With the official website’s excellent 100 Players Who Shook The Kop just coming to an end, I thought I’d look back at a player who finished 91st in the list and lit up the Kop for short time in the early days of the Houllier regime: Titi Camara.

So what made him so special? So downright lovable? What best captured those magic moments of his?

Those flashes of the Camara.

Was it that smile?

Sure the smile. It had to be. For who else’s ever beamed so readily and engagingly? Who else’s ever invoked your average Red to dredge up some long entombed mothering instinct to take the protagonist home and sit him proudly on the mantelpiece beside Granny’s old carriage clock?

But what about that shiny bonce, too?

Oh yes, that bonce. On top of who else’s shoulders did there ever sit one so delectable, so Uncle Festerish, so perfectly domed, so innocently demanding to be smoothed and patted till the end of time? Too right, the beloved bonce.

And that moving display of emotion for his father?

Without a doubt. Can anybody who watched him after he scored in that game against West Ham ever dispute we were witnessing a genuine and fully paid up member of the human race opening up to us? Surely a cameo to touch anyone who has ever lost anybody dear.

And yet, at the end of the day, was it not simply that box of tricks of his, beguiling us all with the delicious recipes he kept unfurling from within it?

Yeah, that’s it. Of course, the box of tricks. What else could it have been all along?

I can picture them now. The sheer impishness of those flicks, that outrageous backheeled one-two with Jamie Redknapp at the Kop end against Villa, the lavish pirouettes and strutting, those majestic gliding surges with head held so imperiously high like a king surveying his domain.

And then, disarmingly, the whole thing brought back once again to less regal dimensions with that wonderful beaming smile. The one to melt the hearts of a million Kopites.Aah, Titi! What a gift from heaven, you truly were. What a star you rose to be. What a hero to Reds, young and wizened alike.

Yet who had suspected it, barely a few months before your arrival?

Certainly not after the disdain of Barry Davies during that UEFA Cup Final for Marseilles. His dismissal of you as some sort of buffoon, casting aspersions on your wondrous talent. And we, all too predictably, like the fickle herd we fans so often tend to be, half wondering whether those ill-considered asides of his carried any credibility. Half duped by those inane witterings. As if we should ever have listened to some Jack-of-all-trades microphone prattler from the Beeb.

So who really was the buffoon, eh, Barry?

Not our delectable Titi. That’s for sure.

No sirree.

For how we all grew to love this magician from the Tropics. Our very own man from Guinea. Oh okay perhaps not all. But surely all those with big hearts? And there are always many of those around Anfield. Why his substitute warm-ups alone were worth our admission money. Again the warmth of those flashing smiles to his ever-growing adoring legions would have it, conjuring a rapport that would ripple the entire length of the touchlines. Embracing him from all corners of the ground.

But especially from the Kop.

Indeed, the mind boggles at how rapturously the old swaying Kop would have lapped him up. Yet even the more sedate seated version adopted him as their very own. Those Skip-to-my-Lou strains; that special Titi ditty of his serving to strike perfect accord with his touchline routines.

Ti ti ti ti ti, Ti ti ti ti ti, Ti ti ti ti ti, Ti Titi Camara

Has anybody ever touched their toes quite so poetically? With quite so much poise?

I doubt it.

But what of our Titi’s antics on the pitch? The arena where it really mattered. That gleaming white T shirt, peek-a-booing above the white-rimmed neck of his red shirt might well have picked him out from others similarly attired for action. His box of tricks may indeed have been the portents of something momentous. Were they, though, all they purported to be?

Fear not. For this man had class from engine to shining chrome trims. From boot to bonnet. Purring like a Limo yet primed to roar like a turbo-charged Ferrari, he could move through the gears as if on high octane. And could he produce the goods to go with it.

Boy, could this fellow play footy. Jeez, could he mesmerise his opponents. Us too. And his team-mates to boot.Goals flowed from him. Be they the tap-in or the breathtaking. The ridiculous or the sublime. They, though, were merely the icing on his cake. And what a cake it was, harbouring a richness most mere mortal footballers can but dream of. An exquisiteness fit to serve before the most discerning football crowds. An array of ball skills, running and dribbling, passing and shooting - not to mention that magical box of tricks – to satisfy even the most audacious Brazilian starlet.

When delivered to the accompaniment of that intoxicating smile, the package became nigh irresistible. Certainly for Reds like myself.

So where did it all take him, our African marvelman? In the Anfield pecking order of adorability, I mean.

Well his reign scarcely lasted, of course. Titi’s first season had barely passed when the giant shadow of Emile Heskey was allowed to scuttle him. Despite Titi single-handedly shouldering our attack for most of the previous season he was discarded like some oily rag by our manager’s wet dream of the functional automaton. Indeed, the player never really even made it as far as first team regular. And I know there are those who will scoff at the accolades I have afforded a player scarcely bedded into the first team.

