The first in a four-part series in which our writers choose their favourite football moments of the year
This being the season of goodwill, it is best not to admit one’s favourite football moment of 2016 was Steve McClaren’s commentary of the England-Iceland match, exquisite though that sketch’s timing was (“it’s been the perfect response, you think no problem, start again, keep dominating, keep putting pressure on the Icelandic back four … oh.”)
Similarly it is wise not to guffaw too heartily while recalling Italy’s penalties in the Euro 2016 quarter-final shootout with Germany, when Graziano Pellè and Simone Zaza embarked on elaborate bluffs with the same ill-founded confidence that Joey Barton took to Scotland. All ended up with sausage-wrapped egg on their faces. Funny for sure but in the spirit of Dr Strangelove’s President Merkin Muffley (“Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here. This is the War Room!”), one should demand nobler sentiments from a festive football blog.
Best, all told, to plump for something positive – a moment, perhaps, that encapsulated the appeal of a player who got you out of your seat nearly every time he approached the ball because the prospect of his involvement in the play was a bugle call announcing that something extraordinary was about to happen. Barcelona, of course, have a trio of such players. So did Liverpool.
Lionel Messi, Neymar and Luis Suárez frolicked on a rarefied plane throughout 2016 but even they did not produce anything to match the night in April when Mamadou Sakho and Dejan Lovren brought the Anfield house down. The third member of Liverpool’s special trio of defenders did not play in the thrilling Europa League quarter-final second leg against Borussia Dortmund because of the sheer callousness of squad selection, Jürgen Klopp explaining before kick-off that he had such an armoury at his disposal that “Kolo Touré, in his 280th spring, is not even in the squad.”
What makes Liverpool different from almost all other clubs with a worldwide fanbase is that much of their appeal is rooted in the fact that most of their victories, even when they were England’s dominant club, have seemed like triumphs over adversity. Often their wins have owed as much to the strength of unique men’s will as to their skill. Bruce Grobbelaar or Craig Johnston would probably say that, and Djimi Traoré dare not claim otherwise. April’s win over Dortmund slotted rambunctiously well into the Anfield canon.
It started perfectly badly. Liverpool were sliced open twice in the first nine minutes as Dortmund sought to kill the tie pronto. At 3-1 up on aggregate, with away goals from Henrikh Mkhitaryan and Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang, the German team were flying and the German fans were jubilating. The visitors’ vibe was adding to the suspicion that while English football has most of the money, the Bundesliga has a richness that the Premier League has lost. Klopp’s former club were threatening to show how far behind his current one is. Embarrassment loomed like a Simon Mignolet fumble.
But those were negative thoughts and would gain no traction on this joyous night. Instead Liverpool attacked with gusto and panache. So did Dortmund. It was exhilarating fare, served up at breakneck speed and with head-spinning twists. A goal from Divock Origi drew Liverpool closer to their improbable target before Marco Reus sent them back to square one. With less than half an hour left Liverpool needed to score three times – and to avoid conceding again. Lovren and Sakho almost seemed to grow extra limbs as they found new ways to block shots. Meanwhile Mats Hummels, who is John Stones auf Deutsch, hoped that dapper sallies forward would remain the best form of defence – but not on this night, not during prime Sakho and Lovren.
Philippe Coutinho embellished a snazzy move with a bijou finish to make it 2-3 on the night, 3-4 on aggregate. Now Dortmund were clinging on but none of their defenders was looking much like Franz Beckenbauer nor any other Kaiser. Then Sakho showed these men of will what will really was. There was no question of anyone other than him meeting Coutinho’s corner in the 78th minute. Three-three on the night, 4-4 on aggregate, but Dortmund were ahead on away goals.
As time ticked down the enraptured home crowd sought to summon another goal like cult members invoking deliverance. Enter Lovren. This was the moment he had been craving for an amusingly long time. It had been apparent for a while that the Croat had been operating in the belief that the best way to banish criticism of him following several rickety performances after his arrival from Southampton in 2014 was to produce one spectacular gesture of atonement.
He had tried it in the previous year’s Europa League in a shootout against Besiktas, when he attempted to steer a penalty into the top corner but sent it sailing towards the Bosphorus instead. That strengthened his resolve. So he tried it again the following April, when Liverpool were trailing pitifully to Aston Villa in the FA Cup semi-final with only seconds left on the clock. When the ball came to Lovren he eschewed the Hail Mary lob into the box, essaying instead a heavenly, imaginary 40-yard bolt into the top corner. His godawful effort flew into the stands and Liverpool were beaten by the most diabolical Villa side for a generation. Jesus wept.
None of that deterred the quixotic Croat. When James Milner fired a cross into the area in stoppage time against Dortmund, Lovren saw another chance to shape his destiny. This time he seized it. When his header hit the net it was not only Liverpool supporters who punched the air with one hand, while pinching themselves with the other. It was a beautiful moment to behold.
But it was just a moment. Sakho’s Liverpool career soon fell into ruin because of a doping mystery and an attitude farce. Touré played in the Europa League final instead and, truth be told, the best that could be said about his performance was that it was his last for the club. Lovren, of course, is still at Liverpool, still, perhaps, building up to another special moment.
