Red or Dead (27 page)

We were beaten by a team of frightened men, said Bill Shankly. Frightened men who scored two flukes. It was their plan from the start, simply to keep us in subjection. They had no real attacking plan. No plan of attack. Only of subjection. Only of theft. And so yes, they won. They might have won. But they stole it.

They stole it through luck –

Because if Roger Hunt and Tommy Smith had been fully fit tonight, we would have won easily. We would have murdered them. Because I am quite sincere when I say to you, they are the worst team we have met in this competition this season. The very worst team we have ever met. In any competition, in any season –

So they were just lucky.

At the airport, Speke airport. The morning after the night before, lost morning after lost night before. Bill and the players and the staff and the officials of Liverpool Football Club got off the plane. The Liverpool plane, the losers’ plane. In silence. The Lord Mayor of Liverpool was there to greet them. The Lord Mayor of Liverpool and four supporters. In silence. Bill and the players and the staff and the officials of Liverpool Football Club got on the bus. The Liverpool bus, the losers’ bus. In silence. Bill and the players and the staff and the officials of Liverpool Football Club got off the bus. In the car park, the deserted car park at Anfield Road. In silence. Bill and the players and the staff and the officials of Liverpool Football Club got into their cars. In silence. Bill and the players and the staff and the officials of
Liverpool Football Club drove back to their homes. Down empty roads, along silent streets. In their losers’ cars, to their losers’ homes.

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 of the house. Bill stepped into the house. Bill closed the door. Bill put down his suitcase in the hall. Bill walked into the kitchen. Bill said hello to Ness. Bill kissed her on her cheek. And Bill said, I’ll just take my case up, love. And sort out my stuff. I’ll be back down in a bit …

OK, love, said Ness. I’ll put the kettle on.

Bill walked back out into the hall. Bill picked up his suitcase. Bill walked up the stairs. Bill went into the bedroom. Bill put down his case on the carpet. Bill walked over to the window. And Bill stared through the glass, through the trees. Into the morning, into Bellefield. Their season not finished, their season not over. Through the glass and through the trees. Bill could see the players of Everton Football Club practising, Bill could hear the players of Everton Football Club preparing. Through the glass and through the trees. Practising for success, preparing for victory. Excited and optimistic. In just over a week, Everton Football Club would travel to Wembley Stadium. And Everton Football Club would play Sheffield Wednesday in the final of the FA Cup. In the bedroom, at the window. Bill believed Everton would be successful. And Bill hoped Everton would be victorious. For the people, the people of Liverpool. But now Bill closed the window. Now Bill drew the curtains. And then Bill walked over to the bed. Bill sat down on the bed. Bill closed his eyes. And Bill put his fingers in his ears. It was going to be a long summer,

a very, very long summer,

this summer of 1966.

…

In the bedroom, on their bed. Bill took his fingers out of his ears. And Bill opened his eyes. Bill had had enough of listening to national anthems. Bill had had enough of watching negative football. Now Bill got up from the bed. Now Bill walked over to the window. And Bill pulled back the curtains. Bill opened the windows. And Bill felt the warm summer breeze. Bill smelt the warm summer air. The Liverpool breeze, the Liverpool air. And Bill looked out through the glass, out through the trees. Into the morning, into the day. Into the
summer, into the autumn. The winter and the spring. Into the new season, the Liverpool season. And Bill smiled, Bill smiled.

…

On the bench, their bench at Goodison Park. Bill watched Ron Yeats, the captain of Liverpool Football Club, parade the Football League trophy around the ground, the Goodison ground. Bill watched Brian Labone, the captain of Everton Football Club, parade the FA Cup around the ground, the Goodison ground. Together. And then Bill watched Roger Hunt of Liverpool Football Club and Ray Wilson of Everton Football Club parade the Jules Rimet trophy around the ground, the Merseyside ground. Together. And then nine minutes later, Bill watched Roger Hunt pass to Ian Callaghan. Callaghan pass to Peter Thompson. Thompson pass back to Hunt. And Hunt score for
Li-ver-pool, Li-ver-pool, Li-ver-pool
. And then for the next eighty-one minutes, Bill watched Liverpool Football Club harry and hound Everton Football Club for every ball.
Li-ver-pool, Li-ver-pool, Li-ver-pool
. Bill watched Liverpool Football Club run Everton Football Club ragged.
Li-ver-pool, Li-ver-pool, Li-ver-pool
. And Bill listened to the supporters of Liverpool Football Club shout,
How did they win
the Cup? How did they win the Cup?
Bill listened to the supporters of Liverpool Football Club sing,
Show them the way to go home, they are tired and they want to go to bed
. And Bill watched Liverpool Football Club beat Everton Football Club one–nil. And Bill watched the players of Liverpool Football Club parade the Charity Shield around the ground, the Goodison ground. And Bill smiled.

