Football News
Liverpool Red Diary - part 14
by Joel Rookwood [pictured here with Markus Babbel and Dieter Hamman]
Fulham, Vitesse Arnhem, Man U
There's
something about Fulham that seems to bring the worst out in me. Last year
I was that bladdered on the Craven Cottage trip I was forced to spend
two days in bed to recover. This year's encounter against Al Fayed's men
at their temporary home of Loftus Road unfortunately proved to be a case
of deja vu.
We travelled down on the dreaded Barnes coaches for only the second (and hopefully last) time this season, before meeting up with the Liverpool fans in a pub that we subsequently took over, situated just outside the Loftus Road ground. 'You Scousers are f&!$ing cheeky! This is a Fulham pub, and you just took it' a man blurted as we left the bar shortly before kick off. I think he had a point.
The match didn't start well with Liverpool going one down before I'd even got into the ground, a goal courtesy of Facundo Sava. Sean Davis fired a shot that Liverpool 'keeper Jerzy Dudek could only parry into the path of the Argentine marksman, who couldn't miss from close range. Davis himself got on the score sheet with a goal six minutes before the interval. So with Fulham two up, a reversal of the score line in the corresponding fixture last season, Liverpool had to respond. And on the hour we looked like we might stage a come back, with Hamman's first shot in about two hundred years getting us back in the game. And what a free-kick it was - I may have had a skinful, but that's one goal I won't forget in a hurry. [One of the most powerful shots ever seen in the Premier League into the top-right hand corner of the net.]
Our bubble of optimism was short lived however, with Sava restoring Fulham's advantage, firing home from fifteen yards with a little over twenty minutes remaining. A minute later however Goma was granted an early bath for bringing down Michael Owen. Soon after, a Riise cross presented Baros with the opportunity to reduce the Cockney's lead to a single goal, an opportunity he took with aplomb, setting up a frantic finale as a result.
Gerrard and Baros replaced Diao and Babbel in the second half with the latter substitute involved throughout the second period, bringing a couple of good saves from Edwin Van Der Sar in the Fulham goal before getting his goal. Exactly what the Czech international has to do to get a run in the side I don't know.
Fulham however were destined to hold onto a lead I didn't even realise they had. For in my inebriated state I thought Baros' goal had earned the Mighty reds an ill-deserved point. Five minutes after full time, someone pointed out to me that we had been beaten, and needless to say, it did nothing to raise my spirits.
Following the final whistle a bit of banter with Fulham fans went a bit too far and earned me a chat with a few constables. The conversation didn't go too well, as I reacted badly to some insensitive remarks from the Metropolitan police regarding my Hillsborough t-shirt. It was a response that was to earn me a place in a cell for a few hours.
As I entered Shepherd's Bush station, my mate was sitting there handcuffed, having been arrested before the game. So I could feel sorry for myself for my delayed departure back to Liverpool, but at least I saw the game, despite the fact I couldn't remember the score. And as I lay in the nick, I had one of those 'I'm never drinking again' conversations with myself. I'll probably have another one of those in Amsterdam after Thursday's game against Vitesse. Hopefully though, I'll only have my head down a toilet and not lying uneasily on a prison bed at the time.
After being told I was to be charged and banned from all English grounds, as well as having to show up in court the same day I was due to fly to Holland for the UEFA Cup tie with Vitesse Arnhem, I wasn't in the greatest of spirits. But mercifully, a couple of Merseyside policemen, who follow us to most games recognised me and understood the situation, and got me off the charges. So all in all it wasn't the best away day I've ever had, but I escaped with only a caution, and a few more stories for the grand kids, so it wasn't a total disaster.
My friend however, wasn't so lucky, and was ordered to be in court on the same day we were due to fly out for the game in Holland, which meant our group was a man light as we met at Liverpool airport on Thursday morning.
We
caught the flight to Brussels, a route that seems to be coming a feature
of European away days. Now since our opponents from Arnhem decided to
reverse the fixtures, nine of the eleven of us had already booked flights
and time off work, and were subsequently not able to go on the revised
date. So the journey to the Belgian capital was fairly uneventful, with
only two of us travelling, save for a drunken sing along with a couple
of American tourists on the train to Brussels. The train ride to our final
destination of the day, Amsterdam was a little more raucous, though it
remained good-natured throughout.
