Anfield. 2005. Champions League. Chelsea. No way Jose! | OneFootball

Football is a game for the winter, right? Maybe not the sticky mud pitches of yesterday, but there is a reason that summer tournaments always seem a bit strange. We’re used to the slog through winter whilst watching our teams, bookended by the August and May memories of sun-drenched stadiums and substitutes in t-shirts, not tracksuits. However, in my mind, there is nothing quite as glorious as an evening kick-off in those late spring days. The heat has hung in the air, the sun gives way to floodlights and the green of the grass sparkles. Add in an Anfield atmosphere and a Champions League semi-final second leg, and it’s pretty much utopia.

And so the stage was set on Tuesday, 3rd May 2005, for Liverpool vs Chelsea in the Champions League Semi-final, 2nd leg. The first leg, just 6 days before at Stamford Bridge, had ended 0-0. It was a tight, tense game, with chances for both sides. In the days of the away goals rule, it left the tie delicately poised.

The teams had played three times already during the season – Chelsea had won both Premier League games 1-0 and had come from behind to win 3-2 in the League Cup final. They had also just become champions, winning the title for the first time in 50 years, whilst only losing one game throughout. Their defence was watertight, their midfield strong, and they had the broadsword of Didier Drogba up front. Jose Mourinho, in his first season in English football, had charmed the media and instilled a winning mentality in his new champions. They were a formidable side.

Rafa Benitez, also in his first season in English football, had not reached the same heights, albeit in different circumstances. He still had Houllier’s team, with the transitional rebuild well underway and showing a current position of 5th in the league, over 30 points adrift of Chelsea. The 5th place was frustrating, but acceptable. The points chasm to Chelsea is less so. Their newfound wealth and success were aggravating, and a new rivalry – not with the history of Manchester United, nor the geographical antagonism with Everton – was being borne out.

It is often said about the Liverpool team that season and their lack of real quality. Certainly, the team didn’t live up to their ancestors from 70s and 80s, nor indeed to Klopp’s champions 14 years later, but there was quality. There was a certain verve to the team, which was taking its shape under the bright tactical gaze of Benitez. Carragher and Hyppia were a solid core in front of the talented but slightly erratic Dudek. Xabi Alonso had arrived and thrived immediately – his fizzing passing and calm demeanour sprinkled some stardust over the team. The underrated Did Hamann remained, anchoring the team’s midfield and lending experience. And then there was Gerrard.

Steven Gerrard was not Rafa’s idea of a central midfielder: his dynamic, all-action style a little at odds with the manager’s desire for control and balance. Liverpool had been at their best over the season, with Gerrard pushed further forward into more of a number 10 role. His natural instincts as a midfielder had him dropping deeper, which often left Liverpool with good numbers in the middle of the park. With two other central midfielders alongside him as well, Gerrard had the full licence to be able to push on and affect things closer to the opposition goal. His performances over the season were pulsating, radiating world-class football in everything that he did. He was the linchpin, the key cog and the main reason Liverpool stood a chance.

Xabi Alonso was suspended for the match, having picked up an unlucky booking in the first leg, so Igor Biscan came in alongside Did Hamann in the middle.

John Arne Riise was pushed up on the left, with Luis Garcia on the right. Milan Baros led the line – his hard running and selfless play always appealing to Benitez.

Anfield was a bear pit that night – a fizzing, pulsating gladiatorial arena that showcased exactly why it has always had such a reputation on European nights. The roar of the crowd hung in the Mersey air like sticky gloop – impossible to escape and suffocating for the opposition. Many a Chelsea player has since admitted that they had never experienced anything like it, either before or after. This was not a flaky Chelsea team – it was anything but; however, they were caught up in the atmosphere and started slowly.

Liverpool, knowing they had to be at their best, scored after 4 minutes – Luis Garcia bundling the ball over the line (yes, really), which gave them exactly the foothold that they needed. Chelsea’s season had been built on comfortable, narrow wins – 2-0 being a particular favourite – and they hadn’t had many games that they had to chase. It certainly wasn’t Mourinho’s style.

Chelsea clawed their way back into the match in the form of gaining a bit of control, but had limited chances against their supremely well-organised opponents. Much was the same in the second half – the atmosphere still razor sharp and crackling, but with the inevitable anxiety starting to creep in as the clock ticked down. Personally, I remember the absolute agony of knowing that a Champions League final was starting to be within reach and the angst of knowing how that could be snatched away. This must’ve been replicated through Anfield that night, but the crowd still continued to roar the team on, knowing that they needed to do their part.

Djibril Cisse, missing for a good chunk of the season with a broken leg, came on and provided pace up front. A long pass somehow found its way to him, and a chance was carved out as he wriggled free of the defender before putting his shot wide.

There was barely any time for anything further, let alone any drama. Liverpool played the ball long up into the left side of the Chelsea defence, and the referee blew the glorious final whistle.

The roar throughout the stadium was heartfelt and guttural. Energy pulsed through the stands and around the pitch, through an exhausted set of Liverpool players as they celebrated. The Chelsea players looked like they could scarcely believe what had happened. They struggled off the pitch, heavy-legged and bewildered by what they had been hit with.

Gerrard and Carragher, probably more than anyone, realised the significance of what had been achieved. They soaked up the atmosphere and did their interviews with passion and gusto. It had been nineteen years since Liverpool had reached a European Cup final, but this had only been their third crack at the tournament since then. They were European royalty and not only back at the table, but looking to take their place at the head of it again.

Games like this stay etched in the upper echelons of memories for Liverpool fans, not just for what happened on the day, but for what came after. Barcelona in 2019 was special in its own right, but was made even more so by the fact that Liverpool went on to win the final. Equally so, this game. Istanbul will always be the greatest game of that year – how could it not be? But, for me, this match is in a very clear second place. There was no way Liverpool were losing this match. No way Jose!