When Gerard Houllier’s Reds made cup history in 2001 I was lucky enough to be at all three finals.
I was living the dream revelling in a journey of massive wins at home and abroad.
In European terms me and my pals were wet behind the ears.
Until that momentous treble cup season most of us had never followed Liverpool to a far flung land.
Older supporters kept going on about the ‘good ole’ days’ of European Cup wins and their exploits watching the Reds overseas.
We hadn’t even won a domestic trophy in the six years prior to 2001. The League Cup win over Bolton at Wembley in 1995 a distant memory.
So the thought of European glory was far from Kop minds.
That was until Gerard Houllier came along and decided to make history for the here and now.
Looking back, the timing for me and my pals couldn’t have been better.
We were in our mid 20s, had decent jobs with a bit of spare cash and little holding us back.
It was the perfect storm: we craved success and adventure.
And were chomping at the bit to travel with Houllier’s exciting Reds.
Between February and May 2001 I’d support the team at Rome’s Olympico, Barcelona’s Nou Camp and Dortmund’s Westfalenstadion. I’d be at two domestic finals in Cardiff and celebrate a 94th minute winner at Goodison.
For me, the first signs of this being a spectacular season came 20 years ago this week – on Sunday 17 December 2000.
Boarding a Barnes Travel coach from Priory Road we headed to fortress Old Trafford.
Manchester United had not lost at home in TWO years.
They had David Beckham, Ryan Giggs, Paul Scholes and Roy Keane in their ranks, and yet we only went and beat them.
Total delirium and mayhem in the Liverpool end as Danny Murphy’s 43rd minute free kick sailed over the wall and into the United net.
We sat on the coach afterwards in a giddy victorious haze.
Flyers pushed into palms advertised February’s trip to the Eternal City for the UEFA Cup tie against AS Roma.
There and then we agreed we’d all be going.
In a year that the actors of Harry Potter were revealed, we had our own ‘child stars’: Steven Gerrard (21), Michael Owen (21), Jamie Carragher (22) and Emile Heskey (23).
There was suddenly this mix of youthful enthusiasm with absolute quality in the team.
It’s here I must admit my folly. Because in the summer of 2000 when I first heard veteran Gary McAllister might join Liverpool I laughed. He was 35 and surely ‘past it’.
How wrong could I be? The signing was one of Houllier’s absolute masterstrokes.
Gary Mac was a wise old head with a legion of life left in him.
A week after United, Arsenal were hammered four nil with goals from Gerrard, Owen, Barmby and Fowler. An awesome foursome.
There was so much anticipation for the trip to Rome for loads of reasons.
It was our first big European away game, my crew would be joining some 5000+ Kopites in one of the greatest cities on earth.
Plus this was the stadium where Liverpool had won European Cups in 1977 and 1984.
There was so much history at that ground.
And buoyed by the win at United, we actually believed we’d go to Roma and win.
Mike, Murph, Chris, Kev, Rome 2001
Aside from countless stabbings by Roma ultras, police brutality and traffic chaos, Rome was to be a dream trip.
We visited the Colosseum, threw coins in the Trevi fountain, and tumbled out of Irish bars drunk on life.
It was a time to genuinely feel excited just about being alive.
The violence dished out on Liverpool fans ahead of the game was horrendous.
And given such oppression, it made Michael Owen’s two goals mean even more to us that night.
The jubilation in the corner of the iconic Olympico was sensational.
A lock-in post game lasted nearly two hours while riot police battled Roma ultras who were armed with Molotov cocktails.
Cars were set alight while we sheltered in the stadium. All of us had a burning feeling that Liverpool were back.
Domestically we were also flying in the League Cup.
The reds hit Crystal Palace for five in the second leg of the semi and we were headed to the final in Cardiff to face Birmingham City.
Two nights before the big game I attended a charity fundraiser in Southport and walked home with this shirt signed by Houllier, Phil Thompson and their mighty men.
I bid £125 for it. Not bad considering that in same week a bikini worn by Ursula Andress in the Bond movie Dr No sold for £35,000 at auction.
I joked that the shirt might be worth something one day if this squad could push on and actually win something…
The League Cup Final wasn’t great apart from a thunderous strike from Robbie Fowler.
A late goal from Birmingham sent the game to extra time and then penalties.
Sander Westerveld in goal was the hero saving Andy Johnson’s penalty.
The most important thing that day was just to win it.
To get the first trophy since 1995.
There was feeling that day in Cardiff that this was the start of something.
It was so good to get a taste of success once more.
And it was just a great coming together of the supporters for a big day out.
To imagine what could be possible…
I didn’t expect to be back in Cardiff come May.
But as we progressed through a couple more rounds of FA and UEFA cups the belief was brilliant.
The Beautiful South had released their Greatest Hits album and was my soundtrack that spring.
‘This could be Rotterdam, or anywhere, Liverpool or Rome…’ was on the radio all the time.
