So, Rafa Benitez has won the Liverpool power struggle. Rick Parry, the chief executive, is leaving. And Rafa will now presumably have total control over transfers and get a nice big pay rise. But while agreeing that Parry was an interfering old busybody, am I the only one who isn't so convinced by Benitez's supposed genius?
There has always been something very irritating about the Spaniard. The goatee beard is not a good start. He clearly thinks it makes him look like Johnny Depp. When, dare I politely suggest, George Michael after a hard night on Hampstead Heath is a more appropriate comparison?
The cheap-looking glasses, hideous patterned ties and ill-fitting suits do nothing to counter the general impression of a middle- ranking bank manager. But the most annoying thing about him is that he could be so much more successful if he just managed to find a few seconds in every day to stop thinking about himself and dwell on his team for a moment.
Benitez has to be the most arrogant manager ever to grace the Premier League. Which, when you consider the competition, is a pretty amazing achievement. Jose 'I'm the Special One' Mourinho has an ego the size of several planets, Sir Alex Ferguson makes Emperor Nero look timid and dear old Sam Allardyce is still banging on about how he should be England manager, when most of us think he'd struggle to run a pub side these days.
But Benitez is cockier than all of them, in his own peculiar way. You just know that he wakes up every morning, struts to the bathroom in his purple Noel Coward smoking jacket, takes a long, hard look at himself in the mirror, and smirks: 'Rafa, you is looking the bizzo today!'
Liverpool were cruising at the top of the League at the turn of the year. They looked strong in depth and focused and I genuinely thought, if Gerrard and Torres stayed fit, they might go on and win the title. Then came Dossier Day. The moment that Benitez decided to make it all about himself again.
Instead of exuding a firm air of menacing confidence about his players, which would have instilled fear and panic into the ranks of Liverpool's already struggling opponents, he exploded in a veritable orgy of selfindulgence. Out he marched, jowls twitching, goatee glistening, brow furrowed, and positively dripping with prickly defensiveness. And for the next half an hour he laid into Sir Alex in a fit of indignant pique that was toe-curling to watch.
When he'd finished going through his ridiculous fact-file, he sat back like a smug geography teacher having just administered another tedious lecture to the class on their collective shortcomings. And I sat back and chuckled loudly to myself, exactly as I suspect Sir Alex did in Manchester.
'Game over,' he must have thought. Dossier Day was not the only time Benitez has made it all about himself. For most of the season, Liverpool's achievements on the field have been overshadowed by their manager's contractual wranglings. He's going, he's staying, he's angry, he's frustrated, he's . . . he's . . . he's Rafa Benitez, the biggest star at the club! This week Liverpool fans will forgive him anything given their excellent win at Real Madrid. 'Give Rafa the freedom of the city!' was the cry from the world's most emotional supporters. To which I reply: 'Calm down, calm down.'
Particularly after yesterday's terrible performance against Middlesbrough. Benitez is, indisputably, tactically astute, massively experienced and worthy of considerable praise as a coach. But Liverpool are not an exciting team to watch. They're hard to beat, granted. They're also, however, a bunch of boring long-ball merchants prepared to grind out results and catch opposition sides on the break. And when you analyse Benitez's actual record as manager, from a historical perspective, the position looks even less impressive.
He won the Champions League in his first season at Liverpool, making himself an instant Kop god in the process. But that was four years ago and since then he's added only one FA Cup and a Community Shield to the mix (I'm not knocking that joke of a trophy, by the way. We Arsenal fans would do cartwheels of ecstasy for the Shield right now).
This season was the closest Liverpool have come to winning the Premier League and they almost certainly blew it when they had it in their hands. Because, at the crucial moment, when the players looked to their manager for the kind of supreme Churchillian 'Let us go forward together' speech that might drive them on to victory, he turned it into the Rafa Benitez show.
The best manager Liverpool ever had was not the magnificently eloquent Bill Shankly. It was Bob Paisley. A humble, absurdly modest, quietly-spoken man who won six league titles, three European cups, one UEFA cup, three League Cups, a UEFA Super Cup, and five Community Shields. Paisley would rather have inserted electrodes into his spinal cord than constantly big himself up ahead of his players. And I bet he never once asked for a pay rise.
