by Joel Rookwood
In this most tumultuous of seasons, you couldn't help but express concerns over the fact that the prospect of playing Bolton at home in the league actually presented cause for concern. With the Lancastrians looking destined for the first division next season, they shouldn't really have worried us, but I wonder how many Liverpool fans poured through the turnstiles last Saturday afternoon confident of a resounding victory against Sam Allardyce's side?
Since Bolton were promoted to the heavy heights of the Premier League, we haven't exactly wiped the floor with them, as memories of disappointing encounters come flooding back. But thankfully Saturday was slightly more convincing, with 'slightly' serving as the operative word, as we secured our second consecutive 2-0 win.
If anyone questions why we feared the worse for this game then I could point to our first half 'shots on goal' statistics to justify the doubt. There was yet to be an addition to that column with thirty minutes on the clock. This was Bolton at Anfield for God's sake. I went to university with the Prozone match analyst at Liverpool and I'm sure he'd be have been more than happy with the lack of work he had to do as a result of our uninventive attacking play. It's a good job Bolton were even worse.
But despite our slow start, it wasn't long before our savour Michael Owen came to our rescue once again, after a mazy run, he took on two defenders before squaring the ball for Diouf, who couldn't miss from close range as the interval loomed. The Senegalese hit man returned the compliment twenty minutes into the second half, supplying the pass for Owen to get his name on the score sheet, and deservedly so, as the Kop breathed a huge sigh of collective relief. Michael's fourth goal in as many games effectively killed the game, and while it wasn't pretty (is it ever?), the three points were as welcome as they'll ever be as we continue our mission to grab that coveted fourth spot.
No way back in 2002, I remember eating my Christmas dinner, unable to rid myself of the horrible feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when Everton are above you in the league. You can't quite relax when your local rivals are looking down on you, but I got through that meal telling myself that it wouldn't be long before we restored some pride and overtook the Toffees. Two and a half months on, and they're still above us in the league, and we are running out of time to catch them. But I believe that ultimately we will, and so while the Bolton encounter was not to most people the most memorable of victories, it did serve as our first league victory at home in the league since November, and one can only hope this will be the start of the rebuilding process.
But the hard work has only just begun. If we progress in the UEFA Cup, it can't diminish the importance of finishing fourth in the league and qualifying for the Champions League. My heart wants a UEFA Cup win, but my head would prefer to see us in Europe's premier competition next year, which would help us attract one or two new faces and provide us with the finances to see them become Liverpool players.
In midweek we took a break from the pressures of watching Liverpool, and headed for Bury to see their U19s take on their Wigan counterparts in the semi final of the North West cup. A friend of ours captains the Wigan side, and a few of the lads went to support him and a few other Liverpool lads in their quest for a place in the final.
On arriving at Gigg Lane, we weren't really in the mood to pay the entrance fee of £3 person, having shelled out a ridiculous 40p each on the bus from Manchester. So one member of our group went into the reception and asked for his complimentary ticket. He knew full well that the name he gave in would not be on their records for those shareholders who had reserved a ticket, but when the lady behind the desk flicked through the list of people who had, she thankfully did so at a slow enough speed to allow for our friend to memorise a name that was on the list.
So when the next member of the group went in and asked for his ticket under the revealed name, who for all we know could have been the Chairman, we were slightly disappointed to discover that the envelope she gave out contained only one ticket. So, excepting of our defeat, in a bid to enter the ground in a semi-legal manner, the other three of us simply jumped the wall.
After a fairly dismal first half, played in bitterly cold conditions, we decided to continue to practice our mounting skills, as we sneaked over a fence into the area reserved for executives. This granted us free food and drink in a warm bar down stairs, where we could watch Manchester United on the TV, and dish out abuse to our hearts content.
It was from this bar that we saw our friend battling it out on the pitch outside receive his second yellow card, with the second half only a minute old. Within ten minutes his Wigan side were down to nine men, with another unfortunate player sent from the field. By this time, we had regained our seats and were freely offering our opinions of the evening's events to the referee, before being invited to vacate the executive area, a request with which we were happy to oblige. Not that you'll care, but Wigan held out and endured half an hours extra time to force the game into a penalty shoot-out, which Wigan won.