In the tunnel, the Goodison tunnel. After the game, after the parade. Joe Mercer shook Bill’s hand. Joe Mercer had played for Everton Football Club. Joe Mercer had played for Arsenal Football Club. Joe Mercer had managed Sheffield United. Joe Mercer had managed Aston Villa. Now Joe Mercer was the manager of Manchester City Football Club –

For the first time in years, said Joe Mercer, I have seen a team, I have seen a side which I wasn’t good enough to play in, Bill …

Bill smiled again. And Bill said, Don’t say that, Joe. Please never say that. But thank you, Joe. Thank you. And you know I’m not a man for fortune-telling, Joe. Not a man for predictions. But I cannot believe there is a side that can come close to this Liverpool side, Joe. I
cannot see another team who can touch this Liverpool team. Not in England and not in Europe. Not this season, Joe. Not this season.

…

In his office, at his desk. Bill read the letters. The hundreds of letters, the hundreds of signatures. Bill studied the petitions. The hundreds of petitions, the thousands of signatures. Bill picked up the bags of letters. Bill gathered up the piles of petitions. Bill walked up the stairs, the Anfield stairs. Bill knocked on the door of the boardroom, the Anfield boardroom. And Bill waited.

Come, said the voice.

Bill opened the door. Bill stepped inside the room.

Have a seat, Mr Shankly, said the directors of Liverpool Football Club. Please have a seat.

Bill walked to the end of the long table. With his bags of letters, with his piles of petitions. Bill did not sit down in a chair at the end of the long table. Bill looked up the long table at the directors of Liverpool Football Club. And Bill waited.

Now what can we do for you today, Mr Shankly?

Bill picked up the bags of letters. Bill emptied the bags of letters onto the long table. The hundreds of letters. Bill picked up the petitions. Bill threw the petitions down onto the long table. The thousands of signatures. And Bill said, You can read these letters. You can count these signatures. That’s what you can do for me today.

The directors of Liverpool Football Club stared down at the letters. The hundreds of letters. The directors of Liverpool Football Club stared down at the petitions. The thousands of signatures. And the directors of Liverpool Football Club shook their heads –

We have made our decision, Mr Shankly.

Bill picked up one of the petitions from the long table. And Bill said, This is a petition from the workers at the Ford car factory in Halewood. This is a petition signed by over ten thousand workers at the Ford car factory. This is a petition that demands you reconsider the ban on television cameras inside Anfield. A petition that says if you do not reconsider the ban on television coverage, then these ten thousand workers will boycott all Liverpool matches. A petition that shows how strongly folk feel about this ban.

The directors of Liverpool Football Club looked down the long
table, across the letters, across the petitions. And the directors of Liverpool Football Club shook their heads again –

You know our reasons, Mr Shankly. The reasons behind our decision to ban television cameras from the ground. We are worried about attendances. We are worried about gate receipts. Very worried.

Bill shook his head. And Bill said, But almost every game we play is sold out. The gates are often locked hours before kick-off. Had we the room, had we the space, we could have double the crowd, sell double the tickets. If we had the room, if we had the space.

But we haven’t the room, we haven’t the space, said the directors of Liverpool Football Club. So we cannot have double the crowd. And so we cannot sell double the tickets.

Bill said, But I have said it before. I’ve told you before. A hundred times before, a thousand times before. We could build a new stadium. A bigger stadium. A stadium for the future. For all the people. So all the people can watch Liverpool Football Club. Not just the people of Liverpool, not just the people of Merseyside. If people see Liverpool Football Club, the supporters we have, the players we have, then people will want to come to Liverpool Football Club. From all over the country, from all over the world. To support Liverpool Football Club, to be part of Liverpool Football Club. But for that to happen, for that to be reality, then people need to be able to see Liverpool Football Club. On television. Then people will see what a team we are, what a club we are. And then the people will come. From all across the country, from all corners of the world. They will come to Liverpool, they’ll come to Anfield –

From near and from far.

