David Peace - The Damned Utd

A goal bloody down before you’ve even got off the fucking coach .

Two long halves and ninety minutes later, Derby County have lost 5–0 thanks to two from Giles and one each from Bremner, Clarke and Lorimer –

‘ They didn’t even play that fucking well,’ says Pete. ‘They’re not that good .’

But you’re not listening; you’ve had enough of him, the team, the game –

These fields of loss and fields of hate, these fields of blood and fields of war .

* * *

The long rope. The sharp knife. The loaded gun. The press here, here to watch me parade McGovern and O’Hare, here to listen to me parade my lies and my deceits:

‘I stick by what I said a fortnight ago, that nobody will be leaving Leeds for a long, long time. Invariably when people talk about unloading they mean the very players you would least want to let go. I can honestly say that unloading any of these players has never come into my mind. The two new signings were out of necessity. I am very conscious of the fact that Leeds United are the Champions and that I cannot afford to bring any ragtag and bobtail players here. They have to be the right type of man as well as good players, and I am sure McGovern and O’Hare are tailor-made for this club.’

A question from the front: ‘Any news about Eddie Gray?’

‘It could be another lengthy spell out,’ I tell them. ‘And obviously there’s a question mark over the lad’s fitness.’

A question from the back: ‘There have been reports of behind-the-scenes rows between yourself and Syd Owen; have you any comment to make on these reports?’

‘These reports are disgraceful,’ I tell them. ‘Utterly disgraceful. I have never had differences with anyone at the club staff-wise, none whatsoever. Syd has worked like a slave for me since the day I took over. He is totally honest, he is dedicated and exactly the type of man to get on with me.’

A question from the side: ‘So absolutely no one at all is leaving Elland Road?’

‘There’s a job for everyone here,’ I tell them. ‘Even me.’

* * *

You go to Portugal to watch Benfica. To spy. You don’t take Peter. You take your wife and kids instead. You are glad to go. To get away. You’ve had enough of England. Had enough of Derby fucking County too; their bloody directors and their fans; their ungrateful directors and their ungrateful fans :

‘ They only start chanting at the end, when we’re a goal up,’ you tell the papers. ‘I want to hear them when we’re losing. They are a disgraceful lot .’

Benfica are shit too and are lucky to draw –

You have no doubts. Have no fears –

Not about the Eagles of Lisbon –

You know you can win –

Know you will win .

* * *

I never learn; never bloody learn. Never did and never fucking will. Back in the bar at the Dragonara when I should be back at home in Derby with my wife and my kids. Here in the bar with Harry, Ron and Mike; blokes I’d never met two weeks ago, never even bloody heard of, now my new best mates and pals for life –

‘A drink for all my friends,’ I shout. ‘Another fucking drink, barman.’

On the chairs and on the sofas of the Dragonara Bar –

‘Play “Glad to Be Unhappy”,’ I shout at Bert the pianist.‘“Only the Lonely”.’

On the tables and on the floors –

‘“In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning”.’

On the chairs and on the sofas. On the tables and on the floors. In the lift and in the corridor. In my modern luxury hotel room, in my modern luxury hotel toilet –

Because I never learn; never bloody learn; never did and never fucking will; why I failed my eleven-plus and haven’t got a certificate to my name, not a bloody one; why I scored 251 goals in 274 games but won only two England caps and not any fucking more –

Why I won the Second Division and the league titles; why I reached the semi-finals of the European Cup and why one day very soon I’ll win the bloody cup itself –

Because I never learn; never bloody learn. Never did and never fucking will –

Because I’m Brian bloody Clough. Face fucking down on the floor tonight –

The future bloody manager of England, face fucking down on the floor.

Here is Europe again; your hopes and your dreams. The hopes and the dreams that keep you here, home to Benfica –

Derby County vs Benfica in the second round of the European Cup .

You can’t sleep. You can’t eat. You don’t believe in luck. You don’t believe in prayers, so you can only plot, only plot and scheme :

You had the groundsman pump half the river Derwent onto the pitch the night before, turning the Baseball Ground into a bog. You have Kevin Hector carried down the narrow corridor into the treatment room. You have the team doctor pump Kevin Hector full of cortisone an hour before kick-off; the hour before the Eagles of Lisbon are supposed to feast upon the Rams of Derby –

The press have given you no chance. The press have written you off :

Hard luck, Cloughie, they all write . This time you’re out of your class.

Pete pins up these cuttings in the dressing room; this is where you and Pete are at your best, in the dressing room, beneath these cuttings, with ten minutes to kick-off. You’ve asked Pete to run through their players, who to watch for and what to watch them for, something you never usually do, never usually give a fuck about. Tonight’s no different. Pete looks down at the piece of paper in his hand then he looks back up at your team, your boys, and he screws up that piece of paper –

‘ No sweat,’ he says. ‘You’ve nothing to worry about with this lot .’

Pete’s right, you’re right; this is one of those nights you’ve dreamt of; one of those nights you were born and live for, and, despite your comments, despite your criticisms, over 38,000 people are here to share this night with you, this night when you sweep aside Benfica and Eusebio from the first minute to the last, from the minute McFarland climbs above their defence to head home Hinton’s cross, from the minute McFarland nods down another Hinton cross for Hector to score with a left-foot shot into the top corner, from the minute McGovern takes hold of a Daniel lob to score from the edge of the area, from the first minute to the last —

‘Unbelievable,’ Malcolm Allison tells you at half-time. ‘Fucking unbelievable .’

You put your head around that dressing-room door and you simply tell them, ‘You are brilliant, each and every one of you .’

Boulton. Robson. Daniel. Hennessey. McFarland. Todd. McGovern. Gemmill. O’Hare. Hector and Hinton –

Derby County; your team, your boys .

Tonight is everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Everything you’ve ever worked for. Everything you were born and live for. Plotted and schemed for –

Tonight is vindication. Tonight is justification –

Tonight is your revenge, revenge, revenge –

Tonight is Derby County 3, Benfica 0 –

25 October 1972 –

Tonight you have only one word for the press after this game, one word for your team, your boys, and tonight that word is ‘Magical ’.

* * *

This is another of his traditions, another of his bloody routines, another of his fucking rituals. Tonight is my first home game at Elland Road; home to Queen’s Park Rangers. But we don’t meet at Elland Road; we meet at the Craiglands Hotel, Ilkley –

Fucking Ilkley ; middle of the moors, middle of bloody nowhere .