The Damned Utd (30 page)

But no one wants to say farewell. No one wants to say goodbye
.

So the champagne flows, all thirty bottles of it, all paid for by you, as the
kids run riot and the wives wilt, as the jokes and the stories start, the memories
and the tales
–

The jokes and the stories, the memories and the tales of the games and the
cups; the games and the cups you’ve won; the memories and the tales no one
wants to end
.

‘
If I’m not playing for the Boss,’ says someone, ‘I don’t want to bloody play
.’

‘
Me and all,’ says everyone else. ‘Me and all
.’

‘I reckon we should all boycott the fucking club,’ says someone
–

Then someone else, ‘Let’s bloody train in the fucking park with the Boss.’

‘We should all get on a plane and bugger off to Majorca,’ says another, probably
you as you open one more bottle and order another, drink one more drink
and pour another, put out one more fag and light another
–

‘
Let’s bloody do it,’ says everyone else. ‘Come on, let’s fucking do it!
’

Every player on his feet now. Every player halfway to Spain
–

‘Y viva España,’
everyone sings. ‘We’re all off to sunny Spain
…’

But then the wives get to their feet and sit their husbands back down, calming
them down and squeezing their hands, tighter and tighter
–

Your own wife squeezing your hand the tightest of all
.

* * *

The press conference is late. The press conference is about the Irishman and Tottenham Hotspur. The press conference is not about the Manchester City game; not about the chances Leeds missed; the position Leeds are in. But Manny Cussins has still come along; to show his support for me; his confidence in me.

But the press don’t want to know about Manchester City. The press don’t want to know why the League Champions are just one place and point above the relegation zone. The press just want to know about the Irishman and Tottenham Hotspur –

Thank fucking Christ for Johnny fucking Giles
.

‘As far as I am personally concerned, I think we should all be very sorry to lose him for his playing ability,’ says Manny Cussins. ‘We all value him for his wonderful service with us but would give fair consideration to anything that concerns his future.’

‘Have Leeds United had an enquiry or an offer from Tottenham about Giles?’

‘We’ve had no communication from anyone at Tottenham,’ says Cussins, glancing at me. ‘I think Mr Clough would have told us, had Giles been approached.’

‘Is that right, Brian?’ they ask me. ‘You’ve had no contact with Tottenham?’

* * *

You are stood in the car park of the Newton Park Hotel with the Derby players,
your players, the Derby players and their wives and their kids, your own
wife and your own kids
–

No one wants to get into their car. No one wants to go to their home
–

No one wants to say goodnight. To say farewell. To say goodbye
–

To say, this is the end, and then let go
.

* * *

Round the corner. Down the corridor. There is a pile of letters and a list of phone calls on the desk in the office. I sweep them off the top into the bin and pour myself another large drink. I tilt the chair back on two legs and light another fag; the fortieth of the day –

There are voices. There are voices. There are voices in the corridor
–

Don’s voice; I swear it sounds like Don’s voice in the corridor –

I sit forward. I put down my drink. I open the door –

The voices are gone, but the echo still here –

‘
Are you there, Brian
?’

* * *

Last thing tonight, with a head full of champagne and a chest full of cigarettes,
you pick up the phone and Keeling tells you, ‘They tried to get Bobby Robson
.’

‘
Bobby Robson?’ you ask him. ‘You’re fucking joking?
’

‘
Longson and Kirkland approached Ipswich first thing this morning
.’

‘
He’d never take the job,’ you tell him. ‘Not Bobby
.’

‘
Sounds like you’re right
.’

‘
So who’s next on their list?’ you ask him again. ‘Alf Ramsey?
’

‘
I wouldn’t be surprised,’ laughs Keeling. ‘Alf or Pat Saward
.’

‘
Pat who?’ you ask Keeling
.

‘
Pat Saward,’ laughs Keeling again. ‘Brighton sacked him this afternoon
.’

