by Simon Hughes
‘My grandfather was a butcher. My father and mother were butchers. I should have been the next one,’ he tells me. ‘We had a shop in Meerssen, just outside Maastricht. I ate a lot. My father would have steak fillet for breakfast and I liked black pudding. In the evenings we’d have gehaktballen [meatballs] with potatoes and cabbage. It was unhealthy but it was all we knew. It helped me grow tall and strong.
‘My father was very strict. There were certain rules. If you didn’t live by those rules, he’d give you a smack. It was normal in those times. It helped me understand the difference between right and wrong. If you are wrong, you should be punished.
‘Before I had a professional football contract, I’d work with my father. Every morning, I’d be at the butcher shop at 6 a.m. I’d work hard, hard, hard. Then I’d get my sports bag, step on my bike and cycle to training in Maastricht. For other kids, training was all they’d do all day. I’d already done twelve hours’ work. It was a learning experience that gave me an edge over the other boys. I earned €300 a month. If I didn’t become a footballer, I knew what was going to happen. It made me more determined. It also made me appreciate the money that football could bring, although it was not my priority. My priority was happiness. And money does not always deliver that.’
Meijer’s father was a decent amateur footballer.
‘He was pushing me, always. Pushing, pushing, pushing. We were a very sporty family. My mother played volleyball and my sisters, basketball. The washing machine was always running. My father said, “OK, boy, you need to make a decision: football or the butchery store.” He gave me two years to see if I could make it as a footballer. If not, he would welcome me back into the family business. At the end of my career, when he realized I wasn’t coming back, he sold the store and retired.
‘I was a lively kid. Football helped me burn energy. But the two things I loved most about football were the team effort and the feeling of victory. Winning meant everything to me. I wanted to be the best. There were times when I realized that I wasn’t as good as other players. So I exercised more, training harder. I did the extra miles. The other players were lazy in comparison. While I was outside kicking the ball around the field, they were in the shower. The biggest bonus that I had was character and belief. It was the basis to play for eighteen years as a professional.’
Meijer was incorporated into the youth system of his local club, SV Meerssen, by future Dutch national-team coach Bert van Marwijk.
‘Bert was a legend with MVV [the professional club in Maastricht] and had finished his career. In the 1980s, a lot of ex-players went into youth training because they did not know anything else. Bert was one of these guys. Maybe he would have run a pub like the ex-players in England if that did not work out. But Bert, he was a clever coach. He started really low with Meerssen. He was really calm, a big supporter of mine. He cared about the players and advised me to go out of town and sign for a club where I could train with better kids and progress on to a higher level.’
Meijer spent a year with MVV before moving to Fortuna Sittard, a thirty-minute drive away in northern Limburg. Mark van Bommel, who became Netherlands captain, was there at the same time.
‘Sittard had the best youth academy in this region. I was four years above van Bommel but everyone knew about him. He was small and skinny but he acted like a warrior in midfield. The key players in the senior team would tell me, “Look at that kid, van Bommel. He will be big some time.” And he was.’
While Meijer was at Sittard, the Netherlands won a major competition for the first time: the European Championships of 1988, held in West Germany. Meijer was influenced by what he saw.
‘They were successful because they were a team,’ he says, emphasizing the word ‘team’ by raising his voice a few decibels. ‘The Netherlands had some big players, big names: van Basten, Gullit. Van Basten was the example of how a striker should be. He was also long – like me. He was very skinny – like me. But technically he came from Mars. He was a goalscorer – good heading, good shooting. For me, he was the perfect striker. But even more important, the Netherlands had players that knew exactly what to do. Berry van Aerle was the right [sided] defender. He knew that he had to make his runs to allow Gullit to be a better player. In a team, it is always about the balance. There is also the influence of the coach, Rinus Michels, who was in the autumn of his career but in the position at the right time; like a good red wine, you have to drink it at the correct moment.’
I suggest to Meijer that considering its relatively small population of seventeen million people, the Netherlands’ success in developing brilliant footballers is remarkable.