We spent that evening 'enjoying Amsterdam', weed, women and weird ale, but for me, the former and latter attractions sufficed, no doubt to the relief of my mum. Regrettably we then slept in one of the Dutch capital's 'hostels'. It was like a scene from one of John Lennon's 'Imagine' sessions, though with slightly less nudity. Hoards of long-haired youths from all over the world lying on cushions spread out on the floor, smoking pipes and sipping Guinness through their beards. But we made the most of a slightly crazy situation and smoked the night away with our new-found acquaintances, before swearing to each other never to mention it again.
The
next morning we met with a few Liverpool fans, and went for a brief tour
of Ajax's ground, before heading back into town for a drink or two in
a couple of bars. We sang during the entire train journey to Arnhem, much
to he bemusement of the non-Scouse passengers, fuelled by the consumed
ale and bottle of Bacardi that had been liberated from the overly-expensive
bar we had spent the early part of the afternoon in. We then filed off
the train and into the nearest pub, where Liverpool fans had been gathering
all afternoon.
For the first half hour we stood and watched, as a group of middle-aged Scousers, gave us a rendition of numerous old Liverpool songs. It was an education, I can tell you. We then treated the old timers to a catalogue of more recent Liverpool Anthems, before getting our flags out to match theirs. We had a good laugh, a good drink and a good sing, before these fans bestowed upon me one of the proudest moments of my life. "We've seen it all, been everywhere" one of them said, "Ăbut you are the future." It felt like I'd just been 'made', in the 'Godfather' sense of the word, like all of a sudden I had become a man - Not in relation to anything physical, but a reflection of our status as Liverpool fans.
When this particular singing session reached its conclusion, we moved on to another bar, where the same old faces we see everywhere were enjoying the local hospitality. I recognised a few flags, and looked for the respective makers it's like a club, this banner-designing lark. One of the flags had been put up alongside a bar, effectively shutting it off for business, but no-one seemed to care, with the adjacent bar still open for business. Within ten minutes though, every optic on the bar that had been hidden from view by the banner had been relieved of the attached bottle, and shared round. I ended up drinking a concoction of spirits and fruit cordial out of a champagne bucket. How we got away with it I'll never know.
We swapped scarves with some Vitesse fans before making our way outside, where trouble was brewing. The firms of a few Dutch clubs had been reportedly starting trouble throughout the day in Arnhem, though we saw very little evidence of this. When our group arrived in the neighbouring square, we were joined by the Ajax firm, with the hooligan elements of PSV Eindhoven and Feyernoord seemingly against Liverpool. The Utrecht firm were somewhere in the middle, with Vitesse apparently nowhere to be seen. For an organised meeting, it was all a bit confusing. I was surprised, for the Dutch are renowned for appearing more deliberate in these situations. Thankfully the situation was resolved pretty quickly with no violence, and so we then made our way to the ground on packed buses, experiencing no other trouble, save for a minor altercation outside the ground.
As
a sixteen year-old I had travelled to the Dutch city of Arnhem, and had
seen the Vitesse team train. I sat behind the goal, and watched the soon-to-be
Liverpool star Sander Westerveld kick a ball further than I've ever seen.
Then having been told the team were playing the following night, we went
down to the ground, only to discover that they were playing away from
home. We were devastated not to see the team play. So, unlike most Liverpool
fans, going to see Vitesse Arnhem play was actually a dream come true.
The club has certainly changed however since 1996. A stadium dubbed the most 'futuristic in Europe' has now replaced the aging ground the team used to train alongside. When you're looking for football grounds, keeping an eye out for the floodlights is usually a plan that bares fruition. But this match was effectively played indoors, with the roof closed over the pitch, so no light emanated from the stadium, rendering the unearthing of the ground a slightly difficult task.
As always, tickets for the game were nearly impossible to get hold of in Liverpool, yet there were huge spaces in the away end when we got there. That did mean plenty of room for flags though, so I'm not complaining.
The game itself wasn't a classic. But with only one win in our last four European away games, I craved a victory over a good performance. Thankfully, the travelling Kop weren't to return home disappointed again, despite the less than convincing display that earned Liverpool an advantage to take into the return leg at Anfield.
