David Peace - The Damned Utd

This feeling of victory. This feeling of winning …

I get washed and I get dressed; a good shave and a good suit; nice tie, clean shoes. I get out my other suit and get out my suitcase. I pack my razor and pack my toothbrush. Then I go downstairs, down to my family. The smell of bacon frying and bread toasting. The sound of eggs breaking and kettles boiling. I sit down at the table and I ask my eldest to pass me the sugar, and he knocks over the salt cellar, spills the salt my way, my direction –

Not superstition. Not bloody ritual and not fucking luck .

I get out the car. I put my suitcase in the back. I go back into the house. I kiss my wife and kids goodbye. I wave to them as I reverse out of our drive and blow them more kisses. I don’t pick up Jimmy Gordon; don’t pick up John McGovern or John O’Hare. Just me today, on the drive north. Just me on this beautiful Monday morning in late August, on my way to work with the radio on, listening to the news –

‘ Kevin started watching Blackpool two years ago. He went to all the home games. I wouldn’t stop him going to matches but I’ve always told him: “Be careful, don’t get into any trouble.” I used to watch Blackpool myself, but the trouble on the Kop put me off and I don’t go now. I think it’s a disgrace. I feel sorry for those who are genuine supporters. They are going to have to do something about it. He was only fourteen years old .’

I switch off the radio as I come off the motorway. Round the bends and the corners to the junction with Lowfields Road and onto Elland Road. Sharp right and through the gates and I hit the brakes hard; there’s a big black dog stood in the entrance to the car park. I hit the horn hard but this big black dog will not move. I start to reverse. I look in the mirror. I see the writing on a wall –

TUO HGUOLC

* * *

Leeds were the shortest ever favourites to win the FA Cup. But Bob Stokoe –

The same Bob bloody Stokoe who looked down on you as you lay on that cold, hard Boxing Day ground and said, ‘He’s fucking codding is Clough .’

— Bob fucking Stokoe hates Don Revie even more than you and so Leeds United lose the FA Cup final to his Second Division Sunderland. Eleven days later, with Clarke and Bremner suspended, Giles injured and Revie supposedly on his way to Everton, Leeds lose the Cup Winners’ Cup final to AC Milan in Greece –

We’ve been robbed, Leeds say. We’ve been cheated –

But so have Derby. Derby are not in Europe .

‘ Trust bloody Leeds,’ you tell folk. ‘I wouldn’t be fucking surprised if they hadn’t lost those bloody finals on fucking purpose! To keep Derby out of Europe! ’

Leeds United have also been found guilty of ‘persistent misconduct on the field’; Leeds United have been fined £3,000, suspended for a year –

This is the final straw. This is what you write in the Sunday Express:

Don Revie should have been personally fined and Leeds United instantly demoted to the Second Division after being branded the dirtiest club in Britain. Instead, the befuddled minds of the men who run soccer have missed a wonderful chance to clean up the game in one swoop. But the trouble with soccer’s disciplinary system is that those who sit in judgement, being officials of other clubs, might well have a vested interest. I strongly feel that this tuppence-ha’penny suspended fine is the most misguided piece of woolly thinking ever perpetrated by the FA, a body hardly noted for its common sense. It’s like breathalysing a drunken driver, getting a positive reading, giving him back his keys and telling him to watch it on the way back home!

This article is the final straw for the Football League. You are charged with bringing the game into disrepute. This charge the final straw for Longson –

Your chairman is not speaking to you. You are in the dock. You are not in Europe. You lock the doors of your house. You pull the curtains and take the phone off the hook. You go up the stairs. You get into your bed and pull your covers over your head –

The 1973–74 season is but weeks away, days and hours away .

* * *

They are dirty and they are panting. The training almost finished, the practice almost done. The sun is still shining, but the rain is now falling. The sky black and blue, purple and yellow. No rainbows here. No smiles. I thought there might be some smiles today. Thought there might be some laughter. Now we are winning. But the only one smiling, the only one laughing is Allan Clarke –

‘You going to give us a kiss every time I score, are you, Boss?’

‘If that’s what it takes to keep you scoring, I will. You big bloody poofter.’

‘You’ll have a pair of sore lips come May then,’ laughs Sniffer again.

‘I bloody well hope so,’ I tell him. ‘I fucking well hope so.’

But there are no smiles today from Harvey, Reaney, Cherry, McQueen or Hunter. No laughter today from Lorimer, Giles, Madeley, Jordan or Bremner –

No smiles or laughter from McGovern or O’Hare either.

* * *

You can see a way out; out of the failures on the pitch, the injustices off it –

Jimmy Hill has jumped ship to the BBC and ITV are desperate, the 1974 World Cup only a year away. ITV offer you a full-time job at £ 18,000 a year; £ 18,000 a year and no directors to deal with, no defeats to suffer –

No victories and no cups, no applause and no adoration, no love –

You want it and you don’t. You don’t and you do –

You take the job part-time. You will travel to London on Thursdays to record one show and travel down again on Sundays to record another –

You don’t ask your wife. You don’t ask Peter. You don’t ask Longson or the board. You don’t ask anyone. You are Brian Howard Clough –

Cloughie, as the viewing millions call you –

And Cloughie doesn’t bloody ask folk –

Cloughie fucking tells them .

* * *

The Monday morning press conference; no long ropes and postmortems today, only garlands and accolades, tributes and compliments:

On Birmingham City?

‘Freddie Goodwin is not entitled to have lost three matches with his side,’ I tell the press. ‘He has an awful lot of talent and they are grafting like hell for him. They are by far, by far not the worst side in the league.’

On John O’Hare’s début?

‘He turned it on from start to finish all over the pitch,’ I tell them. ‘Just you wait until John’s been here a few weeks.’

And as for Allan Clarke’s goal?

‘No one in England could have scored it better than the way Allan did,’ I declare. ‘It was one touch of pure class above all others.’

The rumours of departures and transfers?

‘No one goes,’ I repeat and repeat. ‘No one bloody well goes.’

On the prospects for Leeds United and the season?

‘There’ll be no holding us now,’ I tell the press. ‘No stopping us.’

And tomorrow night away, down at Queen’s Park Rangers?

‘There’ll be no holding Leeds United,’ I tell them again and again. ‘You just watch us bloody go.’

* * *

England will play Poland at Wembley in October. England must beat Poland to qualify for the 1974 World Cup in West Germany. It will be the nation’s most important match since the 1966 World Cup final itself. You will be part of the ITV panel for this game .

Before England, Poland have a warm-up game against Holland; this will be a useful game for you to watch, as a member of the ITV panel –