Two Tribes_Liverpool, Everton and a City on the Brink

by Tony Evans

  The sweetener offered for the first division clubs – and a tactic designed to break the Ken Bates–Ron Noades axis – was that the entire top flight would share 50 per cent of revenue. The problem was getting the clubs to agree the deal.

  They met at Villa Park in March and the Big Five outlined their strategy. It was enough to get the deal done. Before the ten-point plan, the polling structure of the Football League gave each of the 46 first and second division clubs – the full members – a single vote each. Four associate member votes represented the interests of the third and fourth divisions. Any rule change required three-quarters – 37 – of the votes.

  Bates and Noades could rally enough of the smaller fry to ensure the clubs resisted being financially bullied by the Big Five. The new plan presented by the powerful quintet tried to get round this by suggesting that those in the first division should get two votes each and the determining majority should be reduced to two-thirds.

  Two things forced the plan through. The Big Five were not too greedy. The first division clubs were happy to share 50 per cent of the bounty. Secondly, they managed to change the balloting system.

  Bates and Noades rejected giving the first division clubs two votes – both ran teams who bounced up and down and could not be secure about their top-flight status. Jimmy Hill, the Coventry City chairman and Match of the Day presenter, proposed a compromise. Each of English football’s top 22 clubs would be granted one and a half votes. The deal was agreed.

  The AGM took place at Heathrow in April. The ten-point plan was ratified. A breakaway had been averted – for the moment. The pace of change quickened even though Bates and Noades were mollified in the short term.

  16

  Clowning around

  Everton started March in an apparently unassailable position. On the first day of the month, they were six points clear of Manchester United, 11 points ahead of Liverpool. Chelsea and West Ham were 14 adrift. The London clubs had games in hand but the champions had dropped just two points since before Christmas.

  Steve Nicol went up to Glasgow to tape a World Cup song with the Scotland squad. They had qualified for the tournament in Mexico after a two-legged play-off with Australia and were keen to put out a record. Nicol travelled with Graeme Sharp and the conversation between the friends was not always amicable.

  ‘I came back on the train with Sharpy,’ Nicol said. ‘We looked at the games left and I told him we had no chance of catching them.’

  The Everton striker had experienced enough of the Merseyside rivalry to dismiss Nicol’s words. ‘He said, “You’re sandbagging me,”’ the Liverpool defender recalled. ‘He still thinks I was. I wasn’t.’

  With their season hanging by a thread, many Kopites had already come to a verdict on Dalglish’s team. They were the worst Liverpool side since the early 1970s.

  The criticism was harsh but not entirely undeserved. It was a team in transition with an inexperienced manager. By contrast, Everton looked a much more coherent, well-developed unit. Many of their rivals thought so, too.

  ‘Everton were consistently the best team of the mid eighties,’ Tony Cottee said. The West Ham striker was impressed by the way Howard Kendall’s side put pressure on the opposition. ‘They were relentless. They never gave you a second to settle.’

  Ron Atkinson agreed. ‘They were very good, very efficient, very hard to play against,’ the Manchester United manager said. ‘Howard was very methodical. They hit balls up to the big men and got the runners moving off them. They had a group of terriers in midfield. Everyone knew their job. They were direct and beautifully balanced.’

  Dalglish was struggling to get his balance right. To many observers, Liverpool’s problems started in goal. Grobbelaar was a liability. The Zimbabwean had now been first choice for five years and shown little sign of throwing off the mental lapses that had characterized his career. The position that should be the most reliable in any team was the most erratic.

  The back four were the best in the division. Steve Nicol had taken over at right back from Phil Neal, who had been the mainstay of the defence for 11 years. Nicol was the best in that position in football. The Scot had superb fitness, which amazed his teammates because Nicol’s diet was appalling. He was known to eat six or seven packets of crisps at a sitting. The 24-year-old smoked, too, aggravating Dalglish by sneakily lighting up on the team coach. He could drink with the best of them but never stopped running for 90 minutes. Nicol’s versatility was such that his manager shifted him around almost every position on the pitch. Had he spent his career in the right-back role rather than filling in the gaps in the team, Nicol might be regarded as the greatest in that position in the history of the game.

