We're often being ridiculed for looking back. As if we should feel apologetic for having had great success in the past. I understand full well that there's an argument to be made that said history is sometimes too big a stone for some of the current squad to handle and it's a valid one at that. The same could quite easily have been said at the end of 2004. Gerard Houllier's reign at Liverpool had reached it's terminus and I found myself drifting off to Dortmund and Cardiff, wondering if - not when - I'd be able to enjoy nights like those again. Rafa arrived shortly afterwards and a year later would foresee arguably the greatest cup final of all time. Istanbul is and forever will be a watershed moment in my life. This is for those who made it possible.
Firstly, I should point out that I wasn't part of the masses of Liverpool fans that descended on the Atatürk. Being barely out of school with no job, no passport and no relatives who were as crazy for Liverpool as I am there wasn't a hope of me ever taking that incredible journey. Not that it mattered. Whether I was there or not, we were in a European Cup final. This was not something that I had ever dreamt about - not because of any disrespect or long held fanaticism with the Premier League - I just never thought it was a possibility. Round by round the challenges became harder and every time they were met with performances which were beyond my comprehension. Having been written off against Bayer Leverkusen before a ball was kicked we went on to produce arguably the best two legged dispensation of a side I've ever seen. It was all well and good but surely Juventus would take care of us, they were on their way to the Serie A title after all at the time. Again the odds were defied, this time by two incredibly contrasting and yet masterful performances. Then came that semi final. In the league that season Chelsea only conceded fifteen goals. If that's what it would have taken to beat them in the semi final, we would have scored sixteen, such was the power behind that performance in the stands that night. Just getting to the final - in circumstances and with a team nobody would have given credence to - would have been enough for a lot of teams. Not Liverpool.
Football players - much like everything else - are often divided into very specific categories. Attacking or defencive. Luxurious or industrial. At their very pinnacle there is one thing that separates them all. Winning or losing. The problem with this as with any pigeonholing is that there are a select few that fall in between the cracks. Sometimes so called losers win and every now and then a perennial winner ends up on the losing side. This does not diminish the achievements of the truly great players. They will end up defining their own page in history because of the ability they possess. The legacy of Steven Gerrard does not live or die with what happened during our incredible Champions League run in 2005 because he was too good to let it. Somewhere along the line he would have found a way to greatness. What then of those around him. The ones who for one reason or another found themselves in the right place at the right time and - more importantly - managed to answer the call when destiny came for them.
Human nature compels us to root for the underdog, most likely because we identify with being flawed and unmatched against a greater opponent. Genuine superstars of world football are few and far between and the gap between those that are left feels close enough to make them climb down from their pedestals. Heroes aren't created. They exist because of what makes them thrusts them into the limelight. Cult heroes are born out of an admiration that despite their limitations they still strive to be the best. People like Dirk Kuyt - who finally ended his search for a winners medal at Wembley against Cardiff - and Lucas Leiva make me cheer for them not because of their ability but their heart and courage. They represent an ideal that it's not about what you were born with but how you use that. In 2005 against AC Milan it was quite obvious that they had a lot more than we did. But that didn't matter in the end, did it?
Most people remember him for his infamous Michael Jackson impression against Burnley in the FA Cup earlier on that season but for me Djimi Traore will always be remembered for his incredible block on the line in the second half. Immediately following that, Djimi rose to his feet and gave the post a good hard slap, one that - given the way the night was going at that point - would have dropped even Floyd Mayweather. In one moment he'd repaid the half a million that we gave Laval for him and almost made up for all those moments that had everyone in the stadium scratching their heads - including a first half display that had seen him give away the free kick that led to Maldini's early opener. Deceptively slow, Djimi did have one thing going for him in that he had the ability to time recovery tackles to perfection, among the best I've ever seen. The problem was that he always needed to make up for something in the first place. He was "Bambi on ice" and even his own song encouraged us to "blame it on Traore" and yet he's got a Champions League medal and no matter what occurred before or after, they'll never be able to take that away from him.