‘
Brighton?’ you ask him. ‘What fucking division are they in?
’

Jimmy picks me up this morning, picks me up in his brand-new Vauxhall Victor 1800, courtesy of Wallace Arnold Sales and Service Limited and Leeds United AFC –

‘McQueen and Hunter got Magnums, Bates the Magnum Estate,’ Jimmy gushes. ‘Reaney, Jones, Stewart and Duncan all got the Victor 2300; that’s the one your Irish mate drives. Bremner, Lorimer, Harvey and Joe Jordan already have the VX 4/90s. Trevor Cherry, Terry Cooper, Madeley and Clarkey all went for this one, same as me.’

‘That’s lovely,’ I tell him. ‘All one big happy family, eh?’

‘Fuck off,’ he laughs. ‘You’ll be getting yours and you bloody know it.’

‘Is that right?’ I ask him. ‘So what did John McGovern and John O’Hare get then?’

Jimmy stops laughing. Jimmy says, ‘They weren’t there.’

‘I told you,’ I tell him again. ‘They hate us.’

‘Who hates you?’ asks Jimmy. ‘Come on, who hates you?’

‘The players, Syd Owen and Lindley, all the other coaches and trainers, the board, the ground staff, the medical staff, the office staff, the cleaners, the cooks; you bloody name them and they fucking hate us, hate and despise us.’

‘So how come I got a car, then?’ asks Jimmy.

‘Must be something about you I don’t know and they do.’

‘Now you
are
being paranoid,’ he says. ‘Just being paranoid, Boss.’

* * *

First thing this morning, with a head full of aches and a chest full of pains, you
pick up the phone and Keeling tells you, ‘They’re trying to get Dave Mackay
.’

‘
Dave Mackay?’ you repeat. ‘You’re fucking joking with me
?
’

‘
I wish I were, Brian. I wish I were
.’

‘
He’ll never take the job,’ you tell him. ‘Not Dave
.’

‘
Well, Longson went all the way to Northampton to see him last night
.’

‘
Northampton?
’

‘
Mackay was there watching the Forest youth team
.’

‘
He’ll never take it,’ you tell him again. ‘Not Dave. Not Derby
.’

‘
It sounds like he’s already as good as taken it, Brian
.’

‘
You’re fucking joking?’ you ask him again. ‘Not Dave Mackay
.’

‘
Yes,’ says Keeling. ‘Dave Mackay
.’

* * *

Under the stands, deep under those stands, through the doors, right through those doors, round the corner, right round that corner and down the corridor, down and down and down that corridor, I sit in the office and I open another bottle. I open another bottle and I light another fag. I light another fag and I tilt the chair back on two legs. I tilt the chair back on two legs and I close my eyes. I close my eyes and I tilt the chair back –

Further and further and further
…

I tilt the chair back and then I feel the legs begin to give. I feel the legs begin to give until they finally go. They finally go and I fall backwards. I fall backwards and I bang my head on the wall behind the desk. I bang my head and I lie on the floor –

Further and further and further
…

Under the stands and through the doors. Round the corner and down the corridor, I lie on the floor. My brandy spilt and my cigarette out.

* * *

You have gone round to Archie Gemmill’s flat. You and Roy McFarland.
Archie Gemmill and his wife have given you tea and biscuits. You and Roy
McFarland. Now Roy McFarland gets on the phone to Dave Mackay
–

‘
We’ve all got every respect for you, Dave, and you’re our pal,’ Roy tells
Dave, ‘but please don’t come here, please don’t come to Derby
…’

Roy listens. Then Roy says, ‘It’s not fair on you
…’

Roy listens again. Then Roy says, ‘We want Brian back and we think we
can
…’

Roy listens. Roy holds the phone away from his ear. Roy hangs up
–

‘
What did Dave say?’ asks Archie Gemmill. ‘What did Dave say?
’

‘
What do you bloody think Dave Mackay said? He told me to fuck off, didn’t
he? Told me he’s already shaken hands with Longson on it, as good as signed it
.’

‘
So what do we now?’ asks Gemmill. ‘What do we do now?
’

‘
We go see Longson and the board ourselves,’ says Roy. ‘In person
.’

Roy goes to get his coat on, and Archie goes to get his. Then they both stomp
out of the flat and down the stairs to pick up the rest of the first team, to take
them to the Baseball Ground, to have it out with Longson and the rest of the
board. In person
.

