Carra: My Autobiography (26 page)

The most immediate contrast was on the training pitch. Rafa takes all the training sessions, adopting a far more hands-on approach than Gérard, who delegated many of the responsibilities to his staff. Much has also been made of Houllier enjoying a more personal relationship with players than Rafa. That's true, but again I don't see that as a positive or negative. You can argue either way about the merits of maintaining a purely professional association between player and manager. Gérard's interest in our lives off the pitch was welcomed by many of us, but we were young men then and he undoubtedly took it upon himself to be a father figure. There was never a question who was the boss under Houllier, but there were times when he was happy to relax in our company and show a more sociable side to his character. He'd ask about your wife and children, and take an active interest if he heard someone in the family was unwell, arranging for a bouquet of flowers to be delivered. I suspect that's rare in a manager, but we'd become used to it. I've never spoken to Rafa about anything other than football. The line between manager and player is far more clearly defined. It has been suggested Benitez sees players essentially as chess pieces to be shoved around to fit his tactical plans. That's taking it to the extreme, but from the outset he seemed to see everyone in the same way, regardless of their transfer value or status in the fans' eyes. Some players prefer a distance between the manager's office and dressing room, others liked Houllier's style.

I felt I got closer than most, if not all, of the players to Benitez when he first joined. I was able to get on with him instantly because he shared a distinctive feature with Houllier: his devotion to the game. Once again, the twang was different, but when we spoke about football, the language was the same. The ability to talk for hours about nothing other than players, tactics and opponents appealed to him and to me.

Houllier had always been keen on using videos to make me watch and learn from mistakes; Benitez took this further. He handed me DVDs of Arrigo Sacchi's legendary AC Milan side of the 1980s and was especially eager for me to analyse Franco Baresi's movements and organization of the defence. Benitez's defensive wisdom impressed me most. It was a step up from what I'd enjoyed before. Houllier guided me towards becoming a top-class Premier League player, but Benitez has been the greatest overall influence on Jamie Carragher the defender. He's brought the best out of me, transformed me into a centrehalf of European pedigree. I've played the finest football of my career under Rafa. Every training session has included advice on how I can improve my game.

Rafa is more of a defensive than an attacking coach, so naturally it's the defenders who've benefited most under his leadership. He made it instantly obvious how much he liked my aggressive style on the pitch, although he misinterpreted how far I was prepared to extend my fighting spirit off it. Rafa told me early on he wanted me to inject some of my toughness into my teammates, but other than my usual shouting routines I didn't see how it could be done. Such a characteristic comes from within. After a disappointing defeat away at Birmingham, the manager pulled me in after training and offered some advice with a story from his Valencia days.

'When members of the squad didn't show the right attitude in the match, the Argentinian players would start a fight in the showers with the teammates who weren't doing their job,' Rafa told me.

I looked at the manager to make sure it wasn't a joke and could see a glint in his eye. 'He's dropping me a hint here,' I thought.

'I don't think that's me,' I said, politely informing Rafa that verbal rather than physical tormenting of underperforming colleagues was more my scene.

Uninterested though I was by Rafa's advice on this occasion, it was comforting to know he trusted me enough to give me his blessing to confront some of the players he didn't like. There were plenty of occasions I felt like taking a swing at some of them, but it's a line I wouldn't cross.

Despite his reputation for being cold towards his squad, I was also reading plenty of praise about my performances from the boss. It's never bothered me whether a manager publicly applauds me. If it happens, great, but the pat on the back is secondary to the name on the teamsheet. Unlike Houllier, Benitez quickly developed a reputation for rarely handing out individual congratulations in the press. I know he thought it was an English trend to get managers to talk up their players. Our papers love writing about star players and sticking glowing headlines alongside pretty pictures. Over the years Rafa has come to understand that, but initially he was reluctant to talk about anything but the team. So when he did speak glowingly about you, it tended to mean more. You felt honoured to be an exception to his rule. I picked up the
Echo
one night and saw a headline in which Benitez compared me to Roberto Ayala, the great Argentine defender he'd managed at Valencia. I knew I wasn't in Ayala's class. More to the point, I knew Benitez didn't think I was as good as Ayala. But to know he'd said it certainly boosted my confidence.

