how important the history of the club is, the traditions that are passed on by fans, the flags and anthems and banners—the whole match-day ritual, which is seeped in the club’s history. Every little detail matters, unlike in Spain where clubs’ identities are being lost—some newer generations of fans simply don’t know how to pass on the traditions and identities of their clubs and that makes them feel uncomfortable.
From the stands, we carried on down the stairs, stopping at the dugouts en route. I hardly even realised they were there because they’re so set-back, just normal seats embedded in amongst the fans in the Main Stand. ‘I don’t want to see you here again,’ Benítez warned. Understood, boss. It wasn’t until the third game of the season that I even realised where the technical area was marked out, it was so small.
After the photos had been taken, it was time for me to say my first public words as a Liverpool player. First, though, I asked one of the members of staff to look after my first Liverpool shirt for me so that I could take it home with me later. No sooner were the words out of my mouth than Benítez pointed out that players’ shirts are normally donated to charity after their presentation. Because they’re so
special, being the first shirt a player has ever worn, they normally raise a lot of money. No problem. My shirt was donated to a cancer charity that auctioned it off. An Irish businessman got it in return for £4,900.
With the coach acting as translator, the club’s press officer explained how the press conference would work. It would be divided into four parts for four different sets of journalists. In Spain, you do one press conference for all of the media together and that’s it. I caught the eye of one of the Spaniards accompanying me; he just shrugged and said: ‘Welcome to England!’ The first stop was in front of the television cameras, and I sat down alongside a nice guy called Phil, the translator.
Before I spoke to the media, Rafa joked about the fact that I had spoken to the Madrid media that very morning at the Vicente Calderón. ‘You told them that Atlético Madrid will always be in your heart,’ he smiled. ‘So, think carefully about what you’re going to say now. You might have to tell them you’ve got a very big heart—one with room for both clubs.’
What I told them was something along the lines of: ‘I’ve signed for a huge club, a team of champions, one of the biggest clubs in the world. I hope I can contribute to their success and become a champion myself.’
The media merry-go-round continued with Phil and Ian Cotton, the club’s press officer, permanently by my side: a general press conference, radio, daily
newspapers and then the Sundays. Just when I thought I had finally finished, Phil took me into another room. With a look of fear in his eyes, he said: ‘Now, you’ve got to talk to Liverpool TV and the club’s official website.’ Well, seeing as we’re here…There wasn’t a minute to think or relax and I immediately realised that things were going to be very different in England. There was so much to get used to.
When I flew to Liverpool for the second time in two days, I still wasn’t aware that my life was changing by the minute. So much was happening that I needed to take a step back and pause for a moment but there just wasn’t a chance to do so. On the way to the presentation that afternoon we had been waiting at passport control at Liverpool airport when a group of fans recognised me. They gave me an amazing ovation and I began signing autographs but I couldn’t hang about because we had to get through passport control. There was a car waiting to take us to Anfield. As I was on my way there, I got a call from my childhood hero Kiko Narváez, the former Atlético Madrid player and one of the stars of their double-winning team, who’d rung to wish me luck. He had listened to what I said during the press conference at the Calderón in the morning and he told me that he thought I’d made the right decision. The call over, there was silence in the car, broken only by the sound of the engine, and I watched distractedly out the window as the city went by. Just as we were going past Goodison Park, the man Liverpool had asked to look after me, Owen, said something. Jorge Lera, a friend of mine from Bahía Internacional, translated for me as he pointed up at the ground: ‘He says: “I hope you score loads of goals.”’
We went into Anfield through the Memorial Gate and Jorge translated as Owen explained what happened at Hillsborough in 1989, when so many Liverpool fans died. It was a tragedy provoked by negligence and one for which there still hasn’t been an explanation. Rick Parry, Liverpool’s chief executive, and Rafa Benítez were waiting for us in the room where the managers’ families wait on match day. The room where I was to sign my contract with Liverpool. Margarita Garay, one of my representatives at Bahía, had just finished making some minor alterations to a couple of clauses when I walked in. I took short steps, glancing at the pictures on the walls, looking at the other people in the room. I took no notice of the food that had been laid on for me. Who could eat at a moment like that? I was handed a pen and I signed the contract that bound me to Liverpool for six years. Benítez congratulated me in typical style: ‘You’ve got to get to the gym. You’re too thin to play in England.’
It took a few months for me to get to know every corner of the stadium. One of the most emblematic is the dressing room. On a match day you go in through the players’ entrance to the sound of the fans singing and chanting alongside the team bus. You go along a narrow corridor, turn right and come to a room that has not changed in a hundred years. It’s a small room with benches, pegs on the walls, two treatment tables and a table in the middle covered with bandages and strappings and other equipment. The players take up half the room, the coaches and backroom staff the other, but this year the staff have taken to using an old storeroom to try to gain a little space. Before every game, Steven Gerrard or Dirk Kuyt take charge of the music, just as Sergio Ramos does with the Spanish national team.
You look around and think it’s a small space for so many people, but tradition dictates. There’s no room for luxury at Liverpool. As Gerrard told Benítez and Robbie Fowler told Gerard Houllier: ‘This is where Liverpool players have always changed—the same Liverpool players who have won countless titles. We’re no bigger than they are.’
The dressing room is an extension of the pitch and the rest of the ground. Anfield is not a modern mega-stadium but the history that surrounds it is far more important.
On your way out to the pitch, you can’t get lost: the tunnel only goes one way, towards the greatest of stages. You really notice the silence as you make your way there. I think the opposition know that something special is going to happen and they’re quiet too, trying to take in the moment. As you reach a small opening at the top of the stairs, a kind of improvised waiting room, the silence is broken by players geeing each other up and the sound of ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ coming from outside. It’s a song that sets your heart racing and gets the adrenaline pumping, ready for the battle that’s about to begin.
When I signed for Liverpool on that summer evening, I asked the club to get me twenty shirts with my name and number on so that I could take them back to Spain with me and give them to my friends. It had been such a hectic day that I’d completely forgotten all about them until I was at John Lennon Airport and I heard a shout from Owen, standing there with a bag in each hand. ‘Fernando,’ he called out, ‘your shirts’.
VI The men who made Liverpool great:
‘Here, you’ll enjoy these. They’ll help you learn something about the history of this club and what makes Liverpool great.’
I still remember Owen Brown’s words as he handed me two DVDs and two books on Liverpool. Owen is one of the employees at Liverpool and he looked after me as I took my first steps in the city. There were still a few hours to go until I had my medical just before completing my transfer to the Reds,