  At left back, Jim Beglin was beginning to make an impression. The 22-year-old Irishman had replaced another old stager, Alan Kennedy, who had been shipped out to Sunderland early in the season. The newcomer was inexperienced but was a good tackler and a fine user of the ball. Both full backs were keen to get forward.

  The centre-back partnership was one of the finest in football. Alan Hansen and Mark Lawrenson were quick, good tacklers, magnificent readers of the game and both were brilliant with the ball at their feet. They sometimes found physical centre forwards a challenge but few got the better of them.

  Gary Gillespie, their back-up, was of the same mould but nowhere near as talented. He was a good defender, though, and would have been an automatic first choice for most first division teams. Hansen and Lawrenson set the bar so high that even top-class centre backs looked a notch below their level. ‘Hansen and Lawrenson were the best central defence pairing I’ve seen,’ Ron Atkinson said. ‘Individually they were not the best in their positions but together they were brilliant.’

  Steve McMahon was a growing influence in midfield. The Scouser injected a dose of nastiness into the side and his combative nature gave Liverpool the bite that had been missing since Graeme Souness departed in 1984.

  Jan Mølby was developing as the creative focus of the side. The big Dane was not the fittest but his touch and vision were sublime. Someone had to do his running, though.

  Craig Johnston was the man for that job. The Australian had come a long way from New South Wales and taken his talent further than anyone had a right to expect. He talked about himself as ‘the worst player in the best team in the world’. He undersold his own contribution.

  Ronnie Whelan played on the left and was in the throes of transition from a free-scoring attacking youngster to a more disciplined midfielder. Few Liverpool players have ever used space better when the opposition had the ball. He could shut down a player’s options by getting into a position that would make the passer think twice before attempting to find a teammate.

  Sammy Lee was another of the old guard who was struggling to find a place in Liverpool’s new era. The little Scouser had been the engine room of the midfield for most of the decade. Now injuries were catching up with him. When fit, no one was more reliable or put in more effort.

  Kevin MacDonald was another option in midfield. The rangy Scot perhaps lacked a little class and pace but he had a clever approach to the game and fine defensive qualities. John Wark gave Dalglish a very different alternative. The former Ipswich Town man had the knack of arriving in the opposition area at the right time and scored vital goals. His influence elsewhere on the pitch was limited.

  Paul Walsh was the player meant to fill the void left as Dalglish’s career wound down. He won the PFA’s Young Player of the Year award in 1984 and there was competition between Liverpool and Manchester United to sign him. He had just begun to show his worth – scoring 18 goals in 25 matches in all competitions – when he ruptured his ligaments against United.

  With Walsh gone for the foreseeable future, Liverpool had few options up front but the two players available were the envy of Europe. Ian Rush had consistently been the best striker on the Continent for the first half of the decade. The Welshman was a superb forward but also Liverpool’s first line of defence. He pres
sed opposition defenders and was responsible for many hurried passes that allowed the Reds to regain possession. Lineker was now pretender to his goalscoring crown but Rush was never going to give up his reputation as the best striker in the first division lightly.

  Rush was one of the great predators and derby matches were where he shone brightest. He signed from Chester City in 1980 for £300,000, a record price for a teenager. Geoff Twentyman, Liverpool’s legendary scout, put his reputation on the line to sign the kid from St Asaph. Twentyman later said, ‘I watched him six times and, finally, at an away game at Rotherham, I decided that despite his youth we had to strike quickly.’ It was a huge gamble. ‘A lot of other clubs were holding back, waiting for further proof,’ Twentyman said. ‘Liverpool took some criticism at first when people said it was too much for a teenager.’