Benitez repeated the trick during another press conference before a League game with Chelsea, but this time there was a sting in the tail. 'I've just told the media you're a better player than John Terry,' Rafa told me. Then he started laughing as he made a tell-tale signal, putting his hand to his nose and pulling it away to imitate Pinocchio.

I waited a few months and got him back. Before our Champions League semifinal with Chelsea, I was handed the press conference duties.

'What did they ask you?' Rafa quizzed me.

'I told them you're a better manager than Mourinho,' I said, and then repeated his Pinocchio mime.

He took the joke. He was enduring a tough debut season, but there was no questioning he could rely on me as one of his most loyal lieutenants.

The transitional period was difficult, and a couple of minor changes that were given publicity at the time were reversed as quickly as they were implemented. Much was made of Benitez splitting up an English 'clique' in the dressing room, insisting we rotated room-mates when we travelled away. Usually we'd stick with the same player, who tended to be our best mate at the club. I was unhappy at how this story was presented. The suggestion was we all sat on separate tables in the canteen because the English wouldn't mix with the foreigners. There was never a division imposed by the English lads. Any problems on that score were caused by the French players Houllier had left behind. Our 'gang', so to speak, was cosmopolitan, including the more established members of Houllier's squad. It was made up of the survivors of the 2001 side, really. Me, Stevie, Michael, Danny, Ginger (John Arne Riise), Sami and Didi all got on fine. When the Spanish lads arrived, they immediately fitted in. Xabi and Luis had no problem socializing with us, so to claim we had to be brought into line was mischievous. The only ones who were arrogant and aloof were the French, and many of them hadn't earned our respect through their playing ability either. Benitez would resolve this issue by moving them on, anyway.

The rotating room-mate plan came under pressure when all the players got together to complain. You need to feel comfortable before the night of a match; you can't be paired with someone who upsets your routine. Some players like sitting up playing video games for hours, others chill out reading a book or watching a film, some spend hours on the phone. You need to ensure the right characters are matched with each other. It's OK during preseason when you're trying to get to know a new player, but not every week.

The occasion when I was rooming with Josemi turned into one of my most uncomfortable nights on the road. I like to have a chat about the game or read the papers and a book, and I usually go to bed about eleven p.m. to get a good night's sleep ahead of the match. Josemi stayed up late, returning to the room about midnight and then ringing his mates in Spain. He was talking in Spanish on the phone until about one a.m. I was left huffing and puffing, wondering when I was going to get some peace and quiet. I couldn't relax.

The pairings also gave away the team. You could work out who the strikers were from who was rooming together, as Rafa thought a good relationship off the pitch helped form partnerships on it.

When the flaws in the arrangement were pointed out, Rafa abandoned the idea. After that I always roomed with Stevie.

Hotel arrangements were the least of Rafa's worries that season as our form raised early questions about his and our prospects. People seem to forget exactly how bad we were in the League in 2004–05 because the Champions League masked our deficiencies. We'd lose to Crystal Palace, who were relegated, but then get a fantastic result against Chelsea in the European Cup semifinal four days later. There was no logic to it. Rafa's first derby was particularly traumatic. He played Salif Diao and Josemi, and left Xabi on the bench. We lost 1–0, handing serious momentum to Everton, who now justifiably believed they could finish the season above us.

