Two Tribes

by Tony Evans

  In the next weeks, there were a wide range of reactions. Some people gave up football and never went again. There was a strong undercurrent of shame and embarrassment.

  There was no denial. Even though it was accepted that the stadium was not fit to host a match of this stature, the catalyst for tragedy had been the behaviour of Liverpool supporters. ‘It was a shock to the system,’ Peter Hooton said. ‘I’d seen trouble like that umpteen times on the terraces.’

  We all had. It had never ended in mass death, though. ‘London’s chief fire officer went to the stadium and said it was an absolute disgrace,’ Hooton said. ‘He said he would not have held an amateur game there. That wasn’t what Thatcher wanted to hear. The report got buried.’

  Even that did not completely explain how things got so out of hand so quickly. There were suggestions that the violence was provoked by bottles and missiles thrown from the neutral section into the Liverpool end but few of us believed that. Hooton’s version of the build-up to tragedy contains the ring of truth. ‘Flares were being fired from our section,’ he said. ‘Four or five went over in quick succession.’ The Farm’s singer thinks this event, more than the brawling in the neutral area, provoked the stampede. ‘That’s when the crowd moved back,’ he said. ‘When you’re standing in a crowd, you can’t see much of what’s going on around you. Fights like the ones in Z section don’t cause the sort of panic you saw there. The people in the crowd would have seen the flares firing into them.’

  One of the most disappointing aspects of the day is that many of us recognized that adequate policing would have saved lives. ‘I remember thinking, “How could it get to this point?”’ Hooton said. ‘Ten Liverpool police would have sorted it out in minutes.’

  In this maelstrom of conflicting emotions, a mood of defiance grew quickly. ‘If they’d stood their ground, they’d be alive’ was a common refrain. However, that sort of flawed rationalization could only go so far.

  Liverpool’s first game after Heysel was a preseason friendly against Burnley, who were then in division four, the lowest tier of English professional football. Those of us who went to the game were expecting a hostile reception.

  Instead, we were surprised at the reaction. A couple of dozen of us were sitting on the train at Preston station waiting for the connection to Burnley to depart. Passengers and staff stared at us with mute disgust. One Liverpool fan said, ‘Look at the way the bastards are looking at us.’ Another older and wiser character replied with a resigned note in his voice, ‘They’ve probably never seen mass murderers before.’

  We all laughed, because bravado was about all we had left. It was a horrible way to start the campaign. No one knew what to expect from the new season. For the first time ever, we weren’t looking forward to it.

  8

  Kick-off

  Everyone was apprehensive, not just in Liverpool. West Ham United warmed up for the big kick-off with a preseason friendly game against Orient, another division-four side. Heysel had ruled out exotic foreign summer adventures, so West Ham made the journey to Brisbane Road, just 20 minutes from Upton Park. John Lyall’s team had flirted with relegation the previous season and another year of struggle seemed on the cards, especially after Orient beat their illustrious neighbours 3–1.

  After the match, an angry West Ham fan burst into the changing room and exploded in fury. ‘He went mad,’ Tony Cottee, the Hammers striker said. In the Boys of ’86 by Tony McDonald and Danny Francis, Tony Gale quotes the outburst in detail. ‘What the fucking hell’s going on here?’ the defender remembers the fan saying. ‘We’re going right down the pan, you bunch of tossers. We had a shit season last year and now we’ve lost to fucking Orient. Where do we go from here?’

  Cottee laughs when the rant is read back. ‘That’d be about right.’

  The mood was already glum for the 20-year-old. ‘It was a bad year, 1985,’ the striker said. ‘Not just Heysel but the Bradford fire and Millwall rioting. It was so depressing. I’m a football fan, so it was upsetting. As a player, you knew it could cost you the chance of playing in Europe.’

  It was six days before the season began. West Ham were a shambles.

  ‘Against Orient, we weren’t very good,’ Cottee said. ‘It was not a positive way to go into the new season.’

  There were few positives for West Ham. Their goal was scored by a new face of whom few on the Upton Park terraces knew much about. Little was expected of this £340,000 signing from St Mirren with a vivid blond mullet. Frank McAvennie’s arrival had gone largely unnoticed and he would remain under the radar for some time to come.

