My Liverpool Home (34 page)

After that loss to Arsenal, the pressure was on us to deliver the title in the 1989–90 season and we didn’t disappoint. Liverpool always reacted to adversity. One of the secrets of Liverpool’s success was their togetherness. When the team struggled for form, Al would shout, ‘Full dog day, tomorrow.’ This was a glorified bonding session, involving clear-the-air arguments, alcohol, pizzas for the boys and jerk chicken for Digger. Such sessions were vital for camaraderie. When Jose Mourinho managed Chelsea to back-to-back titles, it didn’t surprise me to hear that his captain, John Terry, organised get-togethers for the lads at his house, hanging out and playing computer games. At Liverpool, I certainly encouraged the full dog days. As long as none of them ended up in jail, it was all right. Sometimes the boys had a day out at the races, going to Chester or Aintree.

Racing was a major interest in the Liverpool dressing room. We always prayed we would be playing at Anfield on Grand National day – kick-off in the morning, bus revving up outside after the game to take us and the wives to Aintree. On 8 April 1989, we beat Sheffield Wednesday at a canter, winning 5–1, then sped to the course, all the boys piling into a hospitality tent for a raucous afternoon to celebrate the victory and the Grand National’s 150th birthday. By the time Jimmy Frost raced home on Little Polveir, I’m not sure too many of the lads were focusing properly. Those days were special because they strengthened team morale, and also made the wives feel part of Liverpool. I’m sure that’s why the dressing room reacted so strongly after Hillsborough. Wives of the Liverpool players had always got on royally. When the singing started, it was often Tommo’s missus, Marge, leading the way through all the Liverpool songs. When Marge and Tommo started courting, Tommo must have romanced her with Kopite tunes because she knew every word, every verse even to ‘In My Liverpool Home’, which goes on for days.

Using that camaraderie, we tore into Crystal Palace on 12 September 1989, putting nine goals past them. Aldo was leaving for Real Sociedad, so when we got a penalty, I told him to get off the bench, get out there and score it – a hugely emotional moment for him and the Kop.

Rushie’s return had inevitably placed pressure on Aldo, yet it surprised me that Rushie initially attracted some critical headlines, including one that read ‘Rush’s Best Days Are Behind Him’. Newspapers’ capacity for ignorance never ceased to amaze me. ‘Pay no attention,’ I told Rushie. ‘It’s all bollocks. I brought you back. I have faith in you and that’s all that matters.’ Aldo was playing well and I briefly considered using Rush behind him. Rushie could see a pass and could have put Aldo through, but Beardo was doing brilliantly for us in there. Rushie and Aldo played together briefly and successfully, but when Sociedad showed an interest, I informed Aldo.

‘I’m doing you a favour, Aldo,’ I told him. ‘If you want to go, you can go. You’re at a premium now and can cash in.’

It was a really difficult decision to let Aldo go, because he made a huge contribution to Liverpool Football Club. Before he left, Aldo gave the Kop a typical farewell gift – that penalty goal against Palace. The next day, I dropped Palace’s manager, Steve Coppell, a supportive letter, just saying it was a freak result and I knew they’d go on to have a good season. When Palace beat us 4–3 in the Cup semis on 8 April to scupper our chance of a Double, I did look back and think that sending that letter was not one of my wiser decisions. Palace were very defensive in the Cup, Coppell almost ordering a man-to-man marking job on each Liverpool player out of fear of another thrashing. Palace won because of their set-pieces.

I was furious and brought in Ronny Rosenthal for the next game, against Charlton Athletic in the League at Selhurst Park. With Rushie out injured, Ronny readily accepted the challenge of a first start, scoring the perfect hat-trick – head, left foot and right. Ronny had come on trial from Standard Liege and did so well we signed him. His single-mindedness about goalscoring stood out a mile and, although Ronny understood he might be a sub, coming on rather than starting, I liked the way he picked up the game quickly. Many people unkindly remember Ronny’s stay at Liverpool for that miss against Aston Villa in 1992, when he hit the crossbar after rounding Nigel Spink. For me, I’ll always think gratefully about Ronny’s goals that pushed Liverpool past the winning post in the spring of 1990.

A date that should be inscribed on the conscience of all Liverpool fans, players and managers is 28 April 1990 – the last time this great club won the title. We’d just beaten QPR 2–1 and needed Villa to drop points against Norwich City. When word came through from Carrow Road that Villa had drawn, there was an almighty roar. ‘Champions, champions,’ chanted the Kop, even being so gracious as to sing my name.

