Red Or Dead

by David Peace

  …

  In the drive, in the car. Bill turned off the engine. Bill got out of the car. Bill walked up the drive. Bill opened the front door. Bill went into the house. Bill shut the door. Bill walked down the hall. Bill went into the front room. And Bill saw Ness. Ness on her feet. Ness looking at Bill. Her hands to her mouth. Ness looking at Bill. And Bill said, It’s Jimmy, love. He’s dead, love.

  Dead? How? When?

  This morning, love. He hanged himself. Under the Kop.

  …

  In the drive, in the car. In the night. Bill turned off the engine. In the night. Bill got out of the car. In the night. Bill walked up the drive. In the night. Bill unlocked the front door of the house. In the night. Bill opened the door. In the night. Bill stepped into the house. In the dark. Bill closed the door. In the dark. Bill put down his case in the hallway. In the dark. Bill walked down the hallway to the kitchen. In the dark. Bill sat down at the table. In the dark. Bill put his hand in his pocket. In the dark. Bill took out the chip. The red and white chip. In the dark. Bill stared down at the chip. The red and white chip. In the dark. Bill turned the chip in his fingers. The red and white chip. In the dark. The happiest day of his life. That day on the balcony of Liverpool Town Hall. The best night of his life. That night Liverpool Football Club had beaten Internazionale of Milan at Anfield. The worst night of his life. The night Internazionale of Milan beat Liverpool Football Club at the San Siro, the night Internazionale of Milan knocked Liverpool Football Club out of the European Cup. The saddest day of his life. The day he had stood beneath the Spion Kop. The day they had found Jimmy McInnes. By the Archway turnstile. Hanging under the Kop. The saddest days and the happiest days, the worst days and the best. In the dark. Bill turned the chip again. The red and white chip. And again. The red side and the white side. Two sides, two sides. There were always two sides. Two sides

  to every coin, two sides

  to every story.

  19. AFTER THE WAR, BEFORE THE WAR

  The 1964–65 season had been a long season. The longest season in the history of Liverpool Football Club. A hard season and a tiring season. A season of ups and a season of downs. In the 1964–65 season, Liverpool Football Club had finished seventh in the First Division. But Liverpool Football Club had reached the semi-finals of the European Cup and Liverpool Football Club had won the FA Cup. For the first time in the history of Liverpool Football Club. It had been a long season. But it had been a good season. And it should have been a happy season. But no one was happy.

  In the summer of 1965, at the start of the pre-season training. The players of Liverpool Football Club were not happy. The players of Liverpool Football Club had complaints. The players of Liverpool Football Club had grievances.

  The directors of Liverpool Football Club had promised every player of Liverpool Football Club a bonus of one thousand pounds if Liverpool Football Club won the FA Cup. The players of Liverpool Football Club had won the FA Cup. The players of Liverpool Football Club expected to each receive their bonus of one thousand pounds, plus their basic wage of thirty-five pounds, less tax. The players of Liverpool Football Club also expected to receive a crowd bonus. Home or away, the players of Liverpool Football Club always received a crowd bonus. One hundred thousand folk had come to Wembley Stadium on Saturday 1 May, 1965. One hundred thousand folk had seen Liverpool Football Club win the FA Cup. And so the players of Liverpool Football Club expected to receive a crowd bonus. Plus their one thousand pounds for winning the Cup, plus their basic wage, less tax. The directors of Liverpool Football Club paid the players of Liverpool Football Club their bonus for winning the FA Cup, plus their basic wage, less tax. But the directors of Liverpool Football Club said Wembley Stadium was neither home nor away. The directors of Liverpool Football Club said Wembley Stadium was a neutral ground. The directors of Liverpool Football Club refused to pay the players of Liverpool Football Club a crowd bonus. And so the players of Liverpool Football Club were not happy. The players of Liverpool Football Club had complaints. The players of Liverpool Football Club had grievances. Complaints about their wage structure, grievances about their salaries. The players of Liverpool Football Club knew their wages were amongst the lowest in the First Division. The players of Liverpool Football Club contacted the secretary of the Players’ Association. The secretary of the Players’ Association came to Anfield, Liverpool, to assist the players of Liverpool Football Club in their negotiations with the directors of Liverpool Football Club. The secretary of the Players’ Association told the local press, the Liverpool press, I deny as emphatically as possible the rumour being put about that the players of Liverpool Football Club are seeking a basic wage of one hundred pounds a week. Their basic wage, far from being in three figures, has not even been half that sum.

