Carra: My Autobiography (21 page)

We consistently suffer from such antics. Remember Beckham against Argentina in 1998, and Rooney against Portugal in 2006? Both saw red because of minor altercations. Their opponents overreacted, our players took the blame. Had the roles been reversed and we'd gone on to beat ten men, I'm not sure the conduct of our lads would have been applauded in the same way. Diego Simeone and Cristiano Ronaldo were heroes in their homeland, where the boundaries between what some call dishonesty and others applaud as craftiness are blurred. Our players are damned either way.

We'd have more chance of winning if we took the same cynical approach, but every fixture is accompanied by this irrational belief the country has a divine right to be the best in the world by playing 'the English way', whatever that is. We're supposed to behave like 'gentlemen' on and off the park. That's a worthy principle if you can get the rest of the world to follow suit. In the absence of such a fantasy, I'd much prefer us to become more ruthless, collect some medals and let the arguments about the morality of our methods be discussed after our post-final celebrations.

The psychology of our international game is wrong. England ought to be embracing the idea of being the underdog on the world stage, ready to do everything and anything to win. We should be revelling in the image of the plucky outsider trying to unbalance the superpowers of Argentina and Brazil, while matching the French, Germans and Italians. Rather than booing players, the fans should be recognizing how creating a vibrant, supportive atmosphere can bestir a flawed team. The greatest nights of my Liverpool career have been spent upsetting the odds. In recent years we've beaten Juventus, Chelsea, Barcelona and AC Milan in the Champions League, despite having inferior players. What we did possess was the desire and wit needed to get a result, no matter what it took.

The Liverpool crowd has been credited with dragging us across the winning line. I've never heard the same said of England fans at Wembley, who are more likely to help the opposition by turning on their own. Supporters of Liverpool, Manchester United, Chelsea and Arsenal rarely boo their own players during a game, and they're more accustomed to success. That's why some of us prefer club football to internationals.

I was never in love with playing for England in the first place. By the time I stopped, I felt a huge weight lifting. I took criticism for my decision, but when I look over my international record, I believe I was more sinned against than a sinner. I never ducked out of a call-up, never pulled out with a slight twinge, and never looked for an excuse to swerve a meaningless friendly. If the cap fitted, I wore it with pride. I know players who've deliberately got themselves booked and suspended because they didn't fancy going on the next unattractive foreign trip. Not me. If fit, I was always available when called upon. And, despite being continually seen as a deputy for others, I never complained. Wherever Sven-Göran Eriksson or Steve McClaren asked me to play, I stepped up with no fuss. I've even cancelled summer holidays to join England squads as a late call-up. For a while, I held the record for Under-21 caps. That was because I was so committed, turning up for every squad.

Having said that, I was no worshipper at the altar of St George. My international career almost ended at Under-21 level as swiftly as it began.

When the England Under-21s, the supposed cream of up-andcoming talent, get together, the rivalry is intense. Nothing is more competitive than the sight of the most impressive defenders, midfielders and strikers fighting it out to be seen as the thirstiest drinkers and horniest shaggers in the country. At the peak of immaturity, respect on the field is secondary to the admiration you earn through your capacity to be 'one of the lads' off it. The Under-21 manager's job must be one of the most demanding in football. You're dealing with twenty-two rough diamonds many of whom need a regular polish.

Not surprisingly, given my earlier reputation at Lilleshall, I tended to find myself involved in most disciplinary mishaps. I wasted no time consolidating my position as a trouble magnet.

The first lapse arrived shortly after my introduction to Under-21 duty, in 1997. With manager Peter Taylor's permission, I went drinking in the hotel nightclub, accompanied by Jody Morris, then at Chelsea, and Sheffield Wednesday's Lee Briscoe. I found to my cost that when the manager said we could have 'a drink' after the game he meant in the singular sense. Our interpretation differed. Taylor caught me taking a piss against the wall of our Swindon base, and grabbed me by the scruff of the neck as I was finishing off. I staggered back to my hotel room, struggling to keep my balance. 'No matter, plenty of strike-outs left,' I thought, Taylor's growls still ringing in my ear. My presumption was wrong. The manager's patience was wearing thin.

