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David Platt: “Its Goma, Guv, the injury is worse than we thought and he’ll have to go home for treatment, he wont be playing in the Final”.
The Manager stood stunned, this was a real body blow, Lambu had been the creative spark for most of the campaign.
Pete Best: “Where is the lad, I’ve got to talk to him”.
The Manager tried his best to console Millwall’s midfield genius, but to no avail. Lambu headed home the next morning in tears, his World Cup over.
That night, the Manager thought back to the day when the wheels of fate turned inexorably in his favour, setting in motion a chain of events that saw him on the brink of the ultimate prize …..
<cue small cloud appearing over the Managers head, filled with images from a game at the end of the 2003 season>
...It had been a long season. But it had been a great season. Liverpool, without a championship for 13 years had taken the plunge and appointed a new manager. Some astute moves in the transfer market had seen Cisse, Farnerud, Kallstrom, Lescott, Diego, Adu & Wehrman arrive during the season. Their impact was palpable. Liverpool were starting to play again with the flair and creativity of the great sides of the 80’s. It had been a long time coming.
The Manager had a hard time winning over the fans. In 15 short years he had come from a career cruelly cut short in its prime, to managing lowly Hastings Utd, Wigan, then a spell in Portugal with Lisbon in which he earned a reputation as a calculating tactician and great motivator. Success in the league and Europe attracted attention, and after a brief spell with Lyon he was plucked from (relative) obscurity and into the hot seat.
Early problems with a moody and tempestuous Cisse had led to a dressing room confrontation in which the manager had called the Frenchman “a lazy overpaid prima donna”. Cisse had since responded in style, being the hero on a number of occasions, but the manager always had the feeling that Cisse’s time at the club would be brief.
Success over Man Utd in the league cup final, and Liverpool topping the epl 2/3 through the season had turned the fans attitude around, with some media reports even going so far as to suggest that the manager was Liverpools saviour. “oh please … give me a break” he thought – knowing the hard work lay ahead.
Further success in the league and a monumental Champions League Qtr Final win over the luckless Man Utd (1-0 away, 2-1 at home aet, Owen catching a tiring Utd defence twice on the break in the dying minutes – a classic encounter) and 3 points clear with 3 games to play in the epl had the fans in a frenzy of anticipation. The Manager was not so confident, his young squad tiring and injuries mounting
Newcastle were chasing hard, and looking good – the rest (surprisingly) were nowhere. Liverpool had broken Utds spirit earlier in the season, and the expected challenge from the holders Arsenal never happened, amid murmurs of discontent from Viera et al.
So the scene was set, Liverpool held their destiny in their own hands. A magnificent w4-2 victory away to Bolton surprised all, with Baros netting a second half hat-trick when things had seemed doomed at 1-2, jay jay –o a constant menace. Unfortunately, Newcastle had scraped home 1-0 at Man City, Cheyrou (earlier offloaded by Liverpool) scoring a blinding goal and making the Manager rue the day he had lost patience with the young Frenchman. So 3 points ahead and 2 games left. A looming Champions League Semi meant that Diouf, Heskey, Owen & Gerrard (who had been the heart of the club all year) all badly needed a rest. Compounding the problem were injuries to Dudek & Kirkland (who joined Kallstrom & Henchoz on the sidelines) which meant a call up for the untried Luzi in goal. The manager had a long talk with Patrice before the game at home to Charlton on Saturday, and tried to instill in him a sense of Liverpool pride and spirit – but he was very, very nervous.
The team started nervously, with Bartlett coming close in the early minutes, and then slowly began to take control. Diao was controlling things in the centre, with Farnerud superb on the left, and a solid if unusual back four of Riise, Traore, Lescott & Babbel playing well. Chances went begging. 0-0 at half time. News from Newcastle – the unbelievable had happened, two goals in two minutes by Sunderland had them 0-2 down – surely the title was within reach!
The Manager told his players not to get carried away, they had achieved nothing yet – but he could see they thought they had done it, and tried hard to conceal his growing anticipation. 64 minutes, still 0-0, but bad news from Newcastle. Lua Lua had pulled one back (1-2). Plenty of time for another, and things were far from settled at Anfield. Time to make some changes. Heskey, Wehrman & Hyypia came on and spread the word “we had got to go out and win this – its not going to come to us".
Time ticked by, more chances, with Baros going close 3 times from distance - each time the crown and Manager rising as one, only to hear the deafening “oooooh” that followed. There must be easier jobs than this – the Manager thought to himself. Charlton had put up the shutters and 0-0 was looking the likely outcome. 88 minutes – things were still the same at Newcastle. The Manager sat back, there being nothing more he could do. 0-0, he thought, not exactly the way to win the championship, but who cares. A buzz went through the crown and the Managers heart sank – had Newcastle drawn level?
