The great lie Sky sold the British public in the 1990s was
that they love football just like us. We
got Sean Bean adverts and Soccer AM to prove that their love was just like
ours. And in the world their love like ours created we now have a game dominated
by financial behemoths and the glamour of the Premier and Champions League, the
only silverware that matters. The FA Cup, League Cup and lower leagues are mere
sideshows to the main events now, whatever nostalgic journalists of a certain
age say. For those clubs with the resources to contest the league title the FA
Cup is a mere bauble, something to aim for to give a league title an extra
resonance. The preponderance of doubles in the 1990s (four) took some of the
lustre from the competition, what became a predictable dominance by the top
clubs (Arsenal, Manchester United, Liverpool and Chelsea) meant he competition
lacked the surprise element for which it had been renowned. A series of finals
either turgid, one-sided or both didn’t help.
And the rotten cherry on the stale, rancid cake was the ever growing
quantity of top division matches Sky were showing from the top division - no longer were FA Cup games the special
occasions they once had been (it’s a similar case for international matches).
Amidst all this only the biennial tournament routine retained status, and even
then arguably only the World Cup was truly glamorous.
Yes, my wife's *always* had strange taste in men.
Such is the case when the forces of commerce drive the
game’s development. Their love is, of course, nothing like a fan’s love. Fan love is, by and large, an irrational
thing unattached directly to a club’s wealth (though ease of transport and far
wider media exposure of modern times means it can to some degree be related to
success). It can originate in many ways,
from being a local club, through family connections or through chance events at
an impressionable age – for instance, my wife’s support of Ipswich is entirely
down to a strange crush on Paul Mariner, developed when finding a discarded
Panini sticker in the street. You can
make a case that with wealth increasingly being a factor in picking up top
players, trophies and therefore wider exposure that it is some factor in the
tribal fan love of big clubs, but I’ve yet to hear of anyone whose head was
turned directly due to their club’s bank balance or stock exchange value. Sky’s love of football is almost entirely
down to its ability to make money for them, be it from paying their monthly
subscription fee or selling advertising space (that it makes money both ways
renders their critiques of the funding of the BBC amusing). For their purposes glamour sells, the glamour
of the world’s best players and trophies rolling in. It would be wrong to suggest that they’ve
been entirely bad for the sport – their large and repeated injections of cash
has created the conditions to bring top quality players to the Premier League
in a way repeated deals with the BBC or ITV just couldn’t have – but it’s
created a small, wealthy elite who carve up the glamorous trophies while
reducing the rest to essentially a sporting cast, all while calling it the most
unpredictable league in the world. In truth, within the parameters of wealth
allowing large, top quality squads to be maintained it’s almost entirely
predictable. All the Premier League champions come from clubs who’ve made a
large and sustained investment in playing staff over time (not even Arsenal’s
triumphs come close to disproving this – their initial success under Wenger was
fuelled by a well-timed injection of funds from Danny Fiszman). There’s little
variety in the clubs who get sent to the Champions League each year – one
appearance each by Spurs and Everton aside the only variety to clubs appearing
in the Champions League over the last decade was Liverpool dropping out for the
newly rich Man City due to financial problems and Liverpool returning for
United due to the latter’s post –Ferguson issues. And even there Everton’s appearance is
arguably largely due to Liverpool sustaining two long cup runs with a
relatively small squad where Everton lost both cup games they played. It’s a
club of wealth that’s tough to break into, and with the current structure the
title looks beyond two, possibly three clubs for the foreseeable future.
The first obvious signs of this were the initial dominance
of the Premier League by United. For all
the talk of Fergie’s Fledglings and the Class of ’92 the sides which won United
their initial dominance of the league were expensively (though shrewdly)
assembled for the time – Roy Keane, Mark Hughes, Paul Ince and Gary Pallister
didn’t come cheaply, though the subsequent rapid inflation of the value of
footballers won’t tell you this at a glance (Paul Tomkins Pay As You Play and
his Transfer Price Index are invaluable here).
Blackburn’s largesse was well documented at the time and the only new
names engraved on the trophy this century are the teams that received sudden,
massive foreign investment. Chelsea were
a club hanging around the top four at a cost which was within a few weeks of
bankrupting them before Roman Abramovich’s billions pushed them upwards to a
title within two seasons and City were a perennial sleeping giant before being
banked by a sovereign wealth fund that granted them practically matchless
resources. The long term effects of UEFA’s much touted Financial Fair Play
(FFP) policy here remain to be seen, though immediate thoughts indicate that
these regulations will merely prevent more of these takeovers at a later date
rather than restricting clubs already there.
We’ve therefore reached a point where the title is harder than ever
(near impossible in fact) to win for clubs not already having billionaire
backers and long term sustained success.
Even previous windfalls which led to the rise of clubs now thought of as
giants – United in the early 1900s, Liverpool and Everton with the Littlewoods
pools money in the late 1950s and early 1960s – did not allow such dominance to
happen. Clubs could rise from the second tier and challenge or even win titles
(Ipswich in the 1960s and Forest in the late 1970s being the obvious
examples). In the Premier League era
only Keegan’s Newcastle came close to that.
