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17th April 2018
02:12pm BST
Even now, thirteen years on, I can remember specific moments from that night in Istanbul as if they were yesterday. The bus journey to the stadium that was more reminiscent of a mountain stage of the Tour De France, the cold inside the Ataturk, the arguments that broke out at half time as red turned on red, the comeback, the ‘save’, penalties.
And Rafael Benitez.
In the maelstrom of victory, as I hugged perfect strangers like they were long lost friends, as the noise and the tears and the relief washed over me, I saw this man, this epitome of calm, who’d galvanised a team and a city and brought us something few thought were possible, dance a jig.
It wasn’t much, and it went utterly unnoticed, but it happened, and it was wonderful. Just for a minute, his mask slipped. Then he went back to being Rafa, albeit with a glint in his eye, like the cat full of cream.
At the team party that evening he nipped outside to meet a friend, only to be refused entry when he returned. “Do you know who this man is?” his friend remonstrated. “This man is God!” Still they didn’t let him pass. Yet Benitez didn’t cause a fuss. He’d later say that it couldn’t have been the fault of the over officious security guards because they “simply hadn’t seen the game, so how would they know who I was?”
It was typical of the man.
Two years later, he sat cross-legged during the penalty shoot-out that would once again send Liverpool to a Champions League Final. He was the coolest man inside Anfield that night. In some ways that act was more extraordinary than what had happened in Turkey. And I’m sure, like everything, it had been meticulously planned: ‘We’re calm, you’re not. We’re winning this, you’re not. You quiver and shake and miss your kicks. I’ll just sit here’.
Things deteriorated during his final two years on Merseyside and there were many who were happy to see him depart - by mutual consent - in June of 2010. But there were also many more who wanted him to stay, this man from Madrid who’d become much more than just the manager of a football club during his six-year tenure.
He’d bought into the spirit of a city misunderstood by the rest of the country. He got Liverpool. When he left for the blue half of Milan, his quiet gesture of £96,000 for the Hillsborough Family Support Group only tightened the bond.
A year later when he returned to Anfield for the memorial service to mark the 22nd anniversary of the tragedy, he was moved to tears when Margaret Aspinall picked him out of the crowd to thank him. As he dabbed at his eyes and his wife gently touched his arm and the fans sang his name, it underlined his importance as a man, not a manager, to a community.
His journey around European football saw him win further trophies with Inter, Napoli and Chelsea, although his time at Stamford Bridge was marred by an outpouring of hatred from the fans who couldn’t overlook the disdain he’d had for them when he was Liverpool manager.
All he gave them in return for their A4 'Rafa Out' banners, was a Europa League title and a place in the following season’s Champions League. He went home, to Madrid, only to be sacked in six months.
Istanbul was a distant memory. He was damaged goods.
He was also misunderstood.
What had made him so attractive to Liverpool and not to Chelsea was the sense that he was responsible for more than just the football team. People responded to him. It’s why Liverpool worked. It’s why Newcastle works.
Benitez rediscovered himself on Tyneside. He found everything he’d lost on Merseyside: a hard-working fanbase who appreciate honesty, commitment and passion. And much as he did in 2004, he seized the opportunity to do something special, to take a project and mould it, to build something, to change everything. To survive. And then to win.
Newcastle were all but doomed to relegation before he took over with a handful of games left in the 2015/6 season. Then he got a point in the Tyne Wear derby, another against Manchester City and another back at Anfield. Then he beat Swansea and Crystal Palace and watched his side put five past Spurs on the final day of the season.
They still went down but on that day the fans would sing his name from first kick-off to final whistle. As if their collective voice would do the impossible and somehow keep him at St James’ Park for their Championship travails. There was commonality. It was a passion from the terraces that he recognised from Liverpool. And it was a game changer. He stayed.
He would win the title a year later, his popularity as great, if not greater than any day on Merseyside. A club starved of success had a hero, someone to cling on to. Their love for him was hard to contain. Why? Because he’d given the city something it had lacked since the days of Keegan, Ginola and Asprilla: hope, excitement and a sense of direction - upwards.
Expectations for this season were low.
Newcastle's squad weren’t much better than Championship level, the result of a losing battle with owner Mike Ashley. In 2004, Benitez had famously asked the Valencia board to buy Samuel Eto'o to improve his striking options but was instead given the winger Fabián Canobbio. Frustrated, he told the press he’d asked for a sofa and been given a lamp. At Newcastle he didn’t even have a lounge.
And yet, with five games left this season, Benitez’s Little Engine That Could sit tenth, seventeen points above the spot where most pundits thought they’d finish – rock bottom. He is truly revered on Tyneside and with good reason. The job he’s done is simply remarkable.
He was one of ours. Now he’s one of theirs.
Two years ago, I was making dinner when I received a text message. It was Rafa Benitez. I was...surprised. To say the least. “Hi Simon,” he began. It would be remiss of me to reveal what he said next, suffice to say it was a case of mistaken identity.
When I replied, pointing out the error he texted back immediately, apologising profusely and wishing me well. He barely knew me; a few brief encounters in my role as Deputy Editor of 5 live Sport notwithstanding, I was just another journalist. The fact my number was even in his phone was a shock. Yet it was typical of someone who cares about what's right. He cares about people. He cares about football.
He cares.
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