The Manager looked to his assistant, who shrugged his shoulders, then a sudden roar came from the crowd - a cross from Farnerud following a cleared corner was flicked on from Cisse to Baros, who slotted it home from 3 metres!! The Crowd had erupted, the stadium a cauldron of excitement, and the manager was on his feet, punching the air with joy – and finally letting himself believe it could be true. The team he had supported his whole life, and had been so close to securing a move to in his playing days, again kings of football in England – it was a dream come true!! The Buzz round the ground was now irrelevant – surely it was all over? A quick break by Bartlett and a piledriver from 20 yards saw Luzi, who had been solid all game, save superbly – and the managers heart - which had briefly stopped - started beating once again.
On 91 minutes a corner from Farnerud found Diao on the 6 yard line, and he smashed the ball home. 2-0!!!! The stadium erupted again, the roar deafening. The Manager sat stunned for the last minute, and was later to reflect it was only fitting that Diao sealed the championship, having taken his chance in the side with both hands, putting in a run of 15 commanding performances in the centre of the park. It turned out that the buzz around the ground had been news of the final whistle at Newcastle - they had gone down 1-2, unable to maintain the pressure on the mighty reds.
The final whistle blew, 13 years of agony was finally over. The Players fell over each over in celebration, and after a few seconds, sitting motionless while all around him went berserk, the Manager could no longer keep it all in, he ran on to the pitch, leaping and yelling “champions …CHAMPIONS!!” – when he saw Patrice Luzi with tears streaming down his face, the Manager lost it totally, and burst into tears as he hugged the keeper. The Manager had brought back the glory days to Anfield, and would be hailed as the saviour after all. The dream had come true ......
That night the Manager had a dream that as he stood at the final whistle, the stadium seemed to erupt, quite literally, all around him. He awoke with a start, reached for his half empty glass of scotch, and drained it in one go. The Manager stumbled over to the ensuite and spashed hid face over the sink. He felt quite shaken up, was it a premonition of a disasterous final day, or a great day - he wasn't quite sure.
[Thanks! Feedback greatly appreciated - I must admit I was almost hoping that England would fail in the semi's to uphold their proud tradition of breaking fans hearts - it might have made the story more interesting, but alas, fate has played her hand so we'll just have to see if they can go all the way after all]
The Manager snapped out of his reverie and focussed on the task at hand, selecting his match day squad for the World Cup Final.
For the first time all tournament, all players were available. It was temping to recall McEveley, but it would be just too unfair to Blackburn youngster Giddings. Danny Webb had worked hard on the track all week, and deserved a spot on the bench, at the expense of Millwall’s Moses Ashikodi, who was yet to feature, and would return home disappointed.
Steele had done enough in the last game to rule out a return for Kirkland. Welsh and Cole returned from suspension, Cole walking back into his attacking left back role at the expense of Giddings. It was a tough call, but the Manager could not justify leaving the experience of Cole on the bench. Dawson had been superb since taking over from fellow Red Welsh, and would hold his place.
The midfield picked itself, a T of Mullins, Parker, Gerrard and Croft unbreakable. Gerrard was given license to attack from MC, Mullins back to the anchor role he had done so well in. Croft and Parker were both at the top of their game’s. Mullins would have the job of watching Mendieta, while Ferdinand and Woodgate, exemplary at the abck all tournament, would be assigned to double team the dangerous Guayre.
Up front was still wide open. Samba was a walk up start of course, but you could roll the dice for his strike partner. Brandy and Rooney, although both showing glimpses of what they could do, had failed to gel with Samba, whereas Owen always seemed to link well with his Liverpool team mate. Owen got the nod only because of his ability to read Samba’s play, the Manager hoping he could recapture his touch in front of goal. Owen’s selection raised eyebrows in the media, his international career having looked all but over a week ago – but he would probably only be given a half to show what he could do.
By 5 a.m. and a half bottle of Laphroig it was settled then, this was the side that would try and recapture the glory days of English football against the imposing Spanish outfit, who would be just as determined to bring glory to their homeland.