There has always been something very irritating about the Spaniard. The goatee beard is not a good start. He clearly thinks it makes him look like Johnny Depp. When, dare I politely suggest, George Michael after a hard night on Hampstead Heath is a more appropriate comparison?
The cheap-looking glasses, hideous patterned ties and ill-fitting suits do nothing to counter the general impression of a middle- ranking bank manager. But the most annoying thing about him is that he could be so much more successful if he just managed to find a few seconds in every day to stop thinking about himself and dwell on his team for a moment.
Benitez has to be the most arrogant manager ever to grace the Premier League. Which, when you consider the competition, is a pretty amazing achievement. Jose 'I'm the Special One' Mourinho has an ego the size of several planets, Sir Alex Ferguson makes Emperor Nero look timid and dear old Sam Allardyce is still banging on about how he should be England manager, when most of us think he'd struggle to run a pub side these days.
But Benitez is cockier than all of them, in his own peculiar way. You just know that he wakes up every morning, struts to the bathroom in his purple Noel Coward smoking jacket, takes a long, hard look at himself in the mirror, and smirks: 'Rafa, you is looking the bizzo today!'
Liverpool were cruising at the top of the League at the turn of the year. They looked strong in depth and focused and I genuinely thought, if Gerrard and Torres stayed fit, they might go on and win the title. Then came Dossier Day. The moment that Benitez decided to make it all about himself again.
Instead of exuding a firm air of menacing confidence about his players, which would have instilled fear and panic into the ranks of Liverpool's already struggling opponents, he exploded in a veritable orgy of selfindulgence. Out he marched, jowls twitching, goatee glistening, brow furrowed, and positively dripping with prickly defensiveness. And for the next half an hour he laid into Sir Alex in a fit of indignant pique that was toe-curling to watch.
When he'd finished going through his ridiculous fact-file, he sat back like a smug geography teacher having just administered another tedious lecture to the class on their collective shortcomings. And I sat back and chuckled loudly to myself, exactly as I suspect Sir Alex did in Manchester.
'Game over,' he must have thought. Dossier Day was not the only time Benitez has made it all about himself. For most of the season, Liverpool's achievements on the field have been overshadowed by their manager's contractual wranglings. He's going, he's staying, he's angry, he's frustrated, he's . . . he's . . . he's Rafa Benitez, the biggest star at the club! This week Liverpool fans will forgive him anything given their excellent win at Real Madrid. 'Give Rafa the freedom of the city!' was the cry from the world's most emotional supporters. To which I reply: 'Calm down, calm down.'
Particularly after yesterday's terrible performance against Middlesbrough. Benitez is, indisputably, tactically astute, massively experienced and worthy of considerable praise as a coach. But Liverpool are not an exciting team to watch. They're hard to beat, granted. They're also, however, a bunch of boring long-ball merchants prepared to grind out results and catch opposition sides on the break. And when you analyse Benitez's actual record as manager, from a historical perspective, the position looks even less impressive.
He won the Champions League in his first season at Liverpool, making himself an instant Kop god in the process. But that was four years ago and since then he's added only one FA Cup and a Community Shield to the mix (I'm not knocking that joke of a trophy, by the way. We Arsenal fans would do cartwheels of ecstasy for the Shield right now).
This season was the closest Liverpool have come to winning the Premier League and they almost certainly blew it when they had it in their hands. Because, at the crucial moment, when the players looked to their manager for the kind of supreme Churchillian 'Let us go forward together' speech that might drive them on to victory, he turned it into the Rafa Benitez show.
The best manager Liverpool ever had was not the magnificently eloquent Bill Shankly. It was Bob Paisley. A humble, absurdly modest, quietly-spoken man who won six league titles, three European cups, one UEFA cup, three League Cups, a UEFA Super Cup, and five Community Shields. Paisley would rather have inserted electrodes into his spinal cord than constantly big himself up ahead of his players. And I bet he never once asked for a pay rise.
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