Red Or Dead
Page 33
And that was the second week of training. And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth. They did not practise set pieces, they did not practise corners. And they did not practise free kicks. They practised passing. Always forward, always faster. Faster and faster, for five weeks. Always forward. And always to a red shirt,
always to a red shirt,
a red shirt. Bill training, always training. Bill playing, always playing. With hunger and with passion. In amongst the players, in amongst the team. Bill training, Bill playing. Bill watching and Bill listening. Watching for hunger and listening for passion. Hunger for the red shirt, passion for the red shirt –
The hunger and the passion –
For the shirt, the red shirt. And Bill watched Tommy Smith square up to Emlyn Hughes. Bill watched Bob pull them apart. Bill watched Ian St John square up to Tony Hateley. And Bill watched Bob pull them apart –
And Bill smiled.
…
At Maine Road, Manchester. In the stands, in his seat. Bill watched Manchester City play West Bromwich Albion in the 1968 Charity Shield. Manchester City were the Champions of the Football League. West Bromwich Albion were the winners of the FA Cup. In the stands, in his seat. Bill watched West Bromwich Albion try to keep the ball in the air. Bill watched Manchester City keep the ball on the ground. And Bill watched Manchester City beat West Bromwich Albion six–one in the 1968 Charity Shield. And in the stands, in his seat. Bill stood up. Bill left the ground. And Bill drove back to Anfield. Bill went into his office. Bill shut the door. Bill took off his hat, Bill took off his jacket. Bill sat down at his desk. And Bill took out his book. His book of names, his book of notes. Bill took out his pen. His red pen. And in the office, at his desk. Bill began to write in his book. His book of names, his book of notes. In the office, at his desk. Bill stopped writing. Bill put down his pen. His red pen. Bill took out his diary. His diary of dates, his diary of fixtures. And Bill stared down at the first date in his diary, the first fixture of the season. The new season. In the office, at his desk. Bill sat back in his chair. Bill closed his eyes. And then Bill opened his eyes. Bill leaned forward. Bill picked up his book. His book of names, his book of notes. Bill turned to the last page. The last page of names, the last page of notes. Bill picked up his pen. His red pen. Bill drew a line through one name on the page. The last name on the last page. Hateley. And then Bill wrote a name on the page. A new name on the last page. Graham. Bill put down his pen. His red pen. Bill closed his book. His book of names, his book of notes. In his office, at his desk. Bill sat back in his chair again. Bill closed his eyes again. And Bill waited.
…
In the dressing room. The home dressing room. Bill looked from player to player. From Lawrence to Lawler, Lawler to Wall, Wall to Smith, Smith to Yeats, Yeats to Hughes, Hughes to Callaghan, Callaghan to Hunt, Hunt to Graham, Graham to St John and from St John to Thompson. And Bill said, Last season, on the first day of last season, we went to Maine Road and we drew nil–nil with this lot. And then, when they came here, we drew one-all. So last season, Manchester City took two points from us. Home and away. Last season, Manchester City finished with three points more than us. Just three points. But we finished third and they finished first. And they were the Champions and we were not. We were nothing, we were nowhere. So if you are thinking this is just the first game of the season. Just the first match of forty-two League matches this season. If you are thinking to drop a point today, to even lose two points today, it doesn’t matter. That there will be other games, forty-one other games. Well, if there is any man in this room thinking thoughts like that, then that man has no place in this room. No place in this team. Because a point dropped today is a point lost forever. And every point lost is a point that costs you. Because that point lost today could be the point that costs you the title. That gives them the title. That condemns you to second best. To third best. Or even worse. And that’s not good enough. That’s never good enough. Not for Liverpool Football Club. Not for the people who support Liverpool Football Club. The only thing that is good enough for Liverpool Football Club, for the people who support Liverpool Football Club, is to win every game, to take two points from every match. From all forty-two matches. And then to be Champions. Because that is the only thing good enough. For Liverpool Football Club. And for the people who support Liverpool Football Club –
To be Champions again.
