The Treble - Crazy for Hou (But Not That Crazy)
By Monsignor Bonehead
From Issue 52, Summer 2001
Cast your mind back 5 years. In Roy's heyday,
we were beautiful to watch, always had more of
the ball than the opposition, and frequently dominated
games that we lost 1-0. The Spice Boys, blah blah
blah. Five years is a long time in football. I
can't honestly say that we're beautiful to watch
at the moment, 127 goals notwithstanding (!),
but now we have a side that wins Cup Finals by
playing for the last 10 minutes, a side that can
bore Italian teams into submission (the irony),
a side that can dig its heels in. Definitely not
the Spice Boys. Houllier deserves all the credit
for this. Losing McManaman was hardly his own
choice, losing Redknapp to injury wasn't either.
Getting rid of Ince and James definitely were.
McAteer, Babb, Kvarme and Bjornebye were all regulars
in the Liverpool side 5 years ago. In hindsight,
I have to say Roy was some kind of genius in managing
to get such muck to play football for so long.
The feeling is less that we should have done more
with that side (which I felt at the time) but
more that we really did get away with it for an
awfully long time. None of this is to say that
Gerard is a stunning judge of a player (hiya Rigobert),
but he does seem to have the knack of realising
when a player just isn't up to it, and the courage
to get rid quick. Apart from Collymore, think
of the players Roy should have got rid of a lot
sooner - James in full-on Nintendo mode, Ruddock
and his "always booze" philosophy, all
the names mentioned above. Compare this to Houllier's
treatment of Ziege this season. Sure, he gave
him more than one chance to show his worth - hell,
we all would have, knowing that inside that pock-marked
head there is a football brain trying to get out
- but when it became clear that he was only here
for the cash, out he went. This is impressive
when you consider that Houllier had a lot riding
on Ziege, having fought with Boro over him, shelled
out a lot of cash for him and sold a decent left-back
to make way for him.
So, our manager took a sham of a squad and built
a team. He's given us some pride back. He's allowed
us to hold our heads high again. He's given us
as many memorable days in one season as we've
had in ten years. He buys less duds than his predecessor,
and many, many fine players. He's got a genuine
love for the club and the people. He has won some
trophies. He's a decent man. And yet, for me,
doubts remain about our manager. I'm uncomfortable
with the hero-worship, and with the singing of
the manager's name rather than our best players,
and with the label of 'supreme tactician' and
with the clamour for Manager of the Year awards.
What more do I want? Blood?
James Lawton wrote a fine article a couple of
days after the Alaves game, where he quoted the
ubiquitous "old pro" as saying the following:
"When are Liverpool going to get down to
really playing?". Liverpool's style, or lack
of, this season has to cause concern to any of
us. This side simply can't be faulted on many
of the aspects that great sides need: grit, determination,
spirit, etc. When it actually comes to using the
ball, however, we're far from the finished article.
The temptation to knock it up to Heskey when he's
playing is one that is almost never resisted for
a start. Ten years ago we would have balked at
playing as many long balls as this. Two men are
especially guilty, both of whom have been heroes
in other ways for the Reds this season: Henchoz
and Carragher. JC has been brilliant this season,
but almost entirely in a negative sense. Creatively,
you might as well have Rolf Harris on the left
side. This isn't meant cruelly: Jamie simply isn't
cut out for bombing down the line, skipping past
people and swinging in crosses. His attributes
are manifold, but his deficiencies are there for
all to see. At home to Derby a few months ago,
Jim Smith's tactics seemed to involve leaving
JC as much space as he wanted but to deny everyone
else. It worked perfectly. They knew he wasn't
going to hurt them, we knew he wasn't going to
hurt them, I think the dogs on the street probably
had a fair idea he wasn't going to hurt them.
Henchoz is another who gives his all - he frequently
looks knackered after the warm up - but he has
also probably launched more hopeful/hopeless long
balls than any other outfield player in my time
watching the Reds. This is a huge test for the
manager, as the inability of key defenders to
retain the ball will tell too often in the season
for our forwards to bail us out. Incidentally,
is anyone else worried about the tendency for
Henchoz to go pear-shaped on our big days? Three
finals: Needless penalty given away in the first
one; Skinned alive in the second one; Stank so
badly in the third one I thought I had brought
something in on my shoe.
