John Charles remains a colossus in the minds of all those fortunate enough to have seen him play the game and, two years on from his death aged 72 in 2004, remains so - even in the minds of those able only to read of his exploits on the field. The Gentle Giant, described by many as the finest centre-forward and centre-half ever seen, can be looked upon to this day as arguably the most eminently successful of all British footballing exports to the continent. Loved and admired by all who saw him play, the Welshman described by Jack Charlton as ?half the team in himself? has a place in the annals of Leeds United for all time, but it is perhaps in the minds of his adoring Italian public that he looms largest of all, and in the hearts of those devoted to Juventus he lives on as a king.

In Italian football, history is paid its dues and young and old alike, whether fan or club official, know their respective clubs? stories in a way that puts some (but one hopes not all) of their English counterparts to shame. In 2001 Charles was bestowed an unheard of honour when he became the first foreigner to be admitted to the Italian hall of fame, ahead even of Maradona and Platini. On a visit to the Stadio Delle Alpi that same year his ears rang to the chants of ?Giovanni! Giovanni!? from the massed tifosi, and a walkabout in the small town of Biella, nestled an hour from Turin at the foot of the Alps, prompted scenes of near hysteria as adults and children alike greeted him as ?Il Re! Il Re!? The King?

All clubs have their legends and you wonder how many have their undisputed kings, but Liverpool fans the world over have settled this particular pub debate once and for all? or for another generation, at least. Those who, like myself, scour the net on a virtually daily basis for news of anything, well, ?new about the Reds (and for me it?s developed into a kind of nervous tic that began in my teens with teletext) will know by now that the club?s official site has finally put to bed the question of who really was the greatest. With the participation of the voting fans, we got to know the one hundred players who ?shook the Kop? more than any others. Technically, of course, any such a list is bound to include the odd cult hero lower down the orders, the criteria being Kop-shaking. But once the Titi Camaras and the Erik Meijers are sorted from the Nicky Barmbys and the Rocket-Ronny Rosenthals, and the business end of the list begins ? well, we?re talking about who?s the best here. And while we can all have our personal gripes (a criminally under-rated John Wark at 100 being mine ? and as for Djibril Cisse being in there at all?), there?s little doubting the in-depth quality of the top ten or twenty. Or even fifty.

Outsiders may wonder at the (relatively) low placings afforded to three Anfield titans of yore; namely Emlyn Hughes (in at number 10), Graeme Souness (9) and ,personally galling to me, Kevin Keegan (charting at 8). By rights, all three should be considered top five material, but it?s a measure of the sheer quality of the club?s former playing staff that they should each have to settle for a berth in the top ten.

But another, more telling factor is hidden in the equation. The Kop is a sentimental beast, and why not? A business it may well be in the modern era, but football remains a business built on foundations of sentiment ? the sentiments of fans. If there is a logical reason for watching twenty-two men in pursuit of a ball, then I?m yet to hear it? The Kop knows its football better than most, and would never cast a shadow of a doubt on the footballing merits of nos. 8, 9 and 10, but the Kop wants to love and be loved and, unfortunately for some players, has the proverbial elephant?s memory. Hughes, though adored for his frequent and ill-advised verbal outbursts in the general direction of Everton, made an enemy or two in his time at Anfield and was rarely to return to the city after his departure. But the mighty Emlyn?s place in the hearts of a generation of Liverpool fans will stay secure forever ? for his lung-bursting, 3000% effort, his net-busting, Gerrardesque drives and above all for his smile. The closest thing to a son that Shankly was ever to have, he?ll forever be remembered as the captain who lead Liverpool from domestic success to European domination, and dropped the UEFA Cup on the way.

The misdemeanours of Mr Souness, however, spring more readily to mind. In retrospect, much of the rot was starting to set in before his tenure as boss, but despite his unquestionable status as one of Europe?s most accomplished midfielders in the eighties, his spell as manager left his reputation somewhat tarnished to say the least. Any Liverpool fan enduring moments of fleeting doubt during present or previous managerial regimes needed only remind himself of the early nineties, and good cheer would instantly be restored. If you think things are uncertain now, they truly were awful then. Boxing Day 1993 at Bramall Lane remains the single bleakest experience of my life as a Liverpool fan, from a footballing perspective. Clad in highly dubious Wolves gold, the entire side contrived to pull off a spectacularly accurate impression of a Sunday League side, with a clearly unfit Julian Dicks, beer-belly flopping from his untucked shirt, conducting with aplomb from left-back. It rained all match, and to compound matters further, when Souness hauled his number nine off before time it was Ian Rush of all people who threw his shirt in disgust on the turf as he headed for the bench, clearly dismayed with his manager?s tactics (or lack of). 22,932 people left that goalless draw wondering if a refund might be a possibility. Things can never be quite as depressing again, of that we can rest assured. Souness? catastrophic error in selling his story to the despised Sun newspaper served only to condemn his already ailing relationship with the fans and there was nothing left but to fall on his sword. He had already left once, and this time there could be no return.

