Liverpool v Chelsea: Champions League dreams

Liverpool meet Chelsea tonight in the Reds' most important match of the year. It all feels so familiar to me. Last year, while visiting London, I made a stop in Liverpool for the second leg match against Chelsea and watched in a pub, as Liverpool won on kicks.

Here's what I wrote following that match. Tonight, I will watch at a pub in the United Arab Emirates and hope for similar results, though I doubt we'll be marching through the streets afterwards.

Ohhhhh, Campione, the one and only, we're Liverpool

They say our days are numbered we're not famous anymore
But Scousers rule the country like we've always done before

"That's a new one," Steve tells me as all around us in this First National pub, this converted bank in downtown Liverpool, the chants grow louder.
"Don't worry, by the end of the night, you'll know them all."

*****

I'd arrived in Liverpool just after noon with my knapsack and a desire to get that Liverpool gameday atmosphere.
I had a three-point plan to a successful stay:
1. Get a Liverpool FC jersey and scarf
2. Get on the Magical Mystery Tour.
3. Make some friends to watch the match with.

I stepped off the train and stopped the first guy in a red jersey I saw.
What was the fastest way to Anfield? There was a bus but a cab would cost me about five pounds.
I hopped in a cab and the friendly driver (everyone in Liverpool was extremely friendly), while he delivered me to Anfield, told me I had better find a room and fast.

"You better make that your next priority, mate," he said. "On a match day, people come from Norway to go to games."

Norway, right. I really should have booked a room, shouldn't I? Well, I'll get that jersey first.

I had a four-point plan to a successful stay.
1. Get a Liverpool FC jersey and scarf
2. Find a room. Any room.
3. Get on the Magical Mystery Tour.
4. Make some friends to watch the match with.

A quick pic, a quick inquiry into buying a scalped ticket ("we hear they're going for 400 pounds") and a Liverpool bag and I was back in a cab being driven to the Marriott. The Marriott! Where they had just one room and that had just come available. You don't hesitate, even when it'll cost you $164 pounds. No, you pay for your room with twin beds and be thankful for the choice of left or right. You drop your bag, pull on a Liverpool jersey and start walking toward Albert Dock and the mystery tour because the last bus is leaving in 20 minutes and the Dock is supposed to be a 10-minute walk away.

20-minutes later, you start to lose hope. Guess you'll just visit the Beatle's Story Museum. But then there's the bus pulling up to a stop. Sprint man.

"Hi," I said. "I haven't paid but can I pay you now for this trip?"
"Sure mate, we've got room," said the tall blond guy.
"Great," I said. "It must be a good day. I just got in to watch the match and I just managed to get the last room at the Marriott."
"You got a room today? You're lucky," he said. "If it was a weekend there's no way you'd get a room."
"Well, you fell on your feet today mate," said the tour bus driver. I liked that phrase.

This was my four-point plan to a successful stay, carefully planned the night before.
1. Get a Liverpool FC jersey and scarf.
2. Find a room.
3. Get on the Magical Mystery Tour.
4. Make some friends to watch the match with.

Strawberry Field, Penny Lane and the Cavern Club and now we'd reached the crucial point. In the square downtown there were hordes of red-clad fans. To be honest they'd been there since I arrived but there were more now and you could hear the chants down the street. My tour guide, who says he played John Lennon's mate in an NBC movie, looked like he would cry with pride and I needed some food and a place to watch.

I walked into the square with my camera set to video and captured the moment. Shot video of men and women chanting and clapping. I sized people up. I lost my nerve. I walked back down the street to near the Cavern Club and ate at Subway.

My four-point plan to a successful stay, was really make some friends to watch the match with times four.

Back to the square, inside a pub. I'd buy a beer and chat with some people. What about these two guys. They look decent. They're queing up for a beer. I'll ask them what to order here.

"Scuse me guys, I'm visiting from Toronto and wonder what's a good beer to get at this pub?"
"If you want a good draft beer, get Sam Miguel," one said.
"From Toronto, did you say?" said the other.
"Ya, I'm a Liverpool fan from Toronto and thought I'd come here today for the atmosphere."
"Ha, Mark, now that's commitment, he came all the way from Toronto just for the atmosphere."
"Well, I'm staying with family in London."
"We took a 20-minute train ride to come here."
"How much is the beer?"
"Oh, don't worry, that's on me mate."

