Red or Dead (15 page)

Indefinitely.

But Liverpool Football Club borrowed halls. Halls from schools. And Liverpool Football Club trained in the halls. The halls of schools. Liverpool Football Club organised friendly games. Friendly games overseas. Liverpool Football Club braved the seas. The Irish seas. And Liverpool Football Club travelled to Ireland. Liverpool Football Club trained in Dublin. Liverpool Football Club played in Dublin. And Liverpool Football Club beat Drumcondra Football Club five–one at Tolka Park, Dublin. And then Liverpool Football Club travelled back. Back to Merseyside, back to school. Again. In borrowed halls. Liverpool Football Club trained and Liverpool Football Club
prepared. Prepared to play, ready to play –

Prepared and ready.

And every day, Arthur Riley and his staff cleared the snow from the ground, the snow from the pitch. Every day, bit by bit, patch by patch. Arthur Riley and his staff placed braziers on the ground, on the pitch. They lit the braziers to warm the ground, to thaw the pitch. They moved the braziers across the ground, across the pitch. Every day, bit by bit, patch by patch. Arthur Riley and his staff put sand upon the ground, sand upon the pitch. To protect the ground, to protect the pitch. Until the ground was prepared,

until the pitch was ready –

Prepared and ready.

On Wednesday 13 February, 1963, Aston Villa came to Anfield, Liverpool. In the snow and in the ice. That evening, forty-six thousand, three hundred and seventy-four folk came to Anfield, too. In the snow and in the ice. In the eighteenth minute, Roger Hunt scored. In the twenty-fifth minute, Ian St John scored. In the twenty-ninth minute, St John scored again. And in the sixty-sixth minute, Hunt scored again. And Liverpool Football Club beat Aston Villa four–nil. At home, at Anfield. In the snow and in the ice. Three days after that, Wolverhampton Wanderers came to Anfield, Liverpool. Again in the snow, again in the ice. That afternoon, fifty-three thousand, five hundred and seventeen folk came to Anfield, too. In the snow and in the ice. In the seventh minute, Kevin Lewis scored. In the
forty-seventh
minute, Ian St John scored. In the fifty-second minute, Lewis scored again. And in the eighty-seventh minute, St John scored again. And Liverpool Football Club beat Wolverhampton Wanderers four–one. At home, at Anfield. In the snow and in the ice. That evening, Liverpool Football Club had not lost in their last twelve games. Liverpool Football Club had won their last nine League games. Liverpool Football Club still fifth in the First Division. Liverpool Football Club still prepared. Liverpool Football Club still ready. Prepared for Burnley, ready for their replay –

On Wednesday 20 February, 1963, Burnley Football Club came to Anfield, Liverpool. That evening, fifty-seven thousand, nine hundred and six folk came to Anfield, too. Fifty-seven thousand, nine hundred and six folk to watch Liverpool Football Club play Burnley
Football Club in the Fourth Round replay of the FA Cup. In the
forty-fifth
minute, Ian St John scored. But at half-time, the score was
one-all.
And at full time, the score was still one-all. And after twenty-nine minutes of extra time, the score was still one-all. But then in the Burnley goal, Blacklaw went to kick the ball upfield, upfield for the very last kick of the match. But when Blacklaw went to kick, Blacklaw delayed his kick. And when Blacklaw kicked the ball, the ball hit Ian St John. St John pounced on the ball, St John darted past Blacklaw. Blacklaw grabbed St John, Blacklaw stopped St John. And the referee blew his whistle. The referee pointed to the penalty spot. Moran placed the ball on the penalty spot. And Moran slammed the ball into the Burnley net. With the very last kick, in the very last second. Anfield erupted. In the very last second, with the very last kick, Liverpool Football Club were in the Fifth Round of the FA Cup –

Liverpool Football Club had been prepared. Liverpool Football Club had been ready. Prepared to play, ready to win –

Always prepared, always ready.

But then the snow came again. And then the ice came again. And so the snow stayed again, and the ice stayed

again. Again the Big Freeze,

still the Big Freeze –

On Saturday 23 February, 1963, Liverpool Football Club should have travelled to Burnden Park, Bolton. Liverpool Football Club should have played Bolton Wanderers. But the game was postponed. Two weeks later, there were still braziers on the Anfield ground, still sand upon the Anfield pitch. But Leicester City still came to Anfield, Liverpool. And that afternoon, fifty-four thousand, eight hundred and forty-two folk still came, too. Fifty-four thousand, eight hundred and forty-two folk surging, fifty-four thousand, eight hundred and forty-two folk singing
LI-VER-POOL, LI-VER-POOL, LI-VER-POOL. LI-VER-POOL, LI-VER-POOL, LI-VER-POOL. LI-VER-POOL, LI-VER-POOL, LI-VER-POOL …

Liverpool Football Club were fith in the First Division. Leicester City were second in the First Division. Leicester City had won their last eight League games. Liverpool Football Club had won their last nine League games. But Leicester City beat Liverpool Football Club two–nil. At home, at Anfield. Leicester City silenced the
fifty-four thousand, eight hundred and forty-two folk inside Anfield. No more surging, no more singing –

Now only silence,

only silence.