Keegan shared with Souness a singular personal ambition that was ultimately to leave more than a few Scouse hearts broken. It?s easy to forget now that between 1971 and 1977 Mighty Mouse was quite simply the darling of the Kop, and it was plainly mutual ? a marriage made in Scouse heaven. He provided the cutting edge for Shankly?s second great side, and as he busied himself carrying out his orders (?just go out and drop a few hand-grenades all over the place son!?), he carved himself a reputation as the game?s bona fide superstar. But he had goals of his own to fulfil, and when he gave a year?s notice prior to his move to the continent, he was left with a difficult final season to endure.

It was a season that he capped by inspiring Liverpool to their finest hour in Rome as Hughes lifted the European Cup, and although that went some way towards repairing the broken hearts, it was to be the end of the affair. His massive achievements were later to be overshadowed by those of his successor, and it?s no small irony that the man once considered to be irreplaceable was to be replaced by the man who went on to become the club?s finest player of all? a certain Kenny Dalglish. But Keegan was never to return, despite the club?s first option on him and later rumours of a return as manager. In truth it?s doubtful that he ever wanted to come back, preferring new horizons, and though his love for Liverpool, and in particular Shankly, remained, it seems now that his destiny lay always with the Geordie nation.

There is precious little room for manoeuvre when picking holes in the Kop?s top five, however. Anyone who witnessed at first hand John Barnes? initial impact in the 1987/88 season will tell you, as I will, that it was a privilege to have done so. Although never dull, suddenly Liverpool?s football was sexy, years before Gullitt was to coin the phrase. The Reds had always been ruthless and remorseless, but never with such verve. Digger himself combined abundant strength with a grace and poise never before seen in one player, at least not one in a red shirt that I can remember. He glided along the left side of the pitch when in possession and seemed not so much to beat his man (or men), as saunter past, before scoring or helping a team-mate to do so. The phrase ?passing the ball into the net? was not one I remember hearing often before Barnes? time, but it?s one we heard time and again throughout his time at Anfield ? his finishing, often from range, was a joy. His triumph over the racial philistines that remained in the late eighties was a beautiful one and he remains an example to all young black players to this day.

Robbie Fowler?s impact on the collective consciousness of the Kop was, initially, sensational. It?s hard to recall any player so young, Owen included, who made such a precocious start to their career. His composure and audacity were breathtaking ? a goal on his debut away to Fulham in a League Cup tie was followed by a phenomenal five in the return at Anfield. Here was the finished article at all of 17 years of age, and then some? it seemed he was able to place the ball anywhere in the goal from anywhere in the box and even beyond. Importantly, the ?Toxteth Terror? was ?one of us?, as t-shirt celebrations in support of the striking dockers were to prove. Not that it was ever in any doubt ? any player to be spotted in his local chippy hours after demolishing Arsenal with a then-record time hat-trick is on the fast-track to adoration. Any doubts as to his ongoing popularity among the faithful were swiftly banished on his return ? a prodigal homecoming that?s still being celebrated.

Fowler?s striking mentor was of course one Ian, Ian Rush. It?s almost inconceivable now to imagine that Rushie was once very nearly shown the door at Anfield back in 1981 - surreally, his next port of call would most likely have been Selhurst Park. Wisely, Bob Paisley thought better of it and geed up his then goal-shy striker with these words: ?Be more selfish?. Words a young Rush obviously took to heart, as he promptly became very selfish indeed. In fact he was selfish a record 346 times for Liverpool, and though records are there to be beaten, I?d be very surprised (not to mention delighted) to see that one go.

In some respects he was overshadowed by his contemporary, one Gary Lineker. As an Englishman, Lineker played in World Cups and European Championships and, to his great credit, succeeded abroad with Barcelona. It was Rush?s great misfortune never to compete at the highest level with his country, and his one-year stint with Juventus goes down in memory as the one failure in his career. But as a goal scorer he stood peerless. Clinical and precise, he was a lethal finishing phenomenon that did exactly what it said on the tin. He reaped the benefits of playing alongside an ideal strike-partner in Dalglish, and was able to finish with his head and either foot from pretty much any range. Always the first line of defence, his intelligence and speed meant that he was rarely caught offside (Djibril Cisse, take note) and like all great Liverpool players was a tireless worker for the team.

