Two Tribes_Liverpool, Everton and a City on the Brink

by Tony Evans

  Those with real tickets had to be wary. The snatchers were out. The most venal Scallies would wait at the top of the steps leading to the turnstiles and look for the most vulnerable – the elderly, children, the innocent – and if they produced their ticket too early would grab it out of their hands and run. The wise kept the precious piece of paper in their pockets until they were actually in the turnstile. The same logic applied inside the concourse with the stub.

  There were just too many people outside the ground. We were in by 2 p.m. and went up into the top section. Before we went on to the terraces, we leant out of the window in the staircases to the upper section and looked at the melee 30 feet below. There were thousands besieging the gate and still legions of people streaming up Wembley Way and circling the ground.

  Even against Manchester United in the League Cup final of 1983 the crowd was slack in the upper section and the gangways were free. This day they were packed. Movement was difficult and you needed to squirm through the bodies to engineer a spec.

  Outside, desperation was kicking in. Young lads started climbing the aluminium fences, initially to try to shin over them and lower themselves to the other side. The 20-foot drop made it impossible.

  Then men looking out of the windows began beckoning to them, reaching out their arms. One or two weighed it up and slid back down the railings, deciding that this was not a matter of life or death. Others hung on, leant across and made the fateful decision to go for it. The iconic image of the day was of the young lad making a fingertip lunge towards a group of three men in a window, grabbing a hand, swinging for a moment and then securing his grip before being pulled into the stadium. Had he missed the grasping fingers or slipped he faced a 40-foot drop.

  Inside, we could see nothing of this. What we could see were people, fans wearing ski hats and sun hats, walking about on the roof. How they got there was anyone’s guess. They were getting to see the game, though, which was good enough.

  Even if you couldn’t make it to London this was a big day. The television cameras went to Lord Street in Liverpool’s main shopping area and it was like a ghost town. Saturday afternoons were normally bustling. Not now.

  The BBC and ITV started their coverage early. The season began with blank screens and ended with the usual cup-final overkill. The BBC’s programming began at noon and – interspersed with racing from Newbury – had all the usual set-pieces of the era: a ‘road to Wembley’ review, a visit to the team hotels and a camera on board the coaches. They also added some quirks. Gary Lineker played Mark Lawrenson at snooker in a match modelled on the massively popular Pot Black show. ‘It was best of three and he beat me 2–1,’ Lawrenson said. ‘He’d had breaks of over 100 and I was Liverpool’s best player on 22. He won the first frame, I bored him to death in the second and he sneaked the third frame.’

  Roger McGough, the Evertonian poet, did a humorous poem about divided loyalties – and the togetherness – of the city. Dressed half in red and half in blue, he was the funniest contributor to the show. It was not verse that would win any awards but it brought a smile to the viewers.

  I’m an ordinary fella, six days a week,

  But Saturday turn into a football freak,

  I’m a schizo fanatic,

  It’s sad but it’s true,

  One half of me’s red,

  The other half’s blue.

  I can’t make me mind up,

  Which team to support,

  Whether to lean to starboard or port.

  I’d be bisexual,

  If I had time for sex,

  But it’s Goodison one week,

  Anfield the next.

  But the worst time of all is derby day,

  One half of me’s home,

  The other’s away.

  And now we’re at Wembley,

  Me head’s in a spin,

  Cos I bet fifty quid on each side to win.

  I’m shouting for Liverpool,

  The Reds can’t lose.

  Come on Everton,

  Gerrin there Blues!

  Give it to Dalglish (what a pudding!)

  King of the Kop,

  All of a sudden.

  Goal! Offside!

  And after the match,

  It’s walk back alone,

  Argue, argue,

  All the way home.

  Some nights when I’m drunk,

  I’ve even let fly,

  I’ve give myself a poke in the eye.

  But in front of the fire,

  Watching Match of the Day,

  Tired but happy,

  I look at it this way.

  Part of me’s lost,

  Part of me’s won.

  I’ve had twice the heartaches,

  But I’ve had twice the fun.

  For his finale, McGough hoisted the first half-and-half scarf in recorded history.