‘I think we started earlier than any other country with the youth academies,’ he responds. ‘It’s in our genes and way of thinking. We like to encourage the kids. We like to see young football players thrive. We are taught to play in more than one position. We understand that all the positions are linked. If you are a left-back, you should also learn to play as a left-forward. When you return to left-back, you feel what the left-forward feels.’
Aged fourteen, Meijer played half a season as a centre-back.
‘It was curious. I learnt a lot because it’s the mirror for a striker. I almost always had a big guy against me. I learnt how to deal with myself. When I returned as a striker, I understood how a defender thinks, what he is trying to do. You see the situation from the opposite point of view. This gives you an advantage.’
The experience saw Meijer fast-tracked from Sittard’s under-15 age group to the under-18s. He recognized the jump in class.
‘The basic technique must be good. You must have a normal speed – if you have more, OK, it’s a bonus. But you must be able to choose the right pass and have an awareness of where you are on the pitch, where the solution is. The idea in the Netherlands is to produce players who can, if required, play central-midfield – the most demanding position. Here, you need to be able to play with both feet, take a pass from the left and move it to the right. There is no hesitation and the game speeds up. From there, you kill the opponent.’
Meijer moved to Antwerp in Belgium at nineteen but never played a league game in a period where the rules permitted only two foreign players and he was the third and youngest. He soon returned to Holland, joining second-division FC Eindhoven, where five goals in fourteen first-team appearances prompted Sittard to sign him again. He then joined MVV in Maastricht, the team he had watched as a teenager, cycling to games every Saturday afternoon. The most productive spell in goalscoring terms during his entire career followed.
‘All the boys were from here, from Maastricht,’ Meijer says, pressing his index finger into the wooden table that separates us as if to claim territory. ‘In Limburg, we speak a distinct dialect. People from Amsterdam don’t understand us. In the dressing room, we were loud. We’d bang on the walls. It would intimidate the teams that came to play us in Maastricht. There was a connection amongst the players and the supporters. I was the butcher’s son, then you had the son of the cobbler as a goalkeeper and the baker in defence. We were very, very close. It was like a family. Plus, we had an excellent coach in Sef Vergoossen, who was more like a second father. He gave me his hand, pulled me in and said, “OK, I have done something for you, now you must help me.” He helped improve my heading technique. I jumped with my left foot, I jumped with my right foot. My balance became a lot better and so did my timing.’
Thirty-four goals in sixty-six games from Meijer led to MVV finishing an improbable seventh place in the Eredivisie in successive seasons. In the summer of 1993, he could have moved to Ajax, Feyenoord or VfB Stuttgart in Germany but chose PSV Eindhoven because it was closest to his home and he felt the transition would be easier, offering him greater exposure for national team selection.
His partner up front initially was Wim Kieft, who had played in Italy with Pisa and Torino before helping PSV to the European Cup and the Dutch to the European Championships five summers before.
‘Wim was so cool, so calculated. I was lik
e a bull charging around using my arms and being aggressive. He told me to slow down, to be smart. I struggled with that.’
PSV were in transition and behind Ajax in terms of domestic success.
‘Ajax had the de Boer brothers, Overmars, Reiziger and Finidi George. We had kids like Boudewijn Zenden, Eidur Gudjohnsen and Arthur Numan. Then, after three quarters of a year, Ronaldo came. He was so good.’
Meijer does an impression of the Brazilian, using his teeth and hands as if to mimic an otter.
‘Ronaldo came in on a day like today [grey skies and dank]. We were in shorts and a T-shirt because we were familiar with the weather. He was wearing a tracksuit and gloves, looking very, very cold. He did not look like he would survive. At the end of the session, we had a four versus four game. Ronaldo went to take the defender, Mitchell van der Gaag, one way on the outside, then turned quickly on to his inside. The defender fell over, then he chipped the ball over the goalkeeper, Ronald Waterreus. Everybody stood there open-mouthed. In his first year, Ronaldo scored more than thirty goals. He was seventeen years old.’
Meijer believes Ronaldo’s success was based on his personality as much as his ability.
