You'll see a lot of anniversaries this week, largely of some of the greatest European moments in British football history.
For me though, this weekend marks a rather sadder occasion, both on a professional and personal level.
It was the day that football made me shed a tear, for only the second time. It was the day that I finished playing for Liverpool.
It was also one of the most painful moments in my career, because I was denied the chance to say goodbye to the club that I loved – love – in the manner that I had dreamed I would.
It was 13 years ago that we played AC Milan for a second time in a Champions League Final – and that was to be my last Liverpool game.
I knew the score. I wasn’t going to have my contract renewed, though I did wonder if they might offer me a coaching role. Well, let’s get this straight – I more than wondered, I bloody well hoped, madly!
So when we travelled to Athens for the Final, I didn’t expect too much…but it was only natural to dream a little of lifting the trophy in my last game.
In hindsight, it was never going to happen. There’s a football truism that you can tell whether you’re in the team or not by who you are rooming with.
Let’s just say Peter Crouch, my room-mate that week, must have feared the worst!
In fact, I remember fearing for a different reason when we got to the hotel. It was horrible, a tiny, scruffy place, and the rooms were microscopic. That’s tough enough at the best of times, but when you’re rooming with Crouchy, seven-foot tall, it’s impossible.
Any time either of us moved, the other had to back up flat against the wall!
I’d played in the semi-final against Chelsea, briefly, and in the quarter-final game against PSV. In fact, I’d made 23 appearances that season, which wasn’t a bad tally in my last Anfield campaign.
The thing is, when you’re a striker, you always think you can offer something, there’s always that belief.
I knew my legs weren’t the same, that I was coming towards the end, but still felt I was as sharp as anyone in the six-yard box. The first two yards are in the head, and all that.
Against Chelsea, I was down to take the fifth penalty, so the manager clearly thought I still had the bottle too. And so did I.
So even though I knew I wouldn’t start against Milan, I still felt I could be on the bench. And if you’re on the bench you can dream.
But I didn’t make the matchday squad and I’m not ashamed to admit it was devastating.
I was really emotional when I knew I wasn’t in. On the way to the stadium, I had a tear in my eye. But it was Rafa Benitez’s prerogative.
He was paid to make tough decisions.
I will say this though, and without wishing any lack of respect to any player, but I felt there was a case to be made for giving me that place on the bench.
Rafa picked someone who’d hardly made an impact at Anfield at all. And that’s being kind. And he was leaving too.
I guess I was picturing being on the pitch at the final whistle, and Liverpool winning the trophy. It would have been the perfect way to say goodbye.
As it was, Crouchy and Craig Bellamy both didn’t start, which as we lost, and with the benefit of hindsight, suggests Rafa got his team wrong. With those two on the bench, Rafa wanted balance, so picked a wide player as a potential sub ahead of me – though I couldn’t work out how he’d ever get on the pitch.
What puzzles me still is when we were losing 2-0 with just a few minutes to go, Steve Finnan came off, and the manager put on Alvaro Arbeloa, another full-back.
I’ll bet Craig Bellamy was gutted.
Milan were no great shakes. I think we were a match for them, certainly on paper we had a better chance against them than the 2005 team. Just tells you everything about football, that.
And it gnaws away at a lot of us who travelled to Greece – that was a game we should have won. Another glorious Liverpool European chapter.
Instead, there was no fairytale ending for me.
I remember going on the pitch at the end, and trudging around for a bit, devastated at the result, devastated at not being part of it.
You know, as a striker I always think, with us trailing 2-1, I could have got the equaliser. That’s how I’d always see it.
But if Liverpool had won, then even just to be part of those celebrations, the pictures afterwards, would have been a decent end.
I’m not saying I’d have been like Josemi in 2005 – not having played but right on the front row afterwards – but I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t have either!
It’s such a devastating feeling, that walk around the pitch when you’ve lost such a huge final. The worst kind of football purgatory. I’ve experienced it a couple of times, and you go into a daze.
Looking back, I didn’t have the best of luck, going right the way back to Euro ’96.
I was due to take the fifth penalty in the quarter-final then, but it didn’t get that far. Should have been brought on to take a penalty in the semi, but bafflingly, Terry Venables didn’t make a substitution in 120 minutes.
In the 2001 League Cup Final, a 90th-minute equaliser stopped me being the match-winning scorer, then Didi Hamman missed to stop me winning the shootout.
I was seconds away from being the match winner in the UEFA Cup Final that year too.
I was cup-tied in the 2006 FA Cup Final, and didn’t get to the fifth penalty taker again in the 2007 semi.
It might sound a bit like I was cursed at Liverpool – but I prefer to think of it a different way.
It was a fairytale playing for Liverpool… and my fairytale ending just hasn’t arrived yet.
