Red or Dead (18 page)

In the dressing room, the home dressing room. Bill looked from player to player. And then Bill raised his finger in the air. His finger to his ear. And Bill said, Do you hear that noise, boys? Do you hear that sound? What a noise it is. What a sound it is. That is the noise of Anfield. That is the sound of Liverpool Football Club. And you are used to that noise. You are used to that sound. Because that is our noise. That is our sound. But across that corridor. In that dressing room. The players of Swansea Town have never heard a noise like that before. They have never heard a sound like that before. And they will be frightened, boys. And they will be intimidated. They will be pale and they will be shaking. And when you walk out into that corridor. When you walk out onto that pitch. You will see how frightened they are. How intimidated they are. But you can have no compassion for
them, boys. No sympathy for them. Because not a ball has been kicked yet. The match is not won yet. And so nothing is certain, boys. Nothing is certain. Not until you have won the match. Not until you have beaten Swansea Town. Only then can you have any compassion for them. Any sympathy for them. When you have won the match. When you have beaten Swansea Town …

…

In the drive, in the car. Bill turned off the engine. In the night. Bill stared out through the car window at the house, at their home. In their home, in the night. Ness and the girls would be asleep. Their house warm, their house silent. In the drive, in the car. Bill gripped the steering wheel. Tight. And Bill glanced up into the rear-view mirror. Liverpool Football Club’s assault had never ceased, Liverpool Football Club’s barrage had never lifted. Bill knew what pressure was. Swansea Town had reeled, Swansea Town had tottered. Pressure was trying to find a job. But Swansea Town had refused to collapse, Swansea Town had refused to crumple. Pressure was trying to keep a job. And in the thirty-seventh minute, Swansea Town had scored. And two minutes later, Swansea Town had scored again. Pressure was trying to live on fifty shillings a week. Liverpool Football Club’s assault had only became more ferocious. Their barrage only more intense. Pressure was trying to feed your family on fifty shillings a week. Time and time again, Liverpool Football Club had attacked and attacked. But time and time again, Dwyer had saved and saved. Pressure was not trying to win the League. But just after the hour, Peter Thompson had scored. Now the assault unceasing, now the barrage unending. Pressure was not trying to win the Cup. In the eightieth minute, the referee had blown his whistle. The referee had pointed to the penalty spot. Ronnie Moran had placed the ball on the penalty spot. That was not pressure. Moran had stepped back. Moran had run up. And Moran had shot. The ball high, the ball wide. Moran had missed. That was work. Your work. But still Liverpool Football Club had attacked and attacked. They never flagged, they never tired. That was your reward. In the final five minutes, the last five minutes, Dwyer had saved and saved and saved and saved again. Your work
was
your reward. Until there were no more minutes, until there was no more time. Until Swansea Town had beaten Liverpool Football Club. Until Swansea Town
had knocked Liverpool Football Club out of the FA Cup. Until there could be no more talk of the semi-final. No more talk of the final, no more talk of the Double. Until there was no more talk. No more talk. In the drive, in the car. Until there was only silence. Only silence. In the drive, in the car. In the night and in the silence. Bill put his hand inside his coat. Bill put his hand inside his jacket. And Bill took out his diary. His diary of dates, his diary of fixtures. The dates to come, the fixtures to come. In the drive, in his car. Bill turned the pages of the diary. The pages of dates, the pages of fixtures. Backwards and forwards. Counting the dates, counting the fixtures. The dates to come, the fixtures to come. There were two more months to the season, thirteen more matches to come. In the drive, in the car. Bill stopped turning the pages. The pages of dates, the pages of fixtures. Bill stared down at one page. One page of dates, one page of fixtures. The Easter dates, the Easter fixtures. In the drive, in the car. In the night and in the silence. Bill gripped the steering wheel. Tighter. Bill closed his eyes. Again. Bill prayed for resurrection. Again.

