Showing posts with label Rick Parry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rick Parry. Show all posts

Monday, 2 February 2009

RAFA COULD REGRET ROBBIE RETURN


SO he's gone - five 90-minute appearances, six months, seven goals and eight million quid down the swanny.

What an absolute joke.

If anything has been handled as badly as the Robbie Keane saga in the history of Liverpool Football Club, I'd like to know what it is.

I feel sorry for Keane. On the whole, his performances frustrated me when he pulled on the Red shirt. But no-one can argue that he was given a fair crack of the whip.

And while his goals tally was highlighted over and over, he was actually bought to sit in behind the main striker - Fernando Torres.

Torres, of course, has been crocked three times with a hamstring injury. Leaving Keane, when he was given a sniff, playing out of position, leading the line, and, crucially, not playing with Torres.

Rewind to the Goodison derby, when Torres destroyed our beloved neighbours with a devastating performance.

That was due, in no small part, to Keane, who linked superby with the Spaniard, creating space, setting up a goal, and looking somewhere near worth the £20million shelled out back in August.

But with Torres out, Keane looked lost, his confidence dipped and he clearly got frustrated by getting the hook every time he started a game.

With Xabi Alonso playing so well, Rafa reverted to his favoured Gerrard behind Torres formation and that was that - no place for Keane.

Then there's the boardroom battles. The accusation that Keane became the political pawn with the story going that Rick Parry paid over the odds for him, scuppering the Gareth
Barry deal and annoying Benitez in the process.

And so his sale is one up for Rafa in that long, boring power battle that can only end with one of them leaving.

As I have said before, all that to me is by the by - I'm interested in the footie.

And footie-wise, we've been left with our kecks round our ankles. How can you possibly push for a title with one decent striker?

Amazingly, that's the situation we find ourselves in.

Torres is, undoubtedly, a world-class striker. And on Sunday he showed he is again approaching his best.

But he's been dogged by injury. Touch wood it's the end of his problems for this season. But imagine the worst-case scenario - he gets injured.

So what are the options?

David Ngog? At best he can be described as raw. Dirk Kuyt? Well, his purple patch seems to be over in front of goal and he does OK in his current right midfield role.

Then there's Ryan Babel - not the kind of man you want to be putting faith in. He's let us down too many times already.

The point is - we've left ourselves short. Whatever you thought of Keane, he would offer something more to the squad than what we are left with.

Once the deal went through, I sat watching the countdown to the deadline.

I knew nothing was going to happen - there are no surprises when it comes to football transfers anymore.

But I couldn't help hoping for a David Speedie style signing. Or a Ronny Rosenthal. But no - nothing.

And when I cast my eye over the deals done in the transfer window one thing stood out - we are the only team in the top six whose squad is actually WEAKER than it was when the window opened on January 1.

We've let Pennant go, and now Keane.

Manchester United - who have infinitely more talent available to them anyway - signed Zoran Tosic and Adem Ljajic.

Chelsea signed Ricardo Quaresma, Villa signed Emile Heskey, Arsenal have probably signed Andrei Arshavin and Everton got Jo.

The best chance to win the league in many years and you reduce your options with three months to go. Madness.

Oh, and guess who our last league game of the season is against? Yep...Tottenham. You know what I'm thinking. You can get 5-2 if you fancy it.

NOT SO HOT-SHOTS...FIVE THAT FLOPPED


Robbie Keane isn't the first front man to arrive at Anfield with a big reputation and leave with his tail between his legs. How about these less-than-prolific front men?

ERIC MEIJER: The 6ft 3ins Dutchman joined in 1999 from Bayer Leverkusen. Mad Eric made 27 appearances and managed just two goals which came in a 5-1 win over Hull in the Carling Cup. He did, however, go on the lash with the Liverpool fans before the 2001 Uefa Cup final in Dortmund - still got a picture of me with him somewhere!

NIGEL CLOUGH: Fondly remembered for two goals in the 3-3 draw with the Mancs but the 1993 signing from Nottingham Forest never managed to hit the heights on a regular basis. Burdened by the famous number seven shirt and dubbed "the new Kenny Dalglish", expectations were far too high. Seven goals in 39 games.

EL HADJI DIOUF: Ten million quid, crap hair, first No.9 in Liverpool history to go a season without scoring. And he was a tit.

SEAN DUNDEE: A striker, that's not a striker...THAT'S a striker. 'Mick' was useless - slow with no skill, he is in with a good shout of being the worst player ever to turn out for the Reds. He played three games as a sub. Three games too many. On signing (for £2million) he actually said the following words: "I’ve always been the quickest player at every club I’ve been at, but I hear Michael Owen is pretty quick so we’ll see…” Ha ha ha...