  Mel Smith and Griff Rhys Jones, the BBC’s most prominent comedy duo, were shoehorned in despite neither having any connection with the teams or the city. Their big joke was not knowing where Everton was. They suggested it was just outside Brighton before deciding that it was across the Mersey on the Wirral.

  Less appealing was a sketch by Warren Mitchell playing Alf Garnett, the bigoted Cockney character from Till Death Us Do Part. In perhaps the most misjudged sketch in BBC history, Mitchell’s satire went badly wrong. It was meant to parody the worst sort of Little Englander mentality but its execution showed it was a serious miscalculation. Wearing a West Ham scarf, Garnett launched into a rant that made many viewers wince. He railed at Scousers in London. ‘With their empty beer cans and crisp packets, being sick in everyone’s garden,’ he said. ‘It’s us who has to clear up and our bloody rates that has to pay for it after they’ve gone. Not their bloody rates. They don’t pay rates in Liverpool, do they? Liverpool town council, the bolshy bastards.’

  After the politics, he turned to Heysel. ‘Hooligans, ain’t they? They got us banned out of Europe.’

  Then it got really offensive. And not just for citizens of Merseyside.

  It’s not a European Cup without us, is it? It’s a bloody wogs’ cup, innit? And all because of a load of drunken Scouse gits we’re banned out of Europe.

    They didn’t want us banned out of Europe when Adolf Hitler was about. No, it was all ‘Voulez-vous, Tommy’ and ‘Parlez avec moi ce soir, Tommy’ and ‘Come and liberate us, Tommy’. Now it’s all ‘Piss off, Tommy’, isn’t it? Should have left them to Adolf Hitler. He’d have given them soccer hooligans all right. I’ll tell you something else, if old Gorbachev starts and the Ruskies start it’ll be ‘Come back, Tommy. All is forgiven.’ And all because of a load of bloody Scouse gits who couldn’t hold their duty-free liquor.

  The misguided attempt at satire was soon forgotten. Most football fans probably missed the part of BBC’s afternoon programming which would have the longest effect on both football and society.

  The scheduled news bulletin contained a story about the printers’ dispute at Wapping. The report was about a meeting between unions and police trying to defuse the violence on the picket line at Rupert Murdoch’s new plant. The clashes a week before were ‘the worst since the dispute began’.

  The police presence at Wapping the previous weekend had been overwhelming: 1,744 officers were deployed and their tactics drew comparisons with Orgreave. The police charged the crowd 11 times and Brenda Dean, the general secretary of SOGAT, said ‘the police conducted a riot’.

  Speaking to the BBC, Dean looked an unlikely radical. With a Princess Diana haircut and a Thatcheresque pearl necklace, she articulated her position on the cup-final news bulletin. ‘Everyone hopes every demonstration is going to be peaceful,’ she said. ‘Certainly, we don’t want to see a repetition of what happened to decent ordinary men and women. And we believe that’s not going to happen.’

  Dean would be disappointed, as the picket-line clashes turned increasingly poisonous. The police were again being used as an arm of state policy.

&nb
sp; Unusually, the authorities were positive about the conduct of the fans. They were behaving well, the Met said. There were 27 arrests overnight.

  ITV’s coverage started five minutes later than the BBC’s and was interrupted for 20 minutes of wrestling at 2.10 p.m. Jimmy Tarbuck hosted a pre-match ‘party’ which featured many Brookside stars and this caused a row with political overtones. Ricky Tomlinson, one of the soap opera’s major characters, was not invited on to the show. Tomlinson was politically active and had been sentenced to two years in prison for conspiracy to intimidate during the national building workers’ strike in 1972. He pointed the finger at the Tory comedian.

  ‘Tarbuck has not forgiven me for remarks I made about professional Scousers who make a living out of the city but can’t wait to get out of the place,’ the Brookside actor said. ‘It is also a well-known fact that Tarbuck appears on Maggie Thatcher’s political platforms and I am a member of the Labour Party. He is operating a Jimmy Tarbuck blacklist and it is not on.’

  After all the nonsense it was a relief when the clock ticked down to three o’clock.

  24

  The clash

  It was a relief for the players, too. Cup-final tradition meant the eyes of the world would be on them all day. At their hotels on the fringe of London, both teams prepared for the journey to the stadium. From the moment they boarded the coach until they reached the sanctuary of the dressing room, the cameras would be on the players.

