Carra: My Autobiography (16 page)

These myths start early, and even ten years at the top can't shake them. I've heard for over a decade how Rio Ferdinand is an elegant passer of the ball who starts attacks from the back. He must have hit a sixty-yard pass when he was seventeen because I haven't seen much evidence since. Ferdinand is a top defender, but he's been served well by his friends in the media continually describing him as some kind of modern Franz Beckenbauer.

It works the other way too. What image do you have of Roy Keane? A tough-tackling midfielder? I also rated him as one of the best passers of the ball in the game. No one emphasized that, but there weren't many times I saw him give it away.

I had one big weakness whether I was playing left-or rightback, and that was my crossing. People said my all-round distribution was poor, but I resented this. You can't play for years at fullback if you can't pass. You get exposed. Fullback is the one position on the park where you've so much time in possession your passing has to be of a good standard. There's no hiding place. Numerous players have been used in the role over the years who were shown to be dreadful passers. Look at Stéphane. He lasted a game in the position. What about Josemi? He struggled to find a teammate six yards away. Djimi Traore had the same weakness. How many players have moved from centrehalf to fullback and then become an England international? I wasn't getting the credit I felt I deserved at my own club.

One fan wrote to the
Liverpool Echo
every week for months with the same criticism of me, claiming I was a weak link. Eventually my dad had read enough and was determined to find the culprit.

'I'm sorry, we're not allowed to give out that kind of private information,' a reporter informed him during his first attempt.

Time for plan B.

My dad called the paper again and said he'd been living in Australia for the last twenty years and wanted to meet up with his old school friend. He said he'd seen his name in the
Echo
in a letter about Jamie Carragher and needed his phone number so he could make a surprise call. The paper agreed, gave him the details, and a few minutes later my critic got the biggest shock of his life. Suffice to say, the letters stopped after that.

I've endured some bad times during my Liverpool career, but I haven't felt much worse than I did during a home game with Fulham in April 2003. I'd asked Houllier if the rumours we were signing Finnan were true, and he fobbed me off by denying it. The fans obviously didn't believe him because Finnan was given a warm reception when he arrived in a Fulham shirt. He took a throwin by The Kop and they stood up and applauded. That was fair enough. If he'd played any other position, maybe I'd have reacted the same way. When you know a player is joining, you want to show him support. From my perspective, however, it was a personal slight. I'd been determined to outshine Finnan that day, and I was named man of the match. I wanted to hear supporters saying we don't need another rightback because we've got Carra, but the enthusiasm for Finnan suggested no one was worried about my future at the club.

By then I was getting tired of hearing about how Liverpool's weakness was a lack of attacking fullbacks. On the day Finnan signed, it seemed even Houllier was putting the boot in. 'In the modern game, it's important for a fullback to be able to attack,' he said at the press conference.

'You cheeky bastard!' I shouted at the television.

His observation was right, but we'd done nothing on the training ground to improve my attacking capabilities, even though I was desperate to work on this side of my game. If Houllier wanted me to attack more, why was 100 per cent of my practice focused on defence?

After all the hype surrounding Ziege, Riise and Finnan as 'modern' fullbacks, I stormed into Houllier's office.

'Do you want me to go forward more?' I demanded to know.

'No, Jamie, I want you to continue to focus on what you do best, which is defending.'

He was contradicting himself, telling me one view and the press another.

The supporters and players knew we lacked width, but it was too simplistic to point the finger at the fullbacks. The problem wasn't simply my lack of natural attacking instinct, it was the imbalance in our side. Under Houllier we used a series of wide men who preferred to play in-field. Danny Murphy, Vladimir Smicer, Patrik Berger and Nick Barmby all began as central players who were asked to move to the flanks. Each of them would have loved a rampaging, overlapping fullback. What I wanted was an out-and-out winger I could feed the ball to and watch running up and down the line for ninety minutes. The combinations were wrong, not just the players. Harry Kewell arrived from Leeds United at the same time as Finnan and it was hoped the problem of lack of width would be solved. What did Houllier do? He played the left-winger on the right, so instead of staying on the flank Kewell would cut inside on his favourite foot.

Playing week in, week out, you get a sense of where the problems in the side are, but often you get an even greater insight when you step away and watch the team from the sidelines. It's not an option I'd ever choose, but in 2003–04 circumstances dictated I had more time than I wanted watching rather than playing for Liverpool. And I had Lucas Neill to thank for that: my leg was broken following his horrific tackle at Ewood Park on 13 September 2003.

People often claim I tried to play on with the injury, but I hate that. I wasn't being courageous. I genuinely didn't know how serious the knock was until hours later. I thought I could run it off. My problem at the time was that Milan Baros had snapped his ankle a few minutes earlier, so by the time I was carried off our brilliant club doctor, Mark Waller, wasn't around. I had to be treated by a physio from Blackburn who seemed more interested in telling jokes than dealing with my pain. My dad knew I wouldn't come off the pitch unless there was a serious problem, although by the time he reached the treatment room he was as concerned about getting his hands – or his fists – on Neill.

Houllier and Thommo were as angry on my behalf, but the argument that followed between Liverpool and Blackburn got out of hand. I'm sure the existing bad blood between the respective coaching staffs – a consequence of Thommo's sacking by Souness years earlier – contributed to the ferocity of the attacks on Neill. I didn't want to be used as an excuse to have another go at Souness, who was entitled to offer as much support as he could to his own player. Besides, I like Souness and have a lot of respect for him. Neill, on the other hand . . .

I didn't contribute to the animosity in the press, but my mates were ready to hunt him down if I gave the goahead. A few weeks later, I received a phone call.