DJIBRIL CISSE: Fourteen million quid, crap hair and he was tit - ring any bells? To be fair, he wasn't in the Diouf class. But he must have missed school the day they taught offside because he played like he'd never heard of it. The linesman used to leave the pitch with an arm like Popeye when he was playing. Jamie Carragher was once asked if his son was any good at footie by a colleague of mine. I think Carra's kid was about four at the time and he answered: "Well he's better than Cisse!"

Monday, 18 August 2008

The Stadium of Light at the end of the tunnel...

LATELY, I’d doubted myself. For the first time in my life, I actually thought I might be falling out of love with football. Seriously.
The Yanks and their failed promises, the Gareth Barry epic, crap pre-season games, inflated prices, glory supporters, bitter fans – all of that was boring me.
Add to that the birth of my son, Carragh, the prospect of the first campaign without a season ticket in 10 years and continuing doubts over my employment situation, and I was almost not arsed about the new season.
Almost.
Then a couple of things happened to change all that. First, I read a couple of books – Brian Reade’s excellent 43 Years With The Same Bird and Here We Go Gathering Cups in May – Liverpool in Europe: The Fans’ Story.
Second, tickets for Sunderland came up.
The books were great medicine for my negative thinking. Instead of picturing suits like Rick Parry when I thought about the match, I started thinking positive. I thought about the laughs, the goals, the ales, the away trips and that buzz I used to get before games.
Back to the days when goals, saves, tackles, skill and songs were all that mattered.
So when Saturday came, I was buzzing again. Even my mate Jon said he hadn’t seen me like that for ages.
Not even a scan through the papers that morning could dampen my enthusiasm, although The Mirror tried their best with their ‘exclusive’ about Rafa Benitez almost quitting.
But the Yanks, Gareth Barry and the increasing likelihood that Rafa will leave were far from my mind.
A few pre-match bevvies and good banter with some Sunderland fans put me right in the mood as we headed for the Stadium of Light.
But once there I got the feeling I’m not the only Red who’s going through this kind of crisis. The Liverpool support was definitely muted - not helped of course by an average display.
So thank God for Fernando Torres. Players and fans alike breathed a collective sigh of relief for what was a great finish – and one that was vastly underrated judging by the lack of praise it received.
The goal wasn’t even a chance. But with no back lift and superb power and accuracy, the Spaniard had won it for us – again.
Cue jumping, hugging, bouncing, screaming and shouting. And that was just me.
Cue also a classic cliché: It’s a good sign if you win when you don’t play well.
And so the win was duly celebrated – my Monday morning sandpaper mouth and still fuzzy head is testimony to that.
So, it seems, I’m back in love with football. If only Parry, Hicks and Gillett could sort it out to make sure it stays that way…

Monday, 21 April 2008

The Yanks

So, here we are, on the eve of Liverpool FC's third Champions League semi-final in four years. And what are we talking about? The devastating form of Fernando Torres? The fact Steven Gerrard is showing his most consistent form in some time? Or maybe, Rafa Benitez's tactical masterstroke in switching formations - a move that has paid off handsomely at just the right time?
No, none of the above. It's still the Yanks. George Gillett and Tom Hicks. The owners. Boardroom people. People in suits. Rick Parry. People, quite frankly, that I don't give a flying about.
Now don't get me wrong, I want them out of the club as much as the next Red. They have let the club down, they have lied and they have conducted themselves in a manner that is just not "The Liverpool Way".
But, for now, I actually want them to STAY. I want them to stay until the end of the season.
And the reason? I think they're helping us towards a sixth European Cup.
Not in the way I would of wanted, I might add. Not because they've stumped up the cash for a string of super signings. Not because they've created a buzz around the club by ensuring work started on the new stadium. Because they haven't.
No, they are helping because lazy football journalists - and news journalists for that matter - are content to write pages and pages of reports about this pair of muppets.
And I think that's helped to take the pressure off the people that really matter, the team. Liverpool are almost expected to fail because of what is happening off the pitch. And if they do, which obviously I am praying they don't, the 'experts' will shrug their shoulders and say 'I told you so.' In the meantime, we've brushed aside the so-called fight for fourth, sealed another showdown with Chelsea in the semis and witnessed the best striker in Europe notch goal after goal.
We're playing well. And consistently well. And it's almost like no-one has noticed.
So if Hicks wants to keep on making a mug of himself (see what I did there?) and Gillett and Parry want to stick their chests out for the cameras, let them. If it means a sixth European Cup sitting in the Anfield trophy cabinet it will almost be worth it!