by Tony Evans
Liverpool’s ‘worst’ fans rarely tried to seek out trouble. They were thieves. They would shoplift and opportunistically dismantle cigarette and fruit machines. Their speciality, though, was jewellery shops. ‘Big crowds were used as a front for professional criminals,’ Peter Hooton said. ‘It wasn’t unusual for shops to get done at away games.’ These career thieves had found a way to combine their business with their favourite form of recreation: football.
The majority of supporters arriving at Euston were ushered on to the Tube and headed for Fulham Broadway, where a strong police presence aimed to get them into the ground and off the streets as quickly as possible. A few small crews headed off into the West End. Most wanted nothing more than a beer or two. Others had different plans. There were easy pickings on this busy May Saturday.
One mob went to the Edgware Road. In those innocent times, some jewellers’ shops still had unbarred windows and the age of unbreakable glass had not yet arrived. The Scousers’ plan was to practise some smash-and-grab and soon glass and empty ring trays were scattered around the streets. Rings were always a favoured item for the robbers. They were small, would be overlooked at the perfunctory turnstile frisks by police and had good resale value. They generated funds for the return trip to London the following week for the cup final. While the Headhunters were prowling around the Tube system looking for Scousers and picking off strays, Liverpool’s boys were chalking up an early victory on the Edgware Road.
At the ground there was confusion and frustration. The weight of visiting fans soon overwhelmed the small number of turnstiles and queues backed up. The police response to the situation was to bring in a mounted unit, which only served to crank up the tension and anger. Like most forces around the country, the officers on duty were less concerned with the safety of individuals than with stopping fighting between fans. That mindset, combined with the foolhardy decision not to make the game all-ticket, set up a dangerously crowded and panicky situation.
Legend has it that a well-known supporter named Bobby Wilcox came across a closed and unused turnstile. Wilcox levered the door ajar, clambered inside and took a seat before opening for business. He began clicking countless supporters through, demanding a 15p entry fee for comic purposes.
Expecting there would be chaos at the ground, our little group severely curtailed our normal pre-match drinking. Instead of leaving the pub at 2.30 and rushing to the stadium, we were at the ground more than an hour earlier. It was relatively civilized when we entered – apart from running the gauntlet of abuse as we walked the length of the West Stand. It was worth giving up beer for an occasion like this.
The excitement mounted as kick-off neared, although most of the conversation centred on the purpose of the eight cars parked between the far goal and the Shed and the small hillock of sand that sat on the track at our end. The Bridge always felt surreal: part building site, part car park, part battlefield. At least the electric fences were turned off.
At Goodison the mood was reversed. Belief had been strong since Christmas that Everton would defend their title. Even Peter Reid and Derek Mountfield’s long absences had not affected the team’s performance or the sense of inevitability that grew throughout the winter and spring. One night in Oxford had destroyed that conviction.
The Blues were playing Southampton and gathered more in hope and loyalty than anticipation. The supporters were rewarded with a dominant performance against opponents who were suffering an injury crisis. Five regular outfield players were missing for Southampton and the goalkeeper was a 17-year-old fresh from the youth team.
Both matches kicked off at 3 p.m. Up on Merseyside the game was dead as a competition early. Mountfield opened the scoring with ten minutes gone and then Gary Stevens doubled the lead after 29 minutes. As Southampton restarted the game, a buzz began to sweep Goodison. In the Gwladys Street End, groups of people began to celebrate. The word spread that Liverpool were one down in west London.
This was the moment Gary Lineker got his shooting boots back – literally. The battered, patched-up footwear had been found in a skip on return from Oxford and Lineker made it 3–0 while the crowd fizzed with excitement. The Double was back on for Kendall’s men.
At Stamford Bridge, Dalglish pulled one of his tactical surprises. He reverted to a back three but instead of using Jan Mølby as a ball-playing sweeper, he was keeping things tighter against Chelsea. Mølby was not quite right after picking up a knock at Leicester and the player-manager switched to three centre backs.