'You won't believe this, Jay. We're in the Trafford Centre and Lucas Neill is walking straight towards us. What do you reckon?'

Did I really want Neill to take a crack?

'There's only one problem,' added the voice. 'He's got little Davey Thommo with him.'

That was that. I could hardly let one of my best mates, David Thompson, now a Blackburn player, become a witness to an assault; besides, he'd have recognized the attackers. The impromptu mission was aborted, and I sent a text to Thommo telling him Neill should be giving him a hug of thanks. As word got back to Blackburn about the near miss, or should that be hit, their coach Terry Darracott – a Scouser – appealed to one of my friends to 'call the boys off'. I agreed, so the Australian never felt the full force of a Bootle revenge mission.

Neill almost had the last laugh when Rafa Benitez tried to sign him twice during the 2006–07 season. Our interest in him annoyed me. We only pursued him as a squad player. He wasn't the type who'd be able to turn Liverpool into a Premiership-winning side, and of all the defenders available I couldn't understand why we were chasing him. Neill had the cheek to turn us down for West Ham. I was pleased.

Unexpectedly, the spell out of action improved my game. While the leg was mending I had time to rethink my style of play, and I returned a much more attacking fullback. This was no consolation to Houllier. The injury came at the worst possible time for him as speculation surrounding his future grew.

I was never appreciated more by the supporters or the manager than when I wasn't available. My reputation improved. The fans began to see how much I added to the defence. Houllier offered me a new contract while my leg was in plaster, and spoke in glowing terms about me in the papers, underlining how much I'd be missed. It must be said, this didn't go down so well with other players. John Arne Riise said he felt undermined hearing how the defenders weren't coping without me. I'd have felt the same way, but from a personal point of view I'd never felt more secure at the club than when I was injured.

I was determined to return as soon as possible, and formed something of a private duel with Baros to beat him back into action. Four months later, on 21 January 2004, I made my comeback against Wolves at Molineux, a month quicker than the Czech forward. Sadly, I was jumping back on board Houllier's rapidly sinking ship. The positivity of his first years in charge had started to fade, and he was now desperately trying to save his job.

It was a tragedy for him. If Houllier hadn't fallen seriously ill he might still be Liverpool's manager today.

The turning point of his reign was 13 October 2001, when Liverpool met Leeds United in the Premiership. Early in the second half I looked towards our bench and noticed he wasn't there. The seriousness of the situation only became apparent in the dressing room later. Houllier had been rushed to Broadgreen Hospital for heart surgery after collapsing at halftime. For twenty-four hours none of us knew if he'd survive. The prospect of him continuing as manager was secondary to him returning alive.

The way Phil Thompson and Sammy Lee handled the crisis in the days and months that followed remains one of the most underrated periods of this era. They were admirable, Thommo especially impressive after he was thrust into the limelight after three years in the background. There was a faultless changeover when he stepped up and took the reins, even though it was only temporary. The circumstances were appalling, but I could see he was enjoying the new responsibility. I know many of the lads preferred Thommo in his role as a caretaker manager.

I liked Thommo and was thrilled when he walked back into Melwood following Roy Evans's departure. He was a Scouser, he was a centrehalf, and I knew we'd share similar views on how the game should be played. His introduction wasn't welcomed in some parts of the dressing room as much as it was by me. There were one or two lads who'd played under Thompson for the reserves before he was sacked by Souness, and when they heard news of his return they reacted as if they'd suffered a family bereavement. Thommo's reputation under Souness wasn't so good, but he proved a lot of doubters wrong in the years that followed, particularly during those five months as caretaker boss. As a former player, issues that might have been difficult for other coaches were no hassle to him. If a player was left out, he'd explain the reasons. Just like Houllier, he wouldn't think twice about slaughtering anyone who deserved it in private, but publicly he wouldn't have a bad word to say about us.

This public support was often needed, especially following the 'magic coin' scandal at Highbury in the FA Cup that season. An Arsenal fan threw a coin at me as I was taking a throwin, so I picked it up and threw it back. There were about thirty-eight thousand fans in the crowd that day, but I think only five of them failed to make an insurance claim. Every day a new supporter was in the paper pointing to the bruise I'd given them as the coin bounced off one head on to another. Thommo backed me up, but I had to apologize and take my medicine.

It wasn't only opposing fans he had to protect me from. Danny Murphy and I took abuse from the crowd during a home game against Southampton in January 2002, and Thommo instantly stepped in on our behalf. I told someone in the Main Stand to fuck off, which earned me a rap on the knuckles behind the scenes, but Thommo willingly supported us in the papers. Houllier did the same, calling us to make sure we kept our heads up. A few days later we beat Manchester United 1–0 at Old Trafford, and Danny grabbed the winner, so their pep talks worked.

There was little hint things would go so badly wrong at this stage, especially not so rapidly. Houllier was on the mend, and increasingly dictating events from his hospital bed. Early in March 2002 he was smuggled into Anfield on the morning of a match with Newcastle and gave another inspiring team talk. 'We're going to win the League,' Didi Hamann said to me after the stirring speech. Houllier made us believe it.

Maybe he could see the impact his return had on us, particularly on an emotional evening against Roma on 19 March, when he officially made his comeback and sat in the dug-out. We needed to beat the Italians 2–0 to reach the quarterfinal of the Champions League. Houllier was introduced to a crescendo of noise at Anfield, and from that point on the result was never in doubt. His brash statement declaring we were 'ten games from greatness' prior to our next European meeting, with Bayer Leverkusen, backfired terribly when we unexpectedly crashed out, but we were bidding for a Premiership and European double, and he wanted us to believe.