by Simon Hughes
Hodgson recalls the game, mentioned in this book by Bruce Grobbelaar, when Liverpool travelled to ’Boro after clinching the title – a trip that resulted in Terry McDermott injuring himself in a pre-match drinking session. He was in the ’Boro starting XI.
‘I remember receiving the ball to feet and running past Alan Hansen like he wasn’t even there. I’m pretty sure he didn’t know what day it was. We still couldn’t win, though. Liverpool were so far ahead of everyone else, they could still get a draw when the whole team was steaming.’
Marbella was one of the few occasions when the whole of the Liverpool squad socialised together.
‘Most weekends, everyone went in different directions. I lived on Wirral with Cat [Michael Robinson], Stevie Nic, Jan and latterly Bruce. There was no way I was going to live with all the fuddy-duddies in Southport.’
The biggest change he had to get used to was the intensity of the training.
‘It would be easy for me to say that the training at Liverpool was shocking. But how can I say that when the club was winning the double every season? The work ethic at ’Boro was more intense in terms of fitness. After training, you would do extra training to try to get your fitness levels up. At Liverpool, you learnt quickly to love the ball, and as soon as the five-a-sides were finished, that was it – you went home and rested. Because everyone had the ability to retain the ball, we had possession in matches the same way Barcelona dominate today. That’s why we scored so many goals late on – the other teams would be knackered chasing around for 90 minutes. We let the ball do the work, and eventually it would wear the opposition down.’
When the season started, Hodgson went straight into the starting XI and scored four times in his first six starts. Such success, though, brought added expectation.
‘Some established players went to Liverpool and never got anywhere near the first-team squad for two years,’ he says – blowing out those cheeks once again. ‘After starting so well, scoring goals, people believed I would score every single week. That brought its own pressure. Maybe if I had more time to settle, feeling the Liverpool Way, I wouldn’t have fallen so flat so quickly afterwards. I’ll admit that I struggled to meet expectations.’
By November, the striking status quo of Rush and Dalglish had resumed, and Hodgson was restricted to the substitutes’ bench or the stands.
‘I got an injury and didn’t expect to play for a few weeks, so a night before the derby when Liverpool beat Everton 5–0 I went out for a few drinks. It ended up being a bit of a session, because I knew that with the injury it was impossible for me to play. But I still had to report for duty the following day, and when I did, I found out I was selected on the bench. You had to have your leg in plaster to prove you had an injury at Liverpool. I was hungover and got on for the last ten minutes.’
Hodgson was getting a reputation amongst the squad as the type of lad that was up for a laugh. Away from football, he was interested in racing pigeons and dressing eccentrically.
‘It meant I had a lot of stick come my way,’ he laughs. ‘Leather was a favourite material of mine. I had leather pants [meaning trousers], shorts, shirts, shoes. The other lads killed me for it.’
The worst for verbal executions was Alan Hansen.
‘He only ever spoke when he had a chance of ripping you,’ Hodgson remembers. ‘I cannot believe to this day that he’s become a successful TV pundit because he said so little unless you said something wrong or made a stupid comment. He’d have your life. I honestly can’t remember having a long discussion with him about anything. Kenny always says that he has this amazing ability to retain information: reciting players, clubs, dates of births, nationalities. Maybe that’s why he’s done so well on TV.’
Dalglish was different.
‘Kenny is such a humble person, if I had any problems in my life, I’d ring him first. His opinion counts. My boss at ’Boro before leaving for Liverpool was Bobby Murdoch. Bobby was Kenny’s hero at Celtic, and they knew each other well. Bobby told Kenny to look after me, and although it wasn’t his responsibility to look after newcomers – he wasn’t captain – he still took a personal interest in the welfare of others. He sorted out everything for me: a house, a car, even football boots.’
Souness, or ‘Charlie’, was another friend.
‘Everyone had run-ins with Graeme at some point or another – mainly because he was the most competitive player I’ve ever played with or against. When I was a reserve at ’Boro, we had a training session with the first team and I managed to dribble it round him. Next time I tried it, he just smacked me in the mush.
