Quite miraculous really. Maybe The Lord has been pleased he’s selling so many gold bibles.
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Still the same level-headed guy
That’s the spirit, Phil 
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Read a simple accolade from a fan… How right he was
Rafa Benítez never sugar-coated it when he spoke about his Brazilian technician, Fábio Aurélio:
“When he is fit, he is a top-class player. His left foot is fantastic. He can pass, cross, shoot. He has everything.”
And that line right there tells the entire bloody story.
Ask any proper match-going Kopite from the late 2000s about Liverpool’s biggest “what could have been” player and you won’t hear Daniel Sturridge.
No.
You’ll see a sigh.
A shake of the head.
And then the name:
Fábio Aurélio.
Because when he was fit under Rafael Benítez, he wasn’t just a good full-back.
He was an absolute technician.
Not a runner.
Not a clogger.
A silky Brazilian left-back playing chess in a league full of blokes playing rugby.
Then came the moment at Stamford Bridge.
April 2009.
UEFA Champions League quarter-final.
Liverpool need a miracle against Chelsea F.C..
Free-kick wide right.
Everyone—EVERYONE—expects the cross.
Even Petr Čech is busy organising the circus in his penalty area.
And Aurélio?
The cheeky Brazilian looks up…
sees the near post wide open…
…and just whips the bloody thing straight in.
No drama.
No run-up.
Just a filthy little laser into the net.
Čech scrambling like someone nicked his wallet.
Away end?
Absolute limbs.
And if you think that was a fluke…
Roll back one month earlier.
Manchester United F.C. vs Liverpool.
Old Trafford.
The famous 4–1 demolition.
Free-kick again.
Aurélio steps up…
and bends an absolute peach past Edwin van der Sar like he’s playing in the park.
Two elite goalkeepers.
Two ridiculous free-kicks.
Same left foot.
Certified wand.
And here’s the cruel bit.
His body was made of crisps and bad luck.
Achilles injuries.
Muscle tears.
Knee problems.
Half his Liverpool career was spent arguing with the bloody treatment table.
But when he was fit?
Gliding down the flank at Liverpool F.C. like a Rolls-Royce.
Ping.
40-yard diagonal to Steven Gerrard.
Ping.
Cross on a plate for Fernando Torres.
Silk.
Pure silk.
So remember the name properly:
First Brazilian to sign for Liverpool
~130 appearances for the Reds
Free-kick merchant against United and Chelsea
Owner of one of the cleanest left feet Anfield ever saw
Not a superstar.
Not a Ballon d’Or lad.
Just a cult hero with a wand of a left foot who deserved far better luck.
The Brazilian technician.
The Rafa Benítez chess piece.
Fábio bloody Aurélio.
#LFC #LiverpoolFC #YNWA #FabioAurelio #Anfield #ChampionsLeague #ProperFootball #BarclaysEra
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We could do with Gakpo watching clips of this guy :0)
Jamie Carragher once summed up his Czech teammate perfectly:
“When he set off, he was like a greyhound.”
And honestly… that might be the most accurate description of Milan Baroš anyone ever gave.
Forget silky link-up play.
Forget clever flicks and delicate through balls.
If you wanted poetry in motion, you watched someone else.
But if you wanted a striker who would roll his socks down, lower his head, and charge straight into the chaos of Premier League defenders like a man possessed…
You called Baroš.
This man didn’t play football at normal speed.
He played it like someone had pressed fast-forward.
Now rewind to May 2005.
Anfield.
Champions League Semi-Final.
Liverpool vs Chelsea.
Rafa Benítez’s patched-up underdogs
against
José Mourinho’s billion-pound machine.
The tie is balanced on a knife edge.
0–0 first leg.
One goal decides everything.
Four minutes in.
Steven Gerrard lifts a ball over the Chelsea defence.
And suddenly you see a blur of red sprinting into the night.
That’s Baroš.
Not jogging.
Not hesitating.
Absolutely flying.
John Terry turns. Too late.
Baroš is already gone.
Then comes Petr Čech, charging out like a freight train.
Most strikers pull out.
Most strikers protect themselves.
Not this lunatic.
Baroš goes for it anyway.
He reaches the ball…
Čech wipes him out…
and the ball spills loose toward the Kop end.
Luis García arrives.
William Gallas tries to clear it.
The ball trickles over the line.
And just like that…
THE GHOST GOAL IS BORN.
Anfield explodes.
Absolute bedlam.
Chelsea lose their minds.
Mourinho loses his mind.
The stadium nearly tears itself off its foundations.
And while García gets the name in the history books…
That moment doesn’t exist without Baroš.
Without that insane sprint.
Without that fearless collision.
Without a striker willing to smash himself into a goalkeeper for the badge.
Was he always clinical?
No.
Did he sometimes run straight into blind alleys?
Absolutely.
But his engine?
Ridiculous.
One year earlier he’d ripped through Europe and walked away with the Euro 2004 Golden Boot like a man possessed.
And when Liverpool pulled off the Miracle of Istanbul, who started up front?
Baroš.
Not glamorous.
Not elegant.
Just pure, relentless chaos.
Liverpool career:
108 appearances
Champions League winner (2005)
Euro 2004 Golden Boot
Ran defenders into the ground for fun
Eventually he left for Aston Villa.
But those Anfield nights…
Those lung-busting runs…
Those defenders desperately trying to keep up with a Czech striker who only had one gear—
FULL THROTTLE.
Proper cult hero.
Proper grafter.
Proper Anfield madman.
Milan Baroš.
The Ostravan Express.
#LFC #Liverpool #MilanBaros #Anfield #UCL #Istanbul2005 #ProperFootball #YNWA
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We can also accept that 10 PL winners got worse under Slot this season and Gakpo is one of them.
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Yeah, the bashing is getting really tiresome.
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i think i just vommitted in my mouth…
Matip’s child as VvD’s mascot on our match vs the Spuds.
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Edit
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Wanna come and see me having a steak and chips at Benny’s in Cronulla? Just stick 400 dollars in my retirement fund and the pleasure’s all yours (and mine of course with the steak and financial boost).
See you there @Rooster !
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Who writes these things?
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Reminds me of Ron Manager from The Fast Show.
In this instance - Carragher :0)
Sorry been out at the Women’s Asian Cup final with 74,000 others. Just got in.
I worked for 10 years in the “Shire” and was a regular at Cronulla. All the white wealthy beach goer pisshead types.
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That’s why I feel so at home there.
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