As we arrived back at Manchester Victoria train station, on learning that our train was not due for almost an hour, we went upstairs to the MEN arena, where we managed to sneak in to see the Red Hot Chilli Peppers perform the last few songs of what I'm told was a pretty good concert. It was a decent way to end a night of grafting in Manchester, before we boarded the train home to Lime Street.
I awoke the next morning slightly hung over, but more than a little excited about what was to take place that day. For the day we were to play Celtic in Glasgow had finally arrived.
It was a strange game to go to this. Sufficiently far from the English border to make it feel distinct from league football, and yet not enough water was crossed to make it seem quite like a European trip. But it would prove a memorable day nevertheless.
We arrived in Glasgow soon after midday following a fairly painless coach journey. None of the group had gone to Celtic last time we played them seven years earlier, and we didn't really know what kind of reception to expect. But any fears we had were soon banished as it became apparent that Glasgow is a city much like our own. Tough but friendly, populated by football-mad people who like a good drink, a good laugh and a good sing. And we felt at home right away.
What was immediately apparent from walking around the city was that many bars were separated in terms of whether they catered for Rangers fans or Celtic supporters. And when in the Rangers bars, the inhabitants were only too willing to wish us good luck, and in the Irish pubs the punters decked in green from head to toe appeared almost more eager to befriend us. It was a great atmosphere in an around the bars, and set us up for what was to be a thoroughly enjoyable evening.
Having drank and sung our hearts out all day, we continued such animated behaviour whilst travelling to the ground, much to the amusement of passing locals, many of whom we stopped to talk to. Though being called 'English scum' by a group of drunken post middle-aged women sporting green wigs and pompoms was not the highlight of the evening. As we approached the ground, after getting over the disappointment of not being able to take our flags into the ground, we entered fortress Celtic, and walked up the steps to find a place to stand. No-one made use of their seats, other than to stand on when the person in front was obscuring the view. It was a caldron of noise inside Celtic Park that night, and was one of the best atmospheres I've ever experienced when watching Liverpool play.
Undoubtedly the most profound and eagerly awaited moment of the night though occurred just before kick off, when both sets of fans joined in singing the anthem shared by both clubs. 'You'll Never Walk Alone' could be heard booming out by every man women and child present, and everyone lucky enough to be present was I'm sure almost deafened by the noise. Gerry Marsden attempted to lead the singing but as whenever dear old Gerry gets involved, the Kop (in this case the travelling Kop), found their own rhythm in conjunction with our Scottish hosts. It was a flawless performance from the gathered masses, which clearly meant a great deal to both sets of supporters - something we'll all be telling our grandchildren about.
But in the midst of this incredibly moving recital, I couldn't help feel a tinge of sadness as I looked around the ground. Celtic Park was a mass of green and white, with just about every supporter of the Scottish Champions sporting the team colours. It was like a scene from the Kop in the old days, as fans stood together with scarves held high, singing with heartfelt passion.
And it was this ultimate devotion to the club colours that drove my jealousy. For English football has lost that childish innocence, and has been polluted with the 'no colours' attitude. This used to be just associated with hooligan 'firms', but the trend is growing rapidly. So the relatively pitiful collection of Liverpool scarves held aloft during the singing of that great song, made me envious of those who follow the Glaswegians. What I wouldn't give to stand in a swaying mass of colour every week at the match.
But the really sad thing is that although I had a scarf on for that game, had it been an all-English affair, I would have worn nothing save for a small pin badge to illustrate club loyalty. For I too have become a part of this mentality. It seems I'd rather be considered a Liverpudlian and not wear the club shirt, than put my lucky strip on and be thought of as an out-of-towner, fresh from the club mega store. What is more, I don't even own a club shirt, never mind a lucky one. But before I go further from the point, I suppose I'd better stop myself in my tacks and consider the events that occurred that night on the pitch.
With the home fans spurred on by this memorable start to the evening, and keen to outdo their visitors in the singing stakes, Celtic Park was electric for the opening period, and I feared we wouldn't be heard at all amongst the blaring racket. Hartson hitting the bar after fifteen seconds did little to silence the home support, and when Larson opened the scoring following in an effort from Alan Thompson with the game just a minute old, the stadium erupted.
If ever there was to be a judge of our team's character, then Celtic flying at us to the delight of 60,000 Glaswegians was it. And I'm proud to say we resisted the temptation to fold under considerable pressure, and managed to keep the Hoops at bay for the remainder of the evening. As we began to regain our composure after a frantic opening, the Liverpool midfield gradually made progress in the Celtic area, with Murphy and Hamman both unlucky not to level the score.