On the bench, the Anfield bench. In the first game of the season, in the second minute of the match, Bill watched Manchester City score. But in the twenty-fourth minute of the first match of the season, Graham equalised. And in the seventy-third minute of the first match of the season, Thompson scored. And Liverpool Football Club beat Manchester City two–one. At home, at Anfield. In the first match of the 1968–69 season –
On the bench, the bench at the Dell. In the second game of the season, Bill watched Southampton Football Club score. And score again. And Liverpool Football Club lost two–nil. Away from home, away from Anfield –
On the bench, the bench at Highbury. In the third game of the season, Bill watched the players of Liverpool Football Club harry and harry and harry. Run and run and run. But in the thirtieth minute of the third match of the season, Sammels sent Radford through. And Radford slotted the ball home. But still the players of Liverpool Football Club harried and harried and harried. Ran and ran and ran. And in the fiftieth minute of the third match of the season, Thompson dribbled through three players. Thompson passed inside to Hunt. And Hunt scored. But then on the bench, the bench at Highbury, Bill watched the sun disappear. And the sky turn black. With thunder and with lightning. And then the rain came. And the rain swept thousands from the terraces. And the rain turned the pitch into a cauldron. But still the players of Liverpool Football Club harried and harried and harried. Ran and ran and ran. Under a black sky, in the pouring rain. But then the whistle came, the final whistle. And the game was drawn, only drawn. And in that first week of the 1968–69 season, in the first three games of this new season, Liverpool Football Club had won once, drawn once and lost once. In the first week of the 1968–69 season, in the first three games of the new season, Liverpool Football Club had dropped three points. Three points lost forever. It was a bad start to the 1968–69 season, a very bad start to the new season –
The new season same as the old season.
…
In the house, in their bed. Bill heard Ness cough. In her sleep, in their bed. Bill opened his eyes. And Bill saw the darkness. Bill got out of the bed. Bill went down the stairs. Bill went into the front room. Bill switched on the light. Bill sat down in his armchair. Bill picked up his book. His book of names, his book of notes. And Bill turned the pages. The pages of names, the pages of notes. To the last page of names, to the last page of notes. And Bill picked up his pen. His red pen. And Bill drew a line through one name on the page. The last page. Graham. And then Bill wrote a name on the page. The last page. Hateley. And Bill put down his pen. His red pen. Bill closed his book. His book of names, his book of notes. In the front room, in his armchair. Bill heard Ness cough again upstairs. In their bed, in her sleep. And in the darkness. Bill waited for the dawn,
Bill waited for the light.
…
On the bench, the bench at Elland Road. In the sunshine, the late and rare Yorkshire sunshine. Bill watched Jackie Charlton and Ronnie Yeats cast long shadows, Mick Jones and Tony Hateley cast long shadows. And on the bench, the bench at Elland Road. In the thirtieth minute, Bill watched Billy Bremner strike a long, steepling pass towards the silhouettes of Mick Jones and Ronnie Yeats. And Ronnie Yeats came to meet the pass, to block the pass. Yeats kicking out towards the pass, towards the ball. But Yeats kicked out into the air, into the shadows. And Jones met the pass, Jones touched on the pass. Past Tommy Lawrence. Lawrence groping after the ball, Lawrence sprawling on the floor. And Jones touched the pass again. Jones struck the pass. And Jones scored. And in the sunshine, the late and rare Yorkshire sunshine. Leeds United were beat
ing Liverpool Football Club one–nil. But in the sunshine, the late and rare Yorkshire sunshine, still Liverpool Football Club passed the ball long towards Hateley. Still Liverpool Football Club passed the ball high to Hateley. But Charlton met every ball, Charlton blocked every pass. And in the sunshine, the late and rare sunshine, Jackie Charlton put Tony Hateley’s head on the block. And in the sunshine, the late and rare Yorkshire sunshine. Liverpool Football Club lost one–nil to Leeds United. And that evening, Leeds United had eleven points and Arsenal Football Club had twelve points. Arsenal Football Club were first in the First Division. That evening, Liverpool Football Club had eight points. Liverpool Football Club seventh in the First Division. That evening, Liverpool Football Club were nowhere.