On Wednesday 4 March, 1964, Liverpool Football Club travelled to Hillsborough, Sheffield. At half-time, Sheffield Wednesday were beating Liverpool Football Club two–nil. With twenty-two minutes to go, Sheffield Wednesday were still beating Liverpool Football Club two–nil. If Sheffield Wednesday beat Liverpool Football Club, Sheffield Wednesday would be second in the First Division. If Liverpool Football Club lost to Sheffield Wednesday, Liverpool Football Club would be sixth in the First Division –

Sixth in the First Division,

and out of the cup. But in the seventieth minute, Ian St John scored. And a cry went up, a roar.
LI-VER-POOL, LI-VER-POOL,
LI-VER-
POOL
. And then from out of that cry, from out of that roar, a different sound.
Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart
. The sound, a song.
And you’ll never walk alone
. A song from the supporters of Liverpool Football Club.
You’ll never walk alone
. Echoing, rising.
Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart
. Around the ground.
And
you’ll
never walk alone
. And onto the pitch.
You’ll never walk alone.
And in the last minute, in the very last minute, with Liverpool Football Club still losing two–one, with Liverpool Football Club still sixth in the First Division, still sixth in the First Division and out of the Cup, Willie Stevenson rose from out of a crowd of players. To meet the ball, to head the ball. Into the goal, from out of a crowd.
LI-VER-POOL, LIVER-
POOL, LI-VER-POOL
. And that night, Liverpool Football Club were no longer sixth in the First Division. That night, Liverpool Football Club were second in the First Division. Liverpool Football Club with forty points. But that night, Tottenham Hotspur were still first in the First Division. Tottenham Hotspur with forty-four points. But Tottenham Hotspur had played two games more than Liverpool Football Club. And Tottenham Hotspur still had to play Liverpool Football Club. Twice. Home and then away.

On Saturday 7 March, 1964, Ipswich Town Football Club came to Anfield, Liverpool. That afternoon, thirty-five thousand, five hundred and seventy-five folk came, too. In the forty-first minute, Ian St John scored. In the forty-eighth minute, Roger Hunt scored. In the fifty-fifth minute, Alf Arrowsmith scored. In the seventieth minute, Peter Thompson scored. Two minutes later, Hunt scored again. And in the eighty-third minute, Arrowsmith scored again. And Liverpool Football Club beat Ipswich Town six–nil. At home, at Anfield. It was the fourth time this season that Liverpool Football Club had scored six goals. At home, at Anfield. That afternoon, Tottenham Hotspur lost four–two to Everton Football Club. That evening, Tottenham Hotspur were still first in the First Division. Tottenham Hotspur still had
forty-four
points. But Liverpool Football Club now had forty-two points. Blackburn Rovers also had forty-two points. And Everton Football Club now had forty-two points, too. But Liverpool Football Club had still played fewer games than Tottenham Hotspur, Blackburn Rovers and Everton Football Club. Liverpool Football Club still had games in hand. More games to come –

On Saturday 14 March, 1964, Liverpool Football Club travelled to Craven Cottage, London. And in the rain and in the mud, Liverpool Football Club lost one–nil to Fulham Football Club. In the rain and in the mud. It was a blow, a serious blow. That afternoon, Everton Football Club beat Nottingham Forest six–one. That evening,
Everton Football Club and Tottenham Hotspur both had forty-four points. That evening, Tottenham Hotspur and Everton were first and second in the First Division. That evening, Liverpool Football Club were fourth in the First Division. In the rain and in the mud. It was a blow, a very serious

blow.

Six days later, on the evening before Grand National Day, Bolton Wanderers came to Anfield, Liverpool. That evening, thirty-eight thousand, five hundred and eighty-three folk came, too. In the twenty-eighth minute, Alf Arrowsmith scored. And in the forty-third minute, Ian St John scored. And Liverpool Football Club beat Bolton Wanderers two–nil. At home, at Anfield. That evening, Liverpool Football Club had forty-four points. That evening, Liverpool Football Club were first in the First Division. Again. On goal average. First again, for now. The next day, Everton Football Club beat Blackburn Rovers two–one. That evening, Everton Football Club had forty-six points. And Everton Football Club were first in the First Division.

On Good Friday, 1964, Liverpool Football Club travelled to White Hart Lane, London. That Good Friday, the gates at White Hart Lane were closed an hour before kick-off. That Friday, fifty-six thousand, nine hundred and fifty-two folk came to White Hart Lane, London. And on Good Friday, 1964, just before the half-hour, Liverpool Football Club broke out of defence. Quickly. The long pass to Arrowsmith. Quickly. The square flick to Hunt and an error by Henry. And quickly, Hunt scored. That Good Friday, just after the hour, Byrne passed to Arrowsmith. Quickly. Arrowsmith passed to Thompson. Quickly. The flick to St John, the chip over the defence. And again, there was Hunt. And again quickly, Hunt scored. That Friday, three minutes later, the deep centre into the box from Callaghan. Quickly. And again, there was Hunt. And again quickly, Hunt scored. His third, his hat-trick. And on Good Friday, 1964, Liverpool Football Club beat Tottenham Hotspur three–one. Away from home, away from Anfield.