The question of rotation – this time on the pitch – became a recurring issue as Benitez would happily change five or six players from one game to the next. I was lucky to avoid being part of the revolving team policy as he saw me as too important at the back, but his faith in the system has never wavered. The seemingly endless debate about its pros and cons is now part of the Anfield furniture. Houllier had also made changes from game to game, but usually two or three, never to this extent. But when a manager has won two La Liga titles adopting this approach, you can forget about saying he's wrong. The plus side is it keeps players fresh until the end of the season, which was demonstrated in successive years as we coped with extra time and penalty shootouts in our last matches to win cups. The question that will remain unanswered until we win the League is this: how much do the early-season changes impact on our chances of winning the title?

What I will say is I've never liked it, and I don't believe there's a footballer at any level, English or foreign, who ever will. The philosophy contradicts everything you learn while growing up to become a footballer. Certain principles are set in stone at an early age which breed a will to win. They include fighting for your shirt, playing for your place and doing everything once you're in the team to stay there. When I made my debut for my schoolboy side aged seven, I instinctively knew if I performed well I'd be playing a week later. The more I impressed, the more I'd cement my position as a first-team regular. It used to be the eternal football truth: play well enough to make yourself undroppable. In the modern game, managers don't use the word 'dropped' any more. You get 'rested' or 'rotated'. As players, we don't see it that way. I feel the same about my place in the side now as I did when I was at school. If I'm not in the side, it hurts. I feel left out, and I'm desperate to get back in to make sure it never happens again.

I feel sorry for strikers and midfielders, who've suffered far more than defenders since the shadow of rotation infiltrated our game. I've played alongside players who've scored hat-tricks and been left out of the next fixture. It doesn't matter how much the boss tries to explain it's for their own good, protecting their muscles for later in the season, players will always want to play and they will get demoralized if they're sitting on the bench.

The key problem with mass rotation, as employed at Liverpool, is it undermines the team ethic. Selfishness creeps into the ranks because you become more aware of how vulnerable you are to being left out, no matter how well or badly you play. I can well imagine there are players who come off the pitch after a defeat pleased with their own performance because it might be enough to keep them in. You don't get that with a steady line-up, where the result comes before any individual.

I believe you need a structure within the squad so the best eleven earn their places on merit and know they've got to keep their standards high to stay in the side. Such are the demands at a club like ours, where you can play over fifty games a season, I'd say you need a spine of at least eight players who start week in week out, with the rest fighting for a shirt. That's how United and Chelsea have operated. If anyone dips, they're out.

When we lost to Burnley in the third round of the FA Cup in January 2005, the mild discontent with Benitez's methods turned into hysteria. I was due to play in the tie at Turf Moor when it was first scheduled, but it was postponed due to a waterlogged pitch just as we were about to get changed. A week later, Rafa decided to leave me on Merseyside ahead of our away game with Southampton. It's a decision he later told journalists he regretted. Whatever the rights and wrongs of his team selection, which packed the side with Academy youngsters, there was still enough quality to beat Burnley. Big Sami, Djimi Traore and Igor Biscan were in the side that lost 1–0, but the flak was flying at the manager as he tried to explain his tinkering. I was watching at home, exchanging texts with Steven Gerrard about the horror that was unfolding as Djimi backheeled the winning owngoal.

The merits of Rafa's argument were then undermined by an equally poor performance at Southampton, when the rested players returned. Peter Crouch, still a Southampton player, terrorized us. I dared not watch that night's
Match of the Day
. Actually, the more the season went on, the more I dreaded hearing its theme tune. Alan Hansen, obviously distressed at our form, said the club was in danger of becoming a 'relic'. I had to ask people what the word meant, but I could tell from the tone of his voice it wasn't a compliment. The motto had been Liverpool Football Club exists to win trophies. In that troublesome week, it seemed we'd redefined it to Liverpool Football Club exists to ensure they finish in the top four. As if I didn't already appreciate how serious our slump was, hearing the anguish in Hansen's voice brought it home. He was right. We were in danger of becoming a relic. Our glory days were in the past and everything pointed to an average season where we'd be lucky to qualify for the UEFA Cup. If that happened, Stevie would leave and we'd have no hope of attracting the calibre of players we needed to close the widening gap to the top.