Football News
Liverpool Red Diary - part 19
by Joel Rookwood
Man City, Sheffield Utd & Villa
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With Liverpudlians yet again starved of Saturday football, I found solace in the unlikeliest of places, and although going away with Glentoran of the Irish league wouldn't I'm sure serve as everyone's first choice of destinations for an afternoon's entertainment, it was to prove a memorable adventure. I spent Friday in Belfast, getting a tour of both the touristy and less picturesque sights the city had to offer, before setting off for Glenavon, the host team for the afternoon the following day.
As with the visit to Wrexham a few weeks earlier, I had decided that with this being a European trip, the accumulation of a club scarf was in order. The only scarf on offer however at the dubious looking 'Union Jack' shop featured a picture of Harry Potter with the inscription 'Harry is a Glentoran fan'. But it was better than nothing, so I went with my latest edition to my scarf collection, along with three thousand hearty souls to nearby Glenavon.
Now I've been to see Liverpool at Wimbledon in days gone by when the away support outnumbered the home fans, which is a regular feature at Selhurst Park these days, but when the away fans more than quadruple the attendance, then you know the home side is struggling for support. For this game there can't have been more than a couple of hundred home fans in the somewhat dilapidated ground, seated sporadically around two stands. To make matters worse, the abysmal home support wasn't all there to see the home side, with a group of Portadown fans sat in the end next to ours, having made the trip on account of their game falling victim to the weather on a bitterly cold afternoon.
This 'any football is better than no football' concept was something I felt quite at home with, yet in truth I wouldn't want to spend much more time getting acquainted with any other aspects of Irish fan culture. The rival fans were seated worryingly close to each other, with the Portadown crew waving their red scarves at the Glentoran faithful throughout, and the handful of stewards on duty seemed in no mood to prevent fans from diminishing the gap between them as much as they could. Whilst the situation appeared alien to me coming as I do from a world where a police presence tends to control the fans rather than the fans restraining themselves, at the same time the fans were well behaved and there seemed no real prospect of trouble flaring up.
The match was certainly no classic, in which the away side rose triumphant, recording a one- nil win, seeing them reach the dizzy heights of league leaders. After the final whistle we left the ground in a moderate hurry, as I was eager to catch the radio reports on the day's FA Cup games. Learning that former Evertonian Kevin Ratcliffe's Shrewsbury side had knocked Everton out of the FA Cup third round didn't exactly dampen my spirits, as I thought of every Evertonian I knew who would be leaving the ground disappointed, and awaiting the abuse they were certain to receive that night from fans from the red half of the city. All I needed now to complete the weekend was a win at Manchester City to take us through to the fourth round.
We arrived at Maine Road the next morning with a point to prove, and with
our league form worryingly poor, the five and a half thousand Scousers who
made the trip down the M62 could only hope we could put our dismal Premiership
form to one side and brush Kevin Keegan's team aside.
It proved a tight encounter, with City's only real attacking threat
coming predictably in the shape of former Liverpool player Nicolas Anelka,
who as with the last meeting between the two sides looked desperate to get
on the score sheet and prove a point to the Liverpool management team who
passed up the opportunity to sign him on a permanent contract after his
loan deal with the club from Paris SG last season. But fortunately the French
hit man was fairly ineffective, only calling on the Liverpool defence to
intervene and prevent him grabbing the headlines on a couple of occasions.
Liverpool dominated a fairly scrappy first half, which saw few clear-cut chances created by either side. The travelling Kop were in excellent voice, no doubt spurring the away side on to the victory they eventually secured. Neil Mellor and Vladimir Smicer went close to opening the scoring, but Houllier had to wait until early in the second half to see his side secure an advantage. A penalty won by Smicer and converted by Murphy saw Liverpool take the decisive lead, after Foe's hand connected with the cross from the Czech midfielder.
In this most turbulent of periods for Liverpool and our manager this served
as a 'massive win', as Houllier himself conceded after the game.
Diao had been poor against Newcastle, but here, he and his fellow countryman
Diouf were bright and industrious throughout. Murphy and particularly Gerrard
orchestrated proceedings in midfield, and overall it was a good team performance,
in a game we knew we had to win. 'Solidarity, harmony and togetherness'
was Houllier's assessment of the performance, and he was probably
right. But we knew City were poor and would present no real threat. In truth
all we had to do was score and then keep it tight, as the home side looked
disjointed and disorganised. This was no vintage Liverpool performance,
but we bettered City in every department and deserved to win the game.
This was undoubtedly a welcome victory, but the highlight of the day had
to be a repeat of the song that could be heard just about wherever Liverpool
played for the back end of the recent treble winning season of 2001, 'Tell
me ma, me ma, to put the champagne on ice. We're going to Cardiff
twice, tell me ma, me ma.' With a favourable draw against first division
Crystal Palace in the fourth round of the FA Cup, and only Sheffield United
standing between us and a place in the Worthington Cup final, who's
to say that prediction won't once again become a reality? One thing's
for sure though - that song will continue to get sung at every game until
either the dream is once again realised, or that situation becomes an impossibility.
