David Peace - Red or Dead

…

On Saturday 14 August, 1965, Liverpool Football Club travelled to Old Trafford, Manchester. That afternoon, forty-eight thousand, five hundred and two folk came, too. Manchester folk and Liverpool folk. Forty-eight thousand, five hundred and two folk to watch the winners of the Football League play the winners of the FA Cup for the Charity Shield. There were floating banners in the stands, boisterous chorales to the roofs of the stands. In the thirty-eighth minute, Willie Stevenson scored. In the eighty-sixth minute, Ron Yeats scored. But Herd had scored, too. And Best had scored, too. And the Charity Shield was shared between the winners of the Football League and the winners of the FA Cup. And thirteen thousand pounds was raised for charity. Charity.

That Saturday morning, before the match, the directors of Liverpool Football Club had announced that all the players of Liverpool Football Club had signed new contracts for the coming season. That the players of Liverpool Football Club had no more complaints, the players of Liverpool Football Club had no more grievances. That the players of Liverpool Football Club were happy. And Bill Shankly was happy –

I would like to pay tribute to the chairman, the president and the board of Liverpool Football Club, said Bill Shankly. They have given the players of Liverpool Football Club one of the finest deals I have ever known in the game. One of the best deals in the game. And so now everybody is happy. There are no more differences, there is no more unease. And no more distractions. Only work now. Only work!

…

On Saturday 21 August, 1965, Liverpool Football Club travelled to Filbert Street, Leicester, for their first League game of the 1965–66 season. In the thirty-fifth minute, Roger Hunt scored. In the fifty-third minute, Geoff Strong scored. And in the eightieth minute, Hunt scored again. And Liverpool Football Club beat Leicester City three — one. Away from home, away from Anfield. It was a good start. But only a start. Four days later, Sheffield United came to Anfield, Liverpool. That evening, forty-seven thousand, two hundred and fifty-nine folk came, too. But Liverpool Football Club lost one — nil. At home, at Anfield, in their first home game of the 1965–66 season. One week later, Liverpool Football Club travelled to Bramall Lane, Sheffield. And Liverpool Football Club drew nil — nil with Sheffield United. Liverpool Football Club then beat Blackpool Football Club away, Liverpool Football Club then beat West Ham United five — one away. And Liverpool Football Club then beat Fulham Football Club. At home, at Anfield. Liverpool Football Club then drew one-all with West Ham United. Three days later, Liverpool Football Club travelled to White Hart Lane, London. And Liverpool Football Club lost two — one to Tottenham Hotspur. That evening, Liverpool Football Club had played eight games. They had won four games, they had drawn two games. And they had lost two games. That evening, Liverpool Football Club had nine points. That evening, Liverpool Football Club were eighth in the First Division. It was not a good start, it was not a bad start. It was just a start. Just the start.

…

On Saturday 25 September, 1965. In the dressing room, on the benches. In their kits and in their boots. The players of Liverpool Football Club heard the footsteps in the corridor. Fast and heavy. Bill Shankly walked into the dressing room. Bill Shankly closed the door. Bill Shankly looked around the room. From player to player. From Lawrence to Strong, Strong to Byrne, Byrne to Milne, Milne to Yeats, Yeats to Stevenson, Stevenson to Callaghan, Callaghan to Hunt, Hunt to St John, St John to Smith and from Smith to Thompson –

Everybody here today in this room, said Bill Shankly. Everybody here today in this ground. Everybody in this city, everybody in the world. They all know what happened the last time this mob came here. Nobody in this room, nobody in this ground, nobody in this city, nobody in the world, has forgotten what happened that day. They all remember and you all remember. And you all remember the things I said to you that day, the things the people in this ground said to you that day. Well, today, you have the chance to answer me, to answer those people. At last. You can answer us all back, boys. But you all know there can only be one answer. There is only one answer. Five — nil –

Five — nil, boys.

In the thirty-fourth minute, Tommy Smith scored. In the forty-ninth minute, Roger Hunt scored. In the fifty-second minute, Willie Stevenson scored. In the seventy-third minute, Hunt scored again. And in the eighty-ninth minute, with only one minute remaining, Ian St John scored. And a supporter of Liverpool Football Club jumped out of the Kop. The Spion Kop. The supporter of Liverpool Football Club ran onto the pitch. The Anfield pitch. The supporter of Liverpool Football Club gave a handbag to Gordon West, the Everton keeper. And the supporters of Liverpool Football Club laughed. The supporters of Liverpool Football Club roared. And the players of Everton Football Club stood on the pitch with their hands on their hips. The players of Everton Football Club shook their heads. And the manager of Everton Football Club walked down the touchline. The manager of Everton Football Club shook his head. And then Harry Catterick shook the hand of Bill Shankly. And Harry Catterick said, I am stunned, Bill. I am simply stunned. I do not know what to say. I do not understand it. Last week, you lost two — one at Tottenham. Last week, you were rubbish. Everybody said so, everybody told me. But today, you won five — nil. Today, you were brilliant, Bill. Simply brilliant.

Thank you, said Bill Shankly. Thank you, Harry. But you’re wrong. You’re wrong again, Harry. Last week, we were brilliant, too. Last week, we were better than we were today. Much, much better. Last week, we should have murdered Tottenham six — nil. Last week, we should have given them a drubbing. So this was coming to someone. And that someone was Everton. That someone was you, Harry …

After the whistle, the final whistle. In the dressing room, on the benches. Still in their kits, still in their boots. The players of Liverpool Football Club heard the footsteps in the corridor. Bouncing, dancing. Bill Shankly waltzed into the dressing room, around the dressing room. From player to player. Patting their backs, shaking their hands –

You were magnificent, boys. Magnificent. Every one of you, boys. Every single one of you. I could not have asked for more. The crowd could not have asked for more. You have answered back every comment, every question, with a magnificent display of total, team football. From the back to the front, from the left to the right. Every one of you, boys. Every single one of you. Magnificent. I tell you, boys. That is one of the best displays of football I have ever seen in my life. And no one here today will have seen a better display, a better example of team football in this country since the war. Playing like that, playing like you can, we will be the Champions again. We will win the Cup again. And we will win the Cup Winners’ Cup, too. We can win them all, boys. We can win them all! So now you go out there tonight, boys. With your heads held high. And you walk among the people of this city. And you listen to what those people will tell you. Because to a man, they will tell you the same as I’m telling you now, boys. You are the best team in England since the war.

His jacket stuck to his shirt. His shirt stuck to his vest. His vest stuck to his skin. His skin stretched and his muscles taut. Bill opened his eyes again. 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. The aeroplane shuddered. Again. Bill gripped the armrests of his seat. The aeroplane dipped. Again. Bill closed his eyes. And again. Bill tried not to think of the last time he had sat on a plane. The last time he had flown to Italy. The things that happened in Italy, the things that happened in Milan. Addio! The klaxons and the trumpets, the rockets and the flares. Addio! Their fireworks and their smoke bombs, their arrogance and their hostility. Addio! It had been one long carnival of hate, it had been one dark charade of corruption. Addio! A very long, dark night, a very long, bad night. Addio! Filled with potions and filled with spells. Addio! And now Bill was coming back to Italy, now Liverpool Football Club were flying to Turin. Another city of potions, another city of spells.