Guillem Balague - A Season on the Brink: Rafael Benitez, Liverpool and the Path to European Glory

Guillem Balagu, whose affection for Liverpool FC comes from having lived in the city for many years, is Sky Sports resident Spanish football expert. He is the UK correspondent of the influential sports newspaper AS and contributes regularly in other Spanish and UK media (Observer, Champions Magazine, El Mundo, Don Baln, Onda Cero, Talk Sport, Radio 5 Live and Metro)

Guillem Balagu is the perfect man for this job He is witty and breezy but not to the point of detachment With his excellent access to the players, he takes you into the dressing room but retains the enthusiasm of a fan This is an enthralling, revelatory account of a game that will be remembered for ever Four Four Two

Rafael Bentez, Liverpool and the Path to European Glory

GUILLEM BALAGU

To my parents, Guillermo and Maria Oliva, and to my grandma for buying me the sports papers before I could understand them.

To George, who was the first one to tell me about the Kop.

Thanks go to everyone who gave generously of their time to be interviewed for this book, particularly players and staff of Liverpool, past and present: Jamie Carragher, Xabi Alonso, Steven Gerrard, Pepe Reina, Luis Garcia, Didi Hamann, Jerzy Dudek, Vladi Smicer, Djimi Traore, Paco Herrera, Pako Ayestarn, Jos Manuel Ochotorena, Sammy Lee, Phil Thompson, John Aldridge, Steve McManaman and Michael Robinson. And of course to Rafa Bentez and Rick Parry, who found time to recapitulate about the previous two years. Thanks as well to Ian Cotton, the Liverpool press officer, and the rest of the press office for their continuous help. Plus Milan player Gennaro Gattuso who decided to break his silence for the book, referee Mejuto Gonzlez and the fans Lee Martin, Matt Barragan, Paul Flanagan and Paul Tremarco.

Several people have been key to the efficient manufacture of the book, especially David Luxton, my agent, whose words, even the slightly critical ones, sound like encouragement; Alan Samson and Mark Rusher at Weidenfeld & Nicolson, whose enthusiasm earlier on and love for the game have made this possible; Graham Hunter whose faithful translation, comments and support helped shape the book; Gabriele Marcotti who was in charge of editing the in between heated conversations in Frankfurt; Sid Lowe who was in Istanbul and has read the whole thing with his Liverpool glasses as well as with his sharp intelligence; Peter Bennett, to whom I owe a couple of meals for his help; Chris Parle (and his mother), for whom summer 2005 will be for ever related to the book; Luis Miguel Garca Vega, who has learnt lots of English and whose comments were always spot on, and Begoa Bergs, to whom I promise to record the next interviews away from a restaurant!

For help with logistics, I am indebted to Brent Wilks who provided encouragement and sometimes even the entertainment. I am grateful to my newspaper, AS, who allowed me to disappear from my obligations for a couple of months, and to Daniel Yez for doing my work in the meantime. Thanks as well to Chris Bascombe for his guidance and support (when are you writing your book?), as well as other journalists who offered great insight and help, especially Aurelio Capaldi (RAI I owe you a huge favour!), Raphael Honigstein (Sddeutsche Zeitung), Eduardo Esteve (Onda Cero), Tony Barrett (Liverpool Echo), Giancarlo Galavotti (Gazetta dello Sport), Pierluigi Pardo (Sky Italia), and Dave Usher, who edits the wonderful fanzine The Liverpool Way and who kindly let me use some material from it.

Finally, thanks to devoted Liverpool fans Sandra and Pepe, their two daughters, as well as Sandras mum, for spreading the word about the book and for the wonderful football table that I will swap for a free book or two. And to Gustavo Balagu, who is finally allowed to read it, and Yolanda Balagu, for allowing me to leave her on her own in the pool of the Marrakech hotel while I finished it.

On a balmy day in July 2004, thirty-five years after he had first arrived at Liverpool FC and eleven since he had become one of their coaches, Sammy Lee got to Melwood for the last time as a member of the club. He had come to collect his belongings. I went to help him. He drove us into the training ground after winding down the car window and signing a couple of autographs for the teenage signature-hunters that wait for anybody with any connection to Liverpool FC to come in or out.

Hi, Sammy, have you seen the new coach? Is he going to sign Aimar? Baraja? Is Owen going? Is Rafa a nice guy? Is he gonna win the league for us? It felt like one hundred questions cascading down on him, in record time. Who said kids are not curious these days? Every query followed hot on the heels of the previous one, nobody was waiting for answers, and Sammy was left open-mouthed in his seat. Nobody, though, asked the question that would haunt Sammy every day for the next twelve months: Why are you leaving?

The previous night, we had shared a few beers and reminisced in a pub that was like a thousand others in Liverpool: the same flowery carpet, the same awkward smiles from the barmaid in response to increasingly poor jokes, the same fireplace that is never lit. You could sense that Sammy wanted to prolong the night, chatting and drinking, because he was hours away from severing the umbilical cord that had tied him to Liverpool FC for all those years. It was not going to be easy.

During the evening he did his utmost to explain his precise motives for leaving Liverpool, but he didnt quite convince me. I simply couldnt understand his logic. Later, I discovered that until he was named as assistant to Sam Allardyce at Bolton Wanderers the following summer, Sammy had been struggling with the same doubts that had left me confused on that warm July evening. Not even he had been able to figure out why he had left. The nearest he came to a valid reason was that he had made a brave decision that had come from deep inside his footballing psyche and ambition. He knew he needed to make personal progress in the game, prompted by the stark realisation that he was roughly the same age as the new Liverpool boss, Rafa Bentez both of them being in their midforties. Sammy needed to shape his future.

That night, we had been in the company of his son Matthew, Bernie (the clubs driver) and some of Sammys oldest friends. It was the first time I had seen him surrounded by normality not framed by a stadium or a TV camera, nor next to the likes of Sami Hyypia, Phil Thompson and Grard Houllier. Three years earlier, at the old Melwood training ground, I had shared lunch with Houllier and Sammy, who had pointed out the new facilities that were being built at the time. The stylish staff offices were to become Houlliers nerve centre: he wanted his presence, his watchful eye, to be felt by everybody. Now, they belonged to Bentez. Look, this is the gaffers office; hes not in today, said Sammy. You can see all the training taking place from his window. But well enter by the back door and say Hi to the secretary. He acted as if hed forgotten that this was the last time he could wander freely into the building. But, of course, Sammy Lee hadnt really forgotten at all.

As he showed me around his pride was obvious. There was a good morning for everyone, a comment about every corner, even though the building boasted almost no history. His short figure moved nervously from corridors to rooms, trying to make sure I was watching everything, being introduced to everyone, ensuring I missed nothing. He was in the process of quitting the club where he had grown up, where he had developed as a footballer and as a man. I was half-expecting him to say at some point, Ill show you this and then Ill leave this club for ever, if thats OK with you. Ten months later he admitted, I put on a good show. I was turning my back on a place I never, ever wanted to leave. I cried and my family cried, but such is life.