One significant event in Anfield history changed the fortunes of both clubs, opening the door for United and sending us into an era where cup success was our main salvation every season. That was the day Kenny Dalglish stepped down as Liverpool manager. Our slump began shortly after we failed to replace Kenny, allowing Ferguson to take advantage of our problems and prove himself the best manager in Britain. Had Dalglish stayed at Liverpool, I've no doubt the last eighteen years would have a different complexion. Ferguson has never had to beat the strongest Liverpool teams to win the title. We've made it easier for him and harder for ourselves. United may still have been the force they are, but they'd have had a far greater challenge from Anfield than we've ever given them. Kenny's brief reign at Blackburn showed what was possible. If he could go to Ewood Park and beat United to the title it's a fair assumption he'd have won a few more with Liverpool.
The years that followed Dalglish's departure sowed the seeds of our conceding title dominance to United. Kenny's replacement, Graeme Souness, bought badly. Roy Evans couldn't repair the damage quickly enough, and by the time Gérard Houllier was in charge United were already comfortably in the distance. Rafa Benitez took over at a time when the gap between us and United was greater than at any point since the 1950s. The pressure is on Rafa to win the title, and the longer he goes without doing so the more his position will be questioned.
Whenever I look at the conditions and circumstances he's worked under, I find myself asking, could anyone really have done better since 2004? We've won major trophies and enjoyed mostly adequate rather than fantastic League campaigns, but what more could we have done? If a world-class manager such as Benitez leaves Anfield considered a 'failure' for having not won the League, who will win it for us? Given the competition he's faced, I don't believe Rafa can be criticized for not winning the League. He's spent a lot of money, but United and Chelsea will always spend more. He's in exactly the same position Ferguson was around 1990 when he'd spent heavily on signings but was still struggling to compete because Liverpool were better. Let's not forget that United broke transfer records with Gary Pallister, Jim Leighton, Paul Ince and Roy Keane, and to bring Mark Hughes back from Bayern Munich. It was a massive investment at the time, but it took years for the benefits to show. United got it right eventually, but it was no overnight success.
Many of our fans hated United while we were successful and despise them even more now. Those deep-rooted feelings have never been there for me. I don't relate to the bitter rivalry between Liverpool and United in the same way I do Merseyside derby games. At the age of thirteen there was even an outside chance I could have joined them. My Sunday League team was invited to play a side from United's School of Excellence, and I impressed their scouts enough for them to ask my dad if I'd consider a trial. I was happy enough at Liverpool, obviously, but it was nice to be noticed.
Other than the fact United are our competitors, so inevitably each wants the other to lose, I see no justification for both sets of fans disliking each other so much, and certainly no more than those other sides we're hoping to beat in a title race. The intense competition between Liverpool and United is more geographical and historical than logical, to me. We're the two most successful clubs in English football, and if one succeeds it's usually at the cost of the other. We're also near neighbours, which always adds a derby feel to our fixtures. But I've never found a proper explanation for why the bad blood has spilled over between the fans. As clubs, we seem to have far more similarities than differences.
Perhaps Liverpool and United are a bit too alike and that's the cause of the problems. We both grew thanks to the influence of legendary Scottish managers, we both have a combination of passionate northern working-class support and followers from all over the world, and we're both used to winning the biggest honours. The saying about 'familiarity breeding contempt' probably has a lot to answer for at Liverpool versus United games.
I have tremendous respect for United's achievements. I see players such as Ryan Giggs and Paul Scholes as Manchester equivalents of me – good professionals who've always tried to handle themselves in the right way and put football first. And Ferguson is simply a brilliant manager. If he appears on the TV, I'll stop what I'm doing and hang on his every word. He has so much football wisdom, whether you're a United fan or not it's impossible not to be impressed. The fact he's a working-class Glaswegian, and a socialist too, means he's got a lot more in common with Scousers – apart from his football loyalties – than many would care to admit.
I hope we give him a better challenge in future than we've been able to for the last fifteen or so years, otherwise we may have to wait until he retires. Perhaps that will trigger their slump in the same way Kenny's departure led to ours. They'll certainly struggle to replace him. We may simply have to wait for the circle to turn.
Alternatively, I might have to carry my title-winning ambitions from the pitch to the dug-out.
A few years ago I'd have said I was 100 per cent certain to become a manager when I finish playing. Today, I'm likely to change my mind from one week to the next. Doubts have surfaced as I consider the consequences of managing a club. If you pushed me for an answer, I'd say it's highly likely I will make the step into management. I'd regret it too much if I neglected the chance, even if I harbour serious concerns about how I'd cope with the additional pressures of being a number one. It hurts me badly enough to lose as a player; this would increase ten-fold if I carried the extra burden of responsibility for the entire club.