  Few people were excited about the new season. For the fans, there was a severe clampdown on alcohol in stadiums and on transport to grounds.

  Under the 1985 Sporting Events (Control of Alcohol) Act, intoxicating liquids were banned inside grounds and on public transport to and from games. Coach operators were threatened with having their licence revoked if drink was found on board their vehicles.

  Football, of course, was the only sporting event that the act applied to. Even today it is a crime to drink beer in view of the pitch while a match is being played. At rugby and cricket, fans have always supped away happily in the stands while watching the action.

  Of course, even in 1985 there was a two-tier system at football. If you mixed in the correct circles, you could still get a drink in the stadium. Clubs were allowed to sell alcohol for two hours before and an hour after games in their executive lounges.

  Over their gin and tonics in the boardroom, many of the club chairmen and owners eagerly embraced the Thatcherite view of football fans. David Evans, the Luton Town chairman and soon to be Conservative MP for Welwyn Hatfield, banned away fans from Kenilworth Road. There was little outrage. The rioting by Millwall fans on the pitch at Luton was still fresh in the public consciousness.

  Evans’s heroine in Downing Street was planning a wider application of the policy and began working towards a compulsory ID card scheme that would be enforced on the 92 Football League clubs. Reading agreed to run a trial of the system at Elm Park while government strategists looked into the feasibility of introducing such a draconian measure.

  The season kicked off with the Charity Shield. Everton, the champions, played Manchester United, the FA Cup winners, in a repeat of May’s cup final. It was a subdued affair that the Merseyside team won 2–0. There was much more interest in Liverpool’s start to the league season the following week.

  There was a nervous mood across the entire Football League. In the previous five years, only 36 of the 92 clubs had turned a profit. The changes in stadium safety demanded by the Popplewell Inquiry into the Bradford fire were expensive and there was a real possibility of many of England’s historic clubs going under. All the omens were bad.

  The Sunday Times conducted a Mori poll with a sample of more than two thousand people. A quarter said they stayed away from matches because of fears of hooliganism; 28 per cent said they would rather watch on TV, appearing to back up the FA’s conviction that television would kill the sport. Two-thirds of those polled said the players were overpaid – nothing changes – and 84 per cent said they never went to the match.

  Interestingly, 15 per cent said admission prices were too expensive – at Old Trafford, watching Manchester United cost £2.60 on the terraces and £4.80 for a seat – and only 5 per cent complained about poor facilities.

  People may not have wanted to watch football, but they were keen to see how Anfield would handle Liverpool’s first competitive game since Heysel. The match against Arsenal would also be Kenny Dalglish’s first meaningful outing as manager. The 34-year-old not only had the challenge of taking charge of England’s most successful team but also had to rebuild the reputation of a club under the glare of worldwide publicity.

  Dalglish arrived at Anfield in the summer of 1977. He replaced Kevin Keegan, who had delivered Liverpool their first European Cup the previous May. Keegan was a Kop hero and had been the dominant force in a team that had
begun to show signs of being the best side on the Continent. The Englishman played the pivotal role in Liverpool’s 3–1 victory over Borussia Mönchengladbach in Rome that made the team European champions. He appeared irreplaceable.

  When Keegan signed for Hamburg SV for £500,000 in 1977, the sceptics thought Anfield’s momentum would stall. Instead, Bob Paisley, the Liverpool manager, took the money to Scotland to purchase Dalglish’s services.

  The Scot had trained at Melwood as a 15-year-old but was too young for the move south. He felt homesick and returned north. Celtic were the beneficiaries and Dalglish’s impact was nothing short of sensational. At 26, he was ready to try England again.

  Paisley bid £400,000. Celtic demanded an extra 10 per cent. Liverpool wavered just long enough for the Scottish club to believe that they had pushed their English counterparts to the brink and then did the deal. The £440,000 transfer was agreed and Paisley whispered to Peter Robinson, the club secretary, ‘We’d better get out of town before they realize what we’ve done!’

