CL final: the long journey home

By Emerald Gao
Written on May 23, 2007

I suppose this is where I am supposed to type out all my sorrows, or else rage about the referee's unthinkable sense of timing, much like Rafa Benitez did after the final whistle sounded half a minute early. It's like a scar, one that itches and itches until you give in and scratch it. I can't leave my heartbreaks alone. I need words for comfort, for the steadying presence of reason and logic when everyone else is crying.

The Champions League final, to me, is a final test of each team's mettle, but it is also a final evaluation of how well a team manages to work around its flaws. Two seasons ago, Liverpool were still finding their feet under a new manager, so the final was a huge victory in the sense that all the doubts and insecurities about Rafa's leadership were dispelled. That second half performance was a display not only of footballing verve, but of Liverpool fans declaring their faith in the team and the manager, and of the players responding, reclaiming their identity (or maybe forging an entirely new one). Milan, on the other hand, fell prey to their pride, despite playing dominant football.

Today, Liverpool succumbed to the one thing that has plagued them all season: lack of finishing. The first half wasn't as thoroughly dominating as the Barcelona or Manchester United games at Anfield this season, but it should have given us a lead. We had already won the midfield battle comprehensively; Kaka and Seedorf were nowhere in sight, and Gattuso and Pirlo were faceless. We looked tough except where it mattered. We couldn't punish Milan for their defensive mistakes, not like they punished us in 2005.

Both Omar and I thought Kewell would be a vast improvement on Zenden's plodding (but spirited, I have to give him credit for that) performance on the left wing. But Kewell's trademark speed was nowhere to be seen, and he was often isolated from the attack. It's a shame, because the redemption that should have been written into his narrative never materialized.

A more minor criticism that I've noted about the team -- well, with Rafa, anyway -- is the untimeliness of substitutions. It's borderline blasphemy to find fault with anything Rafa does tactically, because he is a certain kind of genius, but there was no tinge of inspiration with the timing of the substitutions. Things looked routine when they should have brought us to our feet. Crouch for Mascherano came too late, in my opinion, and it's difficult to see what Arbeloa for Finnan was supposed to accomplish, as the right wing had been doing plenty of good attacking.

What stings most about the loss is the manner in which we conceded. Pippo Inzaghi should have posed no danger for us, none whatsoever. The first goal was a fluke if there ever was one, and I feel sorry for Pepe for conceding such a stupid goal. The fact that Riise managed to leave Inzaghi onside -- for what has to be the first time in his entire career -- to score the second was insufferable. I wouldn't have minded going down to two brilliant Kaka strikes, or even a Maldini goal. It's not the caliber of the goals that bothers me, because I certainly wouldn't have minded a wonky, clumsy goal right around the 75th minute -- it's the personality of the goalscorer that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. There is no underestimating Inzaghi, and yet, no other explanation for how his second goal happened.

When we were 2–0 down, I told Omar that I didn't think we could come back from it. I had total faith in the team, but maybe we're too disciplined now. Maybe we're not raw enough for surging comebacks like Istanbul. It's odd to realize during the biggest game of the season that the polish and the elegance we as fans crave for our team sometimes takes as hostages sheer willpower. (Or, sometimes, the ref's whistle does it for you. What could have been a beautiful end to the game, even if we did end up losing, ended up a gross injustice, and I really am pissed about that.) Gerrard should have gone bonkers in the last five minutes. But he held his position, and he played his part. This wasn't the right time for that.

I can't fault him or any other player for the loss. But I do think that Rafa needs to find a way to allow the team to play organized football without leaking passion out the backside. Two seasons ago we had no reason to win. Our squad was unfinished, but oozed self-belief from every pore. This year we had every reason to win (and this goes back to countless games throughout the season), and couldn't push through the mental block. The difference, to me, is clear, and I think a lot of the fans in that stadium tonight would agree with me.

Once they recover from their alcohol-induced stupor, of course. As for me, Tim bought me a milkshake, and I've said my piece. As much as I dislike Milan and Italian football culture in general, this victory does wrap up their season nicely. I hold no grudges, because my team is the one who failed to live up to expectations. I'm not disappointed in the season, not by far. The growing pains will disappear with time and experience. We just have to believe -- but that's not so hard, I've been doing it for years.

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