We took the lead through Owen just before the half hour mark, with the number ten combining well with Milan Baros. Jevris in the Vitesse goal subsequently thwarted several attempts by Owen to double Liverpool's advantage. Smicer, on for the injured Cheryrou was also guilty of missing chances, though apart from his attempts at goal he impressed and argued his case for a place in the starting eleven against Manchester United at the weekend well.
The home side improved after the interval, and whilst they rarely carried any kind of goal threat, they could and should have levelled the game with ten minutes to spare. Rachmed Mustapha hit the post from an unmarked position at the far post, yet when the rebound fell to Kalla Sone some ten yards from goal, his first time shot was not good enough to find the net, left open by a stranded Jerzy Dudek. It was a ridiculously lucky escape.
Had we drawn this game, it would have carried little relevance, as Liverpool will undoubtedly win the second leg at Anfield with considerable ease, so poor are Vitesse. But the win at least served as a morale-boosting exercise for the Liverpool team who are suffering from a lack of self-belief at present. But the manner of the win and the quality of our performance does instil a cause for concern regarding the forthcoming visit of Manchester United at the weekend, a contest I am not looking forward to.
We were aware we couldn't hang around after the game, with a limited number of trains returning back to Amsterdam that evening. So we packed up the flags, which had featured on the TV so I'm told, with one of my acquaintances also managing to liberate a five-metre Vitesse flag that was laid out on the empty seats in our end of the ground. And if you think that was cheeky, the same lad also swapped his scarf with a Vitesse fan, throwing his red scarf over in return for the Vitesse garment, with the recipient considerably vexed when inspecting his new found garment, discovering that he had been given a scarf of the Dutch nemesis that is Ajax FC. He suddenly didn't look so smug in his Manchester United shirt after that little interaction. The phrase 'don't kid a kidder' springs to mind.
That night in Amsterdam was fairly similar to the previous night, with us visiting the same bars and the same hostel. The next morning however, we awoke late and nearly missed the last train to Brussels that could realistically let us catch the connecting train to Charleroi. But our delight at having caught the train at the last minute - launching the conductor out of the way in the process - was short lived, as the irate lady in question subsequently had us removed from the train. What is it with me and European trains on away trips?
So we caught the next train, only too aware that we would have to get a taxi from Brussels for the fifty-minute journey to Charleroi airport if we were to stand any chance of catching our flight back home. The only problem was, we didn't have enough money. In fact, we weren't even close. But we got the cab outside Brussels Midi station anyway, and gave him what we had, plus a little more that fellow Liverpool fans kindly donated at the airport. The taxi driver was an ex-professional footballer, and certainly no idiot, so I didn't like having to blag our way out of that situation. But needs must I'm afraid.
My associate couldn't believe his luck when we arrived at Liverpool John Lennon airport to discover that the team had once again just landed at the same time as us, and were in the luggage collection area. He had paid for his lack of deviousness on returning from Basle and missed the opportunity to meet the players with those of us who did, and was therefore ecstatic to be able to talk to all the players this time round. Personally, I had a 'seen it done it' approach to the situation, but was fortunate enough to meet the one player missing from the flight home from Basle a fortnight earlier. I got a photo with my favourite player Didi Hamman, with his fellow countryman Markus Babbel, and was delighted with what turned out to be another legendary finale to a European away trip.
On Saturday morning I headed down to Anfield in order to help lay out the paper for the mosaic for the following days game against Man United. In the corresponding fixture last season, the Kop spelled out in red and white 'GH', out of respect for our talisman Gerard Houllier, who had been taken ill at Anfield with heart problems a few weeks before. The mosaic this time round read 'This is Anfield' and when it was presented following a deafening rendition of 'You'll never walk alone', every player and supporter just stood and watched for a few seconds, a moment that seemed to this subjective observer to last a lifetime. I was beaming with pride, whilst the travelling supporters from Manchester, London, Berlin, Bangkok, Beijing and God knows where else stood transfixed in the Anfield Road end opposite the Kop, unable to muster up a response.
This
was a game I had been dreading. Liverpool had beaten United in the last
five meetings, a run that had to end somewhere. And had it ended at Old
Trafford, I could have handled it, for it is no disgrace to lose every
now and then in the theatre of commercialism. But to be beaten at Anfield
by the team with delusions of grandeur is unthinkable.