And yet, from a strictly personal perspective, I would stick him right up there at the top of the Anfield folk heroes. Yes, in the Anfield pantheon I would rank him alongside Elisha Scott and his infamous scowling and swearing to the Kop, the Saint and his portly ball juggling down the Kop end before every game and dear fist-clenching Joey Jones all arms and legs a kilter greeting his fellow Kopites. His relationship with the crowd I would submit to be that special. In such a brief space of time it was little short of remarkable. Quite unlike anything I can recall witnessing at Anfield before and certainly since.

Long may his memory continue to enthrall.

Keep that Camara rollin’, Titi my son.

It’s easy to underestimate John Arne Riise. We’ve all been guilty of it at times with a blasé reaction to another 30 yard goal, or a lung-busting covering run in the last minute.

For whatever reason his contribution seems to be overlooked. Perhaps it’s his lack of a trick when running at an opposing defender? Or his lack of a right foot? And yes he occasionally gets done by a winger, but who doesn’t in world football? His goalscoring record is up there with Roberto Carlos in terms of goals/games and positively embarrasses Ashley “the best attacking full back in the world” Cole’s.

His defensive abilities have improved enormously under Rafa. He keeps a superb line with Finnan, Sami and Carra catching many a forward offside. And his absence from last night’s game against Galatasaray demonstrated another of his qualities - whereas Aurelio tended to stand too far off Sabri, JAR would have hounded him and blocked many of his dangerous crosses from making it into the box.

His superb physical conditioning means Riise is rarely injured and despite charging up and down the wing for 90 minutes he’s rarely tired in the later stages of games. He’s only 3 months older than the aforementioned Cashley, yet has played over 100 games more for club and country.

Tell you what John, you’ll do for me.

In the wake of his fantastic 70 yard goal against Newcastle, Xabi Alonso has revealed the secret regime he was implemented to try and achieve a perfect long range hattrick. We caught up with the Basque sensation earlier:

RAWK: “So Xabi, you’ve scored with your left foot from your own half against Luton; you’ve scored with your right foot from your own half against the Geordies. All you need for the hattrick is a header from your own half!”

XA: “Si, it is something I have thought about. I have discussed it with Rafa and Pako and we think there are possibilities for me to do this.”

RAWK: “You’re joking, surely?”

XA: “No, I am practicing it in every training session. You have to try these things to make them happen. I have to strengthen my neck muscles and I have a special exercise I use to do this.”

RAWK: “Tell us about this.”

XA: “The physios have given be a neck brace and, how do you say, a rubber tension band? I loop this over the horns of one of my pet bulls and we have a pull of war.”

RAWK: “You mean a tug of war.”

XA: “Keep me out of your private life.”

RAWK: “And this is working?”

XA: “Yes it is excellent, soon I will have a neck like Mike Tyson.”

RAWK: “But even then you’re unlikely to get a chance, surely?”

XA: “I have a plan. I will wait in the centre circle in our half and wait for Stevie to hit one of his Hollywood balls from right wing to the left wing. I’ll throw myself at the ball and head it at the goal. If the opposition keeper is rubbish, I’ll score. We play Portsmouth in November so get your bets on.”

RAWK: “Thanks for your time Xabi and good luck!”

David Fairclough.

His face, his verve and love of going forward, getting stuck in and wild hair (ok ok not as ginger…). I’ve been trying to work out for the life of me who he reminds me off. And there it is, in his goal celebration to the Anny Road End, fists and arms pumping in salute to the fans, a face that comes straight out of the 70’s midweek muddy battle v Derby and a willingness to run and run.

David                DirkOf course, he’ll not be subbed as much nor will we play St. Etienne like that again, but he has the look of a strong old-style Liverpool player. And Davey Fairclough’s nose.

It may be old age, but I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling that this season I don’t feel I know my team. I don’t mean reel off our first 11 as I’m sure Nostradamus and Mother Shipton couldn’t predict Rafa’s teamsheet between them, never mind lil ol me. No, what I mean is that I’m not feeling comfortable with the team we sometimes put out.

Take last night’s game v PSV. I am the only one who read the words Zenden, Aurelio, Warnock, Agger, Kuyt, Bellamy and think hang on, where’s me team gone?

It’s not that I don’t know they’re Liverpool players, don’t be daft, nor that I wouldn’t want them to be. Rather it’s a feeling that apart from Carragher and Finnan and maybe Reina, the team sheet looked odd. Un-Liverpool like, unusual, like the ‘real’ team were somewhere else.

Maybe this is a season of transition, maybe it’ll all end in tears, but one thing’s for sure, I don’t feel involved, associated, linked, at one with my team. And for a fan that’s just the worst thing ever.