The next fixture coincided with England's final World Cup qualifier in 1997, when Glenn Hoddle's side secured an heroic 0–0 draw in Rome to book the trip to France. We'd shown similar battling qualities a day earlier, winning 1–0 in Rieti despite being down to ten men for eighty minutes. Kieron Dyer scored. It was traditional for the Under-21s to head to the senior game twenty-four hours after their own. They did, except for the rogues gallery of five forced straight to Rome airport as punishment for yet more indiscretions the night before. Rio Ferdinand, Frank Lampard, Ben Thatcher, Danny Murphy and I watched events unfold in an airport lounge, banished for breaking a curfew after our match.

Thatcher's performance in Italy had been especially impressive. Not only was he the player sent off early in the game for elbowing, I then watched in awe in the bar a few hours later as he managed to keep hold of a pint and continue to take swigs while being grabbed by the neck from behind by his manager. This after he'd already knocked back ten lagers. My respect for such a manoeuvre didn't cut it with Taylor, whose rage with Thatcher rubbed off on the rest of us.

'You're finished with England,' he told me.

The
Sunday People
splashed with our 'shame' the following week, but any fears of a backlash at Anfield were ill-founded. Roy Evans and Ronnie Moran thought it was funny. Had the incident occurred under the next Liverpool manager, I'd have been training with the Academy players for the next month.

Taylor's promise to end my international career was hollow. Far from being sent to the wasteland, I was soon threatening appearance records. Twelve months after my debut, my transformation from demon to angel was set to be confirmed with the Under-21 captaincy. It was an honour I'd set my heart on the more I contemplated the possibility.

Taylor was considering me and Lampard for the role. We were room-mates at the time, and although I got on with Frank, privately I believed I'd get the nod as the older, more experienced player. The manager called us into his room separately, but as soon as I looked into his eyes I felt deflated.

'Sorry, Jamie, you've missed out this time,' he said.

I didn't agree with Taylor's decision, but I respected it. I rated him as a manager and had grown to like him the longer I'd worked with him. The sense of disappointment didn't fester, although I didn't relish having to return to my room to face the elated Lampard. I was pleased for him, but anyone who tells you private battles between teammates aren't important is kidding. The 'team first' ethic doesn't always apply. We both wanted the armband and I was hurt to be overlooked.

My wounds didn't bleed for long. My personal setback was put into perspective when Taylor left as part of the Hoddle controversy a few months later.

Taylor was dismissed for no other reason than short-sighted FA politics – typical of the illogical decisions that have plagued the organization for decades. Howard Wilkinson, then the technical director, had been eyeing the Under-21 post. Hoddle's departure led to Taylor following him out the door in what seemed to me at the time a nonsensical decision.

Taylor was respected by the players and had nurtured us well since those misdemeanours in Swindon and Rieti. I reckon his treatment was shameful. Taylor's twenty-three matches included fourteen victories, six draws and three defeats, only one of which was in a competitive fixture. Those he brought through the ranks gave credibility to the view that the next generation of England players had the potential to end our trophy drought. Lampard, Dyer, Heskey, Ferdinand and I were linchpins of the team, all capable of serving our country for the next decade. All we lacked was a prolific striker, and that was because Michael Owen had bypassed the Under-21s and headed straight into the seniors. We won six out of six in qualifying for the 2000 Under-21 European Championship – quite a foundation on which to lose your job. Training sessions were inventive and enjoyable, and there was a focus on developing the technical side of our game. This disappeared when Wilkinson – Mr Functional – took over.

Taylor broke down in tears during a team-talk prior to his last game in charge. All the players felt for him. I don't know anyone involved in the Under-21s at that time who understood why he was told to go.

