Forza Liverpool
I am sure that John, wherever he was having his heart broken, would've heard me cackling. That's the way this post was supposed to start. Alas, my dreams have been shattered. With Liverpool 1-0 down within 52 seconds, I raised my Heineken in salute to Milan goalscorer and captain Paolo Maldini who, at 37, still looked up there with the best. Looks like the damned Reds have gotten this far only to go into the record books as the team that let in the quickest goal in Champions League history, I thought to myself. This was followed by 45 minutes of glee and much more toasting as Milan surged forward at will with Cafu, in particular, making barnstorming run after barnstorming run down the right - the type of run that I, had I been a Milan midfielder, would have been cursing the scoundrel for cos it would've forced me to run up and down as well in support. It's been said that maybe he's got two hearts. One for each leg, I suspect.
Anyway, Liverpool had no answer to Milan's guile. They looked like a bunch of floundering frogs with the exception of Milan Baros who, as usual, scampered around like a headless chicken. While that may work against Crystal Palace or (argh) Newcastle, Baros was up against a turkey who was still very much in contact with his head. Jaap Stam trampled, manhandled and otherwise plucked Baros clean. The poor fowl only had one shot on goal and that went into the stands. It was most satisfying to watch.
Milan's pressure paid off in the 39th and 44th minutes after numerous close calls and a goal which was denied by the linesman's flag. Hernan Crespo first squeezed in Shevchenko's cross under Carragher's despairing body and then dinked a great finish over Jerzy Dudek after he'd been put through by an inch-perfect pass from Kaka.
The first half finished 3-0 to the favourites and I was contemplating sending John a consolatory SMS along the lines of “don't fret, you'll get your chance again in 20 years.” Just as well that I didn't. Liverpool started the second half a different team. The introduction of Didi (former Newcastle, I might add) Hamann gave the likes of Gerrard and Alonso the platform from which they needed to attack. And it showed. John Arne Riise, dodgy hair colour and all, found space on the left and floated in a cross that Steven Gerrard met with a pinpoint header into the corner of the net. This got me thinking “hang on a minute”. And so I hung on a minute and suddenly it was 3-2. Smicer, what? who?, scoring through Dida's hands from 30 metres out. I was irritated. “Shit,” I thought to myself “there will be much bragging if Liverpool wins this.” Thus jinxed, I found myself cursing again soon after as I watched Gerrard win a penalty and then saw the rebound eventually blasted in by a much-relieved Alonso. I would've raised my Heineken to this most spirited of fightbacks but I'd thrown the bottle at the TV and, like I said, I was pissed.
And so to extra-time. Nothing memorable really except that stupendous double-save from Dudek. As the prophetic Andy Gray said, “When Shevchenko misses from there (roughly 3 yards) with 3 minutes left in extra-time, you might as well carve Liverpool's name on the cup.” The fox couldn't have put it better.
Penalty shootouts are a horrible way to decide matches. It's basically a game of luck. They might as well have gotten Gerrard and Maldini to throw a dice five times each. Still, I suppose there's some skill involved. Dudek, for one, showed terrific dancing ability on the line. For Serginho, Dudek merely warmed up with jumping jacks but that was enough to lead the little Brazilian, the shortest player on the pitch, to fire his kick into the stands probably cos he couldn't see through his tears. For Pirlo, Dudek entertained him with some light skipping and a charming flap of the arms before pushing his penalty away. A true maestro. Apparently, Jon Dahl Tomasson isn't the arty-farty sort for despite Dudek producing his most technically challenging performance of the night, a mish mash of twisting and knee bending and unbending coupled with flailing arms that made me think of retreating sea anemones, the Dane unfeelingly lashed the ball past the passionate Pole, thus shattering any artistic pretensions he might have had. Which explains why he kept himself still for Shevchenko's kick, saving it comfortably before running off in wild celebration.
The camera at this time panned over the enraptured red hordes, many of whom had parted with their shirts. They're all either obese or emaciated. Something must be wrong somewhere with the Scouser diet. Too much fish and chips, methinks. The sight of the fat ones jumping was enough to make me switch to MTV for awhile. When I switched back, a Frenchman (Traore) and two Czechs (Baros and Smicer) were on screen screaming something barely intelligible. It sounded like “hum kam ra ra”. No idea what it meant but happiness can be a very powerful drug.
