David Peace - Red or Dead

…

In the hotel, in the dining room. After the laps of honour. The many laps of honour. At the celebration dinner. The many celebration dinners. Tom Williams and Sidney Reakes stood up. Tom Williams was now the president of Liverpool Football Club. Sidney Reakes was now the new chairman of Liverpool Football Club. Tom Williams and Sidney Reakes raised their glasses. They proposed a toast –

To Bill Shankly, said Tom Williams. This success is all down to one man. And to one man alone. To Bill Shankly! Bill Shankly is the greatest manager in the world!

In the dining room, at the table. Bill sprung up. Bill shook his head. And Bill said, No, no, no! The success of Liverpool Football Club is no one-man affair. We are a team. We are a working-class team! We have no room for individuals. No room for stars. For fancy footballers or for celebrities. We are workers. A team of workers. A team of workers on the pitch and a team of workers off the pitch. On the pitch and off the pitch. Every man in our organisation, every man in our team. He knows the importance of looking after the small things, he knows how the small things add up to the important things. From the chairman to the groundsman, every man is a cog in the machine. A cog in the team. And every cog has functioned perfectly. In the team. Every man has given one hundred per cent. For the team. And so the team has won. The team are champions, a team of champions. We are all a team of champions! We are all a team. A team, a team …

But amid the popping of corks, amid the clinking of glasses. The slapping of backs and the singing of songs. Amid the celebrations, amid the congratulations. The accolades and the praise. No one could hear Bill. No one was listening to Bill.

…

His jacket stuck to his shirt. His shirt stuck to his vest. His vest stuck to his skin. His skin stretched, his muscles taut. Bill opened his eyes. And Bill tried to shift in his seat. His skin burning, his muscles straining. Bill could not shift in his seat. Burning, straining. Bill tried to move his hands. His hands locked tight around the armrest of his seat. His knuckles white. Bill forced open the fingers of his right hand. Bill raised his right arm. Bill brought his right hand over to the left sleeve of his jacket. Bill pulled up the left sleeve of his jacket. Bill stared down at his watch. His watch on his left wrist. The aeroplane shuddered. Again. Bill gripped the armrests of his seat. The aeroplane dipped. Again. Bill closed his eyes. Again. Bill tried to think of films. The films he had seen in Muirkirk. American films. Bill tried to think of boxers. The fights he had heard on the radio. American fights. Bill tried to think of gangsters. The books he had borrowed from the library. American books. And Bill tried to remember the reasons why he was flying to America. Flying to America to join Liverpool Football Club on their tour of the United States. The reasons Liverpool Football Club had agreed to this tour of the United States. This tour he had been against. This tour he knew would exhaust them. This tour he knew would weaken them. Bill tried to remember the reasons Liverpool Football Club were not at home. The reasons he wasn’t at home. In Liverpool. Or in Blackpool. Or Glasgow. Anywhere but here, on this aeroplane, with his jacket stuck to his shirt, his shirt stuck to his vest, his vest stuck to his skin, at thirty thousand feet, above the sea, flying to America.

…

In the hotel in New York City, in a chair in the lounge. In his blazer, his Liverpool Football Club blazer. Bill saw Bob. Bob walk into the lounge, Bob look around the room. Bob looking for Bill –

There you are, said Bob. There you are, Boss. I’ve been looking everywhere for you! You’ll never guess what I’ve found, Boss? I’ve found Jack Dempsey’s bar! It’s just around the corner, Boss. On the very next block! Come on, Boss. The man might even be there …

Bill looked at his watch. Bill shook his head. And Bill said, Are you mad, Bob? It’s half past eleven. I’m away to my bed, Bob.

Bob looked at his own watch. And Bob shook his head –

It’s not half eleven, said Bob. It’s only half six, Boss. It’s still early. It’s only half past six in the evening, Boss …

Bill looked at his watch again. Bill shook his head again. And Bill said, It’s half past eleven, Bob. Your watch must be wrong.

No, said Bob. You’ve got the wrong time, Boss. It’s half past eleven in England. But it’s only half past six here.