We chatted about the NFL and other things Toronto. They told me where they'd watch. I was welcome to join. We moved there, bought two beers each because the lineups were going to be murder later and you don't even want to see this place if it's an away game.

Then the chanting started. And the boos when they showed Jose Mourinho. And wild cheers when they showed Steven Gerrard.

"Don't worry, by the end of the night, you'll know them all," Steve tells me. They're school teachers who'll be teaching with sore throats tomorrow.

They're mates Mike and Matt arrive and the game is on and we're on beers five and six and you can line up for the bathroom, if you can get through the crowd but it'll take you at least 20 minutes and who wants to move when all around you they're chanting:

oh when the Reds, go marching in, oh when the Reds go marching in. I want to be in that number, when the Reds go marching in.
Then shouting:
Oh when the reds (oh when the reds) go marching in (go marching in).

Sometime in the first half Liverpool scores on the set piece and the place explodes. Beer is everywhere and I'm in a bear hug. Steve plants a kiss on my forehead. This might have been awkward in any other setting.

We're going to win now, I can feel it. I never doubted it though did I? They couldn't lose with me here. And with the other four points of my five-point plan to a successful stay working out beautifully, how could I be denied a Liverpool victory.

In the second half a Chelsea striker with an empty net in front of him and the ball at his feet knocks it clear over the cross bar.

Mark gives me a look. That was close.

"Come on lads!" Mike shouts.

In extra time Liverpool scores. We win. This time I leap up and grab my friends in a bear hug.
"Wait, they've disallowed it."
An offside call when clearly Liverpool's Dirk Kuyt is onside. I sag in my seat and put my head in my hands. This is more than I can bear. I don't think I can finish that sixth John Adams.

"Have you ever cared about anything so much in your life?" Mike asks me. The answer is no. They simply must win. But they'll have to do it in kicks.

My mind flits, no it stumbles, back to when we first entered the pub and I'd said, I hope it doesn't come down to kicks and Mark had said, if it does Liverpool will win for sure.

Now we're standing in a row, arms around each other and the place erupts on every goal, every save. It was over before the first man placed the ball on the spot. Liverpool's keeper, Reina, is simply unbelievable on spot kicks. And when I thought it couldn't get any louder, it reaches fever pitch in here. I take pictures. I get hugged by a lot of sweaty men. I hug a woman when it starts feeling weird. Mark takes off his shirt and text messages a friend.

We all sing:

And you'll never! walk! alone! You'll never, walk, alone.

We spill to the streets. I climb up the steps in the square. People take pictures of me chanting and clapping. We march down the street. I don't know where we are or where we're going but I realize I probably didn't need that hotel room because my new mates would gladly have put me up.

I take pictures of them carrying Mark's banner, with lyrics from a time when the club made a hip hop video. They tell me it's my turn to carry the banner. I wrap myself in it and know that if I don't do another thing on this trip, I'll go back to Canada a happy man.

Is Steven Gerrard still Steven Gerrard without Liverpool?

Avram Grant's praise of Steven Gerrard last week has some people wondering if Chelsea are again interested in the Liverpool captain, and if Gerrard - nearly 28 and no closer to a Premier League title than he was three years ago when he rejected a 32 million pound move to Stamford Bridge – would this time accept an offer.

Here's what Grant said, in case you missed it:

"For me, Gerrard is a great player and a great person For me he is the player of the year in England and maybe in Europe because of the influence he has on the team. He's very good, I like him very much as a player and I know him, he is a nice guy, a positive guy and his an example for many people. Unfortunately he plays against me, not with me but he is still my favourite player."

Hmmm…

Of course the interview, given on Friday, can be taken as part of the mind games before the big Champions League showdown tomorrow. Liverpool is perhaps engaging in their own tactics, with Rafa Benitez saying that a neck injury for Gerrard, suffered during training, could keep him out of the first leg.

