Carra: My Autobiography (41 page)

My hope is that for all their differences, everyone in a position of power at Anfield will put aside their own agendas and think not only about 2008–09, but the next twentyfive, even fifty years of Liverpool Football Club. We can't have arguments played out in public every week, and we can't ever hope to catch Manchester United and Chelsea if we're too busy scrapping with one another to take the fight to them. Whatever our situation we have to get on with it and try to restore the dignity that has always been associated with Liverpool.

Inevitably, my discussing this issue may create new headlines at the start of the current season. There are those who may say there is a contradiction between my calling for a return to what I call The Liverpool Way and making comments that remind everyone of the problems at boardroom level. I sat down to write this book in the summer of 2007 with no idea of the crisis on the horizon. There were no plans to include such a difficult chapter twelve months ago. Having committed myself to as honest and forthright a view of my club as possible, it was impossible for me to ignore this situation or refuse to give my opinion on it. My thoughts have been expressed in this book as a consequence of events that were thrust into the public eye by others, not by me.

To onlookers, it must have seemed like everyone was falling out with each other at Anfield in 2007–08. The campaign began with Rafa's assistant Pako Ayesteran leaving the club. It took me by surprise. I headed in to Melwood one Friday at the end of August to be informed Pako had gone. Rafa said he was upset Pako had spoken to other clubs and accused him of disloyalty. I've never spoken to Pako since so didn't get to hear his side of the story. It was sad to see him go, but such circumstances regularly occur in football. Without wishing to sound uncaring, you have to move on quickly. He was replaced by another fitness coach and that was that so far as I was concerned. Some players were more affected by his departure than others. He had a particularly close relationship with the Spanish lads, and also got on with Steven Gerrard.

Although he didn't show much emotion, I also felt for the manager. He'd arrived from Valencia in 2004 with his own backroom team but, for different reasons, each had now gone. Paco Herrera, our highly rated chief scout and reserve team manager who identified many of Rafa's signings, left in 2006 to return to his family in Spain. The goalkeeping coach Jose Ochoterana followed him in 2007, and now Pako was gone too.

The day after Pako's departure we beat Derby County 6–0 at Anfield to stay top of the table and consolidate our best ever start to a Premier League season. It was far too early for predictions, but with Fernando Torres immediately settling in and Ryan Babel showing signs of promise, the mood was upbeat. But that afternoon was probably as optimistic as it got. A series of draws lost us momentum, and as the season progressed familiar failings were revived.

Our Champions League form ensured we had plenty to play for until the final weeks of the season. Beating Inter Milan and Arsenal added to our impressive list of scalps, but defeat to Chelsea in the semifinal meant, ultimately, those victories won't stand up to comparison with those in 2005. As in Athens, our loss to Chelsea prompted headlines about revenge for those earlier encounters, but it was nothing of the sort. Since 2005 we've played Chelsea in four semifinals in four seasons, winning three. The law of averages was bound to catch up with us eventually.

The most encouraging aspect of an otherwise disappointing year was the impact of Torres. To score thirty-three goals in his debut season was beyond any expectations, and if he repeats that form in the years to come he'll be well on the way to securing legendary status.

I've mentioned already how the first day of preseason training is spent assessing if our new faces are going to make us any better, and the instant excitement was hard to contain with Fernando. He's built for Premier League football, strong, fast and skilful – as he proved in the Euro 2008 final by outpacing and outmuscling Germany's Philipp Lahm to score Spain's winner. I'm glad I only have to mark him in five-a-sides. His presence alongside Steven Gerrard offers hope of more silverware in years to come. With Javier Mascherano added to the ranks permanently during the course of last season, the fans can see a strong spine to our line-up. The hope must be that unlike those other summers of transition, we'll add those missing elements to sustain a title challenge.

Secure in his position, Rafa was able to continue his rebuilding in the summer of 2008, purchasing a couple of fullbacks in Philipp Degen and Andrea Dossena, while moving on an established player in John Arne Riise and bringing Peter Crouch's Anfield career to an end. I was particularly delighted to see us chasing Tottenham's Robbie Keane to partner Fernando Torres. Keane's a player I've long admired who seemed to play well against Liverpool, especially at Anfield. On a personal level, I was also pleased to welcome Sammy Lee back to the coaching staff. He missed out on the assistant manager's job in 2004, but now ensures the local heartbeat of the club remains intact.