In the house, in their kitchen. In the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair. In the night and in the silence. Bill stared at the bowls and the plates, the salt and pepper pots, the jars of honey and marmalade. Bill picked up the bowls and the plates, the salt and pepper pots, the jars of honey and marmalade. Bill moved the bowls and the plates, the salt and pepper pots, the jars of honey and marmalade to the edges of the cloth, to the sides of the table. Bill picked up the four forks and the four knives and the four spoons. Bill held the four knives and the four forks and the four spoons in his hand. Bill stared down at the tablecloth. Bill placed one spoon on the cloth.
Banks.
Bill placed two other spoons in front of the first spoon.
Sjöberg, Norman
. Bill placed three forks in front of the spoons.
McLintock, King, Appleton
. Bill placed the four knives in front of the three forks.
Riley, Cross
,
Gibson, Stringfellow
. Bill placed the last fork in front of the four knives.
Keyworth
. At the table, in the chair. In the night and in the silence. Bill stared down at the three spoons, the four forks and the four knives. And the three spoons, the four forks and the four knives began to move. They began to turn. And the three spoons, the four forks and the four knives would not stop moving. They would not stop turning. The three spoons, the four forks and the four knives spinning and swirling before his eyes. Like cogs. Moving and turning, spinning and swirling before Bill’s eyes. Like gears. Moving and turning, spinning and swirling. Never pausing, never stopping. Only moving, only turning. Like cogs. Always spinning, always swirling. Like gears. At the table, in the chair. In the night and in the silence. Bill felt nauseous, Bill felt sick. Bill dropped the last spoon onto the kitchen floor. Bill rubbed his eyes. At the table, in the chair. In the night and in the silence. Bill stood up. Bill walked back out of the kitchen. Bill walked back into the other room. Bill walked back over to the other
chair. Bill picked up his book from the arm of the chair. His book of names, his book of notes. Bill walked back out of the room. Bill walked back into the kitchen. Bill sat back down. At the table, in the chair. In the night and in the silence. Bill stared back down at the three spoons, the four forks and the four knives. Bill took out his pen. His red pen. Bill opened his book. His book of names, his book of notes. And at the table, sat in the chair. In the night and in the silence. Bill began to write. To write down names, to write down notes. To draw squares, to draw arrows. To make diagrams, to make plans. At the table, in the chair. In the night and in the silence. Before the spoons, before the forks. And before the knives –

It was already light again,

already morning

again.

…

In the dressing room, the away dressing room at Highbury. Bill took his hat off the back of the dressing-room door. And Bill put on his hat. Bill pulled the brim of his hat down low. Bill opened the dressing-room door. Bill stepped out into the corridor at Highbury. And Bill saw the gentlemen of the London sporting press. Bill stuck out his jaw, Bill held up his finger. And Bill said, What an encounter that was. An encounter of epic proportions! Furiously fast and instinctively skilful. It was a battle to delight even the most demanding of
you
. And
more-than
-ample reward for those who endured the foulest of weathers to watch it. More-than-ample reward! To witness such collective enthusiasm. Such rare courage! Such insistence upon attack. And it was a battle, was it not, of two equally powerful but too equally skilful wing-halves? Their boy Eastham and our man Melia. What a battle, what an encounter! One or the other, forever springing forward, forever galloping into enemy territory. Even in such rank conditions, even in such treacherous mud. Neither player could be impeded, neither man could be restrained. You saw the way Melia pounced on every ball. The way he shrugged off every tackle. The sudden changes of direction, the quick feints this way and then that. And then the balls, then the passes he sent. What balls, what passes. The way he sent St John through, the way he put Hunt through. Time and time again. Despite the conditions, despite the mud. And then there was Yeats.
What a player he is, what a man he is. He stood astride the middle like a colossus. A colossus of flesh and a colossus of blood. Time and time again, calmly swatting away the pin-pricks of their passes, swatting them away like an irritating fly. The player was immoveable, the man was imperious. A colossus of flesh, a colossus of blood! As the battle raged about him. But what a battle, what an encounter! You gentlemen must surely count yourselves amongst the luckiest men on earth to have seen such a game, to have witnessed such a match. And to be paid for that pleasure, to be paid for that privilege, into the bargain. To be bloody paid to watch it, to be bloody paid to write about it. I tell you, I envy you, gentlemen. I truly do. I envy you men, I truly do!