But with more money being in the game, the differences in club incomes,
previously relatively minor in terms of prize money, has grown exponentially.
Whereas in previous decades the relatively low incomes meant the differences
were correspondingly less significant, now the incomes from league wins and
Champions League participation made the difference between regular first and
second place finishers and fourth or fifth place finishers huge (of course,
fourth place now earns a Champions League spot).
In such circumstances Liverpool find themselves in an
awkward position. When the Premier
League began they, like United, were in an ideal position to secure their
position in the top four. But whereas
United sensed the opportunities the new era offered, expanding their stadium,
floating on the stock exchange and supplementing that extraordinary Class of 92
with judiciously chosen big purchases, Liverpool under chairman David Moores
became stuck in a perceived ‘Liverpool Way’, an admirable commitment to
remaining a local club. After Shankly had shaken up the club in 1959,
modernising the training ground, training methods and ultimately Anfield itself
the club had maintained a forward thinking ethos, particularly under chief
executive Peter Robinson. They were, for instance, the first club to accept a
shirt sponsorship deal. In that light
the jibes directed down the East Lancs Road look a touch ill-founded –
Liverpool had done what they needed to do to consolidate success; in the 90s
United had taken the baton and sprinted into the distance in terms of both
financial potential and on-field success.
Liverpool could remain relatively competitive whilst their rivals were
United, Arsenal and Ken Bates’ overdraft, but the turning point in the modern
era for them remains Roman Abramovich’s arrival at Chelsea in 2003 coupled with
a disastrous couple of summers in the transfer market. Chelsea’s extravagant summers underlined that
a club funded by the Moores family, gate receipts and TV money would ultimately
struggle to compete for the biggest trophies in the new era of largesse. They
now needed three clubs to slip, not two and regular European football meant
they couldn’t take advantage of extra games tiring the other squads out. The odds against a long awaited title
lengthened further.
All that was concealed by the appointment of Rafa Benitez
and the subsequent extraordinary European Cup victory. Football history records it as one of the
most extraordinary major Cup finals of any era; given the state of the club
behind the scenes, the events along the way and calibre of opposition mean it
might well be the most extraordinary triumph in the competition’s history.
They clearly remain one of the nation’s richest and best
supported clubs but the odds are against them winning trophies. Even though they retain their place in the
world’s ten clubs they struggle to win trophies as four of the other richest
clubs also play in the same league. Against this backdrop Liverpool may well
have struggled to attract the players that made them so great in previous
decades. They would certainly have found it tough to maintain a dominance in
the Premier League, a feat only really achieved briefly this century, once when
Mourinho first combined with Abramovich’s billions and once when Cristiano
Ronaldo reached his extraordinary prime. It’s the great misfortune of Steven George
Gerrard to have his career coincide with the periods at which Liverpool have been
least likely to win the league.
Today he plays his final game in a Liverpool shirt, away
from the home turf that seemed to add an extra few inches in stature, an extra
few pounds in muscle and an extra few yards of speed. He’s already departed the
sacred land of Anfield for the last time, unable to raise his beloved team from
mediocrity while they lost 3-1 to an energetic Crystal Palace side who merited
their win (whilst benefitting from arguable decisions on all three goals). With
Liverpool having little to play for bar league positioning the occasion was all
about him, welcomed to the pitch by an extra powerful rendition of You’ll Never
Walk Alone and eventually serenaded off with the chants sung by the Kop for so
long. In a long career of odds defying feats he even managed not to shed a tear
as he left. But then this perhaps sums up Gerrard’s career, a potent mix of
emotion and noble battling against seemingly predetermined fate. Of all the great players of the Premier
League era – the likes of Lampard, Terry, Henry, Vieira, Cantona Scholes,
Giggs, Keane even Shearer – Gerrard was the only one who revelled in underdog
status. Only Matt Le Tissier,
Southampton’s indolent genius, came close in terms of loyalty and battling to
maintain a club’s status and at The Dell he never had the intense focus that
always seemed to be on Gerrard. The rest
of the greats, congregated at the biggest clubs, gathered trophies, accolades
and titles as if they were fallen leaves. Gerrard preferred the struggle. Gerrard, more than any of the others, wanted
and needed to be the heart and soul of his club.
From the start his story seemed too good to be true. He broke into the Liverpool team in the wake
of Michael Owen and Jamie Carragher; along with Robbie Fowler and Steve
McManaman the club had perhaps the finest collection of Scouse talent in its
history. Gerrard making it had extra resonance; his cousin was one of the
youngest victims of the Hillsborough tragedy.
Even if he’d made that one appearance, a stoppage time replacement for
Vegard Heggem at the end of a comfortable 2-0 home win over Blackburn, that
would have been a magnificent story. But there would be more. There would be 17 seasons of more.
