Negativity bias be
damned.
Man’s tendency to recall
unpleasant memories more strongly than the cheery ones must be the unfairest of
psychological phenomena -- unfair on you and especially unfair on the happier
elements which make your life worth living (or, if you’re in Mumbai, worth
slogging).
According to experts, negative emotions involve
more thinking and are thus processed more thoroughly by the brain, which is why
these tend to be quite hard to let go of.
Then, it is a little
surprise that following a season, in which Liverpool football club did not so much
thrill me as make me go uncharacteristically bonkers, I’m going to sit and harp
on about the few decisive moments when they failed to do so -- for, the fatuity
of those moments took me back more than a decade to a time I still haven’t
entirely gotten to grips with.
Last season, Liverpool
were truly magnificent. Sometimes like a romantic novel, poetically unraveling
on the field (with a tragic finale), letting you savour each moment; at other
times, like an action film moving at a steady pace only to burst into life with
devastating speed, leaving you overwhelmed in the end.
From a personal
point-of-view, the glorious nature of Reds’ football couldn’t have been timed
better. In my first season as a media professional working primarily on
football, the sport -- it felt -- was being stuffed down my throat. It’s true:
When something you love becomes work, it unavoidably changes – mostly, for the
worse -- the way in which you interact with it.
Additionally, my
footballing solitude was heavily tampered with: From the confines of my room,
where hours went into scrutinizing matches and absorbing intelligent punditry,
matches were now viewed in office, now often muddled up with other sports and
certainly accompanied by petulant peer commentary.
This is where Liverpool offered
itself as a breath of fresh air. A unique virtual getaway. A weekly source of
reinvigoration. A brand of spellbinding attacking football not seen in England
since Arsenal’s Invincibles.
Yet, when I could shower
more roses, I’m choosing to throw darts. Admittedly, this doesn’t do justice to
the team and is a selfish act -- of discharging bottled up thoughts in an
attempt to start afresh ahead of the new season.
***
On 3 May 2003, with a
quarter of an hour left, the scores stood: Liverpool 1-1 Manchester City
(Nicolas Anelka had just equalized for City), West Ham United 1-0 Chelsea (Paolo di Canio
had just netted).
If Chelsea (level on
points with Liverpool, but much ahead on goal difference) failed to equalise at
the Boleyn Ground, a draw for Liverpool would’ve been as good as a win. In
either scenario, the Reds would’ve required only a draw at Stamford Bridge the
following Sunday (the league’s final day) to cement the final
Champions League spot.
It’s worth repeating: As
things stood, a Liverpool goal wouldn’t have mattered. Reds were in pole
position. Liverpool manager Gerard Houllier’s in-game management was up for a
stern test.
Should he risk conceding
another while going for a winner, especially when Liverpool had been on the
ropes all game long, surviving by luck rather than skill? Or would holding City
to a draw and counting on West Ham to keep Chelsea out be a safer bet?
The Frenchman went for
the former option. He made an attacking double-substitution well aware that all
Liverpool needed to do – as things stood – was maintain status quo.
Just maintain status
quo.
Both games entered into
stoppage time. Scorelines did not change. Thus, equations did not change.
Liverpool, though, refused to let up in attack, and paid a heavy price for it:
Anelka, a former Liverpool loanee no less, volleyed in a 93rd-minute winner.
Both Liverpool and
Chelsea lost on that day. But, really, Chelsea won.
Reds’ defeat was
infuriating to watch at the time. It’s equally infuriating to relive. It lacked
in in-game intelligence. It resulted from a rather poorly calculated gamble,
which meant Liverpool needed to win the “£20m match” in London the following
week.
They had traditionally
struggled at Stamford Bridge, home of Chelsea football club. To be able to settle
for a draw as opposed to going for a win would’ve made a massive difference.
Liverpool
lost 1-2, after taking the lead (a moment worth recalling my
favourite phrase: “I can take the despair. It’s the hope I can’t stand”).
Unpleasant memories from
that day still live on: Of Jesper Gronkjaer’s sliding-and-slipping winner; of
Gianfranco Zola, making his final Chelsea appearance, toying with the Reds
defence; and of Steven Gerrard marching off after a horrendous tackle.
It was an awful day, but
the real damage had been done the week before.
***
Fast forward 11 years to
27 April 2014. Three league matches remain.
Anfield is buzzing. The
streets leading up to it are buzzing. Here, an outpouring of emotions bottled
up for well over two decades is in full flow. The reception is that of
returning heroes. The anticipation that of champions.
A bang-in-form Liverpool
must only avoid defeat to a second-string Chelsea side. This time, the stakes
are higher: The Premier League itself is on the line.
What’s the need of the
hour again? In-game intelligence. Just maintain status quo.
Football matches start
goalless, a rather simple fact that seemed to betray the most level-headed
folks inside Anfield that day. The onus was on Chelsea to score first. Not
Liverpool.
Yet, when Blues ‘keeper
Mark Schwarzer appeared to be deliberately wasting time as early as the third
minute, the collective mood changed. Why? That’s all it took. One effortless
trigger, of keeping the ball a tad bit longer than necessary, to break the
focus of a side so accustomed to a barnstorming opening.
Luis Suarez, irritated,
upset, tapped on an imaginary watch, and remonstrated with the referee. He
immersed himself in what he perceived to be grave injustice, and ended up
delivering a mediocre performance.
The crowd, previously
bellowing chants in support, briefly switched focus towards the opposition (and
its manager Jose Mourinho) with a chorus of ‘boos’. Happiness had left the
building, after months; frustration slotted in nicely.
Former manager Rafael Benitez’s refusal to step on the throttle cost Reds the
title in 2009. This time it was different. Brendan Rodgers’ men had attacked
with great abandon to embark on a run of 11 straight wins. They just needed to
take a step back, to reassess the immediate needs.
Mourinho’s gamesmanship,
designed to get under the opponents’ skins from minute one, did exactly so. It
shouldn’t have, for the opposition manager’s reputation preceded him. Why then,
did it take Liverpool by surprise?
Liverpool players
should’ve been primed for it, prepared to alter their own game, and ready to
scrap a nil-nil draw to eventually realise a bigger dream. They didn’t.
Gerrard
slipped, decisively and catastrophically. But, in reality, the team
never found its footing.
How unfortunate, that at
the end of a campaign which provided endless joys, I could only lament
Liverpool’s end-of-season naivety.