I've seen from close quarters how management affects people. Good men have dedicated their lives 24/7 to the sole pursuit of winning three points every Saturday. When they've failed, the criticism has been intense and hurtful. Management is a profession that breeds feelings of anger, paranoia and insecurity in some of the most powerful personalities in the game. I'm not entirely sure I want to open myself up to the emotional turmoil. It's not just about my own state of mind either: there will be an impact on the rest of my family too. If I became a manager and it went wrong I'd hate my wife and children to see me go through a traumatic period or suffer because of the strains of my job. I could make a perfectly reasonable living doing other things and still stay involved in the game in a less hands-on capacity. So I do ask myself, 'Is it worth it?'
The other factor that may work against me is the strict condition I'd impose on any job offer. Basically, if I couldn't still live in Liverpool, forget it. I'm fussy that way. I won't uproot my children at this stage of their lives for the selfish reason of pursuing my career. That instantly puts me at a disadvantage compared to other players of my generation who fancy becoming a coach. The top managers have been prepared to make those kinds of sacrifices, but I won't, which effectively means unless I can get a management position in the north-west, it won't happen.
I've also noticed the recent trend (give or take one or two exceptions) that fewer top players become successful managers. All the best modern bosses ended their playing careers reasonably early, or in some cases hardly played at a high standard at all. Rafa Benitez, Gérard Houllier, Arsène Wenger, Jose Mourinho and Alex Ferguson all come into this category. They had longer to study the game and work their way up from small clubs. There's a sense they're living out the dreams as coaches they weren't able to as players. A hunger is there which was never satisfied during their playing careers. And all these great managers have moved their families to another country, in some cases enrolling their children into new schools, in order to fulfil their managerial ambitions. They've gone those extra miles to manage the best clubs in Europe. Chairmen won't be able to look at me and expect the same attitude since they'd struggle to get me out of Merseyside.
If there is one club I will never turn down, naturally it's Liverpool. I wouldn't limit my ambition to managing Liverpool, of course – I'm more realistic than that – but to manage Liverpool would be the ultimate accolade if I follow that route. I've already made a tentative start to my coaching career at Anfield, earning my
UEFA 'B' coaching licence at The Academy, working alongside those who first brought me through the ranks, Dave Shannon and Hugh McAuley. I'm not sure how far it will lead, but at least when I've finished playing the option will be there should any offers come my way. I didn't want to be in a position where if a call came I wouldn't be qualified to consider it. Although I'm committed to Academy football, I wouldn't consider coaching youngsters as an alternative option. I'm driven by the pursuit of honours in the professional game too much. Winning major trophies is what football is all about, and I couldn't stay in the game if that wasn't my prime objective at the end of every season.
The idea of being a future Liverpool manager excites and worries me. On the one hand, what better promotion can there be? Kenny Dalglish proved it was possible to make a successful transition from player to manager, but the fact the pressures took their toll on him serve as a warning. Then you look at the experience of Graeme Souness. Until 1991 he was seen as nothing other than a hero by the Liverpool fans. My dad still claims he's Liverpool's greatest player. Sadly, his reputation was tainted by his period as manager. I'd hate that to happen to me. To have achieved so much for the club, to have contributed to so many medals, and to have that tarnished, even forgotten, because of a series of mistakes during a three-year reign as manager? It doesn't make the job seem so attractive. Would I fall out with my mates on The Kop? They'd be in my ear asking me to sign or sell players, or questioning my decisions or tactics. You can't win every game, so there would inevitably be disagreements.
The fact I'm even thinking so negatively suggests I might talk myself out of the running if I'm ever considered. But, despite all this, there's an exciting reason for me to believe the Liverpool manager's job would be right for me. I happen to think I'd be good at it.
There's been a misconception over many years that I've reached the level I'm at by being a courageous lad who gives 100 per cent, making the most of the good management of others. While it may have been meant well, there's always been more to me than that. Grab most of the lads on The Kop and they'll give you bravery and commitment. That's not enough to play for Liverpool and England. My greatest asset has been the football brain I was lucky enough to be born with.
As a player, I've always thought like a manager. From as far back as I can remember I've understood the language of football – not just what's said, but in my reading of the game. I see where moves are developing a second earlier than some players. The reason I've been able to throw my body in the way of a goalbound shot so often is I've sensed the danger before it arrived. I've never been someone who merely absorbed information on the training pitch like a zombie and just did everything I was told without questioning it. I've taken on board all the positive coaching ideas I've been given by Evans, Moran, Houllier and Benitez and applied them to my own view of how the game should be played. I'm as likely to give instructions to my team-mates as receive them from the boss. I don't need to be told what to do all the time because I've reached a point in my career where I instinctively know what the game is about. I've taken responsibility with my own decision-making on the field. I've had this talent since I was a youngster.
Like any manager, I analyse opponents and consistently assess my own side's strengths and weaknesses. Throughout the season I'm thinking about the players I've decided aren't good enough and should be shipped out, and I'm looking closely for those I feel would add quality to our line-up. I'm forever dropping hints to the manager about players I think should be targets. There have been plenty of times I wish I could have stopped a transfer from happening, or influenced the boss to make a move for a particular player. As manager, I'd have the power to make those decisions, standing and falling by my own judgement. I like that idea.