Happily he was the scourge of Goodison for nigh-on a decade, once grabbing four in the derby, and Everton?s Nightmare on Gwladys St even ran at Wembley, with Rushie scoring four to win the two all-Mersey FA Cup finals. Remarkably Liverpool were not to lose a game in which Rush scored until 1987 (a favoured statistic of Mottie?s for some six years), when I was in attendance at Wembley, or Anfield South as it was then known, for the Littlewoods Cup Final. When McMahon squared early for Rush to tuck the ball low into the corner with customary slide-rule precision, all seemed well. But Charlie Nicholas had ideas of his own. ?It?s the bubbly one!? shrieked Barry Davies as the second of two scrappy Arsenal goals found their way in. It was the beginning of a renaissance for Arsenal and the end of an era for Rush, soon to be bound for the famed land of the lira. But unlike the others, he came back, and despite some early problems settling back into a Liverpool side that had wasted no time at all in moving on without him, normal service was eventually resumed and Rush wrote his way into the record books.

Gerrard is unique among all those to have played for the club in the last ten or fifteen years for one simple reason ? he would walk unchallenged into an all-time Liverpool XI, taking his place alongside Souness in central midfield (forcing Hughes to play centre-half). For this reason alone he earns his place as the Kop?s no.2, but had he chosen to walk into Chelsea?s starting eleven instead, then a lower placing would have been a formality. Gerrard in blue at Stamford Bridge remains beyond contemplation for all Liverpool supporters - a nightmare vision from some parallel universe. Happily the reality is somewhat different, as Benitez seems to have removed the one flaw from his captain?s game, ie his determination to do it all himself. Until relatively recently Liverpool were repeatedly tagged a one-player team in the press, and it still remains the standard fallback for most journalists covering a game in which the team struggles. In truth it was only during the 2003-04 season that this claim had any accuracy.

To suggest, for example, that Gerrard won the European Cup for Liverpool is more than a slight exaggeration, not to mention an insult to his colleagues. Let it not be forgotten that the captain had clearly expressed his doubts that Champions League success was even a possibility at one stage, and although his spectacular strike against Olympiakos is rightly celebrated, it would have counted for nothing were it not for the previous efforts of Florent Sinama-Pongolle and Neil Mellor. The fact that Gerrard missed several games on the road to Istanbul, including the heroic rearguard action away to Juventus, is frequently overlooked, and without Luis Garcia?s numerous crucial strikes the Cup would never have been won.

Gerrard?s contribution in the final was crucial, but without the decisive introduction of Hamann we would not be talking about it, because it probably would never have happened. Hamman?s role in reducing the free-running Kaka?s impact proved instrumentall, freeing Gerrard to do what he does best ? lead by example. That the Champions League could be won at all with a team including Djimi Traore is testament to a coach of the very highest order, if nothing else.

But as an inspiration to other players Gerrard stands alone, with this year?s Cup Final remaining the most astonishing example ?although again, Hamann?s influence cannot be ignored. The cause was quite definitely lost come full-time as we prepared to congratulate a heroic West Ham side, and perhaps even Gerrard knew as much when he swung his boot one last time and sent us all through the roof. Important as the Hammans are, (and how we could do with one now) we need the heroes too, and Gerrard is certainly that, to the point where you wonder if he might actually be bionic. There is plenty more to come from Stevie Wonder, and although it?s unlikely that his eventual medal-haul will match those of his illustrious predecessors, he will remain the greatest local hero the club has had for many years to come.

With Gerrard established as King of the local lads, only one name remains? Kenneth Mathieson Dalglish. ?Let?s get out of here, before they realise what they?ve done?, were Bob Paisley?s words to chairman John Smith when they signed him for a then-record ?440,000 from Celtic in 1977. And little wonder. He was not an out-an-out goal scorer, he was not the best in the air and he was not the fastest but he was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best. I count myself lucky enough to have seen him play on a few occasions, and what I always remember always is the thrill of anticipation whenever the ball came near him. On a trip to Oxford United?s Manor Ground on a fine spring day in 1987, he made one of his increasingly rare outings as a player. The crowd at the away end would surge forward at his slightest touch, and up went the cry ? ?The Master!? And that is exactly what he was?. It was not only his vision and intelligence that set him apart on the field, but his ability to act on that vision before any opponent knew what was happening.

