Parting Is Sorrow (But Not Sweet)
By Prometheus
Issue 66, Autumn 2004
Are you sure you want to read this? Those of a squeamish disposition might want to turn the page now because this is a ‘full on’ rant about the game I used to love. There won’t be any laughs and you will almost certainly end up being depressed and disillusioned.
Writing a column in a fanzine is susceptible to what is known as “The Michael Fish/What Hurricane? Syndrome”. Write a column praising the team and saying how wonderful everything is going – and it all turns pear shaped. Moan and gripe a lot and things pick up. So, having expressed, in my last column, relief that Michael Owen had indicated that he would be staying, I guess I should be big enough to accept my share of the blame for him changing his mind and going.
That hurt. When Stevie G was (we were told) clearly going to Chelsea, I argued that this was a betrayal because Steven Gerrard would be the first big player to walk out on this club without having played a significant part in putting some silverware on the shelf. We would only ever have been talking about what might have been – not what was. If Michael Owen left, I argued at the time, at least he could point to two goals at Cardiff in 2001 and we could say ‘thanks and good luck’. But when the time came to say thanks and good luck (on my birthday of all days) I was filled with bitterness and deep disappointment. I guess I still had Michael Owen on a pedestal – thinking him to be a decent bloke, endowed with qualities like loyalty, intelligence and integrity. What really stunned me was that I seemed to be in a minority of one because I kept hearing Liverpool fans saying things like “Well it’s probably for the best” and “It makes good business sense to let him go now”. Bollocks. This club didn’t become the most successful club in the history of the English game by selling our best players. This club didn’t win four European titles by making financial imperatives a bigger priority than success. This club didn’t win eighteen titles by having to let our best players go to bigger clubs – they wanted to play for us and considered it an honour to pull on that shirt.
Whoever we use up front this year we are going to be a weaker side without Michael Owen – now how is that going to make us better equipped to close the gap on Arsenal? And for what? Eight million lousy quid. Big deal. Another vintage Liverpool “We buy high – we sell low” transfer embarrassment. And then they went and stamped on our blushing faces when Jonathan Woodgate went to the Harlem Globetrotters for £13m! Jonathan Woodgate! £13m! I never thought I’d see that name in the same sentence as that figure – unless the words ‘in fines’ appeared after them.
I kept hearing people telling me that Owen was past his best and that, for most of last season he looked like he wanted to get away. And do you remember last season? Could you blame him? Hell, if you thought Michael looked like he wanted away, you should have seen me! Surely his look of dejection had more to do with playing under a manager who knew slightly less than bugger all about tactics. He spent most of the season on his own up front, watching Heskey or Diouf lose possession out wide. Again and again. I think I could forgive him the odd droop of the shoulders when our sole attacking strategy was the hit and hope long ball out from the back. So when we replaced Houllier with a manager who was known to be a tactician, I felt sure that Michael would at least give it a season and see if things had improved. How naïve. I forgot money talks – and it usually has a Russian or Spanish accent these days.
There is a risk that this column might turn into a full-scale rant about Michael Owen and that would be a little unfair. After all, he gave us some wonderfully happy memories and was never anything less than a decent ambassador for himself, the club and the sport. But the truth is I am heartily sick of the modern game in general. I know the fault lies with me as I cling hopelessly to Red Luddite values and quaint notions of loyalty and fair play. I know that I’m unable to accept the game as it is, while desperately wanting to go back to how it was. I happen to think I might be right because there is so much wrong with the modern game: the Champions League………yes – but it isn’t, is it?
The sale of Danny Murphy hit me almost as hard as the sale of Saint Michael. I know Danny was a player who polarised opinion – Reds either loved him or hated him – few were indifferent. The fact is he was a local lad who was heart and soul in love with this club and he never gave less than 100% for us. His pedigree against the Mancs is peerless – unlike Igor Biscan who is still with us – his pedigree is………well, dog rough, I suppose. But seriously, when Benitez let Danny go while keeping Igor, my early confidence in him took a sharp dive. I hope I’m proved wrong but I wasn’t too impressed at the way he rushed out and bought a bunch of Spanish players as soon as he got some cash to spend. I appreciate that the Spanish game is what he knows best and both Garcia and Alonso have showed early promise. I’m just concerned at how well these players are going to perform in the sleet on a muddy pitch on a cold Tuesday night at Charlton in February. And without Danny in the side, how many of us were approaching the Mancs fixture with even a shred of confidence? Danny, even at his worst, would have made more of a contribution than the half a dozen passengers we carried that night put together. The appalling quality of the substitutes against Norwich (Biscan, Traore and Diao) is all the evidence you need that the sale of Murphy was, to say the least, premature. Danny, thanks for all you did for us – you gave us plenty of happy memories – many of them from OTT.