However, Grant's words certainly renewed past fears for this Liverpool fan, and made me wonder if Gerrard ever wishes he'd taken the deal in 2005.

Hopeless idealist that I am, I badly want to believe that there are some professional athletes that care about things other than money, like representing your hometown club or being the symbol for a city's football. By rejecting the deal to Liverpool's rivals, Steven Gerrard renewed my faith. He must have realised then that winning a title with Chelsea would feel hollow.

However, three years later, with his club once more finishing fourth in the league and boardroom antics threatening to overshadow on-field play, you have to figure even another Champions League title may not be enough to persuade him to stay this time.

He must be asking himself what more can he do? He's led the club to the Champions League semi-finals three times in four years and gave this fan one of the most memorable nights of my life, when I watched in the First National Bank, surrounded by Liverpudians, as he helped the Reds come from behind to defeat Chelsea (perhaps that's a story for another time) in the second-leg of last year's semi-final. I couldn't begrudge him if he left, even if I came of (late) footballing age during the Gerrard generation. But I don't think I could stomach him playing for Chelsea.

Other Liverpool fans I've spoken with here in the UAE feel confident Liverpool will beat Chelsea again this year. In 2005, that went a long way toward Gerrard's decision to stay. When Liverpool beat them again in 2007, it helped salvage another mediocre season and hinted that next year there would be serious efforts at the league title. This year the promise will be the same as last. How long will that be good enough for Gerrard?

Gerrard video: Top 10 Goals

Shut Up Already

In the wake of ‘Grand Slam Sunday’ in the EPL, the one thing that weighed above all else in my mind was what was Mascherano’s problem?

Was his initial yellow card unfair? In my opinion, yes. I did not see the malicious intent. It was early in the game and he had not produced any fouls prior to that. And replays showed that once he realized he was not going to retrieve the ball, he pulled out of the tackle. Was it a foul? Absolutely. There was no contact with the ball. But the man in charge deemed it worthy of a yellow card.

So why was it a yellow card? Beats me. Possible reasons are: referee, Steve Bennett didn’t have the instant replays and it looked worse than it was from his point of view. Maybe he felt that tackle was one that would have started a trend and he wanted to stamp it out before things got out of hand. Or, maybe he just doesn’t like Mascherano’s face. Whatever the reason; it’s clear that calls are not up for debate.

After the first yellow, Mascherano’s reaction was sufficient enough for a red card right there and then. Verbally abusing the referee, getting right in his face, and being overly aggressive. It was a big game, so he let it slide fearing the backlash. I wouldn’t be surprised if he began to question the original yellow card. The game continues. Mascherano, seemingly unfazed by his yellow card as he continually made reckless challenges and question referee Steve Bennett calls. Of course, a few tackles latter and more attitude from Mascherano left Liverpool with 10 men. What a complete waste. The end result was completely disastrous as Manchester United went on to thump the Reds 3 – 0. Effectively stamping out the league championship and further jeopardizing the fourth and final Champions League spot.

So what is Benitez to do? He literally had to grab a hold of Mascherano and talk some sense into him before he left the pitch. A club fine would be ok. Further match game suspensions handed down by the league is better. But what else can be done? This came not even a week after Ashley Cole’s fall out with a referee during the match at White Hart Lane. Cole went in studs first on Alan Hutton of Tottenham and proceeded to turn his back on referee Mike Riley when being shown the yellow card. Cole turned his back on the referee and that was enough to spark intense media debate over respect for officials in the EPL. It was talked about all week. Apologies were made. Vows renewed by clubs to enforce good behaviour from their players. Not even a week passed by and cameras were zoomed in on Mascherano’s mouth as he repeatedly told the referee to ‘Fuck off’ after the first yellow card. Mascherano then seemed to lose his mind after being shown the red card.

The recent quoted response from Mascherano was: “I do not know why I was sent off”; followed by, “All I did was ask him what was happening, nothing else”. I must admit, I do admire his attempt to plead ignorance. But it’s hard to do when you’re playing an important game with cameras watching your every move. We know why you got a red card and we can tell you exactly what you did wrong: You didn’t keep your mouth shut.