The aesthetes among us can't have been too impressed
with some of our tactics at times this season
either. Catching teams on the break is one thing,
boring them into submission is quite another.
The Porto game away was, in one sense, a job well
done. In another sense, it was a complete bloody
embarrassment. We all saw how utterly awful Porto
were in the second leg, so why didn't we try to
cross the halfway line over there? I know you
try to silence the crowd early on in a European
game, I've read my share of bad autobiographies,
but they were catatonic after watching us. After
Barcelona, when we were at least playing a decent
side, a friend of mine said "I'd rather have
lost 5-0". I couldn't disagree with him.
We weren't saying that in May, so maybe the end
justifies the means, but I found it very hard
to get that excited about a display that involved
putting everything behind the ball for the whole
game. I have faith in these players even if our
manager doesn't. Sure, keeping Rivaldo quiet over
two legs is some achievement, but am I the only
one to feel that Heskey, Fowler and especially
Owen could have troubled their sieve of a defence
at some stage of the away leg?
Memo to Gerard: we may need to win an away match
if we get to the Champions League. This could
mean doing some attacking. How many teams have
we whinged about coming to Anfield for a point
desperate not to play an ounce of football? Just
because it's us doesn't make it right, lads. A
Bluenose friend of mine, a relatively sane one
at that, had a good dig at me recently: How come
"Dogs Of War" Blue-style was sneered
upon so much six years ago, yet it's OK now because
the shirts are red? I laughed, but we both knew
he had a point. Even if our Dogs are thoroughbreds
to their mongrels.
Irish readers will be familiar with the Waldorf
& Stadler of football punditry, Eamon Dunphy
and John Giles. Dunphy may need some introduction
to others: an ordinary Irish player in the seventies
who went on to transform himself in the eighties
and nineties into an entertaining if barking journalist.
I have never paid much attention to his views
on football - he reckoned O'Leary should have
been Manager of the Year this season! - but he
is always good for an impassioned rant. He's been
on LFC's back all year ("We're not here to
be cheerleaders"), sometimes to a degree
which made him seem even more of a caricature
than usual. However, the odd line did hit home.
After one display, he cranked himself up: "I've
seen this side playing Birmingham. I've seen them
play Wycombe. Everton, Porto, Barcelona. I am
sick of watching this side. Sick!". Now,
Everton apart, you'd have to say most of those
games were pretty awful. On the other hand, it's
not a circus, the Reds aren't there to entertain
the supporters of Leeds United.
However, while I don't give Dunphy much time,
Johnny Giles has always been that rarest of things:
a pundit who doesn't make you want to puke. He
always speaks his mind, whether it's what you
want to hear or not. He was comparing Fowler favourably
to Jimmy Greaves after 3 months in the team, and
he has constantly berated successive England managers
for their treatment of Owen. His commentary on
the day LFC beat Leeds 5-4 at Elland Road a decade
or so ago summed up the man for me. Liverpool
go 4 up against a team presumably close to his
heart, and his reaction is along the lines of
the following: "People accuse me of being
a Liverpool fan. This is why. I'm not a Liverpool
fan, I'm a football fan. And this is football
the way it should be". In short, not a man
with a grudge about LFC. This season, though,
he has been far from fulsome in his praise. While
giving the team credit for their resolve and so
on, he frequently came back to what he sees as
a lack of a real direction, a lack of a real pattern
of play. For all our fine players, and this is
a hell of a squad we've got, we have rarely looked
completely in control of a game for the entire
90 minutes. United do it in their sleep.
James Lawton also makes reference to a 'meddlesome
theoretic streak' that Houllier often seems to
have. This is a point that Giles also repeatedly
comes back to about managers in general and Houllier
in particular. Giles' philosophy is simple: you
pick your best players, and you go and play. It
sounds ridiculous to even say this - of course
you pick your best players. And yet, come FA Cup
Final day there was no place in the first eleven
for Gary McAllister, a man possessed for the previous
six weeks. The impetus which should have been
handed to us by Wenger's inclusion of the woeful
Grimandi was handed straight back by our exclusion
of the best player in the country in the last
six weeks of the season. You can't tell me that
McAllister needed to be rested for the UEFA Cup
Final either, when a man is playing in the form
of his life tiredness is the last thing on his
mind.