I am curious as to why successive foreign managers have made the sale of our English players their first priority. Gerard Houllier sold Fowler, Redknapp, McManaman and McAteer. Benitez made Owen and Murphy his first casualties. Was that a coincidence or are we seeing the soul of the club (its local heroes) sacrificed to preserve managerial authority? It’s early days but I have already got reservations about Benitez. Zonal marking. His persistence with Finnan. His liberal use of substitutes in every game (very Houllier-esque). His willingness to play one up front. His failure to fire up his players for the Man United fixture. The complete disappearance of Stephane Henchoz from the face of this earth. Ooops – no – he has just turned up on E-Bay. “For Sale – Centre Half – Always looks a bit puffed – but still better than most in the Premiership – Manager prefers players who can mark zones instead”.
I am sick of the omnipotent and corrosive influence of agents. These parasites have a vested interest in making deals happen – even when a player might possibly prefer to stay. Aided and abetted by those other blood sucking leeches, the sports press, they can set the scene for a deal and make the whole thing a virtual fact before anybody has even spoken to anybody.
The Bosman ruling was a turning point by empowering the players and weakening the hands of clubs. It opened up the floodgates of avarice and washed away any trace of player/club loyalty. As for the fans, their opinions and influence were infinitely diminished at a stroke. A club can invest years patiently watching a player develop, massaging his poor fragile ego and then we follow him all over Europe to voice our support. All of the time he is earning, each week, the sort of salary that the average fan can only dream about earning in a year. And as soon as somebody offers to double his already obscene salary, off he goes without a flicker of acknowledgement for the years of patience invested in him by the club and its supporters in good times and bad. I know there is another side to this and the former clubs of players like Baros, Cisse and Hyypia (and should we go right back to Scunthorpe and our ‘theft’ of Keegan and Clemence?) almost certainly feel a degree of bitterness towards us for luring away their star players. I do sympathise with them and understand how they feel. But these days, contracts are becoming virtually meaningless, riddled with clauses, all of which are heavily stacked in favour of the players. Don’t expect loyalty from your idols – it comes at a very high price and it is beyond the spending power of us mere fans.
Don’t expect them to be socially responsible either. During the summer, Lee Hughes – a very ordinary player playing in a very ordinary first division team - caused death by driving his £100k Mercedes in a dangerous and reckless manner. His six year jail term was the very least he deserved. The death of an innocent motorist was, by a long way, the most sickening aspect of this story. However, the fact that such a peripheral figure in the post-modern game is earning enough money to even afford a £100k motor is further evidence that things have gone waaaaaaaaaaaay too far.
You can set it in a broader context and ask how fair it is that scum like Hughes can be so richly rewarded when there are care workers and nurses struggling to make ends meet. I can’t be doing with a sport that rewards meatheads like Hughes with such riches when they are manifestly not endowed with any sense of social responsibility to cope with that wealth. I just can’t reconcile the fact that such a naff player is so generously funded in part by fans some of whom struggle to get the cash together to go and watch him play. It is an ever more expensive business following your club home and away and the attitude of players towards fans is increasingly contemptuous. Shamefully, one of our own players fell into this category back in August by blanking a bunch of kids waiting in the rain for an autograph, the day before the City game. You know who you are – arse.
Of course, there is ample evidence that the players are out of control. Endless lurid stories of their hedonistic lifestyles and sickening excesses continue to surface regularly. Even young Wayne has been spending his dosh on the company of prostitutes – it tells you a lot about the unenlightened misogynists we choose to worship.
Even so, God help me, I felt sorry for Everton in their hopeless struggle to keep Rooney during the summer. In the pits of despair after an unexpectedly poor season, their one ray of sunshine – Wayne’s classy emergence as (let’s be honest) a decent prospect was soon snuffed out by the determined campaign to turn him into a Manc. ‘He’s too good to stay at Everton’ seemed to be the thinking. WHY? Why can’t a decent player stay and develop at a lesser club? Such thinking is also remarkably short sighted. Rooney is a lad who has the potential to turn into a George Best or a Paul Gascoigne – off the pitch. His best chance of avoiding the temptations that blighted the careers of these great players, was to stay here on Merseyside where the stabilising influence of his club, family, friends (and the odd prostitute) might just have saved him from the excesses that have distracted stronger minds than Rooney’s. Besides, the hegemony enjoyed by the top clubs will never be broken as long as they continue to cherry pick the best talent without investing in cultivating their own.