Mark Lawrenson’s fear of being left out was unwarranted. ‘Kenny wouldn’t tell you the team until about an hour before the game,’ the centre back said. ‘He probably thought we’d run off and tell the opposition.’
The information would certainly have caused raised eyebrows in the Chelsea dressing room. It was not what anyone expected.
‘Anyway, he said we’d play three at the back: Jocky, Dizzy and me,’ Lawrenson said. ‘We’d never worked on it in training, it was just, “This is what we’re going to do” in the team talk.’
It looked an unduly negative selection for a team that needed to win. A draw would probably suffice to stay ahead of Everton, who in those circumstances could finish on the same points total, but Liverpool’s goal difference was significantly better.
The problem was that a tie at the Bridge would give West Ham a late and unexpected opportunity. If Dalglish’s team drew and the Hammers won their remaining two games, the East End club could end up a point ahead of Liverpool. Victory was imperative.
The home team started well. Liverpool’s system looked as if it lacked adventure and Chelsea had lots of possession without seriously threatening Bruce Grobbelaar’s goal. Then the method behind the player-manager’s logic started to emerge. Steve Nicol and Jim Beglin, the full backs, were pushing on to join the attack. The first real chance of the game came halfway through the first period. Beglin surged forward, found room in the area and shot only to see his effort cleared off the line. The ball went out for a throw-in.
It came back into the penalty box and was scrambled clear to Ronnie Whelan 25 yards out. The Irishman shot but the ball was blocked and looped into the air. Whelan leapt and headed goalwards. Beglin, who had stayed up to support the attack, chipped the ball forward. It spun downwards just inside the Chelsea area. Dalglish, stepping in front of his marker, cushioned the ball on his chest, waited for it to drop and then calmly dispatched his shot into the far corner of the net from 16 yards. It was a remarkable, stunning piece of skill – and just about the last moment of flair the crowd at the Bridge would see that day. The player-manager wheeled away in celebration, the joy apparent on his face. Now it was time to take the sting out of the game. Just 24 minutes had gone. More than an hour was left.
Why it took so long for the real scoreline to reach Goodison has never been explained. The harsh truth had begun to dawn in the Gwladys Street End before half-time arrived. The goals continued to fly into the Southampton net – the game would end 6–1 – but the last, faint vestige of hope ended with the news that Liverpool were in front at Stamford Bridge. Lineker bagged another hat-trick but it was too little, too late.
At Upton Park, there had been similar misleading speculation about the result at the other end of the District line. West Ham had beaten West Bromwich Albion 3–2 with a late penalty and were ecstatic until they reached the dressing room. ‘We got told Liverpool had drawn at Chelsea,’ Frank McAvennie said. ‘I’ve never seen so many grown men cry when we heard the true result.’
The Scot had mixed feelings when he was told who had scored at the Bridge. Dalglish was McAvennie’s idol. The West Ham striker had fulfilled a dream when appearing alongside the Liverpool player-manager on Scotland duty. He said, ‘How hard was it for me when I heard who’d scored? Kenny was my hero. It was one of the greatest moments of my career when I played with him. I was delighted for him but sick for myself.’
McAvennie’s frustration was palpable. ‘They won it because they’d won i
t before,’ he said. ‘They ground out results and knew how to win. But we were the best team in the league.’
On the north terrace we were ecstatic. It was tense but it was impossible to imagine the team getting to this situation and throwing it away. We had seen Liverpool squeeze the life out of matches many times before. We were not interested in being entertained. We were interested in winning. The team had the same attitude.
‘Has there ever been a more professional performance?’ Nicol asked. ‘We made the game crap. We killed that game. We were never not going to win it.’
Few teams were better at taking the excitement out of a match. ‘If we scored after 20 minutes, everyone could stop watching,’ Nicol said. ‘The game was over. We played the same in the league as we did in Europe. The first job was to keep the ball.’
Watching from the sidelines, Mølby was able to confirm the Scot’s verdict. ‘It wasn’t a great game on a rock-hard pitch,’ the Dane said. ‘We did what we did well. Got ahead and held on.
