David Peace - The Damned Utd

‘Not bad that one you’ve got,’ says Jimmy Bloomfield.

‘Harvey? You’re bloody joking?’ I ask him. ‘He’s fucking shit.’

‘He saved that penalty well enough.’

‘You can have him,’ I tell Jimmy. ‘If you like him so much, him and two hundred grand, and I’ll take Peter Shilton off your hands.’

‘He’ll get you the bloody sack, will Shilton,’ says Jimmy. ‘He’s trouble.’

‘Then he’s my kind of fucking trouble,’ I tell him.

Dirty Leeds concede a goal but still win 2–1 –

Not a bad start; two games, two wins –

‘Not a bad bloody start at all,’ says Jimmy Bloomfield as we shake our hands and say our goodbyes and head down the stairs, round the corners and down the corridors.

* * *

There is always one game in every season, one moment in that game, that one moment in that one game in the season when everything can change, when things can either come together or fall apart for the rest of the season, that one moment when you know you will win this game and then the next and the next, when you know you will have a season to remember, a season never to forget –

The Football League Cup, third round replay; Wednesday 2 October 1968 –

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

This is one of those nights you will never forget. This is one of those nights when everything comes together and stays together, one of those nights when everything changes, everything turns –

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

You went down to Stamford Bridge last week where Chelsea were unbeaten in twenty home games. You went down to Stamford Bridge and you took everything Chelsea could throw at you and you held them 0–0, held the likes of Bonetti, Hollins and Osgood –

Now you’ve brought them back here, here to the Baseball Ground, here where there’s no running track around the pitch, here where you hear every cheer and every jeer from the 34,000 crowd, here where there’s no place to hide –

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

‘ No fucking hiding place,’ you tell the Derby dressing room. ‘Not tonight; tonight we’re going to see who’s fucking who out there .’

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

Green. Webster. Robson. Durban. McFarland. Mackay. Walker. Carlin. O’Hare. Hinton. Hector –

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

That one moment when everything can change, when things either come together or fall apart for the rest of the season, that one moment comes in the twenty-sixth minute of the first half, comes when Houseman jumps a Carlin tackle and slips the ball across to Birchenall, who shoots into the top corner of the net from thirty yards out and puts you a goal down –

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

This is that one moment, that one moment when you look into the eyes of the players out on that pitch, you look into their eyes and down into their hearts and you listen to the noise of the crowd, the thundering noise of 34,000 hearts up in those stands and you listen for the eleven hearts out on that pitch, and you hear those hearts beating as one, and you know that this is the moment you have been waiting for, that one moment when everything changes, when no one gives up, when no one goes home, when no one hides –

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

From the twenty-sixth minute to half-time, from half-time to the seventy - seventh minute, no one hides, no one goes home and no one gives up, not the players and not the crowd, and then, in that seventy-seventh minute, Carlin races through the middle and back-heels the ball for Mackay to hit home from thirty yards out, and everyone knows, everyone knows now –

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

Everyone knows now that when Hutchinson breaks for Chelsea, then Walker will be there for you, not once but twice, and that then Walker will burst forward down the left and cross for Durban to head past Bonetti –

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

And everyone knows now that you haven’t finished yet, that when Bonetti and Hector both go for the same ball that Hector will get there first to make it 3–1 in the eighty-first minute, because everyone knows now that everything has changed, that everything has turned, everything has come together –

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

The things you’ve done and the things you’ve said; the fists you’ve raised and the bruises you’ve kissed. Everything has finally come together and will now stay together –

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

That this will be a season to remember, a season never to forget –

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

‘ What a wonderful display by the team and how wonderful our supporters were,’ says the chairman. ‘This is a night I shall remember as long as I live .’

Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby. Derby –

‘ I was delighted for the players,’ you tell the press, the cameras and the whole wide world. ‘This was easily the best performance since I have come to Derby .’

* * *

I stand in the corridor at Villa Park. I finish my fag and I take a deep breath. Then I open the door to the visitors’ dressing room –

The place goes dead. The players looking at their sock tags; their vain bleeding sock tags with their numbers on; those bloody tags they throw to the home crowd after every game like Roman fucking gladiators or something. Then Norman Hunter pipes up, ‘Brilliant pass that, Gilesy. Beautiful ball for Clarkey. Put it on a plate for him. Lovely.’

‘Forget that fucking pass,’ I tell him. ‘What about the way Clarkey stuck it in?’

Bites Yer Legs shakes his head. Irishman smiles. Sniffer basking –

‘That was class,’ I tell him. ‘And don’t you forget the Irishman wouldn’t have even been on that bloody pitch if Madeley kept him self in better fucking nick.’

‘Played a blinder though,’ says Bites Yer Legs. ‘A fucking blinder.’

‘Better make the bloody most of him then,’ I tell him. ‘Destined for bigger things, aren’t you, Irishman?’

‘There’s nothing bigger than playing,’ says Giles. ‘You know that, Mr Clough.’

The players are watching us now; whispering and wondering.

I leave them to it. I stand outside in the corridor. I light a fag. I listen –

‘No respect,’ I hear them say, ‘for the traditions of Leeds United.’

Duncan McKenzie walks past in his posh new suit. McKenzie turns and says, ‘They weren’t bad, were they? I thought Johnny Giles was ace.’

‘Fuck off,’ I tell him. ‘You can bloody walk back to Leeds for that.’

* * *

The Chelsea game has brought a swagger to your side. To the whole club. To the whole bloody town. But you know in your heart of hearts that it is Dave Mackay who has brought that swagger to this side. This whole club. This whole fucking town. Not you –

In your heart of hearts .

You switch training to Tuesdays so Dave can have Sundays and Mondays off to take care of his tie shop back down in London. You put him up at the Midland Hotel for the rest of the week and move Roy McFarland in there to keep him company while Dave drinks his fill from Monday night through to Thursday night. But then Dave doesn’t touch another drop from Friday morning through to Saturday teatime –

This man is Derby County. The foundation and the cornerstone –