The FA must accept responsibility for the drop in standards since. 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it' the saying goes. Not only was the structure that brought players like me from Lilleshall through the Under-21s not in need of repair, it seemed to be operating successfully. Since Lilleshall closed, and Taylor's first stint with the Under-21s ended, the conveyor belt of talent hasn't created the same results. Perhaps it's a coincidence. I'm convinced my route through the system helped turn me from a very good Premier League player into an international-class one.

Wilkinson was in charge of the Under-21s when we arrived at the finals in Slovakia and wasted no time enforcing his reputed disciplinary techniques. Lee Hendrie was grabbed by the throat at halftime during a group game for what Wilkinson called 'shitting out of a tackle', which goes to show the new man wasn't as bad as some suggest. There were parts of Wilkinson's approach I liked, but the enjoyment Taylor instilled into our game was gone. A successful era was ending, and those of us who'd played our part were ready to move on – some quicker than others. I'd won my record-breaking twenty-seventh cap for the Under-21s against Slovakia in our final match of a sadly typical unfulfilling tournament. The step up beckoned.

My first taste of senior international action had actually arrived a year earlier. Kevin Keegan suffered a series of injury withdrawals prior to a trip to Hungary at the end of April 1999. I wasn't in the original squad, but was drafted in as a replacement. Midway through the second half I received the call, and in a move of irresistible symbolism given what would follow over the next ten years, I replaced Rio Ferdinand at centrehalf. The game finished 1–1.

There was a lengthy delay before my second call-up, which was the first time I was named in the original twenty-two-man squad on merit. It turned out to be an especially significant occasion: the home World Cup qualifier with Germany in October 2000.

My promotion shouldn't have come as a surprise. It was a natural progression from the Under-21s, and at the time Liverpool were rapidly improving under Gérard Houllier. But it wasn't as though I was banging the door down to be called up. There wasn't a great clamour for me to get my chance. Because I was no longer eligible for the Under-21s, there was a sense I had nowhere else to go but to get fast-tracked into the full squad. If I'd drifted into the international wilderness having been such a solid member of the Under-21s, it wouldn't have reflected well on the system. But the way I've progressed since suggests they made the right call.

Hopefully it wasn't my presence at Wembley that tipped Keegan over the edge, because he quit immediately after the game. I'd been in the stands thinking about how I'd cope with the stick my German mate Didi Hamann would give me at Melwood after he scored the winner – the last goal at the old Wembley. By the time I made it to the dressing room Keegan had already made his announcement to the players. The Adams family, Tony and Crozier (then FA chief executive), were desperately trying to talk Keegan into a rethink. It was a surreal introduction for me.

Keegan later accepted he might have overestimated his capacity to cope with the pressure at that level. From a personal perspective, I didn't work with him long enough to assess how good a coach he was. All I can remember from my time under his management is him telling me how much I looked like Robert Lee. Certainly his team-talk before his final game made what followed unsurprising. I was sitting near Paul Ince when Keegan fatefully announced Gareth Southgate was preferred in central midfield. Ince wasn't even on the bench. Keegan didn't need a resignation letter. His teamsheet did the job.

The timing of his quitting was amazing, though. You don't leave three days before a World Cup qualifier. I faced a similar situation when I quit internationals as I reached a definite decision while with England between fixtures prior to a key Euro 2008 match. Because I didn't want to cause a distraction, I said nothing until a more opportune moment afterwards. Keegan must have had his reservations before the Germany game, and I sympathized with his honesty when he said he wasn't up to the job, but having committed himself to carrying on he ought to have continued for a final match, not left the players in the lurch as he did.

His resignation was a poignant moment for English football. The failure of a coach who seemed to epitomize the spirit and enthusiasm we needed appeared to make the FA lose faith completely in English managers. The door closed on homegrown coaches taking the step up, and opened for a foreigner with seriously impressive credentials.