David Peace - The Damned Utd

Have to fly down as well –

I don’t want to go; not one single part of me. I’d pay good money to get out of it.

Bites Yer Legs comes up to where I’m stood –

‘I’m a bit worried about the way we dealt with the corners on Saturday,’ he says. ‘We’ve got to get that right and I wondered if you had any thoughts?’

‘You’re professional fucking footballers,’ I tell him. ‘Sort it out yourselves.’

* * *

In the 1969–70 season, Derby County finished fourth; fourth in your first season in the First Division. You played forty-two league games, won fifteen at home and seven away; you scored sixty-four goals and conceded thirty-seven; you had a total of fifty-three points at the end of the season, thirteen less than Everton, the Champions, four less than Leeds in second, two less than Chelsea in third, but two more than Liverpool and eight more than Manchester United. Derby finish fourth; Derby should be in Europe next season; in the Inter - Cities Fairs Cup –

But Derby are not. Derby have been banned. But despite the ban from Europe. Despite the boardroom fights. Despite these dark clouds and ominous signs, hopes are still high for the new season, the 1970–71 season –

Hopes on the pitch. Hopes off the pitch. Hopes upstairs. Hopes downstairs –

A new club secretary has been appointed, has been appointed by you –

You didn’t ask the board. You didn’t ask Uncle Sam. You didn’t ask Peter and you didn’t ask your wife –

You just told them all that you had appointed Stuart Webb –

Stuart Webb comes from Preston North End. Stuart Webb is young –

Webby has immaculate suits. Webby has business aspirations –

Burning ambitions. Burning, scolding ambitions –

Webby wants to be in total control of the administration of the club, to expand the promotions, to revive the supporters’ club, the Junior Rams, to initiate awards nights –

He wants to do for Derby off the pitch what you have done on the pitch –

Stuart Webb wants to be you. Stuart Webb wants to be Brian Clough –

Webby wants to be Cloughie .

You can’t blame him. Nobody can –

Everybody wants to be you. Everybody loves you; fathers and sons, wives and daughters. Young and old, rich and poor. Because hopes are high in the poor houses, hopes are high in the posh houses –

Hopes you have raised. Hopes you must fulfil .

Manchester United have come to the Baseball Ground for the big pre-season game; the 1970 Watneys Cup final. In front of 32,000 –

Live on television. Live because of Manchester United :

Stepney. Edwards. Dunne. Crerand. Ure. Sadler. Morgan. Law. Charlton. Kidd and Best (with Stiles on the bench) –

The one and only Manchester United, with Law, Charlton, Kidd and Best .

But it’s your team, your boys, who score four, who hammer in shot after shot, who produce four - or five-man moves with simple first-time passes, it is your team, your boys who find the space, who carve open their defence –

Time after time after time .

Later, the men from Manchester will say this was just a friendly; just another pre-season game; an inconsequential warm-up. But you know there are no such things as friendlies –

Because you know you cannot switch it on and switch it off .

You sit in your dug-out and you watch Denis Law limp off, Kidd and Best fade and Bobby Charlton look so very, very tired, and then you look at your team, your boys; every one of them giving you 100 per cent, because they know you cannot switch it on and switch it off; because they know football is a game of habit; because they know that habit should be winning –

You’ve raised hopes. Hopes you must fulfil –

And you will; you, Peter, Sam and Webby –

The Golden Age here at last .

* * *

In the Yorkshire boardroom, the Yorkshire curtains drawn. Judgement hour is upon them, upon us all. The FA Secretary and the FA Disciplinary Committee have concluded their four-hour meeting down in London. The Leeds board have received the FA statement –

I help myself to a large brandy and take a seat next to Bremner.

Manny Cussins takes out the statement and, in a solemn tone, reads it aloud: ‘Bremner of Leeds and Keegan of Liverpool will each be under suspension for three matches with effect from August the twentieth unless an application for a personal hearing is made by the players…’

Cussins pauses here and looks up at Bremner –

Bremner shakes his head.

‘Both Bremner of Leeds and Keegan of Liverpool will also be charged separately under FA Rule 40 A7 for bringing the game into disrepute by their actions following being sent off the field of play. Both players, their managers and a representative of each respective board are ordered to attend a meeting at FA headquarters on Friday with Mr Vernon Stokes, the chairman of the FA Disciplinary Committee.’

Cussins puts the statement to one side. The eyes of the board are on me now –

I light a cigar. I take a nip of brandy. I turn to William Bremner and I tell him, ‘They’re going to hang you out to dry for this, you stupid bastard.’

* * *

Despite the high hopes, despite the Watneys Cup, there are always the dark clouds and ominous signs; heavy over you, but heavier still over Peter, worried and shitting bricks –

‘ We’re short of pace,’ he says, over and over. ‘We’ll go down without pace .’

Brick after brick after brick; day after day after day –

This is how the 1970–71 season starts; Peter anxious again, screwing up his Sporting Life , chain-smoking and biting his nails, having those dreams again, those nightmares that tell him you’ve shot it, he’s shot it, his days of doubt, his nights of fear –

Only doubts and only fears. No succour, no supper .

Peter thinks you should both have gone to Greece last March; gone to Greece to work for the Colonels for £20,000 a year plus a £10,000 signing-on fee, all tax-free. Peter would have gone, but there was no job for Peter without Brian. In your secret room at the Mackworth Hotel, Peter had begged and pleaded with you to take the job –

‘ I’m not meddling with dynamite,’ you told him and that was that .

Peter thinks you should both have gone to Birmingham last April; gone to Birmingham to work for Clifford Coombs. Peter would have gone, but there was no job for Peter without Brian. Again in your secret room at the Mackworth Hotel, Peter had pleaded and Peter had begged, begged and pleaded, pleaded and begged –

Barcelona. Greece. Birmingham. Coventry. Anywhere but here –

‘ But I’m happy here,’ you told him then, tell him now. ‘We’re on a good thing .’

But Peter’s never happy with your lot; the grass is always greener and your own nothing but a field of weeds and stones; nothing but weeds and stones –

‘ We’re short of pace,’ he says, again and again. ‘And we’ll go down without it .’

‘ Did all right last season,’ you tell him. ‘If it’s not broken …’

‘ And if we go down,’ he says, ‘who’ll want us then, Brian? ’

* * *

I hate fucking flying and this lot don’t make it any bloody better; they don’t talk or joke, don’t drink or smoke, they just sit and stare at the backs of the chairs in front of them. The safety instructions. Me and all –

I think about my wife. I think about my kids …