Naturally, we returned to Melwood for preseason in the summer of 2008 confronted with the same subject that has plagued Liverpool since 1990, accentuated by Manchester United's latest Premier League and Champions League double. Should anyone at Liverpool be asked about our chances of catching United, I'll happily accept the supporters demanding only one satisfactory response from the players, manager and board: 'Actions speak louder than words.' We're all on the same side, after all.

I stare at my medal collection and there's a gaping, lingering hole. It's a void I fear will never be filled before that dreaded moment when I wear the red shirt for the last time.

Since I turned thirty, the pain of having no League title medal seems to have intensified. I can't even really argue we've come close to ending our Premier League drought. We've started every summer with fresh hope, but by February it feels we're already asking ourselves where it's gone wrong and thinking ahead to the following season. It hurts more as you begin to appreciate time is as much a rival as those other top clubs you're trying to overtake. I may only have the three years left on my current Liverpool contract to win the League, and it will sicken me not to achieve it.

I'm fixated by this goal, consumed by my determination to bring the title back to Anfield. I don't just think about winning the League once a day, but sometimes as many as half a dozen times in an afternoon. Every conversation I have with fans and friends covers the same territory. Winning the title has become Liverpool's obsession, but whereas the supporters have their lifetimes to realize the ambition of seeing us reclaim the League, as a player I'm rapidly running out of opportunities.

I'm at one of the few clubs capable of winning it, providing we do everything possible on and off the park. With Chelsea such a powerful financial force, and Manchester United able to build on strong foundations year to year, we're under no illusions about the size of our task. We're at a point in our history where only by doing everything 100 per cent right, especially making the right calls with transfers and selections, can we have any hope of finishing first.

It's not impossible I'll do it, and there's no way I'm ever going to accept defeat, but without wishing to sound negative, I have no choice but to prepare myself for the possibility it might not happen. Years ago the League was played over forty-two games and the saying went you couldn't afford to lose five matches in a season. We only lost four League games during the 2007–08 season but still fell well short of a title challenge. It's getting harder and harder.

I often ask myself how I'll look back on my career if I never win a title, and knowing the personal standards I've set I suspect I'll consider it a partial failure. That sounds incredibly harsh given the honours I have won at Anfield. Many is the time I've shared this view with my dad, only for him to put me straight. 'Behave yourself,' he'll tell me. 'Think of all you've won – the treble, Istanbul, all those Liverpool appearances and England caps. What a career.' Had I been offered all these medals at eighteen, I'd have snatched them, but there's something about thinking that way that makes me realize it's still not enough. It's as though I'm compromising my determination to keep winning trophies by accepting what I've already got. It's my nature to persistently demand more from myself and those around me. Arsène Wenger echoed my thoughts when asked if he'd feel he'd underachieved in management should he never win a European trophy. 'Even if I won one, I wouldn't feel it was enough,' he replied. I feel the same. I've spent thirteen years pursuing one League title. If I ever win it, I'll say it wasn't sufficient, I want to win it again. I'd compare my medal haul to others' and feel dissatisfied if they'd won more than me.

The trouble for those of us craving the League title is the two major obstacles in our way: Manchester United and Chelsea. How I'd love to do to United what Sir Alex Ferguson claims to have done to Liverpool – knock them off their 'fucking perch'. Ferguson announced this was his prime objective when he took over at Old Trafford in 1986 and it seemed an improbable hope at the time. Liverpool had eighteen League titles to United's seven. We also had our four European Cups to remind them how far behind they trailed. Kenny Dalglish had just won the double and was in the process of building what many argue is the greatest Liverpool side ever. Four years after Ferguson's appointment Liverpool were champions and still sitting very comfortably on their perch. In that year, 1990, it's widely assumed that had Mark Robins not kept United in the FA Cup with a winner at Nottingham Forest, the Ferguson era would have been brought to a premature end.