  The staff at Liverpool’s hotel formed a guard of honour as they walked out to the coach. Bob Paisley went first, to rapturous applause. Dalglish followed a couple of minutes later. The player-manager went to reception, as if to check out. A couple of dozen fans watched him and then a young boy went up and asked for an autograph. The Scot obliged and others rushed up to get a signature.

  The applause was more spontaneous at the Everton hotel. A hundred or so people milled around the coach but there was a very businesslike air about Kendall’s team. This was the third time they had taken this journey in three years. They knew this route well. Neil Pointon and Neville Southall led the way, both on crutches from their injuries. After the walking wounded boarded, the rest strutted out. They looked confident.

  Reid and Bracewell took their seats and scanned the newspapers. They looked at the sports section of the Daily Star, ignoring the front page – ‘Maggie fights back’ was the headline. Everton looked relaxed. Kendall was all smiles. There was no sign of the destruction that Liverpool had wreaked on the coach the previous Saturday.

  Dalglish’s team got to the stadium first. They were checking out the pitch in their grey double-breasted suits when their opponents arrived. Even then, the Liverpool manager was reluctant to let anyone know his team.

  Craig Johnston was interviewed on the pitch. He spoke of the birth of his daughter Cassie two days earlier. His wife was still in hospital. Always an emotional character, the Australian was having a week to remember.

  He had real concerns about the pitch. He was asked whether the grass was too long. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘On purpose. Me and Stevie Nicol walked down this right-hand side and it’s very, very muddy. It’s a bit of a disgrace. The other side is quite good but this side’s a disgrace.’

  Dalglish was on next and was asked the same question. His reply was pragmatic. ‘I suppose the team that loses will complain about it and the one that wins will think it’s great.’

  Bob Wilson, the former Arsenal goalkeeper, suggested the far side was muddy. ‘I don’t know, Bob, I’ve got new shoes on,’ Dalglish said. ‘I didn’t fancy going over there.’

  No wonder the Scot was relaxed. Like the rest of the Liverpool side he had long been forewarned about the dangers of the pitch at the national stadium. ‘Bob Paisley had told us years before about Wembley,’ Lawrenson said. ‘He told us not to run with the ball. If you did, your legs would go after 70 minutes.’

  Everton, in similar suits, inspected the pitch after their rivals retired to the dressing room. Gary Lineker was not concerned about the surface but he had plenty to say about his boots. He was now back in his old favourites. ‘I went a spell when I never scored and then I got injured with these [new] boots on,’ he said. ‘I got back my lucky ones that I’d scored a few goals with and I got the menders – adidas – [who] fixed them all up for me and they’ve done a tremendous job and I’ve got playing in them again. The only game I missed unfortunately, because they forgot to put them in the skip, was against Oxford and I didn’t score that day and we lost. They’ll be on today and that’s for sure.’

  The pressure was building. ‘Getting a bit nervous now,’ Sharp said.

  The last player to be interviewed on the pitch for the TV audience was Ratcliffe. He sent out a message to the country. ‘You look around and there’s blue and red everywhere,’ he said. ‘In every part of the ground. That’s just great to see.’

  Then it was off to the dressing room. The time for talking was over.

  Finally, the tension overwhelmed the phlegmatic Steve Nicol. ‘In the tunnel it got to you,’ he said. ‘Then it was the crowd noise, lining up and shaking hands.’

  ‘It was our third FA Cup final in a row,’ Graeme Sharp said. ‘We’d been here before. We were ready.’

  ‘Abide With Me’ was sung. It is the cup final’s traditional hymn. A few people joined in but the Liverpool end countered with ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’, which roused the Blues into chanting ‘Ever-ton, Ever-ton, Ever-ton’.

  Then the teams emerged, led by Howard Kendall in a black double-breasted suit and Kenny Dalglish in his tracksuit. They walked out of the tunnel at the Everton end and it was from there the chants of ‘Merseyside’ began and circled the stadium. They were followed by ‘Are you watching, Manchester?’