I can only hope we're still singing it come May.
With victory secured in one cup, we could turn our attentions to our next fixture, namely Sheffield United in the Worthington Cup semi-final. Despite the trouble that followed our last trip to Maine Road, there was thankfully no repeat this time around. However I warned our group that the following game at Bramall Lane on Tuesday was unlikely to pass quite so smoothly.
We arrived in Sheffield by car and parked well away from the stadium, getting to the ground shortly before kick off to hear reports of trouble that had already kicked off between rival fans. The Sheffield United firm are renowned for their hooligan antics, and I expected trouble. After hearing friends' accounts of what had transpired that evening, I was quietly relieved we got stuck in traffic on the way in, subsequently delaying our arrival. The area surrounding the ground certainly wasn't the type of venue where singing contests were welcomed, with the word 'batter' proving more relevant for the occasion than 'banter'. I heard reports of ordinary away fans (as opposed to those intent on causing trouble) being approached by locals and asked how many were in the group and whether they 'fancied a fifteen on fifteen outside the pub'. Welcome to the first division.
But once we had entered the ground thoughts of violence had long since departed, as we concentrated on the task in hand, namely securing our fifth trip to Cardiff in two years. But the home side were clearly in the mood to spoil the party. The announcer got the Blades' fans going with elaborate descriptions of their players when reading out the team list, encouraging cheers from the Sheffield crowd. This was their biggest game for years and they were clearly determined to enjoy it.
And with Sheffield United riding high in the first division and Liverpool struggling in the Premiership, in truth this had all the makings of an upset. The tackles were ferocious and occasional a little too enthusiastic, but neither side really bossed the other in the opening period of the game. However by half time Liverpool were certainly on top having established superiority in the game, thanks in no small part to a goal from Neil Mellor, who started again for the visitors. Asaba and Mellor both had chances before the latter redirected a flicked on cross from Murphy goalwards on thirty-four minutes, with only that solitary goal separating the two sides as half time approached.
At the interval the Scousers seemed in buoyant mood, satisfied with the performance and confident the job would be completed in the second half. But at the same time with Liverpool often shaky after securing a slim advantage, few would have bet against the home side finding an equaliser. And it was Tonge, a player that Houllier has publicly declared interest in, who grabbed the headlines. Midway through the second half, the youngster picked up the ball after good work from McCall and slid the ball home past Kirkland in front of the Liverpool fans. The fairly tale was set to continue for the home side moments later, as the same player received the ball on the edge of the box, before an impressive turn and shot through a crowd of Liverpool players and passed the helpless Kirkland.
The Sheffield crowd cheered the first goal, but went absolutely ballistic when Tonge's second hit the back of the net, with Bramall Lane, or the twenty-six thousand home fans anyway enjoying their moment of glory. The home fans clearly delighted in singing a song that no doubt features whenever the Blades play but one they took endless pleasure from singing on this occasion - 'are you Wednesday in disguise?!' We were left embarrassed and dejected.
After the game Phil Thompson is said to have left United boss Neil Warnock in no doubt of the reception he and his team are likely to receive at Anfield for the return leg in a fortnight's time. 'Just wait 'til we get you back to our place!' was the censored version of the conversation. And after what transpired outside the ground after the game, I doubt Thompson was alone in uttering those words to Sheffield folk, as the prospect of trouble returned.
The home fans taunted the travelling support in the second half with the familiar terrace chant, 'you're gonna get your f!*&ing head kicked in' to which Liverpool responded in kind with several songs depicting violence. But the time for prophesying trouble was about to be tested as the mood darkened outside the ground./
After every away game is over, regardless of the venue or result I always try to identify the whereabouts of our firm, in case trouble is brewing outside the ground. But I was so disheartened with the result that it completely slipped my mind to look for members of our firm. Instead, after our group had met at the pre-arranged rendezvous point, we set off immediately in the direction of the car. No sooner had we crossed the police barrier, we became quickly aware of how grave the situation facing us was. One of the lads cheekily mentioned the possibility of going for a drink in a pub by the ground, a conversation intercepted by a local who invited us to go for a 'drink' with him. It probably wasn't wise of my friend to jokingly accept the offer, and we were lucky to escape that little altercation unscathed.
But our luck wasn't to last, as within thirty seconds the next incident occurred. A local girl walking with her boyfriend, commented on our accents and asked us how it felt to have been beaten by two goals to nil. Cue my friend, who once again responded not in the most sensible manner, by informing her that the game finished 2-1, not 2-0, before advising her to return home on account of the fact that she 'didn't even know the offside rule.' With the majority of Liverpool fans still by the ground, or having poured onto coaches or cars, we were virtually alone as we walked the streets, totally unsure of our route back to the car, and trouble seemed inevitable.
