Liverpool FC Forum

jonnymac1979 wrote:New topic from jonnymac, only because I think it's worth it.

I watched the game at home with my Dad this afternoon, a bit of a tradition in my family, close the curtains over and crack open a six-pack.  Don't really go the pub for the FA Cup final.  Prefer to watch it indoors rather than a pub, no matter what year it is, or who's playing.  Wimbledon in 1988 was one of the exceptions as I was actually sitting in a seat in Wembley Stadium watching us get beat.  Never mind, although eighteen years on I still don't know how we lost.

Also, back in 2001, I was on a 36 hour drink binge, although I wont explain the ins and outs of that.  It was justified though.  We won the Cup.  Any other year, apart from when I had a stupid Saturday job that robbed me of watching it, I always watch the FA Cup final at home.  Couldn't get a ticket this year though.  My brother was there though.  He's ecstatic.

So anyway, today, Konchesky had scored a winning freak goal and for twenty minutes or so, West Ham's name was on the Cup.  I was sitting with my Dad in the house and if I'm being honest, we had both conceded the Cup.  Kewell had to go off injured; Alonso realised his ankle had not healed sufficiently enough to allow him to have any more influence on the game, and players were falling over all over the pitch.  Weird weren't it?

The much maligned Morientes (who I thought in my opinion looked more lively today than he had looked all season put together) was leading the line once Crouch was replaced.  We looked a team who didn't have what it was going to take this time to take the trophy.  Cisse had given his all, he couldn't even run any more.

Those of us who were watching on television, were watching with four minutes to go.  The camera cut to Steven Gerrard, with the look of regret on his face, about the trophy that got away.  He had cramp.  He couldn't walk properly, never mind run.  Reo-Coker was man-marking him, and West Ham looked far the fitter side over the ninety minutes.  The game was up. 

The commentators, Motson and Lawrenson from BBC, were worrying about England's World Cup hopes.  Fuck the World Cup.  I was worrying about how I was going to cope with losing the FA Cup.

Then the ninety minutes were up and the fourth official signalled there was four minutes of injury time and Liverpool were on the attack after some Cisse injury where the ball was kicked out of play.  I had this empty feeling in my stomach, resigned to planning how I was going to take my mind off this result after the referee had blown his whistle to signal the defeat.  It was only a matter of time.

Then there is some kind of perfect mêlée, where the ball bounces free just outside the box.  Close your eyes and you can remember where you were when you seen it yourself.  The ball was free.  On television you couldn't see the rest of the pitch, so I know what I was thinking.  If you were at Cardiff, I'll bet I know what you were thinking.

You thought to yourself;

"Last minute of the Cup Final, the ball has been missed by all the players at the edge of the box.......... and it's bouncing up perfectly for someone to hit it, 35 yards out.......... 

Who do you want there to hit it, even though it won't go in, barring a miracle or a perfect shot sent from somewhere we don't know about?"

"But who do you want there?  Name the ONE player you want there just out of camera-shot.  The one player in the World you would trust right now to volley that ball towards goal?"

Step forward Steven Gerrard.

Am I the only person who watched it in sheer disbelief and slow motion?  Even when it hit the corner of the net, for a brief moment, a real brief moment, I couldn't believe this final could take another twist this way.  With warriors falling all over the pitch, the greatest and strongest of them all on the park rose and pulled a rabbit out of the hat, and produced a goal which you'll travel far and wide to see executed more perfectly, in a game of such importance and magnitude. 

Carrying an injury, Steven Gerrard shaped his body, catching it on the volley like an arrow with a twist.  With his last ounce of energy in the ninety minutes, he scored an unstoppable beauty before Hislop even realised there was a shot to save.  The ball was literally in the net before he'd finished saving it.  Revise all goal of the season awards.

The man is a living legend.  I am 26 years of age, so I don't recall the old school of dominating football domestically and Europe, year in, year out.  I know my history, but my memory only goes back as far as the Double season of 1986.  From there, I know my stuff like Gospel.  We were good for about five years in my youth, and then we had the nineties.

So I have to say, in the time since, Gerrard can be mentioned in the same breath as Kenny Dalglish and John Barnes.  The man can go onto eclipse them if he continues performing at his rate.

Different generations apart I know, but I can't get over how Gerrard scored that goal today.  The technique was just perfection.  Just when you think you've seen him at his best against Olympiakos, or in Istanbul, or scoring 30 yard goals against Arsenal, Manchester United or even Aston Villa last weekend, he goes and scores an incomparable goal in the last minute of the FA Cup final, before going on to score a goal in the penalty shoot out to decide the competition before lifting the Cup himself.

The man was born with a gift.

Up there with the best.

So the rest of this topic; what did you think when you watched the goal go in?  Where were you?  At home, in the pub, or in the Millennium Stadium?  How did you feel?  Did you feel you had seen a better goal this or any season?  Could you describe what you had just seen?

I was cramping up, nothing left, but I had to be around for the scraps. As the announcer’s words drifted away, I hobbled forward. Morientes and Gabbidon fought for Riise’s cross and the ball flew back out. Towards me. Christ! I stood there, legs stiff as boards, tank empty, thirty yards from goal with this ball coming my way. Everyone raves about what happened next, but they don’t realize one crucial thing: if my legs hadn’t been riddled with cramp, I would have brought the ball down and tried to build an attack. I was a long way out. Too far to shoot, surely? Come on! Be realistic! There had to be too many bodies in the way? But the cramp made up my mind. I looked at the ball. ‘It’s set decent,’ I told myself, ‘so have a go, try to hit the target. Nothing to lose, Stevie.’

I made contact, pouring my few remaining drops of energy into the ball, willing it on its way. People said the ball went in at a decent speed, but it seemed to take ages to travel those thirty yards. My senses were drained, the cramp and the tension taking their toll. Through blurred vision, I saw Shaka Hislop moving. Has he saved it? Has it gone in? Please God. Then I saw the net ripple and stretch. I saw the Liverpool fans leap up. I saw the West Ham fans and players collapse. It was in – 3–3.
My first reaction was of pure shock. I was surprised how well I hit it because of the mess my body was in. All my muscles were pulling. But there was no pain from hitting the ball so hard; there never is when you catch the ball so well. Those two strikes in the 2006 FA Cup final were the best I ever caught the ball. The feeling ripping through me matched the one after my Champions League header, although my second FA Cup final goal was better – my best ever goal. The brilliance of it still hasn’t sunk in. I still can’t believe I scored from so far out. On the Millennium pitch, I couldn’t celebrate properly, I was too shattered. I just smiled and patted the GERRARD on my back.