‘At Middlesbrough, Charlie was the biggest fish about the place. Towards the end, it showed because the club wasn’t progressing to the next level and he was. It caused some unrest, because Graeme is pretty unforgiving when he feels that standards aren’t being met.
‘In Graeme’s final game for ’Boro at Ayresome Park, the final whistle had gone and he was walking off the pitch. Everyone was applauding him as he held the match ball. He then booted the ball 60 metres into the air and the whole place seemed to fall silent. What would he do? He caught it between his calf and his thigh and continued his walk towards the tunnel. He never played again for ’Boro. But only he could have done that.’
On the bigger stage of Anfield, Souness grew more confident.
‘Arrogant. Charlie is arrogant,’ Hodgson continues. ‘It’s just the way that he is. You can see it now the way he sits and talks to Jamie Redknapp on Sky: arrogant. But that’s just him; he’s Graeme Souness for Christ’s sake. He’s one of the greatest players of all time, and that supreme confidence made him great. I love him to bits for the way he is – you need that in a dressing-room.’
When Souness became Galatasaray manager in 1995, Hodgson was a part of the appointment process.
‘I speak to him a lot still, and if there’s a position going somewhere that suits him, I’m always happy to put his name forward. I am good friends with Howard Wilkinson, and, initially, Galatasaray wanted him as their manager. He phoned me and said, “It’s not for me.” Then he asked whether I thought Souey would take it instead. “Moving over there in a new culture with the fans being as excitable as they are, it wouldn’t faze him one bit.” So I phoned Graeme, told him, and that was the start of it. He loved it in Turkey. But only someone with Graeme’s kind of confidence could succeed there.’
Craig Johnston was the second teammate at Anfield with ’Boro connections.
‘If there’s an individual in the history of the game that wanted to become a footballer more than Craig, then I’m yet to hear about him. He became a professional through sheer effort. He wasn’t gifted – he had limited ability and was a fabricated player who made himself what he was. His energy and commitment were unbelievable. Even after he’d earned his big move to Liverpool, he’d be down at the training ground every single day for hours, long after the other players had gone home. Nobody tried harder.’
Hodgson had much in common with Michael Robinson – despite the striker being brought in later as direct competition for his position.
‘Me and Cat were similar. We lived in the same place [on Wirral] and often travelled in together. We were both the type of strikers that needed praise; maybe massage our egos a bit.’
Robinson, indeed, was one of the brighter members of the Liverpool squad.
‘Michael was Michael. You couldn’t call him Mick; you couldn’t call him Robbo. He was quite particular about things like that. He and Souness got along well because Souey considered himself different and was probably intrigued by Michael’s aloof behaviour.’
The only person that could match him for unconventional antics was Bruce Grobbelaar, who was exactly the same in character as he was on the pitch.
‘Brucey got along great with everyone – mainly because he was so daft. He had this habit of exaggerating stories to a ridiculous level … beyond belief, and everybody knew about it. I remember he was looking for a house and I came into the changi
ng room having told the lads that I was going to wind him up. I said, “Brucey, there’s a development I know about being built. It’s right up your street.” I’d completely made the thing up. The next day, I asked him about whether he’d gone to see the place. Brucey goes: “Fantastic – I loved the shower.” The place didn’t even exist. Bruce was different. But a complete nutter.’
Not everyone got along, though.
‘Alan Kennedy was normally involved,’ Hodgson says. ‘And they nearly always also involved Souness. There were a few little scraps. There was only ever going to be one winner. I had run-ins with Ronnie Whelan once or twice.’
The different backgrounds of all the characters that made up each Liverpool team throughout the ’80s contributed towards a unique collective identity. Hodgson believes that no player during his time at Liverpool could be labelled as ‘complete’. As a group, however, Liverpool were a ‘complete’ team.
