David Peace - Red or Dead

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 –

A prayer against a curse.

Four times before, Liverpool Football Club had reached the semi-finals of the FA Cup. Twice Liverpool Football Club had won their semi-final matches. Twice Liverpool Football Club had reached the final of the FA Cup. Twice Liverpool Football Club had reached Wembley. But Liverpool Football Club had never won the FA Cup. Folk said the Liver Birds would have to fly off the Liver Building, off the Liver Building and out over the Mersey before Liverpool Football Club ever won the FA Cup. Folk said Liverpool Football Club were cursed in the Cup. Folk said Liverpool Football Club would never win the FA Cup. Never win the Cup. The Cup was cursed for Liverpool Football Club. But Bill did not believe in curses –

Bill believed in prayers.

…

On the Liver Building, on their towers. In the rain and in the wind. On Saturday 27 April, 1963, one Liver Bird was still looking out to sea, one Liver Bird still looking back across the city. Their wings were spread, but their wings still fixed. In the rain and in the wind. The Liver Birds had not flown away. But on Saturday 27 April, 1963, Liverpool Football Club had travelled away. Away to Sheffield, away to Hillsborough. In the rain and in the wind. Sixty-five thousand folk would travel to Hillsborough, too. Folk from Liverpool and folk from Leicester. In the rain and in the wind. Sixty-five thousand folk would travel to watch Liverpool Football Club play Leicester City in the semi-final of the FA Cup. But on the bus, the Liverpool bus. There was no Jimmy Melia. Jimmy Melia was injured, Jimmy Melia would not play. On the bus, the Liverpool bus. There was Chris Lawler. Chris was still only nineteen years old. And Chris was a right-back. But Chris liked to push forward, Chris liked to attack. And Bill knew Liverpool Football Club had to push forward, Liverpool Football Club had to attack. And so Bill had told Chris Lawler to get on the bus, the Liverpool bus. Because Chris was going to play in the semi-final of the FA Cup. But not at right-back, at right-half. So Chris could push forward, so Chris could attack. But on the bus, the Liverpool bus. Bill knew it was a gamble. In the rain and in the wind –

A gamble and a prayer.

On the pitch, the Hillsborough pitch. In the rain and in the wind. From the first minute to the last, Liverpool Football Club attacked. Attacked and attacked, again and again. They attacked and they attacked. Again and again. They came and they came. Forcing corner after corner. Save after save from Gordon Banks. Again and again, Banks dived. Again and again, Banks punched. Again and again, Banks caught. Again and again, Banks saved. Saved and saved again. From attack after attack. Chance after chance. Shot after shot. Thirty times Liverpool Football Club shot and thirty times Banks saved. Three times Leicester City attacked. The three spoons, the four forks and the four knives . Three times. Moving and turning . Only three times in the whole of the match. And all three times in the first eighteen minutes of the match. Spinning and swirling . In the sixteenth minute, Dave Gibson passed out to Howard Riley. A knife to a knife . Ronnie Moran came to intercept. Moran handled. And the referee blew his whistle. The referee awarded a free kick to Leicester City. The three spoons, the four forks and the four knives . From thirty-five yards out, Riley dropped the ball at the far post of the Liverpool goal and up went Ken Keyworth. A knife to a fork. But Liverpool Football Club were deceived by Keyworth. Deceived by a fork. And in drifted Stringfellow, the gaunt and bony body of Mike Stringfellow, drifting in from the wing to rise clear, to rise clear of Liverpool Football Club, to rise clear and head the ball down, down into the net. A knife to a knife. One — nil. One knife in all their hearts …