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Somebody pinch me...



(first posted 26 May 05)

Mr James Collins of Southampton University wrote into football365.com on Wednesday night.

...I watched a film last night. It was one of those football movies, where a team of proud Englishmen, underachievers and blunderers, somehow get to the Cup Final, only to find themselves being well beaten by the best team in the competition, thanks to the opposition efficiency, the oppositions fouling and a dodgy ref. As one would expect in a stereotypical football film, all seems lost, but the English captain with the lionheart rallys his troops and somehow the team finds themselves back on the status quo.

At this point in the film, there is always a courageous defender who will be running through pain to stop the opposition scoring, while the blundering keeper redeems himself by producing a save that isn't actually possible in a proper football match due to the laws of gravity, before further redeeming himself by saving penalties, with the unwanted substitute scoring the penalty that confirms the victory.

The film was enjoyable, and I'm not bothered that I don't know what it's called, but I thought that I'd just like to say that I wish film makers would make football films more realistic, as this sort of thing never happens in real life.


It's been a lean couple of decades for Liverpool supporters, brought up on regular and plentiful silverware, the top trophies have been pointedly lacking in recent times. But after starting this season's Champions League in a group they were tipped not to escape, they were then were drawn against Bayer Leverkusen, Juventus (this year's Italian champs), Chelsea (this year's English champs) and AC Milan, and at each turn given an equally minimal chance of success. Most discussion seemed to be centred around how long the gatecrashers might ride their luck.

Now, not only have they won the top European club trophy, but having won it 5 times they get to keep it in the Anfield trophy cabinet. (It's the same trophy that Manchester United won in 1999. Perhaps they'll be allowed visiting rights.)

So I'm just getting comfortable on a friend's sofa, just questioning the wisdom of starting with Kewell, and no Didi Hamann, haven't even managed to open my crisps yet, and Maldini's scored.

Can't say as I'm thrilled with the way this is going. And over the next half hour, the suspicion grows that we ain't going to get much out of this. Unable to string any passes together, and Milan Baros honing his scuba skills rather than seeing if it's possible to go around defenders.

When Maldini feeds Crespo (coughcoughChelsearejectcoughcough) for the second, the gathered folks need to be calmed slightly. "Don't panic, it's not over yet!" My return from the toilet is greeted with a grave-like hush, and on screen those fellas in white are celebrating again. Please be a replay. It's not. It's 3-0.

So half time is an uncommonly relaxed affair, stomach knots are unknotted as there's no longer any tension. I start scoffing, as discussion turns to the only remaining concern, namely not getting battered by a record score. One of the collective, a relative rookie to 'soccer', suggests that it is in fact all going according to plan. Our blank expressions slowly turn to incredulity as he explains it's all about "lulling Milan into a false sense of security". Hmm. Meanwhile another member of the team is out in the corridor very literally offering up prayers to God. "It's ok lads," he announces on his return to the living room, "I've spoken with Him. We're going to win 4-3."

So that's alright then.

Second half starts with the news that Didi Hamann is coming on, which we can't help feeling is about 45 minutes late. Shevchenko puts the fear of God up us at a free kick, but Dudek saves brilliantly, diving to his left. And within seconds, Stevie G has scored! That changes the volume level in the stadium and in the living room. As does Vladimir Smicer's stunning driven goal 2 minutes later. And as we're holding our heads in disbelief, we dare to talk of a comeback. But this talk is interrupted as Gerrard goes down in the box...

Alonso steps up and... pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease oooh, he's missed it OH HE'S SCORED IT! We're level.

Half an hour later, the whistle goes and thereby begins the unlikeliest period of extra time, which goes by in a blur, as all concerned are still trying to get their heads round what's going on. When Dudek gets down low to a good Shevchenko drive, and gets up again somehow to parry the second attempt, we begin to wonder... Can we really do this?

I abhor penalty shoot-outs if my team's involved. The cardiac ward is on speed-dial 2.

Penalty one, Serginho steps up. "Left. High and wide. You watch." Left. High and wide. 0-0.

Didi scores his penalty. Of course he does. He's German. Then Dudek saves from Pirlo. It doesn't get any better than this. Or rather it does, as Cisse puts us 2-0 up. Riise misses, but Vlad scores.

"Shevchenko's not gonna miss. It's gonna be down to Gerrard, last kick."

Dudek saves. All hell breaks loose.

It's half past six in the morning, the sun is shining, the birds are singing and Liverpool are the Champions of Europe. I haven't slept and don't want to. So we drive into town, to deliver witnesses back to their homes. If we were in Liverpool now, the streets would be filled with drunken red maniacs, dancing and hooting, but here, it's rush hour and people are going to work, largely oblivious, it seems, to this astonishing event that we've seen. We have no flags and no scarves, the best we can muster is open windows, music and quite a lot of cheering. Nobody appears to have a clue why a carful of foreigners should be so animated so early in the morning.

If you didn't already know all this was true, you'd say I had better things to occupy my time than indulging this Boys' Own fantasy. And you'd be quite wrong. I don't have better things to do. Not at all.