Liverpool FC - Euro Red Diary 9

by Joel Rookwood

One last Venture to South Wales – 24 March 2005

In my twenty-one years watching Liverpool Football Club, there have been better days than the current season or two has offered.

The destination of the league title was once a toss up between ourselves and (believe it or not) city rivals Everton, yet has now evaded us for fourteen years. We’ve had to settle instead for success in cup competitions of late, and this year, our annual trip to Cardiff couldn’t even see the largely meaningless League Cup brought back to Anfield.

Instead the victors in last Sunday’s final were Chelsea, who doubtless drove home to London after their win in silence, complete with their ‘worst fans in Europe’ title. The Monco of England indeed they are. All money, no heart.

This final was an occasion where once again Liverpool fans were the antithesis to their London rivals, taking over Cardiff for the entire weekend, on what was our last visit to the fine Welsh Capital.

If we had our way, the new Wembley, set for completion in time for next year’s final, would never have been rebuilt - for there’s a mutual admiration between Cardiff and Liverpool. Still, as we bid South Wales a fond farewell (with the exception of the Jacks who we ignore, with their England flag waving tendencies), we vow to make the new home of English football our own in the coming seasons.

Our particular group, in contrast no doubt to the lifeless Londoners, travelled south in style for the game. We met at 3am outside a dark Liverpool pub where we waited for the vehicle of choice to arrive.

Once it had arrived, we clambered in and drank (etc) the morning away, singing ‘the wheels on the Limo go round and round’, terrorising the nation for the duration of the journey. Before long, the whole of Wales would soon be aware of our all-singing, all-dancing antics.

We arrived in Cardiff midmorning, and went straight to the ground, setting up camp in our regular spot outside the City Arms pub.

There we kicked football after football after football around, with each being confiscated by the police, that was until the number of balls became a little over powering, and the boys in blue had to give up and settle instead for the role of helpless onlooker. Other highlights of the morning included seeing a Chelsea scarf stall uprooted, with merchandise of a blue variety flung around by hoards of tracksuited scallies.

A few were even tied to lampposts, signalling the commencement of a burning ritual, for no other apparent reason than it seemed like a good laugh. West Ham fans would have been in their element. Of course such antics would be deemed by some as acts of hooliganism, proof once again that Liverpudlians couldn’t behave.

Though as Ricky Tomlinson would say, ‘what a load off me arse’. Not a single arrest of a Scouser on the day would testify as much too. This was just Liverpudlians doing what we do best - having a laugh at the expense of those who possess neither the wit or the imagination to respond. And the Cardiff lads who had joined us were clearly in agreement.

Moments later the unique nature of our people was once again highlighted when a huge framed picture of Liverpool manager Rafa Benitez started touring the city, held aloft by a couple of supporters. With Liverpool supporters climbing over one another just to touch the picture, it felt more like a scene from an extremist Middle Eastern country, expressing their love for their nation’s leader, as oppose to a load of Scousers having a laugh showing respect to their manager.

The man in question has had a start to his Liverpool career that would be described as falling on the poor side of indifferent, and yet he is idolised more than Wenger, Fergie, and Mourinho put together. The clambering rush to touch the picture, left me a clear view of a number of new Liverpool flags that were displayed on the wall behind us. One mocked the multi-millionaire Chelsea owner Roman Abramovich with the words, “Roman’s Taxes my giro”, another was a huge Che Guevara-like picture of the head of our best player Jamie Carragher, with a further banner stating with apt simplicity “JC - There is a name above all others”.

Most of us spent the remainder of the morning greeting recognised faces, from Childwall to Oslo drinking the day away with the celebratory pose of a fanbase who had just seen their team crowned champions of Europe. Lost in a sea of hysteria, we were soon made aware that there was a cup final on the horizon, and with kick off looming, we made our way into the ground.

I was sat on the same row as Liverpool legends four time European cup winner Phil Neal and local hero David Fairclough, both of whom were more than happy to shake my hand.

With John Arne Riise opening the scoring inside two minutes, the festivities looked set to continue in the stadium, which was a cacophony of noise, as an explosion of red from all corners of the city that clings to the Mersey became one.

The team held out valiantly, until a late own goal from our captain saw Chelsea take the tie into extra time. From then on Liverpool, without the gifted Xavi Alonso appeared short of inspiration, and looked set to leave disappointed. Indeed the thirty-minute period that followed saw two more efforts force their way past Dudek in the Liverpool goal, rendering a late strike from the joke that is Tony Nunez merely consolatory.

With Chelsea the runaway leaders in the league, it was not an unexpected result, and Liverpool had pushed the Londoners as far as they could. We clapped our team off the pitch at the end, proud of their attempts to see yet another trophy hauled into the Liverpool cabinet.

Alas, we may have to wait until May for a trophy to come our way, which is sure to be of a slightly bigger variety. And as the sixteen of us clambered back into the hummer for the final long ride home from Cardiff, the European Cup was the main topic of conversation. The Scousers were down, but never out. We’re all going on a European tour.

Joel Rookwood

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