But what about next week, asked the gentlemen of the London sporting press. Who will win next week, Bill? In the Cup?

Bill smiled, Bill laughed. And Bill said, Have you not been listening? Have you not heard a word I’ve said? Next week there can be only one victor. Next week there will be only one winner. Liverpool Football Club. You mark my words. And so you come back and see. Because I’m never wrong. I’m never wrong.

…

On the train, the train back to Liverpool. In the carriage, in his seat. Bill closed his book. His book of names, his book of notes. And in the carriage, in his seat. Bill closed his eyes. And Bill felt the wheels of the train beneath him now. Turning, turning. Their movement and their rhythm. Round and round. Movement and rhythm. Forward, always forward.
LI-VER-POOL
. Sweeping Arsenal off the ball, their passes astray and their shooting awry.
LI-VER-POOL.
Again and again, as Liverpool came.
LI-VER-POOL
. Forward, always forward.
LI-VER-POOL
. Always five forward.
LI-VER-POOL
. Callaghan, Hunt, St John, Melia and Lewis.
LI-VER-POOL
. Always backed, always reinforced by Milne and by Stevenson.
LI-VER-POOL
. Forward, always forward.
LI-VER-POOL
. But built on stone, built on rock.
LI-VER-POOL
. Yeats again immoveable, Yeats again imperious.
LI-VER-POOL
. At the back between Byrne and Moran.
LI-VER-POOL
. Yeats, Byrne and Moran protecting Lawrence, shielding Lawrence.
LI-VER- POOL
. Building from the back, but building always forward.
LIVER- POOL
. At every chance, at every opportunity.
LI-VER-POOL
. A throw-in on the left.
LI-VER-POOL
. A deception by Hunt.
LI-VER
-
POOL
.
Hunt slipping the ball through to Melia.
LI-VER-POOL
. Melia shooting.
LI-VER-POOL
. Melia scoring.
LI-VER-POOL
. One–nil.
LIVER-
POOL. LI-VER-POOL. LI-VER-POOL
. And then on a corner.
LIVER- POOL
. Another corner.
LI-VER-POOL
. A corner from Lewis.
LIVER- POOL
. The ball swirling.
LI-VER-POOL
. And their man Barnwell, under no pressure at that moment, but having been harried for an hour, their man Barnwell handling the ball, handling out of the pressure, the imagined pressure, handling out of fear, the very real fear.
LI-VER-POOL
. And then the penalty.
LI-VER-POOL
. And then the goal.
LI-VER-POOL
. From the spot.
LI-VER-POOL
. By Moran.
LIVER-
POOL
. Two–nil.
WE WANT THREE
! The noise from the Liverpool supporters.
WE WANT THREE
! The Liverpool supporters packed into the North Stand.
WE WANT THREE!
Urging Liverpool Football Club forward.
LI-VER-POOL
. Rhythmically.
LI-VER-POOL
. Over and over.
LI-VER-POOL
. Forward, always forward.
LI-VERPOOL.
Movement and rhythm.
LI-VER-POOL
. Round and round.
LIVER- POOL
. Their movement and their rhythm.
LI-VER-POOL
. Turning, turning.
LI-VER-POOL
. Like the wheels of a train. And in the carriage, in his seat. Bill opened his eyes again. And Bill looked down the carriage. Bob, Joe and Reuben were sat further down the carriage with the players. Tonight the players were not playing cards or reading books. Tonight the players were laughing and singing.
WE’RE GOING TO WIN THE CUP.
Tonight the players were drinking.
WE’RE GOING TO WIN THE CUP.
Tonight the players were celebrating.
EE-AYE-ADDIO, WE’RE GOING TO WIN THE CUP.
Today Liverpool Football Club had beaten Arsenal Football Club two–one in the Fifth Round of the FA Cup. And in the carriage, in his seat. Bill smiled. He had not been wrong, he had not been wrong.

…

In the dug-out, on the bench. The Anfield bench. Bill was nervous. And on the pitch, the Anfield pitch. The players of Liverpool Football Club were nervous. And in the stands, the Anfield stands. The forty-nine thousand and thirty-six supporters of Liverpool Football Club were nervous, too. Twice now, Byrne had had to clear off the Liverpool goal line. Time and again, Byrne’s tackles, Byrne’s interceptions, had kept Liverpool Football Club in the FA Cup. And now with nine minutes to go, with a hush across the ground, the
Anfield ground, it was Byrne again, Gerry Byrne again who intercepted another West Ham ball, Byrne again who passed to Gordon Milne, so Milne could send Willie Stevenson away, away over the halfway line, over the halfway line and on to Jimmy Melia, Melia who then passed to Roger Hunt, Hunt still well to the left of the West Ham goal. But this time, and only this time, there was no challenge, no West Ham challenge. And as their keeper came, as Standen came, Hunt screwed the ball, the ball round Standen from an incredible angle, an incredible angle and into the back of the net.
We’re going to win the Cup
. At last, at last. The ball in the back of the West Ham net and Liverpool Football Club in the hat.
We’re going to win the Cup.
At last, at last. In the hat for the draw for the semi-finals of the FA Cup –

Ee-aye-addio, we’re going to win the Cup!