Cult heroes always have a little bit of eccentricity about them. They don't come any more eccentric than Djibril Cisse. The Lord of Frodsham who got married in a red suit because of his love for Liverpool. As it was, Djib didn't have very much to do that night. He came on with five minutes to go in normal time and did his best to be an outlet for the team but in truth had very little impact on the game. That's not what was important, being there in the first place was. In October, Cisse broke his leg and not only did the season look to be a right off if it wasn't for the decisive actions of the phyiso then Cisse would have lost his leg altogether. His comeback was a miracle in itself and to be stood face to face with Dida at the end of the game, scoring a penalty to put Liverpool on the edge of victory, his celebration said it all. The relief on his face at first is self evident and the roar that followed, the grabbing of his own shirt as adrenaline took over. That was born out of months of frustration, sitting on the sideline. Having overcame an injury of this magnitude, regardless of whatever else anybody ever thought of Djib, this was just reward for a man who had been through hell and come out the other side of it holding the greatest prize in football aloft.
Lastly the man for whom as the years have gone by I associate Istanbul with the most. There are any number of more suitable candidates, that I do know. Gerrard for lifting the team up in the first place, Luis Garcia for what he did to get us there or Rafa for making sure we didn't lose focus when it seemed to be all going wrong. Didi Hamann, Jamie Carragher or Jerzy Dudek would all be much more suitable candidates and yet none of them are to whom my attention is drawn toward. I'm thinking of someone who had been at the club for six years but despite some highlights had never established himself as anything other than a peripheral character. It was his goal that made what was a dream at half time seem like an inevitable reality. It was his penalty that was to be the winning penalty. He's Czech. He's great. He's Paddy Berger's mate. Vladmir Smicer.
After Gerrard scored, my phone rang almost immediately. Unlike the handful of text messages that I cherished - until the day that phone died - this was someone who was calling to congratulate. I barely remember what we talked about but I imagine the gist of it was something along the line of getting some kind of respectability in the scoreline. Then Vladi Smicer got hold of the ball. Of all the moments in which people claim they knew the cup was ours, this is mine. I still have no idea quite how Milan Baros managed to plug himself into the Matrix in time to duck out of the way and yet he waved it goodbye on it's way to the net with Dida unable to get enough of a hand to it. Right there and then I made a promise. I shouted to the heavens, my friend on the phone and anybody else that could hear me. It wasn't the most eloquent of things I've ever said. Nor was it in any way shape or form feasible. What I said, rather too loudly was this. "******* Vladi ******* Smicer. I will ******* have your babies." Rather surprisingly, he is yet to take me up on the offer.
He wasn't even meant to be on the pitch. In what was representative of the careers of both men, Smicer came on for an injured Harry Kewell that night. It would go on to form the basis of one of the best trivia questions of all time - by the time Vladi scored his penalty it had gone midnight in Istanbul, making him the only player ever to score two goals in one final over two days - this was to be his last contribution in a Liverpool shirt. So many before and since - even those we adored over the years far more than Smicer - have had marred their name but Vladi went out on the biggest high of them all. He's another one with which his emotions get the better of him, grabbing his shirt and giving the Liverpool badge on his chest a huge kiss. There have been many footballers who have pressed their lips on the badge as a way of feigning their loyalty and dedication. Vladimir Smicer scored the winning goal in the European Cup final instead.
Flash forward seven years and virtually all those responsible for the greatest night of my life have parted ways with Liverpool Football Club. They remain - as they will forever - a part of my cherished memories. The man who held the trophy aloft is still here too. Steven Gerrard has better players around him now than he did then too. This isn't meant to be a pointless glorification of our past or even a blindly optimistic point to the future. It's a recognization of the fact that even though personnel change their roles stay the same. Some will always be the focal point, the superstar and the one who hits the headlines. There will always be room for those who are prepared to give their all and wait for their chance at glory.
No comments:
Post a Comment