…

That evening, that Good Friday evening. At their hotel, in the dining room. Bill Shankly, Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan and Reuben Bennett were still sitting around their table. The players of Liverpool
Football Club had already gone up to their rooms. Up to their beds. Tomorrow, Liverpool Football Club would travel to Filbert Street, Leicester. Tomorrow, Liverpool Football Club would play Leicester City. Away from home, away from Anfield. Now the dining room was deserted, now the dining room silent. The waiters began to clear the tables, to take away the plates. The spoons, the knives and the forks –

Stop, shouted Bill Shankly. Please wait! Please leave the knives and the forks. And the spoons …

And the waiters left the knives, the forks and the spoons on the white tablecloth. In piles.

In the dining room, at their table. Bill Shankly stood up. Bill Shankly reached across the table. And Bill Shankly picked up three dirty spoons, four dirty forks and four dirty knives. Bill Shankly arranged the three dirty spoons, the four dirty forks and the four dirty knives on the white tablecloth. And Bill Shankly stared down at the three spoons, the four forks and the four knives on the tablecloth –

This will be them, said Bill Shankly. This will be Leicester City. They are not the team they once were. They have had injuries, they still have injuries. But the system will be the same. Banks, Norman, Appleton dropping back, McLintock, King, Cross, Hodgson, Sweenie, Roberts, Gibson and Stringfellow. That will be Leicester City tomorrow. That’s what we all think? Yes?

Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan and Reuben Bennett stared down at the three spoons, the four forks and the four knives. And Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan and Reuben Bennett nodded.

Right, said Bill Shankly. And Bill Shankly walked over to another table. A table already set for breakfast. Bill Shankly picked up three clean spoons, three clean forks and five clean knives. Bill Shankly walked back over to their table. Bill Shankly arranged the three clean spoons, the three clean forks and the five clean knives on the white tablecloth –

And then this will be us, said Bill Shankly. This will be Liverpool Football Club. We have had our injuries, too. We still have our injuries. Still no Big Ron. But this will be our system tomorrow, our team for tomorrow. Tommy Lawrence. Gerry. Ronnie Moran. Milne. Young Lawler. Billy Stevenson. Callaghan. Hunt. St John. Arrowsmith. And Peter Thompson. That will be us, our team? Yes?

Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan and Reuben Bennett stared down at the three clean spoons, the three clean forks and the five clean knives. And Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan and Reuben Bennett nodded again.

Bill Shankly pointed to the five clean knives –

Callaghan, Hunt, St John, Arrowsmith and Thompson. Those are our knives. Five knives …

Now Bill Shankly picked up one of the five clean knives. And Bill Shankly waved the knife at Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan and Reuben Bennett. And pointed it –

This looks like a knife, said Bill Shankly. But it’s not a knife! It’s a fork. A fork called Ian St John. St John will wear the
number-nine
shirt. He will be listed as a forward. As a knife. But St John will be a fork. A secret fork. Because he will drop back. And so then St John will be a fork and a key. He will be the key for us! Ian St John will be the key that unlocks Leicester City Football Club!

Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan and Reuben Bennett stared at the knife in Bill Shankly’s hand. The knife pointing at them. And Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan and Reuben Bennett nodded. They nodded and they smiled, they smiled and they laughed.

…

On Easter Saturday, 1964, Liverpool Football Club travelled to Filbert Street, Leicester. In the rain and in the mud. On Easter Saturday, 1964, St John had the speed, St John had the stamina. In the mud and in the rain. St John had the strength and St John had the skill. In the rain and in the mud. St John juggled the ball from chest to thigh, St John juggled the ball from thigh to instep. In the mud and in the rain. Like it was cotton wool, the ball was cotton wool. In the rain and in the mud. One minute St John was Doctor Jekyll, the next St John was Mister Hyde. In the mud and in the rain. St John linked defence to attack. From the middle of the pitch, from the heart of the game. St John turned defence into attack. In the rain and in the mud. In the seventeenth minute, St John passed the ball out to Thompson. Down the left, past four men. Thompson crossed the ball to Hunt. On the edge of the penalty area, from the edge of the penalty area. Hunt shot. A shot that nicked Norman, that grazed the outstretched fingers of Banks, that squeezed inside the post and into the goal. In the mud and in the rain. In the eighty-fifth minute, St John passed to Arrowsmith.
A perfect pass, through a pinhead. And Arrowsmith scored. In the rain and in the mud. Ian St John had unlocked Leicester City. In the mud and in the rain. Liverpool Football Club had beaten Leicester City two–nil. In the rain and in the mud –

At last, at last.