You have gone round to Archie Gemmill’s flat. Now you are sat on your
own on the settee in Gemmill’s flat, with a cigarette and with a drink, the
lights and the fire off, wondering what to do with the rest of the day
–

Tuesday 23 October 1973
.

* * *

Under the stands, through the doors and round the corner, I am listening for the feet down the corridor, the voices –

There are voices. There are voices. There are voices outside the door
…

‘Owl thou art and owl thou shall be,’ they whisper. ‘And all the birds of the earth shall peck at thee, shall peck at thee, peck at thee …’

There are voices and there are feet. Feet down the corridor
.

Manny Cussins doesn’t knock. Many Cussins opens the door to the office and throws a newspaper onto the desk and says, ‘I don’t care to be made a fool of.’

I look down at the newspaper. The
Yorkshire Post
. The photograph of John Giles.

‘Well, go on then,’ says Cussins. ‘Read it.’

I pick up the paper. The
Yorkshire Post
. The photograph of John Giles:

‘Mr Nicholson rang Mr Clough last week. He asked permission for him to speak to me and Mr Clough gave him the go-ahead. Obviously I am interested in theTottenham job – anyone who wasn’t would be crazy. I am very keen to go into management but if nothing comes from this I shall be just as happy going on playing.’

I put down the paper. The
Yorkshire Post
. The photograph of John Giles.

‘There are those upstairs in that boardroom,’ Manny Cussins says quietly, slowly, ‘who didn’t want you here. Who said you would be trouble. Too big for your boots, too quick with your mouth. Who said you’d be too eager to try and run the whole damn show. Who said you’d be out of control. Too interested in Number One, too interested in Brian Clough and not Leeds United. Who said you were the wrong man, the last man, for Leeds United. But I was the one who argued against them. Who persuaded them that Brian Clough was the right man, the only man, for Leeds United and, believe me, they took some persuading. But I told them you had the experience, the experience of winning a Championship, of competing in the European Cup; I told them you had the ambition, the ambition to win more Championships, to lift the European Cup; I told them you’d use your experience and your ambition to command the loyalty of your players and of the whole club and that, together, your experience, your ambition and their loyalty, their ability would bring this club the Championships and the cups it deserves and expects –

‘And so here you are; not at Brighton; not in the Third Division. Here at Leeds United, in the First Division, in the European Cup –

‘And that was me, Brian, me that got you here, me …’

I look down at the paper again. The
Yorkshire Post
. The photograph of John Giles.

Manny Cussins doesn’t say goodbye. Manny Cussins opens the door to leave and says quietly and slowly, ‘You’d do well to remember who your friends are here.’

* * *

The Derby County board won’t see the players. The Derby County board
ignore the players’ request for a meeting. But the players won’t leave. The players
stage a sit-in
–

The Siege of Derby.

You have driven back to your house. You have locked your door. You have pulled
your curtains. Now you sit in your house and you watch your television, watch
–

The Siege of Derby –

Alan Hinton parading up and down outside the Baseball Ground. Alan
Hinton with a tea urn on his head. Alan Hinton telling the cameras and the
microphones
–

‘
This is the only cup we’ll ever win from now on
.’

You sit in your house. Door locked and curtains pulled. You listen to your radio:

The rumours that the board are at the Midland Hotel. The rumours that
they are about to announce the name of the new manager of Derby County
–

You switch off your radio. In the dark. You switch on your television
–

Colin Boulton and Ron Webster running down the streets outside the
Baseball Ground. Colin Boulton and Ron Webster banging on the roof of Jack
Kirkland’s car
–

Bloody Kirkland telling Boulton and Webster, the cameras and the microphones, the whole of fucking Derby, ‘You’ll have a new manager in the morning
.’

You switch off your telly. Door locked, curtains pulled. You sit in your house
–

In the dark
.