  Bill Shankly nodded. But Bill Shankly was not happy. Bill Shankly didn’t like money. He didn’t want to talk about money, he didn’t even like to think about money. Bill Shankly knew you needed a roof over your head. A decent roof. Food on your table and clothes on your back. Decent food and decent clothes. For you and for your family. Bill Shankly believed the wages from your work should provide you with a roof. With food and with clothes. A decent roof. Decent food and decent clothes. For you and for your family. But Bill Shankly believed you had to earn your wage. You had to earn that roof over your head. The food on your table and the clothes on your back. That then you would cherish that roof. That food and those clothes. Because you had earned that roof. That food, those clothes. Bill Shankly believed anything else, anything more, was a luxury. Bill Shankly believed a luxury was something you had not earned. Something you had not worked for. Bill Shankly knew such luxuries were also a distraction. A distraction from your work. Bill Shankly didn’t like distractions. He didn’t want to talk about distractions, he didn’t want to even think about distractions –

  It would be a pity if differences of this sort were to create unease where no uneasiness has existed in the past, said Bill Shankly. And if these differences, if this unease, were to create distractions. Distractions from our work.

  …

  On Saturday 14 August, 1965, Liverpool Football Club travelled to Old Trafford, Manchester. That afternoon, forty-eight thousand, five hundred and two folk came, too. Manchester folk and Liverpool folk. Forty-eight thousand, five hundred and two folk to watch the winners of the Football League play the winners of the FA Cup for the Charity Shield. There were floating banners in the stands, boisterous chorales to the roofs of the stands. In the thirty-eighth minute, Willie Stevenson scored. In the eighty-sixth minute, Ron Yeats scored. But Herd had scored, too. And Best had scored, too. And the Charity Shield was shared between the winners of the Football League and the winners of the FA Cup. And thirteen thousand pounds was raised for charity. Charity.

  That Saturday morning, before the match, the directors of Liverpool Football Club had announced that all the players of Liverpool Football Club had signed new contracts for the coming season. That the players of Liverpool Football Club had no more complaints, the players of Liverpool Football Club had no more grievances. That the players of Liverpool Football Club were happy. And Bill Shankly was happy –

  I would like to pay tribute to the chairman, the president and the board of Liverpool Football Club, said Bill Shankly. They have given the players of Liverpool Football Club one of the finest deals I have ever known in the game. One of the best deals in the game. And so now everybody is happy. There are no more differences, there is no more unease. And no more distractions. Only work now. Only work!

  …

  On Saturday 21 August, 1965, Liverpool Football Club travelled to Filbert Street, Leicester, for their first League game of the 1965–66 season. In the thirty-fifth minute, Roger Hunt scored. In the fifty-third minute, Geoff Strong scored. And in the eightieth minute, Hunt scored again. And Liverpool Football Club beat Leicester City three–one. Away from home, away from Anfield. It was a good start. But only a start. Four days later, Sheffield United came t
o Anfield, Liverpool. That evening, forty-seven thousand, two hundred and fifty-nine folk came, too. But Liverpool Football Club lost one–nil. At home, at Anfield, in their first home game of the 1965–66 season. One week later, Liverpool Football Club travelled to Bramall Lane, Sheffield. And Liverpool Football Club drew nil–nil with Sheffield United. Liverpool Football Club then beat Blackpool Football Club away, Liverpool Football Club then beat West Ham United five–one away. And Liverpool Football Club then beat Fulham Football Club. At home, at Anfield. Liverpool Football Club then drew one-all with West Ham United. Three days later, Liverpool Football Club travelled to White Hart Lane, London. And Liverpool Football Club lost two–one to Tottenham Hotspur. That evening, Liverpool Football Club had played eight games. They had won four games, they had drawn two games. And they had lost two games. That evening, Liverpool Football Club had nine points. That evening, Liverpool Football Club were eighth in the First Division. It was not a good start, it was not a bad start. It was just a start. Just the start.