…
In the house, in their bed. Bill heard Ness cough. Again. In her sleep, in their bed. And Bill opened his eyes. Again. Bill saw the darkness. Again. Bill got out of the bed. Again. Bill went down the stairs. Again. Bill went into the front room. Again. Bill switched on the light. Again. Bill sat down in his armchair. Again. Bill picked up his book. His book of names, his book of notes. And again. Bill turned the pages. The pages of names, the pages of notes. To the last page of names, to the last page of notes. Again. Bill picked up his pen. His red pen. Again Bill drew a line through one name on the page. The last page. Hateley. Again. Bill put down his pen. His red pen. And in the front room, in his chair. Bill closed his eyes. Again. In his armchair, in his mind. Bill saw the goals. Again. The twenty-seven goals Hateley had scored last season. The goal he had scored this season. And again. In the front room, in the chair. Bill opened his eyes. Again. Bill picked up his pen. Again. His red pen. And again. Bill wrote a name on the page. Again. The name on the page. Hateley. Bill put down his pen. Again. His red pen. Again. Bill closed his eyes. Again. In the armchair, in his mind. Bill saw the long passes. The high balls. The passes never met. Again. The balls never controlled. And again. Bill opened his eyes. Again. Bill picked up his pen. Again. His red pen. And again. Bill drew a line through that name on that page again. Again. That last name on that last page. Hateley. Again and again. Bill drew line after line. Red line after red line. Through that name on that page. That last name and that last page. Again and again. Until the name was gone, until the page was gone. And then Bill put down his pen. His red pen. And Bill closed his book. His book of names, his book of notes. And in the front room, in his armchair. Again. Bill heard Ness cough upstairs. Again. In their bed, in her sleep. And again. In the darkness. Bill waited for the dawn. Again. Bill waited for the light.
…
On the bench, the Anfield bench. In the second minute, Bill watched Ron Yeats score. In the fourth minute, Bill watched Tommy Smith score a penalty. And then in the tenth minute, Bill watched Alun Evans score his first goal for Liverpool Football Club. On his debut, his Anfield debut. Liverpool Football Club had sold Tony Hateley to Coventry City for eighty thousand pounds. And Liverpool Football Club had bought Alun Evans from Wolverhampton Wanderers for one hundred thousand pounds. Alun Evans was nineteen years old. No football club had ever paid one hundred thousand pounds for a teenager. It was a British transfer record for a teenager. Liverpool Football Club had never paid one hundred thousand pounds for anyone. It was a club record. And on the bench, the Anfield bench. Two minutes later, Bill watched Ian Callaghan score. And Liverpool Football Club beat Leicester City four–nil. At home, at Anfield. And on the touchline, the Anfield touchline. Bill shook the hand of Matt Gillies, the manager of Leicester City –
After those first fifteen minutes, said Matt Gillies, I thought you were going to put us to the sword, Bill. I was sure you would score six or seven. Even ten or eleven. I thought you were going to humiliate us, Bill. Humiliate me …
Bill shook his head. And Bill said, Don’t say that, Matt. Please don’t say that. I would never try to humiliate any man, Matt. Especially not you …
On the bench, the bench at Molineux, Wolverhampton. In the early autumn sunshine, Bill watched the red of Liverpool Football Club and the gold of Wolverhampton Wanderers burn and glow on the green, green grass. And in the fifteenth minute, Bill watched the long, gentle parabola of Roger Hunt’s shot ricochet off the foot of Parkin. And Hunt score. And in the twenty-fifth minute, Bill watched Peter Thompson sidestep his man. And Thompson shoot. And the ball flash in off the post. And in the thirtieth minute, Bill watched a pass from Hunt send Alun Evans clear. And Evans shoot. And Evans score against his old club. And in the sixty-third minute, Bill watched a flick from Hunt find the head of Evans. And Evans dive. And Evans score again. And in the seventy-fourth minute, Bill watched Ian Callaghan cross to Hunt. And Hunt score again. And in the eightieth minute, Bill watched Evans pass to Thompson. And Thompson shoot. And Thompson score again. And in the early autumn sunshine, the red of Liverpool Football Club beat the gold of Wolverhampton Wanderers six–nil. Away from home, away from Anfield. And on the touchline, the touchline at Molineux. Bill shook the hand of Ronnie Allen, the manager of Wolverhampton Wanderers –
I knew we should never have sold Alun Evans, said Ronnie Allen. Especially not to you, Bill. Especially not to Liverpool Football Club. That was the most crushing performance I have ever seen by an away team at Molineux, Bill. That anyone has ever seen. We were annihilated, Bill. We were humiliated …
Bill shook his head. And Bill said, Thank you, Ronnie. Thank you very much. But please don’t say you were humiliated, Ronnie. Please never say that. Yes, we were the better team today, Ronnie. But we never lost respect for you. We never tried to humiliate you, Ronnie. We simply wanted to win.
