Liverpool FC Forum

The Red Baron wrote:Well done rafa,nice post but whats happening with your sex life?

oh yes    trust you to remember that aspect sometime ago RB 

RAFABENITEZ wrote:Just a bit of english coursework i've done for A level....



In Istanbul, we won it five times!!

Tuesday, May the third forever is the day I felt would eventually come, but not in this season which had been one of severe discomfort, for me and my fellow Kopites. That day, or night as it happened, certified our presence in the European Champions Cup Final for the sixth time. This particular night, we faced Chelsea in the penultimate game of our emphatic European campaign. But in order for you to understand, or attempt to understand, the joys and trepidation of reaching Istanbul for the final, I must first go back to the start of the first leg of this momentous semi final.
Taking place at Chelsea’s ground, Stamford Bridge, it gave us a slight advantage in the purist’s eyes, in that we knew what we `had’ from the away leg, this naturally concerning away goals and their importance on how the second leg at Anfield was approached by both teams. As it was I could not go to Stamford Bridge, for the reason that my Fathers priorities were all wrong, leaving with no-one to travel with. Frustratingly, I hadn’t been able to go to any of the corresponding Champions League games that season; again due to my fathers work commitments (call yourself a fan Dad?),also the severity of the cost of these games, as I was already going to all home Premiership games.
And so to that night, I took my place on the sofa at home and watched the two teams play out an even and rather tense encounter, which saw us take a 0-0 score from the game. My one qualm over the game was Eidur Gudjohnsen’s clear dive, which resulted in the booking of arguably our most important player, Xabi Alonso. I went to bed that night feeling rather happy, but a slight feeling that we really should have scored for all our pressure and made the second leg at Anfield a far less tense affair. As it turned out, our famous twelfth man would make Chelsea hot under the collar.
In the days building up to that game at Anfield, tickets were up for sale on eBay for £1500 pounds. The culprits for these reprehensible sales were of course the boys London. To even suggest the men from Merseyside would be ready to sell would be preposterous. Chelsea on the other hand are no strangers to wheeling and dealing. I desperately wanted a ticket for this game, to stand on the Kop with my scarf held high singing the sweet silver song. Alas, my position would, again, be left back on the sofa at home, not at domicile on the Kop. I had been to very emotional games in the past: The return of Gerard Houllier, our then manager, against the mighty Roma, after he had been left fighting for life after severe heart trouble, left me with tears in my eyes. There was also the night Barcelona came to Anfield after a 0-0 score line in Catalonia, and were sent home defeated 1-0, the tragic but yet unbeknown last games of Robbie Fowler’s and Markus Babbel’s career’s with us, and of course the anniversary games of the Hillsborough disaster which robbed ninety six Kopites of their lives, hit home hard for all football fans.
The night of the game I was again resigned to my post at the sofa, yet happy we were back in the football limelight. The term oxymoron has never been so exact. As the match was about to start I was envious of my comrades there. The noise created really hit home when you’ll never walk alone was sung. All around the ground were flags; banners with catchy slogans upon them; and of course, red and white scarves held high. The team in all Red entered the coliseum to a rapturous roar, embraced like kings, or soon to be kings, of some far foreign land. Even perched at home on my sofa I could feel the tension, my comrades were making it very uneasy for Chelsea who you could sense felt perturbed and far from their normal champion selves.
After exactly three minutes and twenty two seconds we were in front. This was thanks to Luis Garcia; he managed to scramble the ball home after a Milan Baros shot was not quite enough to carry the ball home. The game stayed excruciatingly even and in truth we were never really troubled until, at the death, a chance fell to Eidur Gudjohnsen. As he shaped up to shoot in the ninety sixth minute of the match, my heart was in my throat, but thankfully he and Chelsea got their comeuppance.  We were going to Istanbul. That night if I’m perfectly honest, I shed a tear. We were back at the forefront of European football, and would meet AC Milan of Italy.
Milan has always been a team I had spent many moments thinking about, mainly because they were the team who ruled Europe in our absence in the late eighties and early nineties. I have often pondered what might have been if we were not banned from Europe at that point and I view their European cup successes in this time in a rather blasé way. This is because, if we had been in the competition, they probably have struggled to match us.
The following morning I was euphoric, I cannot describe the feelings only that I was both ecstatic and also wary of the threat Milan posed. I pleaded with my father for us to go to Istanbul but I had two GCSE exams that day and also my father’s work commitments hindered him. I tried to make him see sense; that we would not need tickets as we could watch it in a bar. Just to be there would be enough. I even checked for prospective flights, knowing that our accommodation would be Taksim Square and the Attaturk Stadium, Istanbul. But sadly my Father felt my exams could not be missed. It was a terrible tragedy to miss that game.