His control was key, and often the ball was taken deftly onto thigh or chest before being dispatched with style to wherever he saw fit, be it to the feet or head of another red shirt or the back of the opponent?s net. On countless occasions the beneficiary was Rush ? so often, in fact, that you?d be forgiven for thinking that there was a Liverpool player by the name of ?Dalglish ? Rush ? GOAL!?, so often would you hear it. It would invariably be his strength on the ball that made it possible in the first place. Famous for his shielding of the ball, it was David O?Leary, one of the finest centre-halves of his day, who complained that it was impossible to rob him of possession, ?He crouches over the ball, legs spread and elbows poking out. Whatever angle you come in from, you?re liable to find his backside in your face.? He could be taciturn, as one Scottish journalist complained during Dalglish?s time in Glasgow. On a chance meeting in the street, the conversation went something like this:

DALGLISH: ?Wisnae.?

JOURNALIST (bemused): ?Wisnae what??

DALGLISH: ?Wisnae offside?

(exit DALGLISH)

The journalist later realised that Dalglish was referring to a contentious refereeing decision in a match he had reported on some weeks earlier, and was to reflect in years to come that it was the most in-depth interview he ever got with the man. But he was sharp as a tack, and displayed as much wit in conversation as he did in his play. When he or the team scored, the grin lit up the ground, his joy in victory befitting the mentality of a natural-born winner. His 14 championships as a player and manager in Britain constitute a remarkable feat, unlikely ever to be matched, and Celtic fans will rightly treasure him as their finest too. It?s tempting to imagine what he might have achieved earlier at Anfield were it not for an unsuccessful trial in 1966? It?s somewhat less tempting to imagine what may have happened if his try-out in the same year at West Ham had worked out.

Dalglish went on to lead the club through the darkest of times, at such a cost to his own mental health that he was ultimately to find his own position untenable. He had witnessed at first-hand the Ibrox disaster of 1971 as a young member of the Celtic squad, and went on of course to witness the horror of Heysel and Hillsborough. The famous photo of him leaving the pitch with Brian Clough revealed the face of a man who had seen enough, and he was unable to sustain his commitment to the game in the face of such appalling human suffering. Yet somehow he never really left the club. Despite mixed fortunes elsewhere (he has the distinction of being the man to bring Didi Hamman to the Premiership) and eventual retirement from the game, he remains a part of the fabric of Liverpool FC. A welcome and frequent presence on match-days, he rules the hearts still of all those who saw him. He is the King.

Of course, to be a little more Italian in our appreciation of the club, we could only ignore Billy Liddell to our eternal shame, and indeed he was honoured by a historically-minded Kop with a respectable sixth-place finish. It?s difficult to compare Liddell with Dalglish, not because they played in different eras (Liddell, as a supreme athlete, would have flourished in the modern game), but because they played in such different teams. Dalglish was one of a team of winners. Despite early joy with the championship-winning side of 1946-47, Liddell went on to win absolutely nothing (barring a 1950 FA Cup runners-up medal) with a Liverpool side in steep decline. He remained at the club for another fourteen years until 1961, his twilight years coinciding with the dawn of the Shankly era. Shankly had spurned the opportunity to manage Liverpool as early as 1951, citing potential interference from a meddling board of directors as the reason. ?If I can?t pick the team, what am I in charge of??, he wondered. Had that not been an issue, Shankly and Liddell may well have led Liverpool back from the brink a full decade earlier.

As it was, during his staggering 23-year career as a player at Anfield, Liddell was to play in every out-field position, captain the side, appear 26 times for Scotland, twice for the United Kingdom against Europe (the only other player to do so being Sir Stanley Matthews), finish top-scorer in eight out of nine seasons (from the wing) and fight in the war. He worked as an accountant throughout, managing to train only twice a week, and was never booked. Indeed, his fellow player Albert Stubbins claimed never to hear him swear. He worked selflessly and tirelessly for the benefit of the local community, eventually becoming the bursar of Liverpool University following his retirement from football. Are we really to say there was ever a greater servant of the club in its entire history? I personally doubt it. The club was nicknamed Liddellpool, after all, and it was said that he ?carried the Kop? on his shoulders. But I never saw him play. And like all those who watch football in this country, I tend to go on what I?ve known. It?s a shame in some respects, but do we really want a Hall of Fame? Do we want to retire shirt numbers? I don?t think so, even if I do have issues with Harry Kewell at no.7.

Many who saw both Liddell and Dalglish play will tell you that the former was the greatest who ever wore the red shirt. And I?ll listen to them. But I?ll tell any grandchildren who care to listen that Kenny was greater than anyone they?ll see. For my generation at least, there will only ever be one King. And long may he reign.

This entry was posted on Monday, October 16th, 2006 at 8:18 am and is filed under Liverpool. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.