Red Machine

by Simon Hughes

  Aside from having the right manager, Wark says there were other reasons for Ipswich’s success.

  ‘The club had an excellent scouting policy. Most of the squad was made up of northerners and Scots, without disrespecting the local talent or southerners. London clubs like Arsenal, West Ham and Spurs would underestimate us, “Here come the Tractor Boys.” But we weren’t from Suffolk.’

  Two of the players came from Holland, Arnold Mühren and Frans Thijssen.

  ‘The squad was very surprised when Bobby came in and told us that he was signing Frans and Arnold, because signing players from abroad wasn’t the done thing then. Ossie Ardiles and Ricky Villa had recently gone to Spurs, but they were a London club with lots of money and history. We were tiny Ipswich and had somehow managed to get hold of two Dutch players in a decade when Holland were the masters of football.

  ‘They proved to be two fantastic signings, which Bobby bought for peanuts; two completely different players, with Thijssen being a dribbler and Mühren having a left foot like a wand. From a personal point of view, they transformed my game. Before they arrived, I was more of a defensive midfielder, but in a 4–3–3 and with Eric Gates off the main forward, the set-up allowed me to get forward. The whole team expected me to arrive late and get on the end of crosses, and soon enough I was a goalscorer. I had a desire to get in the box, and that enabled me to score regularly throughout the rest of my career.’

  Ipswich came close to toppling Liverpool at the summit of the First Division two seasons on the run.

  ‘We feared nobody – apart from Liverpool,’ Wark continues. ‘They were our bogey side – but they were the bogey side for most teams, weren’t they? Whenever we went to Anfield, we never seriously believed that we could win – something that wasn’t the case when we went to places like Old Trafford, Highbury or Villa Park. Apart from being a brilliant football team, you never got anything at Anfield – no penalties, no corners or even generous throw-ins.’

  Wark argues that football has always been a squad game – only squads in the ’80s weren’t as big as they are now.

  ‘We had a group of 15 players performing in 60–70 matches a season. It just wasn’t enough. Liverpool had a few more players than us and were experienced in such situations. It was as simple as that, because, man for man, the difference in quality wasn’t too big. Winning the UEFA Cup cannot be underestimated. The UEFA Cup had many of Europe’s top teams and was a huge competition to win. But, ultimately, it was one of the reasons we didn’t win the league, because we were playing three, sometimes four, games a week. By the end of the season, many of the squad were dead on their feet.’

  Ipswich were ambitious, and hindsight would suggest perhaps too much so. Directors ordered the building of the new Pioneer Stand at Portman Road.

  ‘They should have re-invested in the team instead,’ Wark insists. ‘The club ran out of money to build it, and soon enough players started being sold. United were rumoured to be in for me, as were Verona in Italy. Then, within six months, Bobby got the England job, so we lost our leader, inspiration and manager as well as some key players. The squad was too small already. When that happened, I said, “I’m off.” I needed to get away to improve my career. It’s a shame, because we weren’t too far away from achieving even more than we did.’

  As respite, Wark spent the summer of ’81 filming Escape to Victory on location in Hungary with a host of other professional footballers with time on their hands.

  ‘I didn’t realise how big the film was going to be until we got out there and Bobby Moore and Pelé were waiting for us,’ Wark remembers. ‘They were good lads, and we’d sit in the hotel and have a good few drinks every night. Pelé was 40 at the time, and I couldn’t believe the skills he had with a ball. When he scored the overhead kick that you see in the film, he did it in one shot. I was 15 years younger than him, in the prime of my career, and it would have taken hundreds of cuts for me to get it right. He did it perfectly in one go. A lot of the movie guys didn’t realise the significance, but all the footballers in the film just stood there in awe. I only had two lines in the whole film and they were dubbed because they felt viewers wouldn’t be able to understand my Glaswegian accent. I wouldn’t have minded, but I only found out when I went to watch the premiere. Nobody noticed at first, but I was watching the film with all my teammates at Ipswich and I told them. I got a lot of stick for that. They replaced my voice with a posh Scottish accent.’

  Other stars in the film included Sylvester Stallone and Michael Caine.