Another tune – Pretenders to the Throne – was about ditching the mundane and heading off to foreign climes.
The fixtures came at us like an express train:
Manchester United at home Sunday (31 March), Barcelona away Thursday (4 April) then Wycombe in the FA Cup semi on Sunday (7 April). That’s not a bad week’s entertainment in one’s diary.
It is easy to look back and assume that whatever was put in front of us we’d beat with aplomb.
It wasn’t quite like that.
There were defeats at Leicester and then Leeds came to Anfield and won.
There was a huge pressure.
A feeling that no matter how well we were doing, the wheels might fall off any moment.
That although we might win three cups, we might end up with just the one.
Barcelona – for the UEFA cup semi final – was a much more pleasant trip than Roma from a safety point of view.
No stabbings or two hour stadium lock-ins.
We opted for a three night jaunt – spending our days by the hotel pool supping Estrella Damm.
At the match me and Ian took our position on the very back row of the 90000 seat Nou Camp.
It was one of those pinch yourself moments.
‘Here I am in Barcelona watching Liverpool’.
We were so high up we could look back at the city one way and then down at the red men playing on the bowling green miles below.
The 0-0 draw was an exceptional result for a first leg away at the mighty Barca.
While we rejoiced the Spanish newspapers lamented Liverpool’s tactics.
“Anti-football” was the headline – which roughly translated meant we “parked the bus”.
But why wouldn’t we?
That Barca side had Puyol, Cocu, Pep Guardiola, Luis Enrique, Marc Overmars, Patrick Kluivert and Rivaldo.
I only realised today (19 years on) that the young Barca keeper that night was Pepe Reina who would go on to play for the Reds and make his own history with the club.
That night at the Nou Camp Liverpool were immense from a game management point of view.
The rock solid defensive pairing of Hyypia and Henchoz soaked up the pressure all night.
And it was Houllier’s tactical genius to ground out a draw when everyone expected us to lose.
Michael Owen battled up front on his own while Emile Heskey was deployed on the left side of midfield.
It was a move which frustrated the Catalans.
In the league we went to Everton sitting in fifth position in the table.
We still had lots of work to do if we wanted to qualify for next season’s Champions League.
We had to win it.
I loved Babbel’s goal that day, reeling away to celebrate with us in the corner he looked so happy.
It was rollercoaster derby and when the Blues equalised on 83 minutes it looked like we’d blown it.
Until up stepped Gary McAllister with the last kick of the game.
He was 44 feet out and it might have been 44 miles out, but somehow he managed to fool the Everton keeper and score.
We went berserk. What a time to score against our neighbours to win the game 3-2.
The FA Cup Final V Arsenal will go down as one of the best days of my life.
We stayed in Chepstow and got the train to Cardiff.
It was everything an FA Cup Final day should be – hot, sunny, full of colour, beer and banter.
We got to the ground two hours before kick off and just watched a world of red go by.
I had a huge Liverpool flag and was content to wave it in the Welsh sunshine putting it down only to sup my pint.
Inside we had brilliant seats. High up behind the goal.
Arsenal will have spent the last two decades bewildered at how they lost that final.
On 82 minutes we were one-nil down and beaten.
I said to Peter next to me: “This season is finally catching up with us…”
And then pure magic. Two late goals from Michael Owen which brought the house down.
From the jaws of defeat was snatched victory.
We spent the evening drinking with Arsenal fans.
They were great sports given they’d lost the cup in such circumstances.
Suddenly we had two trophies and a chance of a third was just days away.
And so on to Dortmund.
This was my first European Final. And despite initial delays at Manchester Airport we got to the German city early afternoon.
It was pissing down. I had to buy a big coat from a local shop.
And it was just a really sluggish start to what was meant to be an amazing day.
We darted from the rain into an assortment of bars but I was like ‘where is everyone?’
And then we emerged from our beers to see the sun.
We walked a few hundred yards and into a cauldron of blue and red.
Fans of Spanish club Alaves were having a party, dancing in a fountain alongside Scouse counterparts.
It was that very moment I thought ‘here we go’.
A stage at one end of the square had live music on.
John Power of Cast played a few tracks. And it was just brilliant.
Reds were suddenly everywhere.
The game itself was a crazy avalanche of thrills and spills.
It ended 5-4.
To be honest winning it with an own goal ‘golden goal’ felt a little on the hollow side!
I must have been a glutton for punishment as I think I’d settled for penalties in my head.
Again, it was such a tremendous night for the club and supporters.
To win three trophies in one season was just amazing.
But still there was one last hurdle.
Our final league game away at Charlton would determine if we claimed a Champions League place.
We couldn’t get tickets and settled for a boozy afternoon watching it on the screens at De Coubertins Sports Bar & Grill.
The reds excelled again with a classy four nil finish.
At full time me and Tim bought two bottles of champagne.
One to spray over each other and one to actually drink.
We raised a toast to our manager that day…
Gerard Houllier 1947-2020