Carra: My Autobiography (22 page)

The Sven era was upon us.

I was never sure if Sven-Göran Eriksson was an international manager or international playboy. I know what he was best at. If his style of football had been as entertaining as his private life, England would have been world champions and he'd have been handed a twenty-year contract. The longer he spent in the job, the worse his status became as a football coach and the better it became as a Casanova.

His record still stands scrutiny against any of his predecessors', though. He reached three consecutive quarterfinals in major championships and boasted an impressive record in five years of qualification, losing only once. Nobody can deny he got results. His England side also claimed two of the most prized scalps in our modern history, defeating Argentina in the World Cup group stages and securing a 5–1 win against Germany in Munich. There are those who say he underachieved with the best squad England has had since 1966. I'm inclined to think he led England to its rightful level but fell short of adding the extra ingredient needed to upset the odds. Sven did a good job rather than an extraordinary one.

He arrived with a terrific reputation. His success at Lazio didn't especially convince me because he received considerable financial backing from Sergio Cragnotti. But his achievements with Benfica, Sampdoria and especially an unfashionable club like Gothenburg suggested this was a man who knew what he was doing. The Swedes won the UEFA Cup under him, Benfica reached the European Cup Final in 1990, and Sampdoria regularly won and challenged for honours.

Originally, we had this image of a rather dull, methodical, ultra-professional Swede who'd bring some stability to the job and demand everyone's respect. This didn't quite match the reality. No sooner had Sven arrived than we realized our preconceptions were ill-founded. We were given an early clue about his colourful lifestyle. Before one of his early World Cup qualifiers, a story broke about girls finding their way into the team hotel to provide some of the players with pre-match 'entertainment'. Eriksson summoned us for what we expected to be a stern warning. Instead, we received some fatherly advice.

'There's no need to have girls in the team hotel,' Sven told us. 'If you see someone you like, just get her phone number and arrange to go to her house after the game. Then we will have no problems.'

There was chuckling around the room, which was sparkling thanks to the twinkle in Eriksson's eye. We weren't exactly sure how serious he was. Looking back, I think he was being genuine. He was giving us his best tips.

Under his management, I was either doing the hokey-cokey or playing musical chairs. I was in and out of the team, usually in a different position from one game to the next, and could never establish myself as first choice. I accepted this. When everyone was fit, I never expected to start. There were more established players in all the roles I filled. Disappointments came if players were injured, particularly before big games. That's when you want to sense you've got the manager's trust. I never did.

I appreciated he had managerial talent. His CV speaks for itself. He undoubtedly brought something new to the dressing room, I just struggled to see what it was. He was an introverted character who rarely displayed emotion or revealed his innermost thoughts. If we won, lost or drew, his reaction was identical. This is the trend in many modern coaches. They're careful with their choice of words, using the language of politicians rather than football managers. My preference is to know where I stand. I don't like guessing games. I crave knowing if the manager thought I played well. I'm thirsty for some of their experience or knowledge so I can learn from them. I want to understand the reasons behind every tactical change or selection they've made. There was none of this with Sven. I'd leave training sessions and games none the wiser about why I'd played, been left out or been used as a sub. Some players love this approach. They just want to go into work, get told what to do, play the game, go home and forget about it. That's not me. I relive every kick, watch reruns of the match and try to analyse what went right or wrong. Under Houllier and Benitez, I had managers willing to go through the ninety minutes with me and explain where I could improve. Eriksson was the opposite. I wanted to become an England regular under him, but there was no sense of guidance or advice about what more I needed to do to achieve this ambition. I was always a peripheral figure, although I managed to play my part in his finest hour.

The 5–1 win in Germany in September 2001 should have been the platform for a sustained period of success for England. I was especially proud of the Anfield influence on the result. Mo, Steven Gerrard, Nick Barmby, Emile Heskey and I (as a sub) all played in the match. The goals were scored by Liverpool players. Eriksson can consider himself unlucky with injuries prior to the 2002 World Cup, which meant this performance was never repeated. Stevie pulled out because he needed a groin operation, while Mo and David Beckham weren't 100 per cent fit. I struggled with a knee injury all season and needed an operation. I faced a stark choice by May. If I'd gone to the World Cup, it would have delayed surgery and seen me miss the start of the 2002–03 season. The club came first. Eriksson told me I'd be in his squad, but there was no way I'd risk missing preseason training with Liverpool, especially as I was always wary of new players impressing the manager. Besides, I knew I'd spend most of the tournament on the bench. The longer this was the reality, the less content I became to be a mere deputy.

Disillusionment began to shadow me around the time of Euro 2004. By then I was fully established as one of the country's top defenders. When England had problems at centrehalf, I was confident enough to presume I should be in the side. In the warm-up games before we headed to Portugal, I replaced John Terry and played well. I was led to believe I'd be in the team for our opening game with France. As the fixture approached, there was a sudden backing in the newspapers for Ledley King. All the vibes I was getting from journalists I knew indicated King would play. The final training sessions before kickoff confirmed I was going to be overlooked.

My head spun with mystification. It wasn't the fact King was picked that upset me, but the process that put him in the side. I'll always believe that Eriksson changed his mind under pressure from the media. One essential question bugged me: if I wasn't his initial choice to face France, why did I play in the warm-up games ahead of King? Eriksson told me he preferred King's pace against France's Thierry Henry. I didn't buy that. My response was to ask if the manager had realized Henry was a bit nippy only when he got to Portugal. The draw had been made months earlier. We knew we'd be facing Henry when we played the warm-up fixtures. If this was Eriksson's plan, why wasn't King playing centre-back earlier? What kind of preparation was this for a young defender, pitched into such an important game?