  ‘Stallone had done Rocky I by then and was a bit big-time. He stayed in a different hotel to us because he was the film star. He didn’t have a Scooby Doo about football and asked us whether he could score the winner when the POWs beat the Nazis in the final scene of the film. He didn’t understand that he was the goalkeeper and that just wasn’t possible. In the end, he had it written in that he saved the penalty because he was so big-time. Michael Caine was a good lad and wasn’t a bad footballer. But his legs had gone and he couldn’t run. Kevin Beattie was Michael Caine’s legs.’

  Wark remained at Portman Road for another two years as Ipswich regressed under a series of managers. Finally, in the spring of 1984, his consistent performances earned him a move to Liverpool. He signed forms at the St George’s Hotel – a favourite watering hole of Liverpool’s board of directors.

  ‘All I could think about was whether I’d be good enough to get in the team. I had a lot of doubts in my mind and because United had previously registered an interest in me when they thought they were going to sell Bryan Robson to an Italian club, I asked my financial advisor to ring Martin Edwards [United’s chairman] and see whether they still wanted to sign me. I was really panicking because I wasn’t going to sign for a club, Liverpool or otherwise, if I wasn’t getting picked. I thought I’d have a better chance at United. But in the end, Edwards said that Robson wasn’t going to Italy and therefore they didn’t need a replacement.’

  Negotiations with Liverpool were swift.

  ‘John Smith, Peter Robinson and Joe Fagan were waiting downstairs for me. There was no messing around. John handed me the contract and basically said, “You’ll be wanting to sign this if you want to come here,” before giving me a pen. It was worth £851 a week, which seems like a bizarre figure. It wasn’t much more than I was on at Ipswich, but the bonuses for cup runs were a lot better. Because the transfer deadline was approaching, Liverpool knew that if I tried to barter a better fee, I might’ve had to stay at Portman Road. So the deal was done in less than ten minutes.’

  All Wark had to do now was complete a medical. Again, it was basic.

  ‘They took me down to Anfield and we waited in the Bootroom. This old fella comes in who looked more like a retired doctor than a practising one. He took my blood pressure, nodded, then I went to the door because I anticipated that I’d be going out on the pitch for a run. Instead, the doctor called me back, asked me to bend down and touch my toes. That was it. I was signing for Liverpool, but the whole regime looked a shade Dad’s Army.’

  Wark recalls his first training session at Melwood the following day.

  ‘The ball came to me and I sprayed a 30-yard pass down the touchline. I was standing there admiring what a great pass it was then Ronnie Moran marched over and gave me a right bollocking. He was screaming at me, waving his hands everywhere, going, “We pass and move it nice and short here – don’t ever stand there admiring what you’ve just fucking done.” He was a very angry man. Then he gave a free-kick against me. It was a bit of a culture shock, but it was the right way to train. Ronnie was a tough guy, and he kept everyone on their toes.’

  A week later, Wark made a goalscoring debut in a 2–0 win at Watford. Craig Johnston was the player dropped.

  ‘Craig was really pissed off, because he started in the Milk Cup final win over Everton and by all accounts did very well. Then he was left out and started ignoring me as a result. For weeks, he wouldn’t speak to me, and he endured a frosty
relationship with Joe, so he didn’t seem very happy at Liverpool. Eventually, we became quite close because our kids went to the same school and we lived in the same area.’

  Wark bought a house in Sandfield Park, West Derby.

  ‘It was burgled twice just after we moved in there,’ he explains. ‘My car got pinched as well after I eventually got round to passing my driving test. It was a nice place to live, but because it was closer to the city centre than say Wirral or Southport, where a lot of the other lads lived, there were times when you had to keep your wits about you. I liked that, though, because it reminded me of Glasgow – a place with an edge. Myself, Sammy [Lee], Souey, Craig Johnston and Bruce all lived within a mile of one another, so it was convenient for socialising.’

  Wark was soon to experience more misfortune behind the wheel of a car.