Then on sixteen minutes Heskey, the much maligned talent, proved a tower of strength, driving home a powerful effort after collecting a pass from John Arne Riise following a trademark run from the Norwegian. After the goal, Liverpool were undoubtedly on top, and remained so for the rest of the evening, as were the travelling Kop.
Liverpool grew in stature as the night went on, and the second half performance was as that of a distant relative of the team that entered the field at the beginning of the first half. We created numerous chances to take the lead and secure a second vital away goal, but such opportunities were squandered time and time again. One can only hope we don't live to rue these missed chances, as while we have put ourselves firmly in the driving seat for the return leg at Anfield, the task is far from completed. If we approach the game next week thinking Celtic will be a push over, they will knock us out. It's as simple as that.
What had been a memorable evening for both sets of fans soured somewhat towards the end however, when Diouf was involved in an unsavoury incident with a couple of Celtic fans towards the end of the game. After falling into the crowd the tricky Senegalese player foolishly spat at a couple of fans, who reacted irately, as you'd expect. It took eight policemen to cart each fan away from the scene, and the route the officials took, almost parading the young Glaswegians in front of the Liverpool fans did nothing to ease the hysteria surrounding the incident. The next day's Daily Mirror pictured the irate individuals in front of the disgruntled Celtic fans with a couple of Scousers peering out at the top of the picture. How I wish I hadn't worn that white tracksuit. I don't mind getting laughed at by a few fans at the match, but now the whole of Britain has seen me in it…
It was a regrettable occurrence, and if I'm honest it's something Diouf seemed destined to get involved in. He's a somewhat hot-headed character, and he's threatened to do similar things in the past. Let's hope he's now learned his lesson. But I must say the hype surrounding the issue has been nothing short of farcical. It annoys me more than I can describe in words, when the media get hold of events like this and berate the individual involved as if he were a mass murderer. What's all that about high horses…? It's the same with all this coin throwing business. So what if a player gets hit on the leg with a 20p. It won't kill him. If I had my way I'd ship all those pompous journalists off to Spain where the players get pigs heads launched in their direction when the crows wish to vent their frustration. (And that particular incident involved Figo, one of the only non-Catalonians in history to have captained Barcelona coming back to the Nou Camp as a Real Madrid player; it should have been a lion they threw in his direction). Don't get me wrong: Diouf was out of order, but all the publicity the stunt received brought a new meaning the word 'sensationalise'.
But the really annoying thing is not the media reaction, but the fact that Diouf will now almost certainly miss the return leg at Anfield. And I'm not saying the team will certainly fall apart without him. When Anelka went last summer, the team lacked an individual who could just keep hold of the ball and relieve a bit of pressure. Last year if we were in trouble we would just give it to Nico on the wing, and he would just maintain possession, and give the defence a breather. And for me, Diouf does a similar job for us now we've learnt to keep him away from the goal where he is largely ineffective. After a quiet start to his Liverpool career, he's now beginning to look like the player Houllier hoped he would become, and those who still don't rate him will see just how much he is missed next week when Celtic visit Anfield, of that I have no doubt. For although I believe we are well capable of beating the Scottish champions without him, overcoming O'Neill's side would have prove a far less daunting task with the Senegalese hit man in the side I can tell you.
But all in all, the day in Glasgow was a success. We had a great time there, with the locals proving excellent hosts, and the result wasn't bad either. But it's half time in this UEFA Cup quarterfinal, and one can only hope that we play like we did in Glasgow in the return next week at Anfield. Although Celtic aren't a bad side, they're nothing special - if we don't progress, we'll only have ourselves to blame.
Southampton, Blackburn, Preston & Newcastle, Birmingham City, Valencia, West Bromwich Albion, Spartak Moscow, Chelsea, The Fields of Anfield Road, Leeds United, West Ham, Middlesbrough, Fulham, Ipswich & Charlton, Vitesse, Sunderland & Villa, The Derby, Blackburn & Arsenal, Newcastle, Man City, Sheffield Utd & Villa, Southampton and Sheffield Utd, Crystal Palace & Arsenal, West Ham, Auxerre, Manchester United, Bolton, Spurs, Man Utd Again, Hillsborough Remembered, Everton, Charlton, Man City.