As soon as clubs like Southampton, Fulham or Blackburn find a player of real talent, the bandwagon starts rolling and the press are soon linking him with Chelsea, The Madrid Globetrotters or the Glams. And it’s starting to happen to us. None of us should be under any illusions about Steven Gerrard’s decision to stay – he’s going to go sooner or later, regardless of what you and I think.
I also had a problem with the terms of the Rooney deal. Everton stand to gain an extra £500,000 if the Mancs win the title in the next three years. Scenario – Mancs v Everton – last game of next season – Mancs need to win to clinch the title – how can a cash strapped club like Everton approach the fixture with any real credibility? They have already been compromised by the deal because they stand to gain financially if they lose that match. It beggars belief that the FA has turned a blind eye to yet more chicanery by the Stretford Spivs.
At least we can now get back to the serious business of baiting Rooney. I was starting to warm to the youngster during the summer. Now he has sold his soul to the Devil’s own team, we can resume normal service. It’s all the redundant staff at Sayer’s I feel sorry for. And the retards, picking the ‘Roonaldo’ lettering off the backs of their shirts and thumbing through the dictionary to see if Roonaldo is an anagram of Judas Iscariot. We can amuse ourselves playing with different permutations of Once a Blue, Always a Blue. Once a Blue, Always a Manc. Once a Blue, Briefly a Blue. Once a Blue, Always a Blue (Until Somebody Waves a Shedload of Money Under My Nose) – doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it? And the irony of them being shafted by the team they had been flirting with for so long (to wind us up) tasted delicious.
I’m sick of the way England games disrupt the season. Playing a meaningless friendly in the first week of the season was bang out of order. OK – I’m really not that bothered about my national side – never have been, never will be. But it seems as though the FA is buggering up the club fixtures to accommodate an ever growing number of England matches. And for what? You can’t exactly point to any glory and say that the increasing fixture disruption has paid off at International level, can you? The FA now plays as big a part as Sky in fixture disruption and, as usual, nobody took the trouble to ask me what I thought about it.
In 1989, the way our club, players and fans came together in the aftermath of the most terrible adversity made me think that my passion for this club would be permanent and unconditional. How times have changed. Once upon a time, the players knew they were living our dreams and it strengthened the bond between us. Now you can almost touch the contempt they have for us when we urge them to get out of second gear. Our attitude towards visiting teams was unique. Countless visiting players have left Anfield with lasting memories of our generosity of spirit. We gave respect to those teams who upheld our own traditions for attractive and attacking football – even in moments of disappointment after the odd defeat. Perhaps Gordon Banks was the most popular player never to play for us. He repeatedly attracted adulation even though he frequently denied us and thwarted our attacks. Teams like Bristol City, Chesterfield and Grimsby left Anfield feeling ten feel tall after warm acknowledgement of their endeavours. I’m proud of that.
There were times when I have left Anfield feeling (possibly conceitedly) that I had played a small part in a famous victory. On some of those famous European nights, it really did feel like the fans and the players were all working together to overcome the opposition. I’m sorry to keep banging on about the St Etienne game but, believe me, all those of us who were privileged to be there that night remain convinced to this day that we played our part in this club’s finest triumph. That night WE inspired those players to achieve a victory that might otherwise have been beyond them. We created a climate in which victory was almost inevitable. There were many more nights in which we played our part and made the difference but St Etienne was never equalled. Not in Rome. Nor at Wembley or Paris. St Etienne was unique.
In the last ten years, the club and fans have virtually gone their separate ways. Our views are marginalised and we are frequently made to feel like an inconvenience. Herded like animals when queuing for tickets – how often have you reached the front of the queue and found just a couple of windows open? I’m sick of feeling only contempt coming from the club. These days, even forking out over £500 for a season ticket isn’t enough to guarantee us tickets to European matches. They want us there at EVERY game. You think that the priority ticket allocation is about rewarding regular supporters? Doubt it. They are using the scheme as a means of selling tickets for matches that wouldn’t otherwise sell out while making no allowance for the fact that the pivotal fixture (versus Graz) was played at a time when a lot of people were away on holiday. And you STILL couldn’t sell out the Monaco game!
I’m sick of the way that history has been rewritten to the start of the Premiership years. Such distortion of history’s truth is the territory of extreme political regimes who need to control minds in order to control people and promote their own agendas. They insult our intelligence, patronise us, talk down to us and feed us an endless stream of Premiership related statistics while denying us any reference to what went before.