‘We may not have been the best team ever but we knew how to win games.’ Mølby echoes McAvennie’s view. ‘We ground out results. We got into a relentless stride. After the Everton game, we knew there were 36 points left. We only got 34 of them.’
Lawrenson credits Dalglish’s acumen in team selection. ‘Kenny got it right,’ the defender said. ‘We didn’t concede. But not only that, Jim Beglin supplied the pass for the goal. If we’d have been playing 4–4–2 he probably wouldn’t have been so far up the pitch.’
The team gathered afterwards to salute the supporters. ‘Hand it over, Ever-ton,’ rang out from the visiting fans. Then the players trooped off the pitch to the dressing room to celebrate with champagne and beer. There was no trophy presentation, no fireworks or booming music, just the sound of Scouse voices from the north terrace and a team that still had a mission to fulfil: winning the cup. Everyone in the squad was conscious that this was one competition that Liverpool had struggled in for more than a decade.
‘There was an element of joy and happiness in the dressing room but there was a big shadow over us – the FA Cup,’ Mølby said. ‘You looked around at Hansen and Dalglish and they’d won the league plenty of times before. They’d won European Cups. But they’d never won an FA Cup. They’d never done that before.’
Psychologically, Liverpool were on top after nearly two years of playing catch-up with Everton. They had taken the title back. And they had one last indignity to inflict on their neighbours on this final day of the league season.
‘We hit the ale in the dressing room and carried on drinking on the bus home. We were in a pretty happy state,’ Lawrenson said. ‘We were all hammered and then the coach broke down. They had to call Liverpool – Ellison’s, the bus company – for a replacement.’
While they waited, the players continued their knees-up. It took a couple of hours to get a substitute vehicle out to the new champions. When it arrived, it was a surprise.
‘They sent the Everton team bus,’ Lawrenson said. ‘The irony of it. We’d just beat them to the title and the last part of our journey home was on their coach. We thought it was hysterical.
‘Anyway, we made sure we trashed it.’
They had destroyed Everton’s title dream, wrecked their transport and Liverpool’s next mission was to ruin the entire season for the Blues by beating them at Wembley.
By the time they reached the city limits, the army of Liverpool fans had a new ditty for their songbook. It would not go down well with their Evertonian friends.
The Blue-nosed bastards aren’t the champions any more,
Cos they went to Forest and they only got a draw,
Then they went to Oxford and the bastards couldn’t score,
So the Blue-nosed bastards aren’t the champions any more.
Liverpool fans poured off the trains and coaches and headed to town, where Everton supporters had been drowning their sorrows since just after 5 p.m. The last thing they needed was a late influx of thirsty, overexcited Liverpudlians flooding into the pubs. It was a combustible place.
Derby nights in the city centre can be fractious. This was even worse than when the two teams played each other. An exchange of views in the Great Charlotte Street Wine Lodge escalated and a glass was thrown as the Everton contingent left. At first the mood was to let it go but the insult festered among the Liverpool boys as the drink went down. Everyone knew where the Blues were headed: Daley’s Dandelion on Dale Street.
The name belies the sort of place Daley’s was. There were plenty of Scally hangouts around town but this was one of the worst. Reds and Blues drank there and frequently came together during Groundpig’s residency in the place. The main characters in both mobs knew each other well. Liverpool’s boys decided to go down to Daley’s. The lobbed glass was an affront too far on a night like this.
The brawl that followed was massive, vicious and uncharacteristic. Both sides launched themselves at each other with a gruesome fury. Bouncers converged from across town but it took the arrival of the police to stop the mini riot.
Both sides went home to nurse their bruises. The feud could not continue. They had to live with each other, after all, and share the same city. They would have laughed through broken teeth about the notion of the ‘friendly derby’. And another one was only a week away.
22
Echoes of Europe
The most surprising headline the day after Liverpool won the title did not concern Dalglish’s team. The future of Everton’s superstar striker was the subject for discussion.
The story was in all the papers and the Sunday Express’s version was about as succinct and representative as any: ‘Barcelona will have to offer a massive £3 million to persuade Everton to part with English shooting star Gary Lineker.’