The details and games are well documented, etched on to the
memory. A 35 yard piledriver against
United. A key role and a goal in England’s
5-1 win in Germany. Driving Liverpool to
Champions League qualification in 2003/04 with the club falling apart around
him. Olympiakos. Istanbul.
West Ham vanquished in Cardiff.
Disappointment in a second European Cup Final. Pushing a Ronaldo inspired United all the way
in 2009, captaining the team that put four goals past Real Madrid and United
inside five days. The free kicks, the
hat-trick against Everton, dropping deeper to help inspire a title challenge
before that slip. That last red card against United, seconds
after coming on, a late winner against QPR… and then, in his final game at
Anfield a party spoiled by an energetic Crystal Palace side. For all the acclaim
and great moments those moments of fallibility, the slips, the careless
backpasses and rushed of blood were also a hallmark of Gerrard’s career. Gerrard was a footballer of world class
ability; power, pace, a wide range of passing, a fierce tackle and a hammer of
a right foot. His energy and unpredictability meant he could pull a team
completely out of shape. But all the
mistakes reminded us he was human in the way Messi and Ronaldo never appear to
be. He could seize a game in an instant
if given an opportunity but he could also lose it with a daft mistake. Superman and Clark Kent rolled into one, but
with no costume change it could be either one of them out there. Mostly the former, obviously, but the latter
could turn up without warning.
I had the privilege of being there for his most crucial goal,
sat on The Kop for the first time. Back
row, just to the right of the posts with two good friends. We took our seats
early, quietly confident given Olympiakos’ appalling record away to English
sides. Rivaldo soon shattered our
confidence. After a half where the crowd
had castigated him for his tendency to fall over easily he stepped up to score
one of the free kicks. Halftime 0-1.
Liverpool had managed three goals in five and a half games and now they needed
to score three more in 45 minutes.
I have still never experienced a night like it in 28 years
of matchgoing. From halftime the singing was relentless; choruses of You’ll
Never Walk Alone mixed with the almost metallic harshness of the chant of ‘Attack!
Attack! Attack Attack Attack!’. No-one
sat down on the Kop that entire second half.
The team needed lifting or they risked drifting out of Europe’s premier
club competition, with financial issues it might even have ended up a long term
absence. Florent Sinama Pongolle came on, his pace and energy resulting in an almost
immediate equaliser. For 35 minutes or so afterwards Liverpool toiled manfully,
as so often that season unable to penetrate a stubborn defence. Gerrard saw a
goal ruled out, could easily have been sent off for a daft kick at an opponent. But he wasn’t. And then, after 80 minutes
another substitute, Neil Mellor, scrambled home after Nikopolidis had saved
from Nunez. Was it on? Did we have one
more push left? Penalty appeals came and
went; the crowd remained as relentless as the team. Five minutes left. A throw in, some scrappy
play out on the left wing. The ball falls to Carragher. Carragher floats up a
high cross, Mellor wins an unchallenged header, knocking it down diagonally for
a player on the edge of the box. I
remember craning my neck, looking to see who it was dropping to, the contact of
boot and ball and…
Bedlam. The crowd surging towards the huddle of players,
everyone seeming to go six rows forward. Hugging the guys next to you you’ve
never met before and never will again, whose names you don’t know. An eternally
beautiful moment, a stadium exploding in joy and relief. This team may not be
the finest it has known but it’s got fight and willpower. And if there’s one thing Scousers can respect
it’s cussedness. And at the heart of it, the man who’s just delivered another
dream to the fans, the Scouser whose gone from good to great with one flick of
his right leg. Not only had he rescued
the club, he’d rescued the club in incredible style. He was very good before, but that night made
him iconic. It was a moment that even caused staunch Evertonian Andy Gray to go
wild in the commentary box, such was the purity of the strike and emotion. At the time we thought no further ahead than
perhaps another glamour tie or two, much needed cash swelling the club’s
coffers… in all my time as a Liverpool fan I don’t think there’s ever been a
more unlikely or wonderful run in a competition (though the 2014-15 season was
close) and, unless that elusive Premier League title comes home, doubt there will
be again.
What a hit son! What. A. Hit.
In the end all our times pass, and all we have are memories.
Other players have more medals or scored more goals. But few have contributed so much to one club,
particularly a club that’s always been their club from childhood. Steven Gerrard gave his all for Liverpool
Football Club from the start to the end, gave us League Cups, FA Cups, a UEFA
Cup and, of course, Istanbul. He clearly
cared so much for the club he was the focus of opposition songs even when they
weren’t playing Liverpool. Is the lack
of a Premier League winners medal a blemish on his career? Perhaps, but given
the circumstances it’s hardly one he can personally be held responsible
for. Is he Liverpool’s greatest ever
player? It’s an unanswerable pub debate but that he’s even in contention tells
you much about how good he’s been for so long. So, even in his footballing
dotage, I’m going to relish the chance to see him in Liverpool’s colours one
more time. We will find new heroes to give us new memories, but will always
cherish the indelible ones provided by the old soldiers. Gerrard, like Shankly, deserves to be
remembered as a man who made the people happy.
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