It turned out King had a blinder, fully justifying his selection. There's no reason why he shouldn't have been picked. He's a great defender. But this was one of several occasions when indecision surrounded Eriksson's selections. His reign was particularly tainted by his inability to mould Steven Gerrard and Frank Lampard into a well-balanced midfield partnership. Eriksson's solution was to call his midfielders and captain for a meeting and ask their opinions on resolving the problem. He wanted a volunteer for the holding role in midfield. Neither Stevie nor Frank wanted the job. Both are at their best when free to get forward. David Beckham offered his services. Eriksson agreed, so arguably the best crosser of the ball in the world was switched to an unfamiliar defensive midfield role. The experiment lasted a couple of games, against Wales and Northern Ireland, and inevitably failed.

I was stunned when I heard how this decision was reached. Who was being paid to manage this team? Eriksson needed to be stronger. He needed to have the courage of his convictions, but there were times I wondered what his opinion was. Perhaps he didn't know himself.

The Gerrard–Lampard debate lasted for years; it should have been nipped in the bud. The obvious solution was for the manager to order Stevie to play the holding role to make the partnership work. If the balance still wasn't right, one would have to sit on the bench. Obviously, I'd say there's no way that could be Stevie. The difference between the two is this: Frank Lampard became a worldclass player, Steven Gerrard was born one.

Eriksson gave the impression he relied too much on the guidance of others. In particular, his close relationship with Beckham became detrimental. Beckham was world class. Put aside all the hype and celebrity and judge him on his footballing talent and he's up there with Luis Figo as the finest right midfielder of his generation. At his peak, it's no wonder he had so much power. Unfortunately, there are times when every player needs to be dropped or subbed for the good of the team, and you need a manager wise enough to see it, and firm enough to act appropriately. By the time of the World Cup in 2006 Beckham was in a more vulnerable position, but Eriksson stuck by him. There were occasions when he should have been subbed or started on the bench, coming on later in the game so he had more time and space to have an influence.

Eriksson's decisions were increasingly unpredictable and criticized. The holding midfielder experiment placed me back in the middle during a few warm-up games. I did as well as I could given my six-year absence from the position, but the idea was soon abandoned. To this day I have no idea why I played there or what more I could have done to impress the manager in the role. Then we were all dumbfounded when Arsenal's Theo Walcott was included in the World Cup squad for Germany ahead of Jermaine Defoe and Darren Bent. At seventeen he was nowhere near ready. Not only was it bad for the squad, it was unfair on the player. He's got to live up to his reputation as a wonderkid now. The profession is hard enough without that kind of unnecessary pressure.

England undoubtedly underperformed throughout that World Cup. I can't recall a game where we played to our potential, but a quarterfinal place was no disgrace. We played our best football down to ten men against Portugal, when the preoccupation with tactics, systems and formations had to be abandoned and we showed old-fashioned English qualities of grit and determination. I don't believe the manager was a failure, as was suggested. I'd have preferred different players in the squad, but even if we'd played to our maximum I doubt we'd have gone much further given the injuries we had. The squad wasn't as good as the players, media and supporters made out before the tournament. The usual English disease of over-hype and overexpectation tripped us up again.

Everyone looked for a scapegoat. Eriksson took the blame, but for a while the investigation even focused on me. Eriksson's assistant, Tord Grip, highlighted my penalty miss as a chief factor in our demise. When asked why I was one of those involved in the shootout against the Portuguese, he explained, 'He took one really well for Liverpool in the Champions League Final.'

I've watched our penalty shootout win in Istanbul a thousand times since 2005. I've relived the magical moment of victory more times than this. To this day I still can't recall taking a penalty, and neither can the millions of others around the world who watched the game. I'm not imagining it, then. I definitely didn't take a penalty in the Champions League Final in 2005. The only people who seem to think I was one of Liverpool's takers that night are Grip and the journalist who wrote the story. It's frightening to think England's assistant manager could be so ill-informed.

Having said that, I'd fancied my chances against Portugal that night and readily agreed when asked to take one because my record in training was superb. I was screwed, because I buried my first attempt only to be ordered to retake it for shooting too early. I should have blasted the second, but I picked my spot and missed.

The text messages of consolation I received on the coach heading back to the hotel included one from Kenny Dalglish.

'I wud rather miss for England than LFC,' I wrote back.

'Don't worry, u will never be asked,' Kenny replied, cheekily.

'I can't remember u ever taking one,' I continued the argument. 'Didn't u have the bottle?'

It took Kenny another twenty-four hours to think up a reply to that one.

'I took 1 in a preseason once and missed,' he belatedly admitted.

Regardless of the penalty, I never played well in that World Cup, partially because I was shattered. I played more games than anyone in Europe that season. Officially, there were sixty-eight in all, because of Liverpool's three rounds of Champions League qualifiers, the Super Cup Final and our involvement in the World Club Championship in Japan. Including preseason games I was over the seventy mark.

My versatility had become a disadvantage. In my early twenties, moving from midfield or central defence to fullback wasn't a problem. After four years during which all my games for Liverpool were at centrehalf, the switch back to rightback was uncomfortable because at that stage of the season I no longer had the legs for the role, and the mid-afternoon summer heat was exhausting. I knew Sven wouldn't pick me at centrehalf, so when he named the team and I wasn't picked at all it started to feel like a relief. In fact I was starting to realize that if I wasn't in the squad exclusively as a centrehalf, I'd rather not be there.