This charming and hospitable girl and her boyfriend filed off into a nearby pub where the inhabitants were soon informed that Scousers were 'on the loose', as our route was soon to become enforced by a chasing pack. Moments after our conversation with the couple, we heard a large roar, and on turning round realised that thirty or so men in Burberry scarves and caps were giving chase. After a brief conversation about my choice of attire with one fan that preceded this Scouse hunt, I was not over enamoured to hear the words 'get the one in the white tracksuit.' I was the only person in the vicinity and no doubt the entire city to be dressed in white from head to toe that evening, and the shout probably helped to provide the adrenaline which saw me run three or four miles before giving the call to the group to walk.
I had warned the group I was travelling with of the possible dangers, yet
had failed to take notice of my own warning. The stereotypical Scouse
look I chose to sport I'm sure contributed to the trouble I subsequently
found myself in, but I'm proud to be a Liverpudlian and am not keen on
hiding my identity. It's just that sometimes it gets you into trouble.
As we ran rival fans walking in the opposite direction, or appearing from
nowhere out of side streets attempted to trip us up or just kick us, a ploy
which proved successful on a number of occasions. But the majority of the
group managed to escape before some how finding our way back to the car.
Two members of the group has selected an alternative assault course however,
and required a ride in a police van, which they were lucky to get to get
them back to the car.
The problem with this city for us is its unfamiliarity. Sheffield doesn't
have a top-flight side, so our visits to that part of Yorkshire are very
much limited. Because we had never been there, none of us knew where to
go, and perhaps more importantly where not to go. Therefore the police who
picked up the two estranged fans from our group, where not surprisingly
amazed to find them still in one piece, after they had wandered into what
is supposedly 'the most dangerous street in Sheffield'.
With it being an ambition of mine to see a match at all but one of the ninety-two
English grounds before my thirtieth birthday, I was happy to get Sheffield
United out of the way this season. And it was our intention to briefly pay
neighbours Sheffield Wednesday, the ninety-second club a visit after the
game. I had never been there pre-1989, with the annual trip boycotted by
Liverpudlians when Wednesday were in the top flight, following the irresponsible
and monstrous actions of the South Yorkshire police and the injustice surrounding
the Hillsborough disaster in 1989, and have no intentions to go now. I had
meant to go to the ground after the game though, not to cross it off the
list, but to pay my personal respects to the ninety-six deceased fans. But
after the night we had experienced, all I wanted to do was to return to
Liverpool.
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We had been beaten on the pitch and in the streets, with our pride and our legs damaged, but a little wiser, and after all that running no doubt a little fitter. The Yorkshiremen enjoyed there evening and rightly so, as opportunities to celebrate such famous victories are few and far between for Blades' fans. I can only hope they enjoy the thirteen days that follow this game, because some heart break is in store when the first division outfit visit Anfield a week on Wednesday for the return leg, of that I have no doubt. They have won this battle, but are sure to be disappointed in the war.
So with Liverpudlians seeing their side subjected to their ninth defeat of the season, we desperately needed to get back to winning ways at home to Aston Villa at the weekend, with the league programme restored following two outings in the cups. After winning twice already this season at Villa Park, and with the Midlanders experiencing indifferent form of late, we were hopeful this could finally be the day that saw Liverpool's run of over a thousand minutes of league football without a win come to an end.
For a friend of mine, who's opinion on football I respect (which doesn't mean to say I have any time for his views on Liverpool) this was his first Liverpool game of the season, and he wasn't shy about communicating his disgust at what he saw after the game. But our performance in my opinion wasn't that bad. But in order to understand something's worth you must appreciate it in relation to its bipolar - to appreciate what is conceived to be good football you must first experience bad football. And what I attempted to explain to my mate is that we performed quite well against Aston Villa, relative to certain recent outings in the league. If I am honest, we weren't exactly great against Graham Taylor's side, but we've been so poor in recent weeks notably against Newcastle, Sunderland and Middlesborough, that I was not too down-hearted with the way we played at the weekend.
Whilst the home side looked short of quality and invention, they could not be faulted for their application. And the hard work was rewarded seven minutes before the interval when Michael Owen's sweetly struck effort gave Liverpool the lead. Mellor and Riise also came close to getting on the score sheet, with Hendrie and Dublin a threat for Villa, yet it was only the single goal that separated the two sides at the break.
Villa were sharp out of the blocks in the second half, almost drawing level through Ian Taylor before Hyypia's foul on Gareth Barry earned the Midlanders a penalty which on-form Dion Dublin duly dispatched. We consoled ourselves in the fact that the equalising goal had come early in the second period, and that there was still plenty of time to regain the lead. But whilst we endeavoured to secure all three points, with efforts from Murphy, Owen and Heskey, it soon became apparent that our long wait for a league win will have to wait at least until Southampton next weekend. It's now five points from a possible thirty-three, but still I refuse to be disheartened. A bad run of form such as this is what makes a football fan. I tell myself its part of my education. But I think my development programme has gone on long enough. I just want to see us get three points now, and Southampton away serves as a good a place as any to stop the rot.
The views expressed here are those of the author and are not necessarily endorsed by Soccerphile Ltd.