  ‘It was my birthday and we went straight to the Jolly Miller after training. By the time we left, it was 11 p.m. I jumped in the car and got 100 yards away from home before the police pulled me over. I was three times over the limit. I spent the night in the cells and the police said I could make one call, so I rang Kenny Dalglish to explain why I’d be late for training. He went ballistic.’

  Before moving into the Liverpool suburbs, Wark lived at the St George’s Hotel, along with fellow new signings Paul Walsh and Jan Mølby.

  ‘I was married, but the wife was back sorting issues in Ipswich for quite a lot of the time in my first few months. Jan and Paul were both single lads, and living in the centre of town meant they were out pretty much every night. Some of the lads could deal with the drink and play the next day without a problem, but Jan struggled with his weight.

  ‘But that was Jan. Despite his size, he didn’t have too many problems on the pitch, and for a period of time he was the best passer of the ball in European football. Had he been a bit slimmer, who knows what else he might have achieved, because he could pass 60 yards with either foot quite comfortably.’

  Mølby was just one player in the Liverpool squad up for a laugh. Wark says success on the field was founded by a well-drilled changing-room camaraderie.

  ‘The Christmas party was always one event in the year that I looked forward to,’ he explains. ‘Each year, it was fancy dress, and we always tried to outstrip the previous year’s antics by wearing costumes that were even more outrageous than the last. At Ipswich, all the lads did at Christmas was go for a pint in a smelly local pub. At Liverpool, though, it was the most important event in the social calendar, and a lot of time and effort went into the preparation.’

  The night would usually conclude at Tommy Smith’s nightclub, the thoughtfully named Smithy Manor.

  ‘We’d usually start the evening at Sammy Lee’s wine bar on Aigburth Road and gradually make our way towards town. By the time we got to Smithy’s, everybody was well oiled, and part of the ritual was to make any of the new signings or apprentice boys sing an initiation song. At my first party, I did Frank Sinatra’s “My Way”, and Paul Walsh did a Chas & Dave number. Paul was pathetic, and everybody started throwing sausage rolls at him from the buffet. He was covered in sausage.’

  Wark emphasises just how important the costumes were.

  ‘My first effort wasn’t the best, and I went in a fat clown costume. Kenny came as the Hunchback of Notre-Dame and Tommo [Phil Thompson] was Boy George. On my first year, Craig [Johnston] arrived the next morning at training in his Fred Astaire outfit – he was still pissed. Kenny felt rough as well because he wasn’t the biggest of drinkers and somebody decided to drop a little mixer in his pint. We carried him to the taxi, but by the time the party came around the following year he was the manager, so nobody could touch him.’

  Wark was signed by Joe Fagan – a person he likens to ‘your favourite family relative’. Despite the apparently benign persona, Fagan was not to be crossed. On one occasion, Wark, Alan Hansen and Bruce Grobbelaar got into trouble for eloping to Belfast.

  ‘There are loads of supporters groups over in Ireland, and a few of them asked us to appear, to hand out awards.’

  Crucially, each event provided a free bar.

  ‘We left Bruce to clear the trip with Joe, and immediately he refused. Bruce didn’t tell us and we went anyway. They put us up at the Europa Hotel – a place the IRA had targeted so many times, it became known as the most-bombed hotel in the world. It meant we had to have bodyguards on us at all times, even when we went for a shit. It turned out to be a really edgy weekend, because at one event all of the Protestant supporters were singing sectarian songs and at another event our driver showed us a revolver because we were at a Catholic social club. Thankfully, everything passed off without any trouble, but our main problem was getting home. The airport in Belfast was shrouded in fog, and it meant that we couldn’t get to Melwood for training on the Monday morning. When Bruce called Anfield to tell Joe, he was furious and fined us a week’s wages. It meant that we lost all the money we’d earned from the weekend.’

  Despite other indiscretions off the field, Wark admits that those in charge at Liverpool were generally happy to look the other way if the team was playing well. Personally, Wark had good reason to be in a celebratory mood. In his first season, he was the club’s leading goalscorer.

