd often had to rely exclusively on a rearguard action, keeping our shape for long periods of defence. We didn't have the physical presence upfront to give our opponents a problem or relieve the pressure on the back four. Crouchy undoubtedly changed that, surprising us all with his quality on the ball, while Sissoko added energy and aggression, and Reina instantly settled as our finest goalkeeper since Ray Clemence. Jerzy Dudek must have wondered what he'd done wrong after being the hero in Istanbul, but he was suffe
ring the same way as the man he'd replaced, Sander Westerveld. The manager simply rated Reina higher, and he has since been proved right. With Petr Cech, Pepe has consistently been the best keeper in the Premier League.

  There was a presumption Crouchy would need time to win over our fans, but a negative reaction from The Kop never arrived. Our fans are funny like that. If they see someone getting unfairly criticized, they're more likely to get behind him. If Crouchy had come in being hailed as the future of English football, they'd probably have been more suspicious. His underdog status, allied to the fact he played so well in his first games, made him instantly popular. All he needed to secure his newly found cult status was a goal.

  He waited.

  And waited, and waited . . .