‘Each player complemented each other,’ he insists. ‘That was the genius of the management and scouting system. You look at Kenny – sometimes he wouldn’t touch the ball for ages and when I was on the bench you would hear fans saying he was lazy. But he was still always two steps ahead of everyone else. He would drop into the hole between midfield and attack, and create space for someone else to run into. Supporters sometimes didn’t see that. Then you had Graeme – he wasn’t a great runner, but he was strong. He had an arrogance about him that intimidated the opposition. Ronnie Whelan – he sometimes got stick in the stands, but I always remember Bob Paisley saying he was the best two-touch footballer he’d ever seen. OK, Ronnie wasn’t anything spectacular in terms of driving through midfield and providing that killer pass, but he’d keep things ticking over. With Graeme alongside him, it worked. All of these different attributes made Liverpool a complete team.’
At the end of his first full season – a campaign where Hodgson had scored nine goals in thirty-seven games – Liverpool cantered to the title, finishing eleven points above Graham Taylor’s Watford. Amongst his teammates he had settled, yet Hodgson admits that he was struggling to match the superior mental attributes of other Liverpool players.
‘Some may argue I didn’t have the ability, but I did, because I’d have never played for Liverpool without ability. I would have gone further, though, if I had been mentally stronger. At Liverpool – like at other clubs – they had excellent players. But there was something about Liverpool and the mentality there that set them apart. The Sounesses … the Dalglishes … the Hansens … little Sammy Lee: they could be nasty bastards when they had to be – in order to get that win.
‘The one thing that Liverpool didn’t do was praise you. I found that difficult to deal with, because I was used to being told that I was the bees’ knees. I’d react well to praise and badly to criticism. Sometimes at Liverpool, it seemed like you’d only get criticism. Around ten games into my first season there, Tom Saunders came to me and said, “Listen: you’re the best player of your type here – relax and enjoy yourself.” That was the only bit of encouragement I ever had.
‘At Middlesbrough, I’d have run through a brick wall for Bobby Murdoch and John Neal. But the relationship between manager and player wasn’t there at Liverpool. Once you signed, you were left to your own devices. But can I say that was the wrong way to do things? Absolutely not – the policy brought about success. Collectively, it worked. But as an individual, it didn’t get the best out of me.’
Hodgson’s doubts didn’t stop him enjoying himself when in the environs of the dressing-room. On the bonding trip to Israel ahead of the European Cup final at the end of the following season, he, Hansen and Dalglish played a trick on the hugely talented but gullible Steve Nicol.
‘Kenny was a very sensible lad and would go to bed very early. If he was tired, he wasn’t afraid of breaking away from the group and returning to his room. We arrived in Israel and for three nights on the trot, rather than stay out, he went to bed early.
‘Stevie Nic didn’t understand this behaviour, so he asks Hansen what’s wrong. Jocky seizes on the opportunity. “The prognosis isn’t good,” he goes. “The doc says it could be terminal.” Jocky then takes it to another level and tells Kenny about the joke. So Stevie goes into his room while Kenny clings to the bedsheets pretending to look ill.
‘Stevie Nic says, “Kenny, you’ve done so much for me; Jocky says you’re going to die.” He’s practically crying by now and the atmosphere inside the room is sombre. Then Kenny jumps up, puts his clothes on and walks to the dining room for his dinner. Everyone was in bulk.’
Nicol, Hodgson says, was a brilliantly unsung footballer who lived on crisps but made the game look easy.
‘Nothing fazed him, you know? He didn’t think about things, and that meant he could walk into a battle without any fear. Everyone loved him.’
After collecting the European Cup in Rome, Liverpool were on tour again a few months later – this time to South Africa for the Royal Swazi Sun Challenge.
‘We had a laugh, but it was a long way and we didn’t want to go back a year later,’ Hodgson recalls. ‘Everyone agreed on it – we’d rather play Tranmere than travel all the way to South Africa for a few friendly matches. We beat Spurs and were set to be presented with a trophy. The lady who organised it all was making a speech, so I filled up a bucket of ice water and poured it all over her. Unsurprisingly, we never got invited back and nobody from the club’s board bollocked me – not even Peter Robinson. I did everyone a favour. It was a relief.’