Now I come from a time when we won the league with 16 players, so perhaps it’s the rotational thing. Or maybe it’s that there a lot of new players, playing in new ways and it’ll take time to get used to them. I have very high hopes for Dirk, possibly Bellamy, certainly Momo, and I think Agger began last night the proper start of his Liverpool career. But when we signed the 2 SH’s, Smicer, Hamman even, it didn’t seem like a new team, rather some new names coming in. And in reality that’s what has happened here. But I do feel that somehow the train has left the Lime St. Station without many of us emotionally on board.

I dunno, it’s an odd feeling, losing to the charlatans across the park hit me hard, but when it has comes to me looking forward to seeing lil Luis playing, or reassured by having Kewell at least on the bench, then something’s definitely up.

My feelings for Liverpool have not dimmed one thousandth of a percent. But that’s my love for the team, the club, the trappings of being a Red. But right now, not the players.

As Rafa contemplates throwing Dirk Kuyt into the cauldron of the Merseyside derby for his full debut, he might consider looking back at how other Reds have faired in the same circumstances on enemy turf.

The last two players to be baptised at Goodison were Øyvind Leonhardsen in 1997 and Julian Dicks in 1993, with both ending up on the wrong end of a 2-0 defeat. The results proved an accurate portend for their Liverpool careers really. Taking the time machine back to 1974 sees two legends battle it out in a 0-0 draw: Phil Neal and Terry McDermott, superb players with the right levels of skill and mental fortitude to cope with a debut in the passion of the derby.

Our only winning debutant was the fantastically named Harman Van Den Berg who pulled on the Red shirt for a 3-1 Goodison win in 1938. War intervened in his fledgling Liverpool career and he returned to South Africa in 1941.

The first, and unluckiest, away debutant was goalkeeper William Henry Marshall who deputised for Bill Perkins in January 1902. In his only game for the club Marshall was on the wrong end of a 4-0 hammering. Unsurprisingly one Bill was replaced by the other for the next match, a 1st Round FA Cup tie at Anfield against those Blues again.

But Rafa shouldn’t worry too much. Everton have their own derby debut nightmares and it would be remiss not to mention Glenn Keeley, whose entire Everton career consisted of 37 minutes of the Goodison derby in 1982 and a red card for a professional foul on King Kenny. And we all know how that match ended up:

Rush scored 1, Rush scored 2 …

Well, the boy Mellor has gone. Official confirmation has come through that he has signed a three year contract with Preston North End. A copious scorer at youth and reserve level, Neil Mellor forever seemed to be on the verge of a first team breakthrough but for a succession of knee injuries to intervene. He’ll best be remembered for two goals - the second in our comeback to beat Olympiakos and the last minute winner against Arsenal at Anfield:

Mellor 92′

That goal against Arsenal brought delight to all associated with the club and delirium inside the stadium, as everyone wanted to see Neil succeed at the highest level. This is brilliantly illustrated by the man who had been on the mic for so many of Mellor’s reserve goals, lfc.tv’s Steve Hunter, commentating alongside Alan Kennedy on the game. What follows is a clip taken from the official match commentary:

Mellor lashes the ball into the Kop net

Good luck with the move Neil, I hope you score goals by the bucket load.

… his charge sheet gets longer by the hour. It turns out that not only did he break Jamie Carragher’s leg, but also Djibril Cissé’s, Milan Baros’s ankle, was responsible for all three of Stephen Warnock’s leg breaks, misdiagnosed Harry Kewell’s gout/septic arthritis and his challenge on Gerry Byrne broke the fullback’s collarbone in the 1965 FA Cup Final.

Rumours that he was seen with a gun on a grassy knoll in Dallas in 1963 are yet to be confirmed.

It’s been quite some weekend for our new striking sensation Dirk Kuyt. He made a sparkling debut in front of his family and an expectant Kop in the 2-1 win over West Ham then flew to the Netherlands for the European qualifiers against Luxembourg and Belarus. Ahead of meeting up with the squad he attended the Gala Voetballer van het Jaar where he was awarded the Gouden Schoen as the Dutch Footballer of the Year. He was presented the award by his seriously ill father in a moving ceremony:

Video of Dirk getting the award

Later on Dirk was persuaded back up on stage to duet with singer Jan Smit in the Dutch classic “As the Night Disappears”:

He did it his way

We’re still trying to get hold of the video of his encore “Ring of Fire” in classic Dutch Euro-disco style.

When Momo Sissoko was carried off the pitch on a stretcher against Maccabi Haifa out in Kiev, we all feared the worst with a string of tough away games against Everton, PSV and Chelsea up next. Hoewever we can bring you exclusive news on his fight for fitness thanks to RAWK’s Liverpool Nightlife Correspondent, Johnner:

“Good news on Momo. I met him Friday night in the VIP bar in Mood and he said he’d be fit for Everton. He was up dancing an’ all so I think he’ll be right.”