My press conferences would be entertaining too, although whether this would sit comfortably with those who'd prefer a quiet manager I'm not so sure. Of all the managers I've worked with, I suspect I'd have more in common with Houllier, in that he lost his temper much more than Benitez and Evans. I wouldn't be able to stop myself having a go at someone if they provoked me. I suspect I'd be a cross between a traditional English manager, saying it as it is, and the kind of foreign boss who's had so much influence on my career.
'You never stop learning in football,' Ronnie Moran taught me, and he was sixty-five at the time. I'd take on board modern ideas and ensure I was well informed of any advancements in the game, but I'd go out of my way to be honest and blunt in my assessments of a performance, as I have been as a player. I'm not a fan of the 'coach speak' that has infiltrated our game in recent years. You know what I'm talking about. Sometimes I hear a manager talk and it's like they've swallowed a UEFA 'what to say in press conferences' manual, using big words and phrases they think sound impressive but which are more designed to make them sound intelligent. I'd stand by 'The Liverpool Way' principles of Bill Shankly. He once said, 'Some people try to confuse you with their language. I wouldn't say someone was avaricious, I'd say they were bloody greedy.'
People might ask what kind of football a Jamie Carragher team would play, but I don't believe managers can be categorized in such a way. The players at your disposal must dictate your philosophy. The manager of Manchester United can afford to choose to play any style he wants, recruiting the players to suit his system. Go to the bottom of the League and you'll find managers who'd love to get their side performing like Real Madrid but they don't have players capable of doing so. A good manager is one who can adapt to the resources at his disposal rather than expect his players to do what they can't.
I've already said football teams tend to reflect the personality of the boss, so I'd look to assemble a physically and mentally strong squad that understood the value of keeping possession of the ball. I'd always want two or three flair players in attacking roles, and if there's one commodity every manager agrees is proving as important as any in the modern game, it's pace. Find a player with speed and skill nowadays and you could have a world-beater on your hands.
If you ask me where I'll be in ten years' time, I'd settle for being Liverpool's assistant manager. That seems like a less pressurized role, but influential enough to give advice on where the team needs to improve. I suppose the only problem with that is whether any manager would put up with me telling him what he should do, and whether I'd get frustrated if my boss ignored my ideas. I'm bursting with so many of my own views on the game I'm sure I'd find the temptation to have a go too much to resist.
Fortunately, I've plenty of football left in my legs before I need to make my next series of momentous career choices. I'm not feeling the impact of turning thirty yet, and there are plenty of centre-halves who've gone on to thirty-four or thirty-five at the highest level. But, such are the demands at Liverpool, I can't escape a sense of trepidation when younger defenders arrive, and what that might mean for my role over the next few years. There's another phrase in English football which I can't stand and I'm determined will never be applied to me: 'squad player'. Just saying it sends a shiver down my spine. The day I'm seen as a squad player at Anfield I'll know my time is up. I might feel differently in a few years, but I'm as resolute as ever to play every second of every fixture.
I hate missing games, no matter what the occasion. There have been times I've been rested for Carling Cup matches and even that annoyed me. It hurts me to know there's a game in which I can play but I've not been selected, no matter how reasonable the explanation for my absence. That comes from a lifetime of being accustomed to preparing for each training session with a clear objective in mind. Match day. When it arrives, I expect to be involved. If I'm not, I'm not happy. I can't understand why any professional footballer wouldn't want to be doing his job when the whistle blows.
If I'm rotated more as I get older, no one will be more interested than me in my reaction to featuring in fewer games. I'm not a good substitute and I have no respect for those who've built a reputation at a big club by settling for being bit-part players, filling in when the first choices are
given a rest. There are players who've averaged ten League games a season and described themselves as title winners. You'll see them when you turn on the television on the last day of a season. They're the ones popping the champagne and shoving their way into the centre of the photographs as the trophies are being presented. They talk about their honours lists as if they were central to the success, but their major contribution was usually a last ten minutes here and there and a six-out-of-ten display in a comfortable midweek home victory against Bolton or Wigan. I see such players as winners by association; they've taken a ride on the coat-tails of the great players around them because deep down they know they're not at the same level. If you're only playing around ten games a season, it's a clear hint you're at a club that is beyond your capability and you shouldn't be there.
I have more regard for someone such as Nicky Butt, who was a regular at Manchester United for years before Ferguson brought in more central midfielders. Butt could have stayed to line his pockets with medals, playing a few games here and there. Instead he opted for a fresh challenge at Newcastle where he knew he wasn't going to get the same success. It shows he had pride and would play every week for a club that wasn't competing for the title rather than make a false claim of 'winning' more at Manchester United by sitting on the bench for two thirds of the season.
Carra: My Autobiography Page 38