And so to that game, well, how do you describe the feeling of seeing your team play in the Champions Cup Final? In one word, breathtaking; the day started off for me with those two exams that seemed to be anchoring themselves to me. English in the morning, Italian in the afternoon, oh how ironic the subjects were for this special day. I slaved through the first exam, feeling quietly confident I had done well. Next was the second and last exam, Italian. By the time of this exam starting it was 1.15, this meant it was six hours and thirty minutes until the men in all Red set the ball rolling against Milan. Again, I slaved through this exam, but was a lot less confident about my possible mark.
“You may leave now”
The words I had craved all day, I way on my way now, I grabbed my bag and in minutes I was on the bus home. With only myself for company, I stuck my scarf out of one of the windows and let it wave in the wind. As the bus passed through several areas, I saw lots of houses decked out in Liverpool Red, flags and scarf’s, and this was Carlisle. Imagine what Liverpool must have been like?
Once I kicked the door down and entered my house I checked the time – 2.34. Five hours and eleven minutes away now. God I can’t wait. I flicked on the radio, put it on TalksportAM and listened to the reports from Istanbul. Apparently, there were 75,000 Liverpool fans in Istanbul, and a further 25,000 dotted around Turkey. By comparison, there were supposed to be 20,000 Milanese in Istanbul! And at the game we would be outnumbering them five to one!
The next few hours to kick off seemed to take an eternity to whittle down, but once at 7.00 things really began to build up. I had checked everything from the arrangements of the flags out side to how long my pizza was going to be, it took 15 minutes to cook a pizza. Only 7 minutes to cook Milan though.
In am ironic way my exams matched the game: one English, one Italian. English came first on both occasions! 
And so to the match itself. By now my heart was thumping. I had sweat patches all over my Liverpool Red top. We came out in Red tracksuit tops; they looked smooth and shiny, with a white liver bird on. Actually we looked not to dissimilar to a force of eleven boxers entering the ring for a fight. We were in fact entering the ring of fire.
One of the only things I spotted about the Milan players were that Kaka and Gennaro Gattusso both touched the cup on their way in. This is often seen as an unlucky or arrogant gesture in football and it certainly spurred me on for the match.
After the obligatory handshakes and Champions League anthem, it was in boxing terms time to “get ready to rumble”. With that we were off, the game started with Milan attacking towards their tiny assortment of fans. And boy did they make a good start. A fair challenge by Djimi Traore saw Milan gain a free kick, near the touchline. Pumped in by Pirlo, panic ensued as the ball was hit by an unmarked Paolo Maldini. One nil to Milan. Suddenly   faint rasps of “MILAN” could be heard. The game got no better for us in that half, a blatant hand ball decision was turned down by the Spanish referee, which would have given us a possible goal. At half time the score was, AC Milan 3, Liverpool 0. Things seemed to be going very, very wrong. This was the worst night of my life but I wasn’t gonna give up without a fight. As the coverage returned, the most amazing sight greeted me. Our fans, who had travelled in their thousands for this, began singing you’ll never walk alone. Some months later, after talking to some people who had been there I learnt that this was all started by one Red who simply in disbelief at what was happening, turned to his fellow Reds and started it off. The effect it had on the players was all there to see, Liverpool came out a completely different team. Having brought on Didi Hamann for Steve Finann, we successfully shackled Kaka and tore into Milan. A second attempt at a cross by Riise brought us our first goal. Stevie Gerarrd rose high above everyone and powered and unstoppable header deep into the Milan goal. The Liverpool three quarters and more of the ground went mad. Equally as mad were a couple of Reds in Carlisle who jumped around their living room going mental. After Vladimir Smicer added another we were in heaven, hearts racing, Milan Baros put Stevie Gerarrd through on goal before he was struck down by a late vain filled challenge by Gennarro Gattusso. WE HAD A PENALTY!  Several swear words of delight later, up stepped the matador, Xabi Alonso. He struck a venomous shot towards the right of Dida. The shot, momentarily met by a flailing Brazilian arm was parried out, before Alonso met the rebound and stroked it home. AC Milan 3 Liverpool 3. I simply jumped to my feet and ran out of the house and into the street. Met by my pursuing Dad, we embraced before going back into the house, shaking from the severity of the situation.
A further 90mins or so of the second half and then an extremely tense extra time, we were at penalties. Our last Champions Cup had been won on penalties, against Italian opposition. And the antics of our then goalkeeper, Bruce Grobbelar helped win the cup for us. Now it was time for a new goalkeeper to take things up a notch…….
Jerzy Dudek on that line. Wow! His theatrical movement helped ensure three penalties were missed by Milan. This did not however seal the cup, our players still had to score, but it was Dudek who won it with a thundering save from European footballer of the year, Andriy Shevchenko. The moment Jerzy saved, me and my Dad cried tears of joy. Unbelievable, magical, unforgettable, call it what you wish. We had walked through the storm and waiting for us was the golden sky.



“Cool as cool as you like, game, well and truly, over – and I hate saying that”.
     Sky sports commentator, and former Everton player, Andy Gray on the 3-0 half time score.






















Peter H
Word count - 2071