The price was huge but the message from Goodison was clear. The man who had scored 37 goals so far in his first season on Merseyside was on the trading block. It was all a matter of price. It needed to be exorbitant because Leicester were due a third of any profit.
Lineker was not the only one pondering what life would be like in Catalonia. Kendall had already been approached about taking over the reins at the Nou Camp.
Terry Venables was widely believed to be leaving Barcelona. The Englishman suggested the Everton boss as his successor. Barca representatives approached the Goodison board and asked for permission to speak to their manager. Kendall met the Catalan delegation in a London hotel during the run-in and verbally agreed a deal to step into his fellow Englishman’s shoes.
Unexpectedly, Venables signed a new contract to stay in Spain. He had, after all, taken Barcelona to the European Cup final. This was the big stage Kendall had expected to be on when Everton won the title a year earlier. Heysel had ended that dream. Venables’ extended contract blocked another avenue for the Everton manager.
While the Liverpool players continued with their party, Everton had another game to prepare for. West Ham United were at Goodison on the Monday of cup-final week in a play-off for second place in the table. It was the match nobody wanted.
For the Hammers, it was their fifth game in ten days. They were exhausted. Everton won 3–1 and Lineker got another two goals. After scoring only once in 11 league games when his team were neck and neck with Liverpool on the run-in, he notched five in the two final league matches, all of them after Kenny Dalglish had effectively brought the title to Anfield with his goal at Stamford Bridge.
West Ham kept up the pressure right to the end, winning six of their final seven matches before the defeat at Goodison. It was the highest position the East End club had achieved in the league.
‘If we could have won the title, we would have beat Everton that last day,’ Cottee said.
His strike partner agrees. ‘If Liverpool had lost at Chelsea, we’d have certainly won the league,’ McAvennie said. ‘No one wanted to play at Goodison that day. Second or third made no difference to me. I wanted to be first. Nothing else mattered. We should have beat them for the fan
s but it was hard to get motivated.’
The Scot believes West Ham’s mistake was chasing the FA Cup as well as the title. ‘We should have concentrated on the league. We played seven FA Cup ties getting to the quarter finals. It was just too many games.’
McAvennie’s brilliant season was over. He never quite recaptured his pre-Christmas form but his final haul was still impressive. He finished with 26 goals in the league. Cottee was not far behind with 20.
‘For one season we competed,’ Cottee said. ‘We genuinely had a chance of winning the top prize. Two West Ham players got more than 20 goals each. It’s pretty rare to get one player who does that in a team.’
Their overall total was even more eye-catching: 54, with Cottee knocking in six of the extra eight. He gives the credit to his partner. ‘People don’t talk as much about Frank as they should,’ he said. ‘It’s a shame. He was exceptional. A hard worker, great instinct and an unbelievable eye for goal.’
McAvennie would be spoken about a lot but increasingly for the wrong reasons. He began to cause more carnage in his personal life than in penalty areas. On the pitch at least, this was the time of his life.
Manchester United finished fourth and ended the campaign with Bryan Robson sidelined with injury. He was in a race to be fit for the World Cup. The ten-game winning start seemed an age ago. The impression was beginning to form that Ron Atkinson’s forward motion had stalled and United were a club in reverse. A joke spread round Merseyside, based on the constant speculation about first division managers being poached by Spanish clubs. ‘See Big Ron’s off to Spain,’ it went. ‘Last week in July, first week in August.’ A package holiday seemed the likeliest route to Iberia for the United manager.
At the bottom, Oxford and Leicester survived. On the final day of the season, Oxford beat Arsenal 3–0 to ensure safety. The six points Leicester took off Everton made all the difference for the East Midlands side.
Liverpool had a game left, too, although they were not taking it wholly seriously. Three days after winning the title, they were at home to Norwich City in the second leg of the ScreenSport Super Cup semi-final. The first leg was a distant memory. It had been played at Carrow Road back in February before the big freeze disrupted the fixtures. It ended in a 1–1 draw. The return was shoehorned in to get it out of the way before the season ended.
