Carra: My Autobiography by Jamie Carragher, Kenny Dalglish Page A
Authors: Jamie Carragher, Kenny Dalglish
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still only sixteen. United absolutely battered us that day, playing us off the park in every area except one. Mo tore their defence apart singlehanded. It wasn't just his blistering pace that caught my attention, but the ferocity of his tackling. He was an animal. For a small, slightly built lad, his strength was phenomenal. I'd never seen a striker tackle like him. When he suffered injuries later on, he toned down this aspect of his game.
Mo scored a hat-trick in a 3–2 victory, assisted by the iron will to win of what I'd call the 'team of scallies' around him. In fact, I have no shame in describing that 1996 Youth Cup winning side as a team of little fuckers. Whoever we came up against knew they were going to have the fight of their lives to beat us. We looked like a gang of street urchins from the toughest areas of the city, and we mixed our Sunday League nous with the professionalism and coaching the School of Excellence training drilled into us.
Even those who didn't go on to make it at Liverpool have forged careers elsewhere – striker Jon Newby played for a succession of Championship clubs, and Gareth Roberts was a success at Tranmere Rovers – but it's fair to say it was a team packed with more character than skill. I was part of a foursome with David Thompson – Little Thommo the Birken-head-the-ball – Jamie Cassidy and Lee Prior. 'This is a team which has got spunk,' Heighway would tell us. We were as tight a unit off the park as we were on it.
Lee was from Scotland (Scotty) Road, one of the most famously tough and charismatic areas of the city. 'If you want any knock-off gear, go and find Lee,' was often heard around the training ground. He's the only player I've worked with who forced a coach to fine himself. Sammy Lee gave him a clip round the ear one day on the pitch, and twenty-four hours later apologized for losing his rag. I dread to think what would happen if a similar incident happened now. If Sammy had hit a foreign lad, he'd probably have spent the next week in crisis talks with the player's agent. We simply got on with such matters, considering it a part of growing up. Prior got stick from the lads for a day or two, and then it was forgotten. It was character-building.
I saw Cassidy and Thommo as certainties to make the grade, but both were victims of the fragile nature of our profession. Injuries halted their otherwise inevitable rise. Like me, Thommo would never tell anyone he was injured, so determined was he to feature in every training session. I remember him playing one practice match using one foot for the whole game. I'd often do the same if I felt a hamstring strain. The competition was so intense, we'd never want to allow others a chance to push ahead of us. In Thommo's case, the price was paid longer-term. A knee injury he suffered as a teenager caught up with him in his mid-twenties and he was forced to retire early. That was the end for 'Beardo' – my nickname for him. It goes back to a game against Sunderland in the late nineties. We were warming up when one of their fans shouted, 'You look like Peter Beardsley!' Thommo was gutted. I couldn't contain my laughter and sprinted back to the dug-out to let the other subs know. Suffice to say, the more it wound him up, the more it stuck.
Gérard Houllier's arrival at Liverpool in the summer of 1998 led to Thommo's departure from the club. Whereas some of us compromised, Thommo's character never fitted in with the new boss who couldn't understand the ultra-Scouse sensibilities and characteristics. As a teenager, Thommo would walk up to first-team players like Jason McAteer and brazenly inform them, 'I should have your place.' It was seen as lightening the mood, not causing tension, but Houllier was looking for maturity and responsibility on and off the pitch. Thommo became expendable. He was given one final warning too many.
In 1996, however, he was still a symbol of everything that was right about Liverpool Football Club. With Mo as
Mo scored a hat-trick in a 3–2 victory, assisted by the iron will to win of what I'd call the 'team of scallies' around him. In fact, I have no shame in describing that 1996 Youth Cup winning side as a team of little fuckers. Whoever we came up against knew they were going to have the fight of their lives to beat us. We looked like a gang of street urchins from the toughest areas of the city, and we mixed our Sunday League nous with the professionalism and coaching the School of Excellence training drilled into us.
Even those who didn't go on to make it at Liverpool have forged careers elsewhere – striker Jon Newby played for a succession of Championship clubs, and Gareth Roberts was a success at Tranmere Rovers – but it's fair to say it was a team packed with more character than skill. I was part of a foursome with David Thompson – Little Thommo the Birken-head-the-ball – Jamie Cassidy and Lee Prior. 'This is a team which has got spunk,' Heighway would tell us. We were as tight a unit off the park as we were on it.
Lee was from Scotland (Scotty) Road, one of the most famously tough and charismatic areas of the city. 'If you want any knock-off gear, go and find Lee,' was often heard around the training ground. He's the only player I've worked with who forced a coach to fine himself. Sammy Lee gave him a clip round the ear one day on the pitch, and twenty-four hours later apologized for losing his rag. I dread to think what would happen if a similar incident happened now. If Sammy had hit a foreign lad, he'd probably have spent the next week in crisis talks with the player's agent. We simply got on with such matters, considering it a part of growing up. Prior got stick from the lads for a day or two, and then it was forgotten. It was character-building.
I saw Cassidy and Thommo as certainties to make the grade, but both were victims of the fragile nature of our profession. Injuries halted their otherwise inevitable rise. Like me, Thommo would never tell anyone he was injured, so determined was he to feature in every training session. I remember him playing one practice match using one foot for the whole game. I'd often do the same if I felt a hamstring strain. The competition was so intense, we'd never want to allow others a chance to push ahead of us. In Thommo's case, the price was paid longer-term. A knee injury he suffered as a teenager caught up with him in his mid-twenties and he was forced to retire early. That was the end for 'Beardo' – my nickname for him. It goes back to a game against Sunderland in the late nineties. We were warming up when one of their fans shouted, 'You look like Peter Beardsley!' Thommo was gutted. I couldn't contain my laughter and sprinted back to the dug-out to let the other subs know. Suffice to say, the more it wound him up, the more it stuck.
Gérard Houllier's arrival at Liverpool in the summer of 1998 led to Thommo's departure from the club. Whereas some of us compromised, Thommo's character never fitted in with the new boss who couldn't understand the ultra-Scouse sensibilities and characteristics. As a teenager, Thommo would walk up to first-team players like Jason McAteer and brazenly inform them, 'I should have your place.' It was seen as lightening the mood, not causing tension, but Houllier was looking for maturity and responsibility on and off the pitch. Thommo became expendable. He was given one final warning too many.
In 1996, however, he was still a symbol of everything that was right about Liverpool Football Club. With Mo as
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