Torres: An Intimate Portrait of the Kid Who Became King

is, the atmosphere one breathes in at this ‘fortress’, this temple of football. The 20,000-strong Kop are all on their feet, singing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ and holding their red-and-white scarves above their heads. They wave flags carrying images of Bill Shankly with open arms, of Bob Paisley, of Rafa Benítez with the inscription (in Spanish), ‘Siempre se puede’ (‘It’s always possible’), and a silhouette of Fernando Torres celebrating a goal. The Kid is on the field, the physios have fixed him up, even though – as we will know later – he is playing with a bandage and plaster on his ankle. Three minutes later he shows why the Liverpool fans adore him. A long ball arrives and with a backheel he gets past Fabio Cannavaro to put himself one-on-one with Casillas. He hits it hard towards the near post but the keeper denies him once more with the tip of his foot. It is the first indication of what The Kid and Company will do and it is the perfect example of the class, elegance, movement and speed of a player who has magic and, above all, who wants to play a central role and win.
    In the subsequent minutes, Torres and his team-mates seem possessed, moving at top speed, laying siege to the Madrid goal from all possible angles. Mascherano powers a shot and Casillas is saved by the crossbar. All long balls from Reina are a problem. Any run from Torres sows panic in the Madrid defence. Liverpool is like a pneumatic drill, breaking down its opponents. The Reds are following Ian Rush’s advice in the
Liverpool Echo
. The headline of his weekly column before the game reads: ‘Attack is best form of defence for the Reds. We can’t afford to sit back in Anfield clash.’ Rafa Benítez surprises his adversaries with the same strategy he had used years before with Juventus. Juande, who, like so many others, was expecting a team that would gamble on keeping its one goal advantage from the first leg, is completely wrong-footed. His side are seeing nothing of the ball. When they do get hold of it they find themselves encircled like the Seventh Cavalry of General Custer at Little Big Horn. They barely have time to look up before the enemy has once again robbed them of the ball. In addition, no one gives up chasing, not even Torres who drops back into his own half to take the ball off Sergio Ramos (to a great roar from the crowd), to take on Lars Diarra, to tackle Gago, to fight for every high ball with Pepe, to harass ex-Manchester United defender, Heinze (who will become the villain of the night, picked on by the crowd every time he touches the ball).
    In the 16th minute, Anfield explodes. Reina clears to Carragher, who sends the ball high and long. The bounce catches Cannavaro by surprise and he tries to clear with an overhead kick but fails. Torres heads the ball, puts Pepe under pressure, the Portuguese falls to the ground and Kuyt, who’s moved up outside on the right, picks up the ball. Casillas comes out of his goal, El Niño moves to the centre and calls for the Dutchman to give him the ball. A killer move and Torres puts it in the net. Referee Frank De Bleeckere confirms the goal and the lad from Fuenlabrada celebrates by parading his Number 9 under the eyes of the Spanish fans and leaps up high to punch the air. His goal has opened the floodgates. Real are reeling, like a punch-drunk boxer, who in the 10th round still hasn’t understood that the contest is over. In the 47th minute it’s a knockout. Steven Gerrard, with a penalty and then a goal of textbook quality, completes the demolition of the clay-footed giant. At Anfield, Fernando Torres has many things to be satisfied about apart from his goal. Going back to the centre spot after making it 1-0, he turns to the executives’ box containing Real president, Vicente Boluda – who had said that his team would ‘score loads’ in Liverpool – and made the same gesture that Spanish Formula One driver Fernando Alonso made famous on the Grand Prix winners’ podium: ‘You talk a lot’ was the clear message. The other thorn out of his side was Pepe. The Portuguese defender had declared that it was a pleasure to play against such a powerful striker as Torres and that he knew exactly how to close him down. In the first leg it was clear the duel had begun. In the return, the two end up face-to-face on several occasions and Pepe reminds Torres that Madrid had won nine European Cups. ‘Yes but you, zero,’ replies El Niño, accompanied by an