In the eighteen years since then, Ferguson has transformed United and they've left us behind on and off the pitch. As he celebrated winning his tenth title last May, agonizingly reducing the titles gap between United and Liverpool to one, he must have felt he was edging closer to realizing that boast of twenty-two years ago. After winning the Champions League in 2008, giving United three wins to our five, he even suggested he'd long seen off Liverpool.

Much as I respect Ferguson as a manager, I must disagree with him. He didn't knock Liverpool off their perch. Liverpool fell off it. He didn't have to lift a finger against us, let alone give us a shove. Every wound Liverpool has suffered has been selfinflicted. Ferguson's been in the privileged position since 1991 of having to do no more than walk past us once a season and kick us while we were down.

We've spent millions trying to punch back recently, but whatever we do they can retaliate by spending more. There are times I've come off the pitch at Old Trafford in the last few years and feared they didn't even have to break sweat to beat us. It's hurt going there because it's like an annual reality check. Every time we feel we've assembled a side that can compete, we're reminded what we're up against. Their size, stature, reputation and consistent success mean they can attract more expensive players than us.

When Liverpool were strong, had the best manager in the country and made the right signings, the roles were reversed and United were helpless. I vividly recall Ferguson trying to sign Peter Beardsley and John Barnes in the summer of 1987, but he had no chance once Liverpool made them their top targets. Today, players of the same ilk would choose Old Trafford ahead of Anfield. It's an uncomfortable truth we have to accept. Footballers go where they're sure they'll be competing for League titles, or where their £20 million valuations can be afforded. That's a promise we haven't been able to make for ten years. Our record transfer is £21 million, but United and Chelsea can buy two players of that value each summer.

One significant event in Anfield history changed the fortunes of both clubs, opening the door for United and sending us into an era where cup success was our main salvation every season. That was the day Kenny Dalglish stepped down as Liverpool manager. Our slump began shortly after we failed to replace Kenny, allowing Ferguson to take advantage of our problems and prove himself the best manager in Britain. Had Dalglish stayed at Liverpool, I've no doubt the last eighteen years would have a different complexion. Ferguson has never had to beat the strongest Liverpool teams to win the title. We've made it easier for him and harder for ourselves. United may still have been the force they are, but they'd have had a far greater challenge from Anfield than we've ever given them. Kenny's brief reign at Blackburn showed what was possible. If he could go to Ewood Park and beat United to the title it's a fair assumption he'd have won a few more with Liverpool.

The years that followed Dalglish's departure sowed the seeds of our conceding title dominance to United. Kenny's replacement, Graeme Souness, bought badly. Roy Evans couldn't repair the damage quickly enough, and by the time Gérard Houllier was in charge United were already comfortably in the distance. Rafa Benitez took over at a time when the gap between us and United was greater than at any point since the 1950s. The pressure is on Rafa to win the title, and the longer he goes without doing so the more his position will be questioned.

Whenever I look at the conditions and circumstances he's worked under, I find myself asking, could anyone really have done better since 2004? We've won major trophies and enjoyed mostly adequate rather than fantastic League campaigns, but what more could we have done? If a worldclass manager such as Benitez leaves Anfield considered a 'failure' for having not won the League, who will win it for us? Given the competition he's faced, I don't believe Rafa can be criticized for not winning the League. He's spent a lot of money, but United and Chelsea will always spend more. He's in exactly the same position Ferguson was around 1990 when he'd spent heavily on signings but was still struggling to compete because Liverpool were better. Let's not forget that United broke transfer records with Gary Pallister, Jim Leighton, Paul Ince and Roy Keane, and to bring Mark Hughes back from Bayern Munich. It was a massive investment at the time, but it took years for the benefits to show. United got it right eventually, but it was no overnight success.

Many of our fans hated United while we were successful and despise them even more now. Those deep-rooted feelings have never been there for me. I don't relate to the bitter rivalry between Liverpool and United in the same way I do Merseyside derby games. At the age of thirteen there was even an outside chance I could have joined them. My Sunday League team was invited to play a side from United's School of Excellence, and I impressed their scouts enough for them to ask my dad if I'd consider a trial. I was happy enough at Liverpool, obviously, but it was nice to be noticed.