‘He was clever, a very smart boy. He learnt the language very quickly and Flemish is not the easiest. He used yellow Post-it notes on every object. They were all over his house. The bed. The tables. The refrigerator. The curtains. When he knew the word, the note was not there any more.’
Ronaldo’s talent meant that Meijer would not play as much as he would have liked.
‘Ronaldo had a good connection with Luc Nilis. I was the third striker. I scored my goals when the opportunities were there. Dick Advocaat was the coach and I told him that I wanted to play more. He told me, “Erik, there is Ronaldo, there is Luc, what can I do?” It was not going to happen at PSV. So I decided to go to KFC Uerdingen in Germany.’
Not for the first or last time, Meijer took one step backwards in the hope it might lead to him springing forward. Despite finishing bottom in the Bundesliga, his eleven goals at Uerdingen earned him another move, this time further into the Ruhr Valley with Bayer Leverkusen.
‘Uerdingen was the most important period in my career because it proved I could influence games when the team was not so good. I could have chosen to go to Schalke 04 or Werder Bremen but Leverkusen had a lot of young players and that excited me. I liked German football because it involved more power and more running. The tempo is quicker than in the Netherlands. Physically, you have to be at a very high standard. It suited me.’
With Meijer and Ulf Kirsten providing a classic little and large combination, Leverkusen qualified for the Champions League. ‘We had Jens Nowotny in defence then Carsten Ramelow in front with a couple of Brazilians in midfield. There was Emerson and Zé Roberto.’
Leverkusen were coached by Christoph Daum, who would have taken up the same role with the German national team in 2000 had it not been for a scandal that outed him as a cocaine abuser.
‘Christoph was a very demanding trainer who liked his wingers to put crosses in the box,’ Meijer says. ‘I liked him.’
At the end of his third season at Leverkusen, Meijer was offered a new four-year contract. He could have also signed for Borussia Dortmund. Then Liverpool called, offering close to £15,000 a week.
‘I could not believe the wages. My wife was screaming in the house.’
Meijer tells me about his first conversation with Gérard Houllier, using a dubious French accent.
‘“Hello, Erik, I am Monsieur Houllier. I would like you to join Liverpool FC,” he told me. ‘The hairs on the back of my neck were rigid.’
Meijer had become fascinated with Liverpool as a teenager.
‘I had a feeling for the red shirt. I watched the European Cup finals and remember Graeme Souness in 1984 against Roma. He was leader of the army. I wanted to be that man. I also liked Ian Rush. He was long and quick. He moved like an animal trying to kill prey. He was aggressive too. I liked that.’
Meijer would ask his parents for a Liverpool shirt at birthdays and Christmases.
‘Some people think of Barcelona, Real Madrid, or, in the Netherlands, Ajax. Me? I was always Liverpool. England was the place I wanted to play. I liked the rainy weather, the wet pitch and the screaming audience. Seeing spectators shouting, “Come on, come on!!!” was beautiful for me, something special. I liked this period, the kick and rush. I liked seeing the defender and the striker fighting. At the end of the match, the defender would have a bleeding eye and the striker would be missing his teeth. But they shook hands. Football is just a mask.’
His impressions of Houllier were mixed.
‘Gérard was very demanding. He was very French, very difficult to figure out. I never knew what he was really thinking. Yet he had strict rules. Hard. Tactically, he was very clever, always looking for the right mixture in the team. He also had his English assistant.’
Meijer is referring to Phil Thompson, Liverpool’s former European Cup-winning captain from Kirkby, a disciplinarian who’d been sacked by Graeme Souness at the start of the decade for supposedly being too harsh with reserve-team players. Houllier’s first act was to reappoint him.
‘Phil – he was not an easy man. I respected him. But he loved to shout and tell people off. Not every player could deal with that. I saw a lot of players who had problems with him, although I did not. We clashed a few times.’
Sammy Lee, the first-team coach, was different.