Sky really do seem to think that they made this game what it is today. That mentality is borne out of the despicable attitude that, in 1989 the game was a slum sport, played in slum stadia and followed by slum people. It’s subsequent move up-market with all of the razzamatazz that that entailed is not to my taste. I’m all for people putting our safety slightly higher up their list of priorities but I can do without all of the other crap that goes with it.
Other gripes? Lee Bowyer. The Thai Takeaway. The ground share. It goes against all we have ever stood for, all we have ever aspired to. Higher standards. Sportsmanship. Morality. Solidarity. Magnanimity. Fair play. Respect. These values set us apart from other fans and some of us still cherish them to this day – not just because they are the traditions that we grew up with, but because they defined the most successful club in the history of the English game.
The era of the paternal influence of T V Williams, Sir John Smith and Peter Robinson has been succeeded by a time of faceless accountants, brand managers and marketing experts. The club has been turned into an international hostel for itinerant journeymen from around the world. Gone are the days when players joined us just for the honour of playing for Liverpool – not for financial gain. Their newly found badge kissing passion for our club is inspired by a big fat pay-cheque and claims that they always loved our club come with the credibility of a politician.
In short, the game just doesn’t excite me any more. Perhaps it’s my age. Perhaps it’s the saturation coverage of the sport by the media in general and Sky in particular. A match used to be an event that I looked forward to for days before. Throw in half a dozen away trips in a season and a day out to Wembley and I had all the football I needed. Now it’s possible to watch football pretty much all day every day. I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand the appeal of Racing Santander vs Real Zaragoza or Huddersfield vs Rochdale. Surely such hors d’oeuvres dilute your appetite for the main course? I’ve wondered if I am just a glory hunter and the thrill has gone because we don’t get things all our own way anymore but I don’t think it’s that. After all, most other clubs would love a taste of ‘failure’ if it meant five trophies in one season or finishing fourth in the Premiership and CL football. Most clubs can only dream about participating in European competitions. Even in decline, we remain a team that others, home and abroad, respect. No, I just don’t get the same buzz out of a win or the odd good performance. The 2-0 defeat of Monaco might have left me on a high for days, once. Not now. And those occasional defeats used to hurt right up to the next match when we could put it right. Not these days. I leave the ground, shrug my shoulders and shift my focus onto other things – football just isn’t allowed to dominate my life any more – it no longer sends my spirits soaring in the way that good music still can.
Phil Thompson once described Bill Shankly as one of the greatest men that ever lived. That would put him up there with people like Nelson Mandela, Winston Churchill and Martin Luther King and, to some, for somebody who only managed a football team that might seem a little bit over the top. But there are several parallels that lend some validity to Phil’s statement. They were all men who were in the right place at the right time. There was a need and they answered it. They all had a vision – something they wanted to change, a dream they wanted to make real, a job to be done. The job they all had to do was for the people they served. Bill Shankly’s micro-socialism kept him constantly, unerringly focussed on the needs of the fans – our hopes and dreams were his hopes and dreams and every footballing decision he ever made was taken with us in mind. As a devout Red Luddite, I’m keeping that tradition alive as I tend to measure big decisions in terms of ‘What would Shankly have done?’. Bill must be spinning in his urn at some of the things that have happened at Anfield in the last few years. We will never know the full extent of how much Bill Shankly did for the people of this city – both inside and outside of football.
Stories continue to circulate about hospital visits, acts of genuine unselfishness and real generosity towards Reds and Blues alike. He always gave unstintingly of his time and energy. His spirit is woven into the fabric of Liverpool Football Club and it pains me to see that few of the current crop are worthy of wrapping themselves in that fabric. I no longer trust the players with my unconditional support – it’s been thrown back in my face once too often.
Yes, I know I am turning into a Grumpy Old Man – my family are constantly reminding me. But with the late John Peel admitting to it, I knew I was in fairly good company. The plan was to end this column by cheering you all up with the news that this season would be my last – that when the renewal reminder arrives next summer, I will take my £550 and spend it on something that will almost guarantee pleasure……………..(that’s my business – OK?). But somehow, I can’t seem to make that final decision.
This club has put down roots in my affection that I just cannot seem to sever. I’m filled with doubt – what if Rafa is THE one? I know there are only limited grounds for optimism – we have spent so many seasons in transit that we should be sponsored by Ford. This season looks no different with too much new blood coming in all at once. There will be more disjointed, spineless displays like the ones at OTT and Olympiakos before things get any better.
So - what would Bill Shankly have done? Well he always regretted leaving prematurely. Looks like I’m staying then.
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