David Peace - Red or Dead

We have made our decision, Mr Shankly.

Bill picked up one of the petitions from the long table. And Bill said, This is a petition from the workers at the Ford car factory in Halewood. This is a petition signed by over ten thousand workers at the Ford car factory. This is a petition that demands you reconsider the ban on television cameras inside Anfield. A petition that says if you do not reconsider the ban on television coverage, then these ten thousand workers will boycott all Liverpool matches. A petition that shows how strongly folk feel about this ban.

The directors of Liverpool Football Club looked down the long table, across the letters, across the petitions. And the directors of Liverpool Football Club shook their heads again –

You know our reasons, Mr Shankly. The reasons behind our decision to ban television cameras from the ground. We are worried about attendances. We are worried about gate receipts. Very worried.

Bill shook his head. And Bill said, But almost every game we play is sold out. The gates are often locked hours before kick-off. Had we the room, had we the space, we could have double the crowd, sell double the tickets. If we had the room, if we had the space.

But we haven’t the room, we haven’t the space, said the directors of Liverpool Football Club. So we cannot have double the crowd. And so we cannot sell double the tickets.

Bill said, But I have said it before. I’ve told you before. A hundred times before, a thousand times before. We could build a new stadium. A bigger stadium. A stadium for the future. For all the people. So all the people can watch Liverpool Football Club. Not just the people of Liverpool, not just the people of Merseyside. If people see Liverpool Football Club, the supporters we have, the players we have, then people will want to come to Liverpool Football Club. From all over the country, from all over the world. To support Liverpool Football Club, to be part of Liverpool Football Club. But for that to happen, for that to be reality, then people need to be able to see Liverpool Football Club. On television. Then people will see what a team we are, what a club we are. And then the people will come. From all across the country, from all corners of the world. They will come to Liverpool, they’ll come to Anfield –

From near and from far.

…

Again. The aeroplane shuddered. This season, this new season, Liverpool Football Club had played eleven games. They had won five of those games and they had drawn four of those games. And they had lost two of those games. Again. The aeroplane dipped. Liverpool Football Club were seventh in the First Division. Shuddering and dipping. Again. Bill gripped the armrests of his seat. And again. Bill closed his eyes. Bill hated aeroplanes, Bill hated travelling. But Bill had to fly, Bill had to travel. If Bill wanted to win the European Cup. Bill had to fly, Bill had to travel. And Bill wanted to win the European Cup. More than anything else. Bill wanted to win the one cup that no British team had ever won before. More than anything. The one cup no British manager had ever won before. His jacket stuck to his shirt. His shirt stuck to his vest. His vest stuck to his skin. Bill felt the aeroplane begin to descend. And Bill smiled. Two weeks ago, Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti of Romania had come to Anfield, Liverpool. That night, forty-four thousand, four hundred and sixty-three folk had come, too. Under a cold harvest moon, in a thin veil of mist. Liverpool Football Club were all in red, Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti all in yellow. A field of tulips and a field of daffodils. Under a cold harvest moon and under the Anfield floodlights. Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti had never played under floodlights before. Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti had never played at Anfield before. And under the Anfield floodlights. Under the cold harvest moon, in the thin veil of mist. Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti had massed nine men on the edge of their own penalty area. And Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti had defended and defended and defended. But Liverpool Football Club had attacked and attacked and attacked. Under the cold harvest moon, in the thin veil of mist. For ten minutes, for twenty minutes. For thirty minutes, for forty minutes. For fifty minutes, for sixty minutes. And under the cold harvest moon, in the thin veil of mist. In the seventy-first minute, out on the left, Willie Stevenson had hoisted a long, diagonal cross. Ian St John had risen to the ball. St John had headed the ball. And St John had scored. Under a cold harvest moon, in a thin veil of mist. In the eightieth minute, Bobby Graham’s centre had been diverted by Dragomar to Ian Callaghan. Callaghan had struck the ball on the volley. With his right foot, in off the far post. Callaghan had scored. And under that cold harvest moon, in that thin veil of mist. Liverpool Football Club had beaten Fotbal Club Petrolul Ploieşti of Romania two — nil in the first leg of the First Round of the European Cup. The home leg, the Anfield leg. On the plane, in his seat. Bill heard the aeroplane lowering its wheels. Bill heard the wheels touching the ground. And Bill opened his eyes. Again. Bill released his grip. A little.

In the hotel in Ploieşti, Prahova County, Romania. In the room, on the threadbare carpet. Bill put down his suitcase. Bill walked over to the bed. Bill pulled back the covers on the bed. Bill picked up the pillow. Bill looked under the pillow. Bill knelt down on the carpet. Bill looked under the bed. Bill went over to the desk and the chair. Bill picked up the chair. Bill carried the chair to the centre of the room. Bill took off his shoes. Bill stood on the chair. Bill stared up at the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. And on the chair, in his socks. Bill whispered to the ceiling, I know you are listening. I know you are watching. Don’t think I don’t know, don’t think I don’t know …

In the hotel, in the dining room. Bill looked around the room. From Lawrence to Lawler, Lawler to Milne, Milne to Smith, Smith to Yeats, Yeats to Stevenson, Stevenson to Callaghan, Callaghan to Hunt, Hunt to St John, St John to Strong and from Strong to Thompson. Bill looked at the plates of food on the table in front of them. Bill looked at the glasses of water in front of them. The forks in their hands, the glasses at their lips. And Bill shouted, Stop, boys. Stop! Put down your forks, put down your glasses. Do not eat a morsel! Do not drink a mouthful! That stuff is contaminated –

That stuff is poisoned!

Bill turned to the waiter. Bill asked for the hotel manager. The manager appeared. Bill walked up to the manager. Bill stared into his eyes. And Bill said, Where are the cans of baked beans I gave you? Where are the bottles of Coca-Cola I ordered from you?

We have cooked the baked beans, said the manager. And your players have eaten them. But I’m sorry, sir. We have no Coca-Cola. This is Romania, sir. This is not America. We have no Coca-Cola.

Bill’s eyes were locked on the manager’s eyes. And Bill said, I do not believe you. Not a word you are saying, sir!

The manager shifted his weight from foot to foot. Right to left. The manager shifted his eyes. Left to right –

I’m sorry, said the manager again. But we have no Coca-Cola.

Bill turned. Bill walked out of the dining room. Down a corridor, into the kitchen. Bill opened cupboards, Bill opened doors. And Bill found a tray of Coca-Cola. A tray of Coca-Cola all wrapped in plastic. Bill picked up the tray. Bill marched out of the kitchen. Down the corridor, into the dining room. Bill put down the tray of Coca-Cola on the dining-room table. Bill ripped off the plastic. Bill went from table to table. Bill went from player to player. A bottle of Coca-Cola for every Liverpool player. And Bill said, There you are, boys. There you go. Go on, boys. Go on. Drink up, boys. Drink up!