  It was the deal of the century for Liverpool. Dalglish would become the greatest player in the club’s history and heap a fair amount of misery on Everton. Howard Kendall, who would become the Scot’s great sparring partner as a manager, later said he could have derailed Dalglish’s signing.

  Kendall was approached by Paisley, who sought his advice about Trevor Francis. The future Everton manager had played with the young Englishman at Birmingham City and Paisley was keen to hear Kendall’s opinion on the striker, who was one of the alternative choices to replace Keegan.

  Kendall assured the Liverpool manager that Francis would be a good choice, although he also mentioned that the Birmingham forward was prone to injury. Paisley plumped for Dalglish. Later, Kendall must have wished he had performed a harder sell on Francis’s abilities. Dalglish would come to haunt Everton.

  The Scot was a revelation down south. Keegan was forgotten almost instantly. Within five minutes of his league debut against Middlesbrough at Ayresome Park, Dalglish scored a beautiful, curling chipped goal from an acute angle. When he repeated the feat against Newcastle United in front of the Kop four days later, Anfield had found a new love.

  Dalglish had an eye for goal but there was much more to his game than scoring. He was unselfish on the pitch and had the knack of making teammates look better.

  Alongside Graeme Souness and Alan Hansen he formed a Scottish backbone that drove Liverpool to three European Cups, five league titles and four League Cups. It was a period of unparalleled success. Then, on the morning of Heysel, the news broke that Dalglish would take over from Joe Fagan as Liverpool manager. He would become the first player-manager in the club’s history.

  The Scot was not just a talented footballer. He had other qualities. He was born in Glasgow’s East End and grew up a Rangers fan. It meant that when he signed for Celtic he crossed the religious divide. That required both mental and physical toughness in a violently sectarian environment. He developed a quick wit and a forceful style of dealing with opponents and teammates alike. The Scottish triumvirate imposed their will to win and ethics on the rest of the Liverpool squad.

  ‘The Scots set the tone in the dressing room,’ Craig Johnston said. ‘They decided who and what were funny, what was acceptable, who played well, who played badly. They were like strict schoolmasters even though they were playing. They understood how you had to behave if you were a group of men who wanted to win things.’

  There was no place for shirkers. ‘They were warriors,’ Johnston said. ‘There was a bit of the Braveheart culture about them. They were clansmen.

  ‘If you were tired, not contributing or slacking, they didn’t want to know you. The Jocks kept everyone in line. They kept the rest of the team professional. They were savage about getting the job done in the most direct way.’

  Souness left to join Sampdoria in 1984 and Dalglish became the undisputed leading voice in the dressing room, with the younger Hansen as his junior partner. Dalglish embraced the Darwinian football philosophy of Bill Shankly. He also inherited the Boot Room brains trust created by his fellow countryman Shankly. ‘The Scots had a rough, working-class ethos,’ Johnston said. ‘Particularly Kenny. He was a winner and a leader.’

  As his playing career came to an end, Dalglish became the natural replacement for Fagan. But making the leap from teammate to boss over the course of a summer was unusual, especially at Anfield.

  ‘It was a gamble,’ Jan Mølby, the midfielder, said. ‘I’d never come across the concept of a player-manager in Denmark. I never imagined a club like Liverpool would do it, even though some other English clubs had one. I wondered whether it would work.’

  Steve Nicol, another of the Scottish crew, had no doubts. ‘No, not at all,’ he said. ‘The transition was seamless. He called me up and told me he’d got the job. I started laughing. He said, “What’s so funny?” I said, “Nothing.” Then he said, “If you’ve got anything to say, say it now.” So I asked what I should call him. “Boss, gaffer, anything. Just don’t call me Kenny.”

  ‘He was like a gaffer anyway. Everyone looked up to him.’

  Not quite everyone. Phil Neal took the appointment badly. The veteran full back had applied for the position too and was miffed when he was passed over for the Scot. ‘Phil struggled with it but he thought he might be in the running for the job,’ Nicol said.

  Even the smoothest change of regime can be difficult. ‘It was hard,’ Mølby said. ‘He was my mate. We had to change the way we dealt with him. Even so, you’d never relate to him like you did to Joe Fagan.’