Name (Team) Age, Caps (Goals):
Luke Steele (Man Utd) 25, 18 (0);
Ashley Cole (Arsenal) 29, 44 (3);
Les Ferdinand (Man Utd) 32, 65 (1);
Jonathon Woodgate (AC Milan) 29, 43 (0);
Michael Dawson (Liverpool) 26, 40 (4);
Hayden Mullins (WBA) 27, 16 (4);
Scott Parker (Inter Milan) 30, 37 (2);
Stephen Gerrard (c) (Liverpool) 29, 55 (5);
Lee Croft (Man City) 26, 33 (2);
Michael Owen (Liverpool), 30, 92 (50);
Cherno Samba (Liverpool) 24, 26 (19);
Subs:
Chris Kirkland (Liverpool) 26, 43 (0);
Stuart Giddings (Blackburn) 19, 6 (0);
John Welsh (Liverpool) 27, 29 (2);
James Kay (Blackburn) 20, 5 (0);
Danny Webb (Newcastle) 27, 20 (8);
Fabian Brandy (Man Utd) 26, 18 (6);
Wayne Rooney (Everton) 25, 44 (17).
The side looked much the same as the one the Manager had selected all along, the Managers faith in his starting XI being a key to seeing England through to the final.
The Manager grabbed a couple of hours sleep before heading into the day before the World Cup Final. There was a training session, press conference and tactical meeting before an early dinner function and then the 3rd place play off between France & the Czech Republic to attend, and then it was the big day.
Usually a nice open game, the pressure of the tournament gone. This time was the exception, the French still smarting at bowing out and the Czech’s looking to knock them further off their pedestal.
It was a tight and niggly match, no side really dominating, Postulka providing the highlight of the first half, drawing a great save from Landrau in the French goal. As the half came to a close, the Czech’s started to get on top, a series of corners having the French team scrambling for their lives, but they were good enough to hold on.
Cisse had a go from distance after 52 minutes, but his shot was comfortably saved.
Things remained tight, both sides careful, with plenty of niggle and free kicks.
Then suddenly, the French keeper was faced with Posulka on the break, Kopecky putting the start striker clear. Landrau rushed out, but Posulka was one step ahead, and played the ball past him. Landrau had come too far, and his only choice was to bring the Czech down, outside the area, a straight Red rom the Ref and a major blow to Frances hopes. France were rattled from then on, and looked in disarray.
After 68 minutes, Kopecky chested down a long ball to Jarosik, who lashed a shot home from the edge of the area to put the Czech’s ahead. Their lead was never threatened, and they swarmed all over the tired looking French after that. 1-0 at the finish, and the Czechs, inspired by Postulka, had shown themselves to be the up and coming team of World Football, able to turn on the style or match it physically with more experienced sides.
Now there was only the Final to come.
Zheng completed his last shift at the stadium, and slipped unnoticed again into his secret place, checking things one last time, and took the small device and put it in his pocket where it would be safe until needed.
The Manager was cordial at the pre match press conference, sparring with old adversaries and joking light heartedly about his performance at the last one.
The journo’s for their part, behaved, far too excited about England’s chances of recreating 1966 all over again than worrying about the Managers personal problems.
Jack Naysmith: Soccer World: “Mr Best, do you believe your side has what it takes to win the big match.”
Pete Best: “We wouldn’t be in the final if we didn’t deserve to be there. Lets face it, anything could happen on the day, but if you have a look at the way we have gone about it, you’d have to think that we are a good chance”.
Arthur Guthrie: The Standard: “Who will be the key player out there?”
Pete Best: “To be honest, I think it will be Guayre, his form has been magic, and he’ll take a hell of a lot of stopping.”
Guthrie again: “What about Samba?”.
Best: “Cherno has been a revelation. I don’t think anyone expected him to have the impact he has had, that’s for sure, so he’ll take some watching as well.”
And so it went on, the Manager humouring the gathered press for another hour of largely pointless questions until every facet of the game had been explored.
The Manager headed off to the stadium with the team, and spirits were high, in fact unusually so – the Manager put it down to a mix of nerves and bravado.
The stadium was starting to fill up ready for the pre match entertainment, but Zheng needed to appear to be just one of the crowd, and had an hour to kill before heading into the thick of things, slipping in quietly when things were in full swing. He headed for the change rooms, put on his casual gear, making sure no one noticed him transferring the device into his brightly coloured ‘Espana’ jacket, and headed to the pre match function for all the stadiums staff where he could pretend to be interested in the game, and make useless small talk before talking his place in the stands, and his place in history.
The Manager kept his pre match address simple. “Go out and give it everything. Keep your composure, snap at their heels and don’t give an inch. You know what you have to do, so go out there and make your country proud.”
That was enough, thought the Manager – best not to get carried away with the gravity of the situation, just let them go out there and enjoy it.
The players formed an impromptu scrum circle, exchanged words of encouragement, and headed down the tunnel towards their destiny, some crossing themselves as they headed off, others looking keyed up, a couple looking scared to death …
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