Other than the fact United are our competitors, so inevitably each wants the other to lose, I see no justification for both sets of fans disliking each other so much, and certainly no more than those other sides we're hoping to beat in a title race. The intense competition between Liverpool and United is more geographical and historical than logical, to me. We're the two most successful clubs in English football, and if one succeeds it's usually at the cost of the other. We're also near neighbours, which always adds a derby feel to our fixtures. But I've never found a proper explanation for why the bad blood has spilled over between the fans. As clubs, we seem to have far more similarities than differences.

Perhaps Liverpool and United are a bit too alike and that's the cause of the problems. We both grew thanks to the influence of legendary Scottish managers, we both have a combination of passionate northern working-class support and followers from all over the world, and we're both used to winning the biggest honours. The saying about 'familiarity breeding contempt' probably has a lot to answer for at Liverpool versus United games.

I have tremendous respect for United's achievements. I see players such as Ryan Giggs and Paul Scholes as Manchester equivalents of me – good professionals who've always tried to handle themselves in the right way and put football first. And Ferguson is simply a brilliant manager. If he appears on the TV, I'll stop what I'm doing and hang on his every word. He has so much football wisdom, whether you're a United fan or not it's impossible not to be impressed. The fact he's a working-class Glaswegian, and a socialist too, means he's got a lot more in common with Scousers – apart from his football loyalties – than many would care to admit.

I hope we give him a better challenge in future than we've been able to for the last fifteen or so years, otherwise we may have to wait until he retires. Perhaps that will trigger their slump in the same way Kenny's departure led to ours. They'll certainly struggle to replace him. We may simply have to wait for the circle to turn.

Alternatively, I might have to carry my title-winning ambitions from the pitch to the dug-out.

A few years ago I'd have said I was 100 per cent certain to become a manager when I finish playing. Today, I'm likely to change my mind from one week to the next. Doubts have surfaced as I consider the consequences of managing a club. If you pushed me for an answer, I'd say it's highly likely I will make the step into management. I'd regret it too much if I neglected the chance, even if I harbour serious concerns about how I'd cope with the additional pressures of being a number one. It hurts me badly enough to lose as a player; this would increase ten-fold if I carried the extra burden of responsibility for the entire club.

I've seen from close quarters how management affects people. Good men have dedicated their lives 24/7 to the sole pursuit of winning three points every Saturday. When they've failed, the criticism has been intense and hurtful. Management is a profession that breeds feelings of anger, paranoia and insecurity in some of the most powerful personalities in the game. I'm not entirely sure I want to open myself up to the emotional turmoil. It's not just about my own state of mind either: there will be an impact on the rest of my family too. If I became a manager and it went wrong I'd hate my wife and children to see me go through a traumatic period or suffer because of the strains of my job. I could make a perfectly reasonable living doing other things and still stay involved in the game in a less hands-on capacity. So I do ask myself, 'Is it worth it?'

The other factor that may work against me is the strict condition I'd impose on any job offer. Basically, if I couldn't still live in Liverpool, forget it. I'm fussy that way. I won't uproot my children at this stage of their lives for the selfish reason of pursuing my career. That instantly puts me at a disadvantage compared to other players of my generation who fancy becoming a coach. The top managers have been prepared to make those kinds of sacrifices, but I won't, which effectively means unless I can get a management position in the north-west, it won't happen.

I've also noticed the recent trend (give or take one or two exceptions) that fewer top players become successful managers. All the best modern bosses ended their playing careers reasonably early, or in some cases hardly played at a high standard at all. Rafa Benitez, Gérard Houllier, Arsène Wenger, Jose Mourinho and Alex Ferguson all come into this category. They had longer to study the game and work their way up from small clubs. There's a sense they're living out the dreams as coaches they weren't able to as players. A hunger is there which was never satisfied during their playing careers. And all these great managers have moved their families to another country, in some cases enrolling their children into new schools, in order to fulfil their managerial ambitions. They've gone those extra miles to manage the best clubs in Europe. Chairmen won't be able to look at me and expect the same attitude since they'd struggle to get me out of Merseyside.