‘I could easily work with Sammy. He was totally on my wavelength. He’d lived abroad [when playing for Osasuna in Spain]. He was good at understanding situations from the other point of view. He could see when I was ready to explode. There were times when I wanted to tell Phil [Thompson] that he had a big nose but Sammy would stop me by just giving a look. I had a very good connection with him. It was the same with Patrice Bergues [Houllier’s first-team coach].’
Meijer was one of seven players signed by Houllier in the summer of 1999. He became close with the two recruits from the Eredivisie, Sander Westerveld and Sami Hyypiä.
‘The club looked at what was necessary. Signing so many players at one time was not the way Liverpool had done things before. But look at the success that came. Within two years, Liverpool won the UEFA Cup, the FA Cup, the League Cup, the European Super Cup and the Charity Shield. You cannot say this was not a wise decision by the manager and his board of directors. It was the right investment.’
Out of all the new players, including Westerveld, Hyypiä, Stéphane Henchoz, Titi Camara, Vladimír Šmicer and Dietmar Hamann as well as Meijer, it was Meijer’s relationship with the Anfield crowd that blossomed quickest, even though he was in the side the least. Soon, he was known as ‘Mad Erik’.
‘I was proud. Fans know their team better than anyone else. They understand if they see an idiot. They understand if they see a professor [an intelligent player]. For me, I think they found the right word. I was a little bit crazy, that’s true. In my period at Liverpool, I just wanted to show how much I loved this moment. That’s why I was aggressive and gave everything. I’d played for other teams where it did not matter as much.
‘Respect goes two ways. There have been strikers with better skill and strikers who have scored a lot of goals. But maybe those strikers were not willing to die for the club. They keep a distance. I wanted to please the fans. It is true that without the fans, football is nothing. I see the slogans. If anyone ever asked me for an autograph, I obliged. I’d played in front of six hundred people for FC Eindhoven in Holland and that was not nice. I appreciated playing in front of a full stadium with screaming fans.’
Meijer recognized the power of the crowd and their potential to alter the outcome of a result. It was a tactic he often used before a corner kick in front of the Kop, waving his hands like an inspirational conductor does to his orchestra, generating a formidable noise.
‘You try to achieve a reaction. If the crowd becomes 4 per cent louder, it might make a difference. I would place m
y focus on one person and stare into his eyes. Your teammates feed off the crowd. Players think, “Hey, if Erik goes for it and the crowd does too, we will follow.”’
Meijer says that the ringtone on his mobile phone is ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’. He plays it to me and begins to sing along.
‘It is so intense, isn’t it?’ he asks. ‘It’s very special to me. I think it should not be played in any other stadium, just at Anfield. It belongs at Anfield. Celtic Park is OK. But it is not the same as Anfield.’
Meijer speaks about football as a ‘mental challenge’, where he ‘goes to the edge of the table without falling off’. At Leverkusen, after being treated for swelling of the ankle, he threw ice cubes at a moving ball upon his return to the game. ‘The left-back was confused and he made the wrong decision.’ At Liverpool, Meijer would roar at defenders when challenging for headers, trying to put them off. After a fierce clearance hit him in the face against Bradford, he fell to the ground and bounced straight back up, immediately giving chase again. ‘Everybody expects you to get some water. But that is weak. Just get your mind set on something different, like revenge.’
To escape the attentions of Leeds United’s Michael Duberry, he ran around the back of the goal from a corner kick. ‘I did that in Germany too and I scored from it. If you think out of the box, you can have success.’ He would talk to opponents and try to make them feel insecure. ‘There was the guy at Middlesbrough, [Gianluca] Festa. I said to him straight, “I saw you last week, you did not play very well. You made some very bad passes.” He was thinking about me rather than the match.’ The approach was not so successful with Gary Pallister, ‘who could see through my bullshit’.
Meijer tried his best to make his personal duel ‘a fight’.
‘Tony Adams, Martin Keown – they were the guys I liked playing against. I could lean in and hang in the air. They would push me and I would push them back. I would do anything I could to take their mind off the game and give me the advantage. I would always say sorry afterwards. The pitch was there. And now I’m Erik again. I liked to put my face out and risk getting a smack.’