* * *

Under the stands and through the doors, round the corner and down the corridor, I still haven’t left the office, still daren’t leave the office; the feet and the voices outside the door, whispering and whispering and whispering, over and over and over, the fists banging and banging and banging upon the door, again and again and again, the phone on the desk ringing and ringing and ringing, over and over and over –

‘
Are you there, Brian? Are you still there?
’

I don’t open the door. I don’t answer the phone. I just keep my feet up on the desk, with a fag in my gob and a drink in my good hand –

‘
Are you there, Brian? Are you still there?
’

The door opens and in walks Bolton. In walks Bolton and throws another letter onto the desk and he says, ‘Don’t you ever answer that bloody phone? Upstairs, now.’

* * *

There have been protest marches through the centre of Derby. There have been
rallies in the bingo halls of Derby. Tonight, there is the first meeting of the steering
committee of the Derby County Protest Movement. John and his mate Bill
Holmes pass the bucket around the room. The bucket brings back £150.53½
.

‘The Derby County board will have to listen to us now,’ declares Bill Holmes.
‘The Derby County board cannot ignore the mass transfer request of an entire
first team. The Derby board cannot ignore the wrath of 30,000 protesters
.’

You sit on the stage and you want to believe Bill Holmes. Desperately. But Bill
Holmes is a Nottingham Forest fan, and there are only 300 people here tonight
.

But then Mike Keeling arrives. Mike takes you to one side. Mike gives you
hope
–

‘
I’ve spoken with Bill Rudd,’ Mike tells you, ‘and Bill says he’d consider
taking you and Peter back if you were prepared to toe the line. I told him
everything you told me, about how you’d be prepared to give up your newspaper
columns and your television appearances if they’d have you back, and Bill
said that was good enough for him
.’

‘
That’s fantastic,’ you tell him. ‘Bloody fantastic
.’

‘
It gets better,’ says Mike. ‘Bill thinks that he’ll now also be able to persuade
Innes, and even Sidney Bradley
.’

‘
Fantastic,’ you tell him again. ‘Fucking fantastic
.’

‘
Except for Longson and Kirkland,’ says Keeling. ‘Bill’s been trying to get
in touch with them all day, to tell them he wants another board meeting
–’

‘But?’

‘
But he’s not been able to speak to them, not been able to find them,’ says
Mike. ‘They’re not at their homes, not at the ground and they’re not at the
Midland Hotel
.’

‘
So where the fuck are they then?’ you ask him. ‘Where are they?
’

‘
Nottingham,’ says Mike. ‘Reckon they’re at the Albany Hotel
.’

‘
Has he called them there?’ you ask him. ‘Has Bill tried?
’

‘
He’s tried all right,’ Mike says. ‘He’s just gone over there
.’

‘And?’

‘
And we’ll just have to hope and pray he’s not too late, won’t we?
’

You bite your lip. You close your eyes. You nod your head
–

You don’t believe in God, but you do believe in hope
.

* * *

I walk down the corridor. The photographs on the wall. The trophies in the cabinets. Down the corridor and round the corner. Round the corner to the foot of the stairs. Then up the stairs until there on the stairs is Syd; Syd who says something that sounds like, ‘Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there. He wasn’t there again today. I wish that man would go away.’

‘Pardon?’ I ask him.

Syd stops at the bottom of the stairs. Syd turns back to look up at me and Syd says, ‘Round here they say if you pass someone on the stairs, it’ll lead to a quarrel or a parting, and that you’ll not meet that person again in heaven.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I tell him. ‘Didn’t think I’d be seeing you up there anyway, Syd.’

‘And I didn’t think you believed in God or a heaven.’

‘Having been here thirty-four days,’ I tell him, ‘I’ve changed my mind, Sydney.’

‘Why’s that then?’ he smiles.

‘Well, if there’s a hell like this place, then there has to be a heaven somewhere.’

Syd is laughing now. Really laughing. Syd says, ‘If you think it’s hell now, you wait until you bloody lose at home to Luton on Saturday, away at Huddersfield Town, and then go out of the European Cup in the first fucking round to Zurich.’

‘And that’d be heaven to you,’ I tell him. ‘Wouldn’t it, Sydney?’

‘No,’ he says and turns away, round another corner and down another corridor.