short thread ey?
Yes - Gerrin there
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by RAFABENITEZ » Sun Mar 26, 2006 1:05 pm
Just go my first ever article printed in RAOTL
short thread ey?
short thread ey?
Last edited by RAFABENITEZ on Sun Mar 26, 2006 1:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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RAFABENITEZ - >> LFC Elite Member <<
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woof woof ! - Forum Moderator
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by RAFABENITEZ » Sun Mar 26, 2006 1:13 pm
mighty mo wrote:BEG MY PARDON BUT WHAT IS "RAOTL"?
Fanzine, Red All Over The Land.
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RAFABENITEZ - >> LFC Elite Member <<
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The Ace1983 - >> LFC Elite Member <<
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by woof woof ! » Sun Mar 26, 2006 1:34 pm
So RB, are you gonna paste it in here ? or have we read it already ?
Would love to read Dawsino's Mayfair article .
Would love to read Dawsino's Mayfair article .
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woof woof ! - Forum Moderator
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by RAFABENITEZ » Sun Mar 26, 2006 1:58 pm
Paul C wrote:dawson99 wrote:reminds me of my first article in mayfair...
What Rafa no pictures?
Maybe later
Im still a bit pis£sed from last nights celebrations
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RAFABENITEZ - >> LFC Elite Member <<
- Posts: 1136
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by Paul C » Mon Mar 27, 2006 5:00 pm
RAFABENITEZ wrote:Paul C wrote:dawson99 wrote:reminds me of my first article in mayfair...
What Rafa no pictures?
Maybe later
Im still a bit pis£sed from last nights celebrations
lol, forgot to say congrats fella
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Paul C - >> LFC Elite Member <<
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- Joined: Mon Mar 29, 2004 12:44 pm
by RAFABENITEZ » Mon Mar 27, 2006 8:05 pm
[/quote]
lol, forgot to say congrats fella[/quote]
cheers, btw you lot got it first before RAOTL y'know!
remember.............
In Istanbul, we won it five times!
Tuesday, May the third 2005.A day of glory I had always known would eventually come, but not in this season which had been one of severe discomfort, for me and my fellow Kopites. That night certified our presence in the European Champions Cup Final for the sixth time. 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; it gave us a slight advantage in the purist’s eyes, in that we knew what we `had’ from the away leg. As it was, I could not go to Stamford Bridge, as my Fathers priorities were all wrong, leaving me 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 father’s work commitments (call yourself a fan, Dad?) the severity of the cost of these games, as I was already going to all home Premiership games.
So that night, I took my place on the sofa 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 with slight feeling that we really should have scored, making 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. 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 Markus Babbel’s career 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. You’ll never walk alone was sung, and 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. Luis Garcia 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 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 would probably have struggled to match us.
The following morning I was euphoric - both ecstatic and also wary of the threat Milan posed. I pleaded with my father to go to Istanbul but I had two GCSE exams that day and also my father had work commitments (again). I tried to make him see that we would not need tickets as we could watch it in a bar. Just to be there would be enough. I even checked 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.
And so to that game. How do you describe the feeling of seeing your team play in the Champions Cup Final? The day started off with those two imitating exams. English in the morning, Italian in the afternoon. Such irony. I slaved through the first exam, feeling quietly confident I had done well. By the time the Italian exam starting it was 1.15. 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, I grabbed my bag, and in minutes was on the bus home. 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 scarves. And this was Carlisle. Imagine what Liverpool must have been like?
I kicked the door down and entered my house. 2.34. Five hours and eleven minutes away now. I flicked on the radio, 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 only 20,000 Milanese in Istanbul! We would be outnumbering them five to one!
The next few hours seemed to take an eternity, by 7.00 things really began to build up. I had checked everything, from the arrangements of the flags outside to how long my pizza was going to be. It took 15 minutes to cook a pizza. Only 7 minutes to cook Milan though.
And so to the match itself. My heart was thumping. I had sweat patches all over my Liverpool 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 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.
At half time the score was, AC Milan 3, Liverpool 0. This was the worst night of my life, but there could be no surrender. 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. 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 an unstoppable header deep into the Milan goal. The Liverpool fans went mad. Equally as mad were a couple of Reds in Carlisle who jumped around their living room. 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 jumped to my feet and ran out of the house. Met by my pursuing Dad, we embraced before going back into the house, shaking with emotion.
It went to penalties. Our last Champions Cup had been won on penalties, against Italian opposition. And the antics of our then goalkeeper, Bruce Grobbelaar 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. 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. My Dad and I 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.
Word count – 1764
lol, forgot to say congrats fella
[/quote]cheers, btw you lot got it first before RAOTL y'know!
remember.............
In Istanbul, we won it five times!
Tuesday, May the third 2005.A day of glory I had always known would eventually come, but not in this season which had been one of severe discomfort, for me and my fellow Kopites. That night certified our presence in the European Champions Cup Final for the sixth time. 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; it gave us a slight advantage in the purist’s eyes, in that we knew what we `had’ from the away leg. As it was, I could not go to Stamford Bridge, as my Fathers priorities were all wrong, leaving me 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 father’s work commitments (call yourself a fan, Dad?) the severity of the cost of these games, as I was already going to all home Premiership games.
So that night, I took my place on the sofa 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 with slight feeling that we really should have scored, making 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. 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 Markus Babbel’s career 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. You’ll never walk alone was sung, and 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. Luis Garcia 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 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 would probably have struggled to match us.
The following morning I was euphoric - both ecstatic and also wary of the threat Milan posed. I pleaded with my father to go to Istanbul but I had two GCSE exams that day and also my father had work commitments (again). I tried to make him see that we would not need tickets as we could watch it in a bar. Just to be there would be enough. I even checked 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.
And so to that game. How do you describe the feeling of seeing your team play in the Champions Cup Final? The day started off with those two imitating exams. English in the morning, Italian in the afternoon. Such irony. I slaved through the first exam, feeling quietly confident I had done well. By the time the Italian exam starting it was 1.15. 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, I grabbed my bag, and in minutes was on the bus home. 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 scarves. And this was Carlisle. Imagine what Liverpool must have been like?
I kicked the door down and entered my house. 2.34. Five hours and eleven minutes away now. I flicked on the radio, 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 only 20,000 Milanese in Istanbul! We would be outnumbering them five to one!
The next few hours seemed to take an eternity, by 7.00 things really began to build up. I had checked everything, from the arrangements of the flags outside to how long my pizza was going to be. It took 15 minutes to cook a pizza. Only 7 minutes to cook Milan though.
And so to the match itself. My heart was thumping. I had sweat patches all over my Liverpool 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 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.
At half time the score was, AC Milan 3, Liverpool 0. This was the worst night of my life, but there could be no surrender. 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. 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 an unstoppable header deep into the Milan goal. The Liverpool fans went mad. Equally as mad were a couple of Reds in Carlisle who jumped around their living room. 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 jumped to my feet and ran out of the house. Met by my pursuing Dad, we embraced before going back into the house, shaking with emotion.
It went to penalties. Our last Champions Cup had been won on penalties, against Italian opposition. And the antics of our then goalkeeper, Bruce Grobbelaar 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. 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. My Dad and I 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.
Word count – 1764
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RAFABENITEZ - >> LFC Elite Member <<
- Posts: 1136
- Joined: Sat Feb 05, 2005 10:28 am
- Location: Carlisle
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