Hodgson may have been quick to join in a joke, but privately the doubts about his long-term future at the club remained. His rapport with Joe Fagan, particularly, was breaking down.
‘Before facing United in the Milk Cup final, we were due to play Brighton. When I got to the ground ready to fly down south, I felt dreadful. I was in agony. So I told Joe about it. “I got up this morning and I could barely walk.” Although I got through the game – a game I can’t remember much about – I came off the pitch and my temperature was 120 degrees. It was horrendous. But Joe thought I just wanted to miss the game – to make sure I didn’t get injured for the final at Wembley. He said to me, “You’re pulling one here – you just want to be fit for next weekend.”’
After tests, Hodgson discovered that he’d developed quinsy (a more aggressive version of tonsillitis). It kept him out of the team for three months, and he lost three stone in body weight.
‘When I fully recovered, I went to see Joe, who was manager by now. I said to him, “Listen, Joe, I think you owe me an apology.”
‘“Why?”
‘“Because I said I was ill and you questioned my integrity.”
‘He didn’t say sorry. I knew from that moment I was on borrowed time at Liverpool, because our relationship had soured.’
By the spring of 1984, and with Hodgson only featuring occasionally in the team, Fagan approached him with a solution.
‘He pulled me aside and said that he wanted me to become a right-sided midfield player. Sammy Lee was Liverpool through and through, but Joe was looking for an alternative. Sammy’s natural competition in that position was Craig Johnston, but he and Joe didn’t see eye to eye either. I saw myself as a forward, so I said to him, “Nah, I don’t fancy that.”’
After a few months of considering what to do, Hodgson decided to continue his career at Sunderland – the club he supported as a boy.
‘Everything was agreed, but before I went up to finalise the deal Joe had asked me to ring him before inking the contract. I just thought, “Nah, I won’t be doing that.” So I ignored what he said. I only phoned him afterwards, at which point he told me that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.’
Fagan added, ‘I won’t tell you what I was going to tell you, but all I will say is that I wish you well and that I didn’t open any of the numerous transfer requests you had sent to me over the last few months.’
‘It meant that, legally, I was still entitled to the money Liverpool owed me on my contract
. It was a kind gesture from Joe, and I appreciated it.’
Hodgson regrets the decision to leave.
‘To leave Liverpool just two years into a four-year contract – it was completely stupid. It’s a huge, huge regret. Kenny said, “Don’t go.” But I was young, impatient and pig-headed. I won so many medals at Liverpool in a short space of time. But for me, life is about happiness. I wasn’t playing enough at Liverpool, so I wasn’t happy. That’s why I had to walk.’
He also believes that if he had had the blessing of a stable relationship during his time at Liverpool, things might have been different. He married his wife, Debbie, at the end of his playing career.
‘Bob Paisley always said to me, “Y’need to settle down, son. Get y’self a nice woman.” I genuinely believe that had I met my wife then – at Liverpool – I would have had all the stability that I needed to make myself a success. Having the right woman offers a man balance.’
The move to Sunderland didn’t work out.
‘Len Ashurst was the manager. We did the press conference and he turns to me. “Listen, lad, you’re not at Liverpool any more …” He was trying to dominate me. “You’re going to have to change if you want to be successful here.” It was bizarre. He’d just signed me and straight away was trying to undermine me.’
Hodgson later spent time playing in France, Spain and Japan. Despite not being a prolific goalscorer at any of his clubs, Hodgson is proud of his achievements.
‘When I left Gateshead as a teenager, I had nothing. From there, I played and won medals with the biggest club in the world at Liverpool, lived in many different countries and learnt different languages. My Spanish, now, is particularly quite strong. I also managed a lower-league football club, won a few cups and kept the place financially sound.’
As he has already mentioned, he is less proud of his association with the agency world. Such was his disappointment with the Gosling affair, Hodgson and his family moved to Buenos Aires while he decided what to do next.