  It was certainly too big a move for the youngster to handle. He did not want to go to Anfield. He thought his wage demands might force the transfer to break down. Rush demanded £100 per week. He was shocked to find his new club were offering £300.

  Twentyman believed in the teenager but few others at Anfield had such conviction. One afternoon the scout was walking down a corridor at the ground when a director passed him and hissed, ‘That’s a lot of money you’ve spent on a dud.’

  The striker struggled to fit in. He was lazy in training – something he had in common with Lineker – and naturally shy. He found it hard to cope in the brutal Liverpool dressing room where any weakness was seized upon and exploited. He was nicknamed ‘ET’ because he was always phoning home. When he got into the first team, everything changed.

  In 1981, he broke into the starting XI after forcing Bob Paisley’s hand by threatening to move. In his first season, he scored 30 goals in all competitions. He repeated the trick in the next campaign and in 1983–84 he racked up 47. He had a disappointing, injury-prone season when Everton won the title but now he was back to somewhere near his best.

  He loved playing against Howard Kendall’s side. He opened his account against Everton in 1981 but his goals in a Goodison derby a year later catapulted him into Anfield folklore. Liverpool routed their neighbours 5–0 and Rush scored four. Even if he had retired then, the Kop would still be singing songs about him. ‘Everton were the team who played with the highest defensive line at the time,’ Dalglish said. ‘It suited Rushie. Look at his record against them.’

  Dalglish and the youngster clicked. It was a fearsome combination. ‘We worked so well because he could run and I could pass,’ the Scot said. ‘I’d just try to put the ball in front of him. Rushie said that he made runs knowing the ball would come to him. That was true but only because his runs were so clever. His run was more important than my pass.

  ‘Rushie was a good passer himself. He could have been a midfielder because his range of passing was great. Rush was easily the best partner I’ve ever had. We could have been made for each other.’

  They were, and Dalglish is keen to give the credit to his fellow attacker. ‘He was easy to set up,’ the Scot said. ‘He took up good positions. He sat on the last defender’s shoulder and went into the space behind him. No one could catch him.’

  Because of Walsh’s injury, Dalglish was forced to pick a man that he would rather use more sparingly: himself. The player-manager was 35 on 4 March and still coming to grips with his first season at the helm. In the first part of the campaign he did not play much. In the run-in, he would have to take to the field more often.

  Even at his advanced age Dalglish improved the team. His partnership with Rush was spectacularly fruitful but everyone in the side was lifted by his presence.

  Off the pitch, he was clearly the boss. On the field of play, things were more egalitarian. The nature of the Liverpool team was that robust exchanges of views during the game were not only encouraged but regarded as crucial to maintaining the side’s high standards. Make a mistake or the wrong choice of pass and your teammates would let you know how they felt about it. Even the manager got an earful.

  ‘When he put himself in the team, he made it clear he was just another player,’ Lawrenson said. ‘We used to have massive rows with him on the pitch when we tried to play the ball to him out of defence. We’d play from the back. If the pass wasn’t perfect – a foot to one side or another – he’d bollock us. Then, at half-time he’d switch from player to manager. No grudges, no hard feelings, just professionalism.’

  Liverpool’s biggest strength was their winning mentality, created by Bill Shankly in the 1960s and honed to a cold-blooded sharpness under Bob Paisley. ‘We expected to win,’ Steve Nicol said. ‘Losing was a no-no. If you got caught laughing on the coach home after a defeat, you’d get your lungs ripped out.’

  Ronnie Moran was the keeper of the flame at Anfield. He joined the club as a youth player in 1948 and became part of the coaching staff in the mid 1960s, graduating to the fabled Boot Room brains trust. He was known as Bugsy and one of his functions was to keep the players grounded. He would patrol the pitches of Melwood during training, picking up on any slackness, goading the ‘big-headed bastards’ of the team into greater efforts. If Liverpool won a match 4–0, Bugsy would want to know why it wasn’t 5–0. If they kept a clean sheet, he would be furious that the defence had even allowed the opposition a chance to score. He wanted perfection. He demanded victory. Losing was unthinkable.