…

Again. The aeroplane shuddered. This season, this new season, Liverpool Football Club had played eleven games. They had won five of those games and they had drawn four of those games. And they had lost two of those games. Again. The aeroplane dipped. Liverpool Football Club were seventh in the First Division. Shuddering and dipping. Again. Bill gripped the armrests of his seat. And again. Bill closed his eyes. Bill hated aeroplanes, Bill hated travelling. But Bill had to fly, Bill had to travel. If Bill wanted to win the European Cup. Bill had to fly, Bill had to travel. And Bill wanted to win the European
Cup. More than anything else. Bill wanted to win the one cup that no British team had ever won before. More than anything. The one cup no British manager had ever won before. His jacket stuck to his shirt. His shirt stuck to his vest. His vest stuck to his skin. Bill felt the aeroplane begin to descend. And Bill smiled. Two weeks ago, Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti of Romania had come to Anfield, Liverpool. That night, forty-four thousand, four hundred and sixty-three folk had come, too. Under a cold harvest moon, in a thin veil of mist. Liverpool Football Club were all in red, Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti all in yellow. A field of tulips and a field of daffodils. Under a cold harvest moon and under the Anfield floodlights. Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti had never played under floodlights before. Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti had never played at Anfield before. And under the Anfield floodlights. Under the cold harvest moon, in the thin veil of mist. Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti had massed nine men on the edge of their own penalty area. And Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti had defended and defended and defended. But Liverpool Football Club had attacked and attacked and attacked. Under the cold harvest moon, in the thin veil of mist. For ten minutes, for twenty minutes. For thirty minutes, for forty minutes. For fifty minutes, for sixty minutes. And under the cold harvest moon, in the thin veil of mist. In the seventy-first minute, out on the left, Willie Stevenson had hoisted a long, diagonal cross. Ian St John had risen to the ball. St John had headed the ball. And St John had scored. Under a cold harvest moon, in a thin veil of mist. In the eightieth minute, Bobby Graham’s centre had been diverted by Dragomar to Ian Callaghan. Callaghan had struck the ball on the volley. With his right foot, in off the far post. Callaghan had scored. And under that cold harvest moon, in that thin veil of mist. Liverpool Football Club had beaten Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti of Romania two–nil in the first leg of the First Round of the European Cup. The home leg, the Anfield leg. On the plane, in his seat. Bill heard the aeroplane lowering its wheels. Bill heard the wheels touching the ground. And Bill opened his eyes. Again. Bill released his grip. A little.

In the hotel in Ploieşti, Prahova County, Romania. In the room, on the threadbare carpet. Bill put down his suitcase. Bill walked over to the bed. Bill pulled back the covers on the bed. Bill picked up the pillow. Bill looked under the pillow. Bill knelt down on the carpet. Bill
looked under the bed. Bill went over to the desk and the chair. Bill picked up the chair. Bill carried the chair to the centre of the room. Bill took off his shoes. Bill stood on the chair. Bill stared up at the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. And on the chair, in his socks. Bill whispered to the ceiling, I know you are listening. I know you are watching. Don’t think I don’t know, don’t think I don’t know …

In the hotel, in the dining room. Bill looked around the room. From Lawrence to Lawler, Lawler to Milne, Milne to Smith, Smith to Yeats, Yeats to Stevenson, Stevenson to Callaghan, Callaghan to Hunt, Hunt to St John, St John to Strong and from Strong to Thompson. Bill looked at the plates of food on the table in front of them. Bill looked at the glasses of water in front of them. The forks in their hands, the glasses at their lips. And Bill shouted, Stop, boys. Stop! Put down your forks, put down your glasses. Do not eat a morsel! Do not drink a mouthful! That stuff is contaminated –

That stuff is poisoned!

Bill turned to the waiter. Bill asked for the hotel manager. The manager appeared. Bill walked up to the manager. Bill stared into his eyes. And Bill said, Where are the cans of baked beans I gave you? Where are the bottles of Coca-Cola I ordered from you?

We have cooked the baked beans, said the manager. And your players have eaten them. But I’m sorry, sir. We have no Coca-Cola. This is Romania, sir. This is not America. We have no Coca-Cola.

Bill’s eyes were locked on the manager’s eyes. And Bill said, I do not believe you. Not a word you are saying, sir!

The manager shifted his weight from foot to foot. Right to left. The manager shifted his eyes. Left to right –

I’m sorry, said the manager again. But we have no Coca-Cola.

Bill turned. Bill walked out of the dining room. Down a corridor, into the kitchen. Bill opened cupboards, Bill opened doors. And Bill found a tray of Coca-Cola. A tray of Coca-Cola all wrapped in plastic. Bill picked up the tray. Bill marched out of the kitchen. Down the corridor, into the dining room. Bill put down the tray of Coca-Cola on the dining-room table. Bill ripped off the plastic. Bill went from table to table. Bill went from player to player. A bottle of Coca-Cola for every Liverpool player. And Bill said, There you are, boys. There you go. Go on, boys. Go on. Drink up, boys. Drink up!