…
On the bench, the Anfield bench. Bill and forty-nine thousand, five hundred and sixty-seven folk watched Liverpool Football Club play Athletic Club Bilbao in the second leg of the First Round of the Inter-Cities Fairs Cup. Athletic Club Bilbao had won the first leg two–one. Everyone thought Athletic Club Bilbao would come to defend their two–one lead. But everyone thought wrong. Athletic Club Bilbao came to attack. And in the thirty-second minute, Uriarte made an opening for Argoitia. Argoitia dribbled. Argoitia sidestepped Tommy Smith’s sliding tackle. And Argoitia scored. And the Kop was silent. The Spion Kop stunned. But not for long. Not for long. The Kop found its voice. And the Spion Kop roared again. And in the seventy-eighth minute, Ian St John took a free kick. And Ronnie Yeats met the free kick. Yeats nodded the ball back into the middle of the penalty area. And Chris Lawler met the nod. And Lawler scored. And the Kop roared. The Spion Kop roared. And roared again. And in the eighty-seventh minute, Emlyn Hughes shot. And Hughes scored. And Liverpool Football Club beat Athletic Club Bilbao two–one in the second leg of the First Round of the Inter-Cities Fairs Cup. Both teams had won two–one at home. Both teams had scored an away goal. The tie tied at three–three. But there was no extra time. There were no replays. There were no third matches. There was only the toss of a coin. And the referee called the two captains to the centre of the field, the centre circle. The referee took a coin from his pocket. One side heads, one side tails. The referee turned to Ron Yeats. The referee asked the home captain to call it. And Yeats called it. In the centre of the field, the centre circle. The referee flicked the coin up into the air. Up into the night. And the lights of the cameras flashed. And the eyes of the crowd, the Anfield crowd, the forty-nine thousand, five hundred and sixty-seven pairs of eyes, Anfield eyes, followed the coin. Up into the night, up into the dark. Up and then down again. Down onto the ground, the Anfield ground. And the referee and the two captains stared down at the ground, the Anfield ground. And the captain of Athletic Club Bilbao leapt up into the night,
the Anfield night –
In the dressing room, the Anfield dressing room. Bill walked up to Ron Yeats. And Bill said, What did you call, son?
Heads, said Ron Yeats.
Jesus Christ! You fool, you idiot. You never call heads. Everybody knows that. You never call heads!
But you told me never to call tails, said Ron Yeats. You said I should always call head
s, Boss.
Bill shook his head. And Bill said, What day of the week is it today, son? What day is today?
It’s Wednesday.
Exactly. And whose day of the week is Wednesday, son?
I don’t know whose day it is, Boss.
Jesus Christ! Don’t you know anything, son? Wednesday is the Devil’s day. The Devil’s day, son. Hence the phrase, Wednesday’s child is full of woe. I presume you have heard that phrase before, son?
Yes, Boss. I have.
Well, that phrase comes from the fact that Wednesday is the Devil’s day. And what does the Devil have? Sticking out of his arse?
A tail.
Exactly. A tail. So you always call tails on the Devil’s day. Everybody knows that, son. You always call tails on a Wednesday.
…
In the house, in their hallway. Bill closed the front door. In the dark. Bill walked down the hallway to the kitchen. In the dark. Bill switched on the light. Bill sat down at the table. And Bill put his hand in his pocket. In the kitchen, at the table. Bill took out a coin. Bill stared down at the coin. And Bill turned the coin in his fingers. The two sides of the coin. In the kitchen, at the table. Bill flicked the coin up. Up into the air, down onto the floor. And Bill stared down at the coin on the floor. The kitchen floor. Tails. In the kitchen, at the table. Bill bent down. And Bill picked up the coin from the floor. In the kitchen, at the table. Again. Bill flicked the coin up. Up into the air, down onto the floor. Again. Bill stared down at the coin on the floor. Tails. Again. In the kitchen, at the table. Bill bent down. Again. Bill picked up the coin from the floor. In the kitchen, at the table. Again. Bill flicked the coin up. Up into the air, down onto the floor. Again. Bill stared down at the coin on the floor. Tails. Again. Bill bent down. Bill picked up the coin. Again. In the kitchen, at the table. Bill stared at the coin in his fingers. Again. Bill turned the coin in his fingers. Again and again. The two sides of the coin. Again and again,