25
Sept 02Last episode
Liverpool Red Diary - part 6
Joel Rookwood
The alarm clock went at 5.00am, as we clambered out of bed, threw our Lacoste tracksuits on our backs, an ale-based breakfast down our necks a Paul and Shark cap on our heads, and set off for the Liverpool John Lennon airport to catch our flight to Valencia. The airport was eerily quiet, and didn't have the same buzz that normally accompanies away trips in Europe. We could only hope more Liverpudlians had already made their way to Spain.
Upon our arrival in Valencia we made straight for the city centre in search of a suitable venue to set up camp for the afternoon. As soon as we set our eyes on Finnegan's Irish bar, with palm trees outside and a grass area to kick a footy, we knew our search was over. Apparently this was the bar Celtic took over when they visited Valencia in November of last year. We tied my three flags to the palm trees, and then drank and played football all afternoon, our skills decreasing rapidly with each pint, costing us a small fortune replacing spilt drinks.
We used the time to befriend the locals, particularly a longhaired Valencia Ultra named Freddie, who was only too keen to express his dislike for Real Madrid, Barcelona and the Spanish national team, which was in stark contrast to his love of all things Valencia. He was moderately impressed with the t-shirt I had designed which had made its debut at the Nou Camp last season and read "Somos el Kopites Famoso" - We are the famous Kopites. Outside the bar some Liverpudlians studying Spanish in the city were able to translate the views of the unspoken and lets face it slightly nuts Spaniard, and we swapped scarves, and no doubt countless stories. I'll be looking out for him at Anfield when Valencia come to Liverpool.
There were also a large number of Irish Liverpool fans in the vicinity, unsurprising given that we were in an Irish bar, and they were appreciative of the vocal performance we gave that afternoon. It was the Heswall contingent that started the singing outside that lively Irish bar, under brilliant sunshine that had contributed as much as the copious amounts of ale consumed to our slightly drunken state. The festivities continued until we left for the ground some three hours later.
The
skies opened as we left the bar, and we got drenched and hopelessly lost
attempting to locate our pick up point to get a lift to the ground, instead
opting for a taxi ride. Our driver was only too happy for us to have the
windows down and sing Liverpool songs to the passing pedestrians. No one
was in any doubt that Liverpool were in town.
The atmosphere around the Mestalla stadium was infinitely livelier than what we had experienced that afternoon, as crowds of Liverpudlians poured out of the woodwork, having obviously been based in other parts of the city that afternoon. So we made the most of the gathering, and joined the singing masses and talking to Valencia fans until it was time to enter the stadium.
We put the three flags up in different areas of the Liverpool end of the ground, as the cameras love avoiding my banners. We were deeply unimpressed with the selection of St George cross banners that were brought by the Spanish based English fans, many of whom did not even support Liverpool. Those 'foreigners' that did claim to be Liverpool fans clearly weren't familiar with the 'keep flags Scouse' campaign that bans the display of anything English, but instead promotes the exhibition of the unique Liverpudlian mentality.
The Liverpool section saw proper Liverpool fans diluted with part time supporters due to the extensive non-local representation, and the lack of segregation between the two types of supporter rendered the generation of any kind of noise a near impossible task. The resultant appalling atmosphere was arguably more humiliating than our first half performance.
The game itself was an embarrassment. Our reshuffled defence looked short of confidence, and looked like a unit destined to concede goals. The midfield provided little protection for the back four - it was over run and looked lacklustre. And as an attacking force we were abysmal. The inform Baros, fresh from destroying Bolton at the weekend was awarded merely a place on the bench, as was proven big game player, and the one Valencia really feared, Michael Owen. Meanwhile the slightly unsettled Diouf was granted a place in the starting line up alongside Heskey.
We were mystified as to why, with the team conceding goals left right and centre to mediocre opposition we didn't adopt a more defensive approach when faced with the champions of Spain, opting for a loan striker and packing the midfield. But Houllier who warned an attacking approach would be taken played two up front and paid the price. We were two nil down by half time and in truth it could have been worse.
During half time, many fans were calling for us to go at them, but had we exposed our defence any more we would have ended up getting trounced. The game was by that point already lost, and while it is no disgrace to lose in Valencia, to have the deficit compounded would have resulted in a further dent to our collective confidence. The second half however was certainly more satisfying and saw Liverpool produce a far more solid display.
The
reaction to the performance by the media was even more farcical than the
performance, with the media claiming Houllier had proven himself to be
tactically naive. Those critics probably only saw the highlights on the
late night news. My undergraduate degree was in Football Science, for
which my dissertation was an exploration of Houllier's tactical approach
to games over the last two seasons. I can remember disagreeing with him
only once - in Leverkusen last season. Again tactically he got it wrong
on Tuesday, but aside from that, every Valencia player was outstanding,
whilst only three Liverpool players could leave Spain with any pride in
their performance. One of those players was Jerzy Dudek, and the Polish
international goalkeeper admitted the following day that, "We played like
girls." Houllier's record in Europe speaks for itself, and those who judge
a side based on one performance are fickle idiots, notably the various
sections of the media who are merely concerned with communicating the
type of sensationalised version of events that sells newspapers.
It's only our second season back in Europe's premier competition. We are a developing side currently short of confidence who travelled to the Champions of the best league in the world. We were outplayed by our quite simply brilliant hosts and did well to come home with only a 2-0 defeat. We're second in our domestic league, and will qualify out of our group in the Champions League, regardless of our poor form. Those who think our season is over should be reminded of Leeds' opening fixture in this competition two years ago. A four nil defeat in Barcelona no doubt had the same critics claiming they would never recover. I'd settle this season for the semi-final place that Leeds subsequently secured.
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But after the splendour of Rome, the glory of Dortmund, the boredom of Barcelona, and the heartache of Leverkusen, it's been a long time since I've seen Liverpool embarrassed away from home in Europe. But on Tuesday, we were humiliated. Danny Murphy admitted after the game that the team 'let the fans down', and he had a point. Thankfully though, under UEFA's current ruling, Murphy and his Liverpool teammates still have five chances to rectify the situation, starting with Basle (which I refuse to pronounce Bail) at Anfield next Wednesday. Talking of which, I've got to get on the Internet to organise travel arrangements for our group's trip to northern Switzerland for the return in November.