We Are the Damned United

by Phil Rostron

  ‘But I liked Clough. I loved the banter with him. He said to me one day at Leeds, “Oi, Smokey Joe! Pack those fags in or go and get yourself another club.” I came back with, “Fine, boss. I’ll have 5 per cent. Where am I going?” He laughed and I laughed, and that, I found, was the key to him. Interaction. As difