Champions League 2006 -7 - Euro Red Diary 24

by Joel Rookwood

PSV Eindhoven V Liverpool: UEFA Champions League Quarter-Final

You know you’ve re-emerged as a genuine European superpower, when, from the commencement of the first leg to the conclusion of the second, a Champions League quarter-final proves to be nothing more than a formality.

With only a single European Cup triumph to boast of, and that coming during the five-year ban on English clubs following the Heysel disaster in 1985, PSV Eindhoven were never going to seriously threaten Liverpool’s progression to the penultimate hurdle in the pursuit of this year’s European crown.

The Dutch champions may have overcome last year’s losing finalists Arsenal in the previous round, but they were never going to be any match for Benitez and five times winners Liverpool.

The first leg was played in Holland, and in keeping with the perceived (in)significance of the tie, the approach to the passage into central Europe was similarly functional, from the perspective of some travelling fans. As this admission suggests, I was one such supporter, whose journey was more efficient than extraordinary.

Half of dozen of us caught the early evening flight from Liverpool John Lennon airport to Amsterdam. However, gone are the days it would seem, of week-long treks across the continent to watch the mighty reds. We didn’t leave until the day of the game.

In fact, the plane didn’t takeoff until four hours before kick off, with the ever efficient Dutch rail network charged with transporting us the remaining ninety miles to Eindhoven. We allowed for only two hours for the secondary portion of the journey, and the fact we had to undertake an extended jog-cum-sprint for much of the time in between flight and train, revealed the truth of our unsubstantiated confidence at making it to the ground in time for kick off.

As soon as the train had pulled into our final destination, we poured out and made for the taxi rank outside. Our accommodating driver, who came of course, complete with the inevitable embarrassingly impressive grasp of the English language, wasted little time in ferrying us the short distance from the city centre to the stadium.

As we parted company minutes later, he apologized for what he perceived to be his linguistic inadequacy, and with kick off looming, we responded gratefully with some Scouse phraseology that would barely recognised as English, naively thinking that we had reached the ground in the nick of time.

The Dutch stadium officials evidently had alternative plans however, as they had opened only two turnstiles, resulting in a large backlog of human traffic outside the away section. Although not everyone in the queue took kindly to the congestion, the delay was not to prove too severe despite this mismanagement.

As soon as we had gained entry into the ground, we piled into the end reserved for visiting supporters, which was by this time in jubilant voice; and unsurprisingly so, given that club captain Ste Gerrard had just fired the visitors head.

A headed goal from Crouch and a superb strike from John Arne Riise were added to the game’s only significant quantitative statistic, killing the tie off well before the referee blew to signal the end of the first leg. The away support didn’t wait for official confirmation of the win however, to ensure the Phillips stadium was rocking to the sound of the Liverpool beat. We had already seen our team play in that same ground in the earlier stages of this somewhat up-and-down campaign, in which we again appear destined to rely on a single tournament to supply any kind of significance.

As the contest was drawing to a conclusion, I overheard a few supporters laughing as they located the place in which they had scribed the words ‘Five Times’ on one of the interior walls during their last visit in September. There was a warming familiarity to the occasion for those of us who had been there for the second time of asking, which was not only represented in the location in which our team had secured another victory, but also in the stage at which we had done so. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Liverpool are back.

I had cheekily sneaked out of work an hour early on the day of the game, and was sat back in my university office before the following morning’s hour had reached double figures. And no-one in the building was any of the wiser. I overheard a few colleagues discussing the previous night’s football action, and, just as if I had learned the score on the radio on the way into work, I simply nodded in almost non-committal agreement, leaving them to wax lyrical about the football Benitez’ side were capable of producing on the European stage. Having not been to sleep the night before, I may not have been the most productive member of staff on campus that day, but when I crawled into my bed that night, I couldn’t help but find myself dreaming of another final.

The return leg at Anfield against Ronald Koeman’s side was clearly meaningless. In fact, it served only as another chance to exact revenge against the Dutchman for masterminding our European exit last season, when our run came to a premature end against his former club, Portuguese giants Benfica.

With Chelsea set to be our semi-final opponents for a third consecutive season (they lost the previous two), and with the London side having never reached the final round of the competition, history, it would seem, favours Liverpool. Of far more pressing concern however, is the detail of our immediate future in the famous old competition. All together now: Allez Allez, Athens, Greece in May…

Joel Rookwood

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