  Excellence was treated as the normal state. When Liverpool won trophies, the management and staff acted as if it was expected and played down the achievement. The next trophy was the important one. Once silverware was won, it ceased to matter. Bugsy would go round the dressing room and collect the medals. They would be returned, singly and without ceremony, at the training ground when the players returned after summer.

  ‘We thought every club behaved like this,’ Nicol said. ‘We were like the fucking Moonies. You got programmed into thinking a certain way with Liverpool. I thought it was normal in football until I went elsewhere. We would still be in the dressing room after winning the league and Bugsy would be telling us not to be late for preseason training. You were thinking about getting there on time all through your holidays.’

  At the lowest point in the season, this mentality would serve Liverpool well.

  Grobbelaar was the weak link. Games were running out and Dalglish’s team could not afford any mistakes. The next match after Everton was a crucial moment in the season. Lose and all Liverpool could do was concentrate on the cups. Win and the faint hope of regaining the title could linger awhile.

  On an icy Sunday in north London, the Reds went to White Hart Lane to play Tottenham. The BBC’s Football Focus preview programme claimed before the game that the Zimbabwean had cost the team 15 points so far in the season. He needed a good performance. Within four minutes, Grobbelaar blundered again.

  The goalkeeper hurt himself barging into Chris Waddle and gave away a corner. He then misjudged the set-piece, pushing the ball into Waddle’s path and the Spurs winger could not miss from a yard out.

  Temperatures dipped below freezing and football was difficult on the frigid pitch but Liverpool plugged away. Jan Mølby equalized after 66 minutes but as the seconds ticked down it looked like Dalglish’s team had dropped another two points. Ray Clemence, Grobbelaar’s reliable predecessor, was having a fine match for Spurs. With 30 seconds remaining, the season was on the line.

  Enter Ian Rush. Ronnie Whelan controlled the ball in midfield and released a pass between the Tottenham centre backs. Rush ran on to the ball and, as Clemence moved to narrow the angle, the Welshman curved a shot into the bottom corner of the net. Liverpool fans among the 16,436 people present went wild. The gap was down to eight points.

  ‘It was a really important day,’ Mølby said. ‘The pitch was frozen and we were thinking it might get called off. It was a tough match but we won it. It made all the difference in the league. If you’re looking for a turning point, then it was at White Hart Lane.’

  Pivotal moments rarely arrive alone. A considerab
le number of Liverpool supporters in north London went down to the picket lines in Wapping that night to express support. A real political and social watershed was occurring in front of their eyes.

  Back on the pitch, another critical game was around the corner. Three days after the win at Spurs, Queens Park Rangers came to Anfield for the second leg of the Milk Cup semi-final. The London club were protecting a 1–0 lead from Loftus Road but were massive underdogs.

  The home side put in an error-strewn performance. Mølby missed a first-half penalty. Although Steve McMahon gave Liverpool the lead just before half-time, Dalglish’s team would live to regret the missed chance.

  In the second half, Jim Beglin blasted a panicky clearance into Ronnie Whelan’s shins and the rebound went into the net to put QPR in the lead on aggregate. Craig Johnston restored Liverpool’s parity in the tie but they still had a mistake in them. Rangers did not need to score. Their opponents would do it for them.

  Gary Gillespie was covering a Wayne Fereday cross but his interception only succeeded in wrong-footing Grobbelaar and sending the ball into the corner of the net. It was 2–2 on the night but the tie was gone. Two own goals sent QPR to a Wembley final against Oxford United and left Liverpool shattered. The season was going wrong again.

  ‘We were very disappointed at getting knocked out,’ Mølby said. ‘We weren’t thinking in terms of winning the treble, just getting to the Milk Cup final. Would the season have turned out the way it did if we had gone through to play Oxford at Wembley? Maybe not. But who cares? It turned out all right.’