  Craig Johnston agreed. ‘It was a shock,’ the Australian said. ‘One minute he’s your mate and next you’ve got to change your mindset. It was like, “Ke … I mean, Boss.” Most of us got used to it pretty quickly.’

  Mark Lawrenson felt the transition was more difficult for Dalglish than the players. ‘It felt almost harder for him than us. Me, Jocky [Hansen] and Dizzy [Gary Gillespie] – the Southport crew – had driven into work with him every day. Then he was the boss. That was it.’

  The Boot Room framework that had been so important to Shankly, Paisley and Fagan’s success gave the new regime strong foundations. Ronnie Moran, the club’s sergeant-major figure, remained in place, as did Roy Evans, the much-liked coach. The most important fixture around Anfield was Paisley, whose success gave him huge authority and whose football wisdom was unparalleled.

  ‘Kenny’s very astute and Liverpool were very astute at the time,’ Mølby said. ‘The game’s about decisions and this was the right one. Bob Paisley was around and he helped. He was always there if advice was needed.’

  Dalglish agrees and credits Paisley’s presence as one of the crucial factors in his transition. ‘Bob never told me what to do,’ Dalglish said. ‘But every now and again you’d see him round and about more than usual. I’d say, “Bob, you want to tell me something?” He’d mumble in that Northumbrian accent and say, “No, son, it’s fine but I was just thinking …” and then he’d suggest something. He never made me feel he was telling me what to do but it was the best advice a young manager could get.’

  Even the great Paisley could not counsel on the correct etiquette for laying wreaths after Heysel and acting diplomatically in front of a global press corps whose main interest was not football. Now, as the first game of the season loomed, Dalglish had more on his plate than a rookie manager should expect.

  ‘It’s the most pressure I’ve ever felt,’ Lawrenson, a veteran of European Cup finals and numerous big games, said about the mood before the match against Arsenal. ‘There were something like a hundred Japanese journalists there. It was massive pressure. I felt sorry for Kenny. It was the first time he’d managed the team in a league game and the scrutiny was intense.

  ‘Kenny just had this air about him that he didn’t feel it. I don’t know how he did it.’

  Mølby felt the same way. ‘The game was on trial. We knew that we were the accused. We were very conscious of it.

/>   ‘We had a low-key start with friendlies at Burnley and down south. We knew the game needed to send out the right signals. That was as important for the players as the supporters.

  ‘Once the season starts, you get wrapped up in the day-to-day stuff and move on – it’s only natural. But we knew the spotlight was right on us at the start.’

  This was emphasized by the Liverpool Echo. ‘With the eyes of Europe on Anfield, it is vital for football everywhere that this game provides a memorable afternoon’s entertainment,’ wrote Ian Hargreaves.

  It got off to a bad start. There was a short ceremony ‘of prayer and dedication’ scheduled for before the match. The Order of Service was listed in the programme and the city’s three religious leaders – the Catholic Archbishop Worlock, Bishop Sheppard of the Church of England and Reverend John Williamson, Moderator of the Free Churches – said brief prayers in front of the Anfield Road End. After this, the plan was to sing ‘Abide With Me’, the hymn associated with FA Cup finals at Wembley.

  Unfortunately, the public-address system failed. The tannoys at Anfield were barely audible at the best of times but now the prayers and hymn were drowned out. The inevitable last-minute influx of supporters into the Kop, some 80 yards distant, meant that many of the latecomers were unaware that any observance was under way.

  Even those with programmes found the service difficult to follow. The situation got worse when, after the first verse of ‘Abide With Me’, the Kop assumed the hymn was over and began singing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’.

  The newspapers decided it was an act of disrespect. Even the reliable Brian Glanville, so often a lonely sane voice in defence of supporters among the press, was aghast. Liverpool, he wrote, were ‘cursed with some of the most savage fans in England’.

  The match that followed was much less newsworthy. The home side won 2–0 but the hangover from Heysel was a long way from dissipating.

  The downbeat mood was widespread. Attendance across the Football League programme was 412,603, the lowest for 40 years. The next weekend’s turnout dipped under the 400,000 mark.