In all honesty though, I feared a defeat at the hands of our neighbours. Manchester United manager Ferguson, in a pre-match press conference, had promised that his side would not go out and attack Liverpool. For once I had hoped that Ferguson's rantings was simply another example of his famous psychological ploys aimed at unsettling opponents. Because if true it would be Liverpool's best chance of getting something out of the game.
And sure enough Ferguson's men were cautious throughout. So much so that the man who sits next to me at the match, a lad with considerable football knowledge, didn't even know Giggs was playing when the stand-in captain received possession on the ball. The only thing was, the comment was made five minutes into the second half. United defended their goal with purpose and commendable resolve, with the front line of Ryan Giggs, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, Ruud van Nistelrooy and Diego Forlan rarely threatening. Solskjaer did put the ball in the net at the Kop end, but the linesman uncharacteristically acted in favour of the home side, and ruled out the goal for offside. I'm sure he'll have written a letter of apology to Sir Alex after the game for this terrible blunder.
United's fans were in typically uncharitable mood, singing 'if it wasn't for the Scousers we could stand'. It was a reaction to a request over the tannoy, asking them to sit down. And for those of you unfamiliar to the politics of the situation, the Mancunian response was a direct reference to the Hillsborough disaster. The bastards.
At half time the game seemed to have nil-nil written all over it, which wouldn't have been a bad result considering our form and performance. A derby game isn't about points; it's about getting one over on your rivals, and more importantly not losing face. Some one should have told that to the Liverpool side Gerard Houllier sent out for the second half. They were a shambles, to say the least.
Houllier admitted after the game that the first goal, should it come, would prove decisive. But the manner of the goal Liverpool conceded in truth killed the home side off as much as the resultant alteration in the score line. On the sixty-five minute mark Jerzy Dudek let a tame headed back pass from Jamie Carragher roll through his legs with the 'prolific' Diego Forlan unable to miss from two yards after pouncing on the error. That must be at least four goals in nine hundred appearances now for the Uruguayan. In typical United style though, having scored one, they threw their adopted cautious approach out of the window, and attacked the Liverpool goal. Their industry was rewarded two minutes later, when Giggs' run and through ball found Forlan, who beat Dudek at his near post. From that moment the game was over.
But it was the way Liverpool responded to the deficit that most vexed the home supporters. Despite our plight, there seemed to be little urgency in our play, as if the players had accepted defeat. Hyypia led a frantic charge in the last ten minutes, as some one must have told the home side they were two goals down. The Liverpool skipper fired home from ten yards after a scramble in the United penalty area. But in truth, Liverpool never looked like getting anything out of the game. Hamman, not for the first time the only Liverpool midfielder to finish the game with any credit, struck an excellent volley late on which was well saved by Bartez. But our inability to break through United's defence made their back four look comfortable, which was perhaps the most annoying aspect of the afternoon. Man United held on and subsequently prevented a sixth straight defeat against their archrivals, but this was only a battle the Mancunians won, albeit deservedly. Mark my words; the victors on this occasion will not win the war.
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The travelling support had the cheek to sing 'two nil in your cup final'. Now Mancunian obsessions with Liverpool's overall dominance of English football grow with every trophy-less season. And there are plenty more of them to come for Alex Ferguson's side if this performance is anything to go by. They deserved something out of this game because we were awful. But make no mistake our cup final will be in Seville in May when we will bring an eighth European trophy through Shankly's gates. And as for league meetings adopting such importance, well look no further than Highbury in four weeks time. For come May they will be the only side who could stand between Liverpool and the Premiership title. Had we beaten the Gunners home and away last season, we would have been Champions. The table doesn't lie - Arsenal and Liverpool are the top two teams in this country, and isolated set backs such as that witnessed on Sunday are an irrelevance in the scheme of things. And whilst the UEFA Cup is a nice distraction, and the game at Arsenal after Christmas is a vital game, if the push for the league title is as tight as it threatens to be, then Stamford Bridge on May 11th could be our cup final this season. Sorry to point this out Manchester, but we just don't care about you.
The views expressed here are those of the author and are not necessarily endorsed by Soccerphile Ltd.