On 1 May, we were presented with the First Division trophy after defeating Derby County at Anfield. For the first, and last, time in my career, I pulled rank. I put myself on the bench, even though others offered more, and brought myself on for Jan Molby with 19 minutes left. I wanted my last-ever game to be a special occasion, and winning the title was certainly that. If my joy at reclaiming the trophy was immense, so was my delight in the manner in which we’d conducted the campaign. Digger was flying all season, so was wee Peter, and Ray Houghton more than played his part. Ray was a really underestimated footballer, but I rated him so highly for the way he read the game. Ray’s astute positional play was a real asset to Liverpool.

I was particularly pleased for Al, who was able to hold the League Championship trophy up in front of the Kop, and was reminded of the extraordinarily competitive nature of the people in the Liverpool dressing room by his reaction – he collected his eighth title-winners’ medal that year but banged on about the 1985–86 championship. Still does. ‘The record books claim Nealy got one more title medal than I did,’ Al tells me on frequent occasions, ‘but I don’t think he got a medal that year. He left in October. He needed twelve appearances.’ Hansen was as competitive as they come.

Playing alongside him was the hugely experienced Glenn Hysen, who had chosen Liverpool over Manchester United. Glenn brought authority in the air during onslaughts from opponents such as Wimbledon, even Arsenal when Alan Smith was up there. Sometimes he played a bit too deep for us, defending on the 18-yard box when we were used to pushing up, but the likeable Swede soon settled.

When I reached the dressing room after the win over QPR, all the boys were celebrating, and the emotion of the occasion certainly got to Bruce, who threw me in the communal bath, drenching my lovely Candy coat.

‘I’ll be looking to sell you now, Bruce,’ I joked with him.

The truth was so different. The only person’s future preoccupying me was mine. Almost exhausted, I was very frank when PBR and the new chairman, Noel White, called me in to discuss a new contract before summer.

‘I need a break,’ I told Peter and Noel. Surprised, they talked about how vital I was to Liverpool, how I’d feel refreshed after the summer holiday, and I agreed to think it over. Liverpool was home, a huge part of our family life, and Kelly and Paul were big fans. They loved going to matches and being around Anfield. So I decided to carry on, hoping the dark cloud hanging over me would blow away.

‘All right, I’ll have a go, but at least you know about my reservations,’ I informed PBR and Noel at the second meeting. ‘But I don’t want to take money under false pretences, in case I leave. So please don’t give me money. Give me shares in the club. That’s me showing my loyalty to Liverpool, being a shareholder.’

‘We can’t give you shares,’ PBR replied.

‘Look, I don’t want to take the money because I don’t know if I can carry on,’ I replied. ‘If I can’t and I have shares, then I will still have an affiliation with the club, even for the kids.’

‘We can’t,’ repeated PBR. That was that. I couldn’t argue, but I found the board’s intransigence disappointing.

‘Get yourself a good holiday,’ PBR said as I left. ‘You’ll be fine for the start of the season.’

However churned up inside I felt, I returned to work determined to bring more trophies to Anfield. Liverpool enjoyed a storming start but the newspapers decided it was my turn in the public stocks, particularly having a pop over my signing of Jimmy Carter for £750,000. They never understood. Liverpool’s defence had a healthy respect for Jimmy because he had a real good game on the wing against us for Millwall. Ray and Digger were doing brilliantly but we needed a bit of cover out wide. Some newspapers speculated I hadn’t spent more because the transfer budget had been slashed. Anfield teemed with surveyors and builders, transforming the Kemlyn Road at a cost of roughly £4 million, but in all the boardroom meetings I attended nobody ever refused me money to strengthen the squad. Jimmy was what I felt we needed. He had pace, could go right or left, and people forgot he had a great start, being Man of the Match in his first two games, against Villa and Wimbledon. Jimmy was made to feel very welcome by the lads and it saddened me and the boys that he couldn’t maintain his form. I think Liverpool were just too big for him. In the end, Jimmy felt inhibited by Anfield, which was a disappointment because he could have given us an extra dimension.