  …

  On Saturday 25 September, 1965. In the dressing room, on the benches. In their kits and in their boots. The players of Liverpool Football Club heard the footsteps in the corridor. Fast and heavy. Bill Shankly walked into the dressing room. Bill Shankly closed the door. Bill Shankly looked around the room. From player to player. From Lawrence to Strong, Strong to Byrne, Byrne to Milne, Milne to Yeats, Yeats to Stevenson, Stevenson to Callaghan, Callaghan to Hunt, Hunt to St John, St John to Smith and from Smith to Thompson –

  Everybody here today in this room, said Bill Shankly. Everybody here today in this ground. Everybody in this city, everybody in the world. They all know what happened the last time this mob came here. Nobody in this room, nobody in this ground, nobody in this city, nobody in the world, has forgotten what happened that day. They all remember and you all remember. And you all remember the things I said to you that day, the things the people in this ground said to you that day. Well, today, you have the chance to answer me, to answer those people. At last. You can answer us all back, boys. But you all know there can only be one answer. There is only one answer. Five–nil –

  Five–nil, boys.

  In the thirty-fourth minute, Tommy Smith scored. In the forty-ninth minute, Roger Hunt scored. In the fifty-second minute, Willie Stevenson scored. In the seventy-third minute, Hunt scored again. And in the eighty-ninth minute, with only one minute remaining, Ian St John scored. And a supporter of Liverpool Football Club jumped out of the Kop. The Spion Kop. The supporter of Liverpool Football Club ran onto the pitch. The Anfield pitch. The supporter of Liverpool Football Club gave a handbag to Gordon West, the Everton keeper. And the supporters of Liverpool Football Club laughed. The supporters of Liverpool Football Club roared. And the players of Everton Football Club stood on the pitch with their hands on their hips. The players of Everton Football Club shook their heads. And the manager of Everton Football Club walked down the touchline. The manager of Everton Football Club shook his head. And then Harry Catterick shook the hand of Bill Shankly. And Harry Catterick said, I am stunned, Bill. I am simply stunned. I do not know what to say. I do not understand it. Last week, you lost two–one at Tottenham. Last week, you were rubbish. Everybody said so, everybody told me. But today, you won five–nil. Today, you were brilliant, Bill. Simply brilliant.

  Thank you, said Bill Shankly. Thank you, Harry. But you’re wrong. You’re wrong again, Harry. Last week, we were brilliant, too. Last week, we were better than we were today. Much, much better. Last week, we should have murdered Tottenham six–nil. Last week, we should have given them a drubbing. So this was coming to someone. And that someone was Everton. That someone was you, Harry …

  After the whistle, the final whistle. In the dressing room, on the benches. Still in their kits, still in their boots. The players of Liverpool Football Club heard the footsteps in the corridor. Bouncing, dancing. Bill Shankly waltzed into the dressing room, around the dressing room. From player to player. Patting their backs, shaking their hands –

  You were magnificent, boys. Magnificent. Every one of you, boys. Every single one of you. I could not have asked for more. The crowd could not have asked for more. You have answered back every comment, every question, with a magnificent display of total, team football. From the back to the front, from the left to the right. Every one of you, boys. Every single one of you. Magnificent. I tell you, boys. That is one of the best displays of football I have ever seen in my life. And no one here today will have seen a better display, a better example of team football in this country since the war. Playing like that, playing like you can, we will be the Champions again. We will win the Cup again. And we will win the Cup Winners’ Cup, too. We can win them all, boys. We can win them all! So now you go out there tonight, boys. With your heads held high. And you walk among the people of this city. And you listen to what those people will tell you. Because to a man, they will tell you the same as I’m telling you now, boys. You are the best team in England since the war.

  20. DEAR PEOPLE

  His jacket stuck to his shirt. His shirt stuck to his vest. His vest stuck to his skin. His skin stretched and his muscles taut. Bill opened his eyes again. And Bill tried to shift in his seat. His skin burning, his muscles straining. Bill could not shift in his seat. Burning, straining. Bill tried to move his hands. His hands locked tight around the armrest of his seat. His knuckles white. Bill forced open the fingers of his right hand. Bill raised his right arm. Bill brought his right hand over to the left sleeve of his jacket. Bill pulled up the left sleeve of his jacket. Bill stared down at his watch. The aeroplane shuddered. Again. Bill gripped the armrests of his seat. The aeroplane dipped. Again. Bill closed his eyes. And again. Bill tried not to think of the last time he had sat on a plane. The last time he had flown to Italy. The things that happened in Italy, the things that happened in Milan. Addio! The klaxons and the trumpets, the rockets and the flares. Addio! Their fireworks and their smoke bombs, their arrogance and their hostility. Addio! It had been one long carnival of hate, it had been one dark charade of corruption. Addio! A very long, dark night, a very long, bad night. Addio! Filled with potions and filled with spells. Addio! And now Bill was coming back to Italy, now Liverpool Football Club were flying to Turin. Another city of potions, another city of spells.