So Liverpool have done it. The lucky bastards. Now they've gotta fight for a chance to defend their title in next year's competition. Oddly enough, I hope they do. It was good to see players who never looked like making it to the big stage get their share of glory. Carragher deserved it more than most. Perhaps even more than Stevie Gerrard. Djimi Traore didn't play brilliantly in the final but contributed immensely to the overall campaign. And of course, it was great to see Djibril Cisse getting his Champions League medal despite that horrific break in October. So there, much as I hate to admit it, Liverpool deserved it. More of the same next season, please.
Anyway, Liverpool had no answer to Milan's guile. They looked like a bunch of floundering frogs with the exception of Milan Baros who, as usual, scampered around like a headless chicken. While that may work against Crystal Palace or (argh) Newcastle, Baros was up against a turkey who was still very much in contact with his head. Jaap Stam trampled, manhandled and otherwise plucked Baros clean. The poor fowl only had one shot on goal and that went into the stands. It was most satisfying to watch.
Milan's pressure paid off in the 39th and 44th minutes after numerous close calls and a goal which was denied by the linesman's flag. Hernan Crespo first squeezed in Shevchenko's cross under Carragher's despairing body and then dinked a great finish over Jerzy Dudek after he'd been put through by an inch-perfect pass from Kaka.
The first half finished 3-0 to the favourites and I was contemplating sending John a consolatory SMS along the lines of “don't fret, you'll get your chance again in 20 years.” Just as well that I didn't. Liverpool started the second half a different team. The introduction of Didi (former Newcastle, I might add) Hamann gave the likes of Gerrard and Alonso the platform from which they needed to attack. And it showed. John Arne Riise, dodgy hair colour and all, found space on the left and floated in a cross that Steven Gerrard met with a pinpoint header into the corner of the net. This got me thinking “hang on a minute”. And so I hung on a minute and suddenly it was 3-2. Smicer, what? who?, scoring through Dida's hands from 30 metres out. I was irritated. “Shit,” I thought to myself “there will be much bragging if Liverpool wins this.” Thus jinxed, I found myself cursing again soon after as I watched Gerrard win a penalty and then saw the rebound eventually blasted in by a much-relieved Alonso. I would've raised my Heineken to this most spirited of fightbacks but I'd thrown the bottle at the TV and, like I said, I was pissed.
And so to extra-time. Nothing memorable really except that stupendous double-save from Dudek. As the prophetic Andy Gray said, “When Shevchenko misses from there (roughly 3 yards) with 3 minutes left in extra-time, you might as well carve Liverpool's name on the cup.” The fox couldn't have put it better.
Penalty shootouts are a horrible way to decide matches. It's basically a game of luck. They might as well have gotten Gerrard and Maldini to throw a dice five times each. Still, I suppose there's some skill involved. Dudek, for one, showed terrific dancing ability on the line. For Serginho, Dudek merely warmed up with jumping jacks but that was enough to lead the little Brazilian, the shortest player on the pitch, to fire his kick into the stands probably cos he couldn't see through his tears. For Pirlo, Dudek entertained him with some light skipping and a charming flap of the arms before pushing his penalty away. A true maestro. Apparently, Jon Dahl Tomasson isn't the arty-farty sort for despite Dudek producing his most technically challenging performance of the night, a mish mash of twisting and knee bending and unbending coupled with flailing arms that made me think of retreating sea anemones, the Dane unfeelingly lashed the ball past the passionate Pole, thus shattering any artistic pretensions he might have had. Which explains why he kept himself still for Shevchenko's kick, saving it comfortably before running off in wild celebration.
The camera at this time panned over the enraptured red hordes, many of whom had parted with their shirts. They're all either obese or emaciated. Something must be wrong somewhere with the Scouser diet. Too much fish and chips, methinks. The sight of the fat ones jumping was enough to make me switch to MTV for awhile. When I switched back, a Frenchman (Traore) and two Czechs (Baros and Smicer) were on screen screaming something barely intelligible. It sounded like “hum kam ra ra”. No idea what it meant but happiness can be a very powerful drug.
So Liverpool have done it. The lucky bastards. Now they've gotta fight for a chance to defend their title in next year's competition. Oddly enough, I hope they do. It was good to see players who never looked like making it to the big stage get their share of glory. Carragher deserved it more than most. Perhaps even more than Stevie Gerrard. Djimi Traore didn't play brilliantly in the final but contributed immensely to the overall campaign. And of course, it was great to see Djibril Cisse getting his Champions League medal despite that horrific break in October. So there, much as I hate to admit it, Liverpool deserved it. More of the same next season, please.
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