Liverpool were blessed with the Footballer of the Year in Digger and a striker of the quality of Rushie, and we still led the League, yet the newspapers had the nerve to call us negative when we went to Arsenal on 2 December 1990. For the record, and for the education of those who claimed I picked a cautious team, we lined up: Grobbelaar, Hysen, Burrows, Nicol, Whelan, Gillespie, Ablett, Venison, Rush, Barnes, Molby. And that’s defensive? How could I go for a draw with Molby, Digger and Rush starting, players who amassed 53 goals between them that season? My side at Highbury was designed for victory. Arsenal won 3–0 because they were good and we were poor on the day. One-off embarrassments happen to even the best. ‘Dalglish gave us negative virtues and his side paid a heavy price,’ ranted the
Daily Mail
. What did they want? Ten forwards? Peter Beardsley had shin splints so I couldn’t call upon him, but we still had two attackers on the bench, Ray and Ronny, who both came on, yet I got slaughtered.

I felt some people were out to get me, that an agenda existed against me. Liverpool were top and I was getting panned. Explain that. I knew the Press often found me awkward but I resented being labelled ‘boring’, ‘miserable’, ‘sulky’, even ‘prickly’. Prickly? Of course I was prickly defending the people I worked for and protecting my family. If somebody upset me, I stood my corner. The ‘dour’ perception emphasised how ignorant the papers were – anybody who played alongside me would laugh at that image.

We were sitting on top of the League, so why weren’t all the managers below me getting stick? People queued up to give me a kicking. ‘What we’ve got now is a very imbalanced Liverpool team,’ moaned Jimmy Hill. ‘The great stylish midfielders of Liverpool will be turning over in their graves to see the orthodox and very average way in which they are performing.’ What unbelievable nonsense. My opinion of Jimmy Hill was never shaped by that historic Scottish antipathy towards this opinionated Englishman. I respected Hill for his achievements as a football administrator, particularly with the Professional Footballers’ Association, but not his football philosophies. If Hill sat and talked to me about football, it wouldn’t educate me. I’d accept criticism from people I respected for what they’d done in the game. If I had a constructive conversation with Fergie, Arsene Wenger or Terry Venables, I’d take note if they made a suggestion, but I didn’t take much notice of somebody paid to pass comment on TV, radio or in the prints, saying things they couldn’t really substantiate. Shanks’s advice that ‘newspapers are tomorrow’s fish and chip wrapping’ has always stayed with me, but I must admit to great sympathy for the modern manager, with so many media outlets spouting opinions.

Even Bertie Mee had a go, saying I should use Peter Beardsley more, and he should really have known better. Nobody knew my players better than I did. I knew very well who was best suited to face physical sides such as Millwall, Wimbledon and Arsenal. It was easy for people to criticise – perhaps they thought it might wind me up, maybe even unsettle the players. I don’t know – but this perception that I deliberately used Beardsley sparingly was just plain wrong. I never tried to flex my muscles in a show of strength over Beardsley. I wasn’t so arrogant that I’d sacrifice a result just for my selfish benefit. I explained to Peter he was being omitted against Arsenal for tactical reasons.

‘We’ve got to play some big guys, Pedro. Arsenal are a big, physical team and we have to make sure we can match their physique with ours.’

‘I’m not happy,’ Peter replied. ‘I think I should be playing.’

‘I’m the one who makes the decision. I never made a bad decision when I asked you to come to Liverpool Football Club, did I? If you put your trust in me when you signed, you must trust me now, even if you don’t necessarily agree a hundred per cent. At the end of the day, Liverpool Football Club and the result is more important than any one individual, and that includes me and you.’

I still understood Peter’s frustration because he loved playing. I would have been surprised and disappointed if Peter had done cartwheels. Of the rivers of nonsense flooding through the columns of newspapers, one of the most ludicrous involved the allegation of animosity between Peter and me, even between Marina and Sandra Beardsley. Just because Peter didn’t play every game, the papers concocted an image of neighbours at war – the Beardsleys lived two doors away from us in Southport. What garbage. Paul popped into Peter’s to fix his video. Whenever I saw Sandra pushing Drew in his pram down the street, I’d stop and chat, find out how Drew was doing. Recently, when Drew visited Liverpool’s Academy with the Newcastle lads, I sought him out, had a word and wished him well in his career.

Peter featured regularly enough even when I brought in David Speedie from Coventry City on 31 January 1991. Again, my judgement was questioned in the newspapers, some people claiming he wasn’t ‘a Liverpool player’, but what the hell did that mean? They said John Barnes wasn’t ‘a Liverpool player’ and he was magnificent. I always felt it was good to have different styles, different characteristics. ‘Speedo’ could drop back to be an attacking midfield player if we wanted, although he was not much use defensively. Scarcely 5ft 7in, he was still brilliant in the air, and he was aggressive, bringing a spiky impetus to our attack. We needed a bit more fight at that stage.