  ‘Many of my goals came from arriving late in the box. It was my forte and quite surprising considering I probably was never the most inconspicuous person on the pitch. I had it [the ability of timing] as a teenager, I improved on it at Ipswich, and then I probably mastered it at Liverpool. The reason that happened was probably because Liverpool created so many chances. I didn’t just score from crosses at Liverpool as well. When you’ve got Kenny, who drops deep – the calibre of player we didn’t have at Ipswich – it allows you to sometimes get ahead and join the strikers. A lot of my goals were the result of Kenny’s movement.’

  Despite finishing runners-up to Everton in the league, the campaign finished with a European Cup final in Brussels.

  ‘I’d played at Heysel a few times with Scotland,’ he reflects. ‘Even in the late ’70s, it was a shithole and in desperate need of redevelopment. When it was announced that the European Cup final was being held there, I convinced myself that they were going to do some work on the ground to make it worthy of such an important game. Instead, when we arrived, it was exactly the same as it always had been. I said to one of the lads that they should have filmed Escape to Victory here. The stadium was so outdated, it wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Second World War movie.’

  Nightmarish scenes on the terraces were to follow, but on the morning of the game, however, all the talk inside the Liverpool camp was of Joe Fagan’s impending retirement.

  ‘He walked into the dressing-room and told us, “After tonight you can call me Joe.” The news spread quickly. I thought it was strange that Joe would make such an important announcement before such an important game. Sometimes, it can take a player’s concentration away if he knows there is going to be a change in management. Personally, it made me want to turn around what was a disappointing season domestically for the club by winning the European Cup for Joe. Others may have thought differently.’

  On an unforgivingly hot day, Wark remembers driving to the game on the team bus through the centre of Brussels, where he saw Liverpool supporters in bars sharing drinks and singing songs with Juventus fans.

  ‘It was 45 minutes before kick-off when we first heard about problems inside the ground. The dressing-room was cramped and, once again, backward in terms of facilities. There was a loud bang and all of the lads stopped talking. Within minutes, a gang of riot police came bouncing through the door. Everybody looked at each other and it was one of those moments when we all understood that something was desperately wrong.’

  A UEFA bod wearing an official blazer called Phil Neal into the corridor. He reappeared 25 minutes later.

  ‘When he came back, he told us that some fans had been killed. As the minutes passed, the number of dead began to rise. Phil told us not to play the game, a
nd all of the lads agreed. We were still in our kit with our socks pulled up, but everybody was wandering around in shock.’

  UEFA insisted that Liverpool and Juventus played the game.

  ‘Phil still didn’t want to, and most of the lads agreed, including me. I felt sick at the thought of people dying. It just didn’t seem right that we should play a game of football on that backdrop. But we also realised that if the game didn’t go ahead, it might encourage more violence. In the end, we figured that it was best that we went and got it over with. The game was played like it was a testimonial.’

  Juventus won 1–0 after a penalty from Michel Platini on the hour mark.

  ‘Gary Gillespie tripped up Zbigniew Boniek, and it was definitely a foul. But it definitely wasn’t inside the area. Normally, we’d have complained all day to the referee, but it didn’t seem right in the circumstances, so we got on with it and Platini scored. When I think about that game now, my mind is a blank and all I can think of is the 39 people that died.’

  After such an effective debut season, Wark’s second campaign was blighted by injury. Given that Alan Hansen once admitted ‘you were persona non grata if you were injured’, being on the outside wasn’t a pleasant place to be.

  ‘It was made pretty clear from an early stage that if you were injured you were blanked, because I’d seen the way the staff acted with other players when they were out,’ Wark adds. ‘One day, I felt a twinge on my Achilles after an obstacle course. So I told Ronnie Moran. He looked at me like I was an alien and told me to get myself off to the hospital. “Make sure you’ve got your kit with you, though – you’ll be back to training in the afternoon.” I went off to A&E in Walton, where I joined the queue with the other patients. By the time I eventually got to see a doctor, he told me that it was a good job I’d gone to see him, because the Achilles was on the verge of snapping. Had that happened, I’d have been out for six months, because in the mid ’80s there was no fast-track to recovery. He put my foot in plaster, handed me some crutches, and I headed back to Melwood. When I saw Ronnie, he shrugged his shoulders and just said something like, “So you were injured after all, were you?”’