…

On Easter Sunday, 1964, in his office. The camp bed sitting in the corner. The bags of mail standing on the floor. The bags and bags of mail. The stacks of letters on his desk. The stacks and stacks of letters. In his office, at his desk. Jimmy McInnes heard the footsteps in the corridor outside. The fast steps, the heavy steps. And Jimmy McInnes looked up from the stacks of letters on his desk. The stacks and stacks of letters. And Jimmy McInnes saw Bill Shankly standing in the doorway. Bill Shankly smiling, Bill Shankly grinning –

Happy Easter, said Bill Shankly. Happy Easter to you, Jimmy!

Jimmy McInnes blinked, Jimmy McInnes smiled. And Jimmy McInnes said, Thank you, Bill. Thank you. And two great results, Bill. Well done. Congratulations, Bill …

Oh, I wish you could have been there, said Bill Shankly. I really wish you could have been there, Jimmy. At Tottenham and at Leicester. The boys were magnificent, Jimmy. Every single one of them. I could not have asked for more, Jimmy. Not from any one of them. They were all superb, Jimmy. Absolutely superb!

Jimmy McInnes smiled again. And Jimmy McInnes said, That’s what I heard, Bill. That’s what people tell me. And it bodes well for tomorrow, Bill. Very well for tomorrow …

Aye, said Bill Shankly. Tomorrow will be another good day. I can feel it, Jimmy. I can feel it. I am not worried, Jimmy. Not worried at all. I am excited, Jimmy. I’m excited for tomorrow. There’ll be a full house, Jimmy. And on Saturday for United. Two full houses …

Jimmy McInnes looked down at the letters on his desk. The stacks and stacks of letters. The bags of mail standing on the floor. The bags and bags of mail. And Jimmy McInnes said, You’re right there, Bill. You’re right. We’ll have to turn away thousands, I reckon. I’ve already been onto the police. Asking for more police. For tomorrow and for Saturday. The demand is simply enormous, Bill. The demand for tickets. It’s unbelievable, Bill. To be honest with you, it’s hard for
me to keep up. To keep up with the demand for tickets, Bill …

But that’s the way it should be, said Bill Shankly. That’s the way I’ve always wanted it to be, Jimmy. The way I’ve always dreamt it would be. The way it deserves to be, Jimmy. For this club, for Liverpool Football Club. The way it has to be, Jimmy. So this is the way it should be. And the way it should always be, Jimmy. Always …

Jimmy McInnes pointed to one of the bags of mail. One of the bags of mail standing by the door. And Jimmy McInnes said, Well, that bag over there is for you, Bill. That bag is all fan mail for you …

That’s unbelievable, said Bill Shankly. That’s fantastic, Jimmy. And I’ll answer them all. I promise you that, Jimmy. I promise you that. I’ll answer them all, Jimmy. Every single one of them …

Jimmy McInnes nodded. Jimmy McInnes smiled. And Jimmy McInnes said, I know you will, Bill. I know you will.

But what about all the other bags, asked Bill Shankly. Who are all the other bags for, Jimmy? Are they for the players then?

Jimmy McInnes said, No. They are all for me, Bill. All for me.

You see, laughed Bill Shankly. You’re still the most popular man at Anfield, Jimmy. You are still the most popular man at Liverpool Football Club. Without a doubt, Jimmy. Without a doubt!

Jimmy McInnes shook his head. And Jimmy McInnes said, No, Bill. I’m not. I wish I was, Bill. I really do. But I’m not, Bill. I’m the most unpopular man at Liverpool Football Club …

Nonsense, said Bill Shankly. Nonsense, Jimmy. I know you try to make as many people happy as you can. I know you do, Jimmy.

Jimmy McInnes nodded again. Jimmy McInnes smiled again. And Jimmy McInnes said, Well, I try, Bill. I really do try.

And that’s all I ask, said Bill Shankly. All I ever ask from anyone, Jimmy. That we try, try to make the people happy …