Bill shook his head. And Bill said, You’re wrong, Bob. You’re mistaken. No American is going to tell me what time it is. I know what time it is, Bob. It’s half past eleven. And so it’s time for bed, Bob. So you sleep well now, too. And I’ll see you in the morning, Bob …

…

In the hotel, in the corridor. In his blazer, his Liverpool Football Club blazer. With a sheet of paper in one hand. A sheet of names, a sheet of numbers. Bill knocked on Bob’s door. And Bill waited. And Bill waited. And then Bill knocked again. And Bill waited. And then the door opened. And Bill saw Bob. Bob still rubbing his eyes, Bob still wearing his pyjamas. And Bill said, What’s wrong with you, Bob? Are you ill? Are you sick, man? Are you not well?

No, said Bob. I’m fine, Boss. I was asleep.

Asleep? Jesus Christ, Bob. It’s eight o’clock in the morning. It’s breakfast time, Bob. It’s time to go through the team. The team for the game, Bob. The game today …

Just a minute then, smiled Bob. Just a minute, Boss.

…

On the pitch at Soldier Field, Chicago. Bill was not watching the players of Liverpool Football Club practise for their friendly. Bill was looking up at the stadium. At the Roman columns. Now Bill turned to the groundsman. And Bill said, This is a famous place. A very famous place. I’ve heard of this place. This is the very place where Jack Dempsey fought Gene Tunney in 1927, is it not?

Yes, said the groundsman. This is the place. There were over one hundred thousand people here that night. Gloria Swanson was here, Al Capone was here. There were the Astors and the Vanderbilts. There were politicians and there was even royalty …

Bill nodded. And Bill said, I know, I know that. I listened to it on the radio. And I remember every round. Every jab and every feint. Every punch and every blow. But where exactly was the ring then?

It must have been over there, said the groundsman, pointing to the centre of the pitch where the players of Liverpool Football Club were practising. That’s where the ring would have been that night.

Bill said, Are you certain? I don’t want any guesses now.

Yes, said the groundsman. I am certain. In that centre circle.

Bill nodded. Bill turned around. Bill looked for Bob. Bill saw Bob. And Bill shouted, Bob! Bob! Come over here with me. Follow me, over here. And bring a ball, Bob. Bring a ball over here …

Bill took off his coat. Bill took off his jacket. Bill made a goal with his coat and with his jacket. And Bill said, Come on, Bob. Come on! To me, to me. Pass the ball to me, Bob …

Bob passed the ball to Bill. Bill took the ball. Bill passed it back to Bob. Bob took the ball. Bob passed it back to Bill. Bill turned. And Bill shot. And Bill scored. Between his coat, between his jacket. Bill scored a goal. On Soldier Field, Chicago. In the place where Jack Dempsey fought Gene Tunney. On the site of the Long Count –

Bill looked at his watch. His watch on his left wrist. His Liverpool watch, with Liverpool time. And Bill picked up his jacket, Bill picked up his coat. Bill put on his jacket, Bill put on his coat. And Bill went back to Liverpool. Bill went back home.

…

In the house, in their front room. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill picked up the paper again. The evening paper. Bill turned to the back pages again. The sports pages. Stan Cullis had been sacked as the manager of Wolverhampton Wanderers. In 1949, as manager of Wolverhampton Wanderers, Stan Cullis had won the FA Cup. He had been the youngest manager ever to win the FA Cup. He had been just thirty-two years old. In 1954, Wolverhampton Wanderers had won the First Division Championship. They had won it again in 1958 and they had retained it in 1959. The next year, Wolverhampton Wanderers had won the FA Cup again. That year, they had also been runners-up in the First Division, losing to Burnley Football Club by just one point. Just one point. Two points and they would have won the Double. The first Double since Aston Villa in 1897. Stan Cullis had won three Championships and two FA Cups. Yesterday, the directors of Wolverhampton Wanderers Football Club had sacked Stan Cullis. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill turned to the inside back page of the paper. The page of results, the page of tables. And Bill looked down at the First Division table. Bill looked down the First Division table for the Champions of England. A long, long way down. On Saturday 12 September, 1964, the Champions of England were seventeenth in the First Division. Seventeenth. This season, this new season, the Champions of England had played seven games. They had won two and they had drawn one. And they had lost four games. At Blackburn Rovers and at Leeds, at Sheffield Wednesday and at Leicester. Again. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill let the pages of the paper fall to the floor. And Bill picked up his diary from the arm of his chair. His diary of dates, his diary of fixtures. Bill opened the diary to the next date and Bill stared down at the next fixture. On Saturday 19 September, 1964, Liverpool Football Club would play Everton. At home,