This sort of tinkering has been all too familiar
this season, but (eventual) results have meant
that the spotlight has not shone on this aspect
of the manager's character. Consider this: would
you have substituted Michael Owen against Alaves?
Or to put it another way: Gerard, what was it
about our world-class, in-form, whippet of a forward
that you felt we could do without against a defence
that was ragged, tired and terrified of people
going at them? They must have been as happy to
see him go off as we were about Moreno's weird
departure. As it was, when Alaves got their equaliser
and we needed to push on again, our Cup Final
hero wasn't on the pitch. Consider this too: would
you have tried out a new formation on Worthington
Cup Final day? Biscan on the left wing had the
haunted look of a Vietnam vet in an overwrought
Oliver Stone epic, and in truth he hasn't looked
the same since. Building your whole attack around
the wretched Smicer in a free role had the appearance
of a bet Gerard made with Patrice after the boys
had downed a bucket of their favourite claret.
Both games were won, so it doesn't matter. Does
it? I would feel that when it ain't broke, it
doesn't need fixing.
Finally, it has to be said: we were blessed with
luck in the last few months of the season. We
weren't the first team ever to have won three
trophies in a season with a lot of help from the
Gods I know, just ask your Manc mates who've been
supporting them ever since 1993, but someone was
smiling on us those last few weeks. Regardless
of whether justice was done or not with each incident,
try these: there was the tanking we got from Arsenal
and got away with, there was the penalty that
wasn't against Roma, there was the golden own
goal, there was the tanking we got from Charlton
first half and got away with, there was Gary Mac's
goal from four miles against Everton. The following
is from a pretty funny Irish Times article by
a Leeds fan bemoaning LFC's "extraordinary
strain of jamminess", talking about the aftermath
of the Everton winner:
"McAllister's celebrations are almost marred
when he comes close to dying from laughter. M
Houllier is on the pitch with his big jammy grin
too. We are jammy. Nous sommes les jamants!"
Wise old man say: a good manager is a lucky manager.
By this criteria, we've got ourselves a good man
here. This isn't meant to denigrate our achievements
, as I didn't see us getting much luck around
November and December time when we could have
done with it. To use my 84th cliché of
the piece, you make hay while the sun shines.
An alternative title to this piece was Adventures
in Nit Picking. Because, let's face it, I love
the man. I started work in 1993, United won the
title 3 months later. 8 years of total smugness
from the Mancs, 8 years of gallows humour from
the Reds who had to grin and bear it. And finally,
thanks to GH, it's our turn to gloat a wee bit.
I delight in discussing a trip to the Super Cup
in Monaco, just because I can. I love talking
about our Treble in front of people who think
they own the word. Other Reds I discussed this
article with said things along the line of: "Well,
I'm not complaining" or "Beggars can't
be choosers." And my search for the perfect
manager is about as realistic as my hopes of being
plucked from my five-a-side games on a Friday
night to star for the Reds. But God yes, I'm hard
to please. I grew up spoiled: Dalglish and Rush,
Barnes and Beardsley. Now, after a decade of Paul
Stewarts, Nicky Tanners and Phil Babbs, we've
got ourselves a team again, and we're close.
Let Burley have his award, he's deserved it. The
eternal optimist in me likes to think our man
will have his turn this season, after he's led
the Reds to glory. We'll be gorgeous to watch,
Litmanen proving to be everything Smicer isn't
(who said "a footballer"?), Stevie G
running the show, Robbie, Michael and Emile terrorising
defences, Sami and Marcus treating the opposition
with disdain. But then I snap out of it. I really
don't expect miracles - United aren't that likely
to be weakened by Veron coming in for Nicky Butt
- but just to challenge again for the League,
in a style befitting this club, would prove the
manager's worth to me. And if we do challenge,
with style, win or lose, I'll be there in my best
mock-Scouse-French: "Ger-ard, Ger-ard Ooo-leee-aaaa".
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