…

In the dug-out, on the bench. The Anfield bench. Bill was furious. The players of Liverpool Football Club had been outplayed, the players of Liverpool Football Club had been outclassed. And the fifty-four thousand four hundred and sixty-three supporters of Liverpool Football Club had been silenced. Liverpool Football Club were losing two–nil to Tottenham Hotspur. At home, at Anfield. In the dug-out, on the bench. Bill stood up. Bill walked down the touchline. Bill walked down the tunnel. Bill walked into the dressing room. Bill left the dressing-room door open. Bill looked around the dressing room. Bill pointed out of the dressing-room door. Bill pointed out into the corridor. And Bill said, Do you hear that sound? That is the sound of laughter. Laughter from the Tottenham dressing room. Because they are laughing at you, they are laughing at Liverpool Football Club. They are thinking the job is done, they are thinking they have beaten Liverpool Football Club. That you have given up, that Liverpool Football Club have submitted. Given up and bloody submitted –

Bill turned back to the dressing-room door. Bill slammed the dressing-room door shut. Bill looked back around the dressing room again. Bill pointed at each player of Liverpool Football Club. And Bill said, Well, let me tell you. Each and every one of you. I despise the word submission, I loathe the word submission. It should be cut out of the dictionary. It should be struck from the language. It should be banished. It should be forgotten. Because I won’t have it. I refuse to
have it! Not here at Anfield. Not at Liverpool Football Club!

In the dug-out, on the bench. Bill did not look at his watch. Bill just waited for the moment to come. The moment Bill knew would come. The moment when Stevenson scored, the moment when Melia equalised, the moment when St John scored, the moment when Lewis scored and the moment when Melia scored again. His second goal, their fifth goal. And Liverpool Football Club had come from two goals down at half-time to beat Tottenham Hotspur five–two at full time.

…

In the dug-out, on the bench at White Hart Lane. Three days later, just three days later. Again. Bill did not look at his watch. Again. Bill waited for the moment to come. But this time the moment did not come. Again. Tottenham Hotspur scored first. Again. Liverpool Football Club equalised. But then Tottenham scored. Again. Tottenham scored. Again. Tottenham scored. And then Liverpool scored. But again. Tottenham scored. And again. And again. And Tottenham Hotspur beat Liverpool Football Club seven–two.

…

In the house, in their front room. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill stared down at his book. His book of names, his book of notes. Bill turned the pages of the book. The pages of names, the pages of notes. Tottenham Hotspur had taught Liverpool Football Club a lesson. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill kept turning the pages. The pages of names, the pages of notes. Three days later, Nottingham Forest had taught them another lesson. Nottingham Forest had beaten them two–nil. At home, at Anfield. Byrne had been injured, Byrne had not played. Moran had been injured, Moran had not played. Backwards and forwards, forwards and backwards. Two days after that lesson, Liverpool Football Club had drawn nil–nil with Fulham Football Club. Away from home, away from Anfield. Byrne had been injured, Byrne had not played. Moran had been injured, Moran had not played. Yeats had been injured, Yeats had not played. Callaghan had been injured, Callaghan had not played. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill stopped turning the pages. The pages of names, the pages of notes. Bill rubbed his eyes. And Bill closed his book. His book of names, his book of notes. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill stood up. Bill walked back into the kitchen. In the night and
in the silence. Bill sat back down at the table, in the chair. The bowls and the plates, the salt and pepper pots, the jars of honey and marmalade around the edges of the cloth, at the sides of the table. In the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair. Bill stared back down at the three spoons on the cloth.
Banks, Norman, Sjöberg.
Bill stared at the three forks.
McLintock, King, Appleton
. Bill stared at the four knives.
Riley, Cross, Gibson, Stringfellow.
And Bill stared at the last fork.
Keyworth
. And again the three spoons, the four forks and the four knives began to move. They began to turn. Again the three spoons, the four forks and the four knives would not stop moving. They would not stop turning. Moving and turning, spinning and swirling. Spinning and swirling, swirling and swirling. Never pausing, never stopping. Swirling and swirling. In the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair. Bill rubbed his eyes. Swirling and swirling. In the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair. Bill closed his eyes. Swirling and swirling. And in the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair. Bill said his prayers. Five prayers for five players. One for Gerry Byrne. One for Ronnie Moran. One for Ron Yeats. One for Ian Callaghan and one for Jimmy Melia. And then in the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair. Bill said one last prayer –