  The national anthem was played and booed by a good proportion of the crowd and the teams were introduced to the Duchess of Kent. Then, at last, the preliminaries were over. It was time to release the tension. ‘As soon as you broke for the warm-up it was back to normal,’ Nicol said. ‘Get your mind right, get a good first touch and you’re off.’

  While the players got ready for the action, the Liverpool end boomed ‘Champions’. Alan Hansen and Kevin Ratcliffe joined the referee, Alan Robinson, for the toss-up. It was another victory for Liverpool. Hansen chose to attack the tunnel end, where the Evertonians were massed.

  At last the referee blew his whistle and this most intense of derbies started at a frantic pace. There was plenty of contact but the referee let play go until Paul Bracewell clattered Jan Mølby after four minutes. Everton were clearly aiming to deny the Dane the time and space to show off his passing ability.

  ‘There were plenty of physically demanding games but Everton could play and were tough,’ Mølby said. ‘You could never get rid of them. They hung around in matches and made life difficult. They were a wonderful side. They played 4–4–2 and had great balance. They’d kick you. They would leave you battered and bruised.’

  Graeme Sharp was relishing the combat. ‘Hansen and Lawrenson were good footballers but they didn’t like the physical side of things,’ the Everton striker said. ‘Andy Gray always said get the ball up and on top of those centre backs. Rough them up. We learnt that lesson. And we did.’ With Sharp’s physicality and Lineker’s speed, the Liverpool defence had their hands full. They could be drawn into mistakes. ‘I could buy fouls by jumping early,’ Sharp said. ‘They didn’t enjoy it.’

  Crunching challenges were nothing new in games between these teams. The ferocity was now ratcheted up a notch. ‘We were trying to hurt each other,’ Craig Johnston said. ‘It might come as a shock to people in these politically correct times but it was true. Derbies were different. They were meatier.’

  After Bracewell’s challenge, Liverpool needed to impose themselves. They were not to be bullied. Ronnie Whelan picked out Peter Reid and chopped the Everton midfielder down. Reid rose from the turf cursing his opponent. This was where the man from Huyton thrived: when conditions were at their rawest. �
�They were physical, too,’ he said. ‘No favours were asked. It was always a battle. We gave them it back.’

  The first 15 minutes were bitty, full of niggle with an undercurrent of spite. The players were nervy and errors common. ‘When you’re making mistakes, you start not wanting the ball,’ Johnston said. ‘If it comes your way, Reidy, Sharpy and the rest come piling in, trying to injure you. They want to put fear in your mind. And you want to do the same to them.’

  The ideal situation was to leave a boot on the opponent without attracting the referee’s attention. ‘You meant to do it,’ Johnston said. ‘You tackle them and catch them and nobody notices except you and them. If you do it right, you get that feeling: “They won’t come back.”’

  Everton always returned for more. Derek Mountfield went through the back of Dalglish and sent the player-manager flying to the floor. At last, 17 minutes in, the referee decided to have a word. The Everton centre back appeared far from contrite.

  Kendall’s side began to turn up the pressure. Gary Stevens found space out wide and curled an inviting cross towards Sharp. Steve Nicol got his body in the way and strong-armed his friend and fellow Scot away from the ball. Sharp went to the floor and rose aggrieved, demanding a penalty.

  ‘No chance,’ Nicol said. ‘It wasn’t a foul. Well, not much of one.’ At the other end, Ian Rush had a chance but shot high over the bar. The millions watching on television were beginning to despair that the game was turning into a dull, tense affair that could only maintain the interest of those with local pride at stake. Then the drama took its first twist.

  Around the half-hour mark, Dalglish was unable to take control deep in the Everton half and Reid picked up the loose ball. The midfielder looked up and saw that the Liverpool defence was too square and Lineker was lurking. This was an opportunity but the pass had to be inch perfect. It was. The 50-yard ball went over the top and Lineker and Hansen were in a footrace. The Scot was quick but there was only one winner. The Everton striker reached the ball first and shot with his less deadly left foot. Bruce Grobbelaar blocked the effort but could not push the ball out of the danger area. Lineker was on the rebound in a flash and this time it fell to his right foot and there was no mistake. The scrambling goalkeeper got his hands to the second shot but it was not enough to keep the ball out of the net. It was Lineker’s 40th goal of the season.