  In their hotel in Turin, in the dining room. The players of Liverpool Football Club finished their meals, the players of Liverpool Football Club went up to their rooms. An early night tonight, before the game tomorrow. Tomorrow, the players of Liverpool Football Club would play Juventus Football Club at the Stadio Comunale in the preliminary round of the European Cup Winners’ Cup.

  In their hotel in Turin, in the dining room. The waiters cleared away their plates, the waiters cleared away their glasses. The waiters leaned against the bar, the waiters looked at their watches. And then the waiters looked at Bill, Bob, Joe and Reuben. Their plates clean, their glasses empty. Bill laughed. And Bill said, Tommy Finney is always telling me about the day he played here for England at their Stadio Comunale. Tommy always says it was the finest all-round team performance of his England career. In front of fifty-eight thousand people, in ninety-degree temperatures. He says the people had to bring umbrellas to shield themselves from the sun. It was that hot. And that Italian team were hot, too. You all remember them. That team. They were the best team in the world then. The world champions. The Olympic champions. And the crowd were expecting them to put on a show. All fifty-eight thousand of them. With their umbrellas. Expecting them to hammer England. Humiliate them and murder them. In revenge for the war. That’s what they wanted. That crowd. Those fifty-eight thousand folk, with their umbrellas. They wanted revenge. But Tommy says Frank Swift was brilliant that day. They all were. Don Howe, Neil Franklin, Henry Cockburn, Stan Matthews. Magnificent. All of them. Mortensen scored the first, I think. Lawton got another. And then Tommy scored two, scored them like this –

  Bill jumped up from his chair, Bill ripped off his jacket. Bi
ll stood between the tables and the chairs. Bill looked one way, Bill looked another. In their hotel, in the dining room. Bill looked for the ball, Bill saw the ball. Bill turned to hit the ball, Bill struck it. And Bill said, One on the volley from a cross from Wilf Mannion …

  Bill stepped back. In their hotel, in the dining room. Bill looked for the ball again, Bill saw the ball again. Bill struck it again. And Bill said, And the other like that, in from close range …

  Bill sat back down at the table. And Bill said, And Tommy was playing on the left that day. That was the first time they’d found a way to play Tommy and Matthews in the same side. Tommy says the Italians didn’t know what had hit them. That they started arguing amongst themselves. Because they weren’t used to losing, you see. Seven of them played for that Torino side that won all those consecutive titles. You all remember them. That side that were killed in the air crash a year later. Terrible, terrible. But can you imagine that forward line? Matthews, Mortensen, Lawton, Mannion and Tommy. Jesus Christ! What a team that was, what a game that must have been. Like a different game, in a different world. It’s all back to front and inside out now. Now it’s the defenders who score the goals. Not the forwards. That’s the new game, that’s the new world. It’s a game for defenders now. That’s the secret, boys. And that’s what we’ll be up against tomorrow. A team of defenders.

  …

  In the dressing room, the Anfield dressing room. Before the whistle, the first whistle of the return leg. Bill shook his head again. And Bill said, One goal. That’s all they got. One goal. And from their full-back. One goal. And we all know that’s all they wanted. One goal. And that’s all they got. That one goal. That’s all they wanted and that’s all they’ve got. One goal. And so they’ve come here today. With that goal, that one goal. Determined to hang onto that goal, that one goal. To keep that goal, that one goal. And to take that goal, that one goal. In their suitcases, their fancy suitcases. Back to Turin, back to Italy. With their goal, their one goal. That’s their plan, their only plan. But they’re in for a surprise, boys. They’re in for a shock. Because how many folk do you think there were? Last week, in Turin? Five thousand, ten thousand? Nobody. There was nobody there! Not like today, not like tonight. Tonight there are fifty thousand folk here! Fifty thousand folk inside Anfield tonight. Fifty thousand folk here to watch you prise open their fancy, flash suitcases, their grubby, little hands. Fifty thousand folk here to watch you take that one goal from Juventus Football Club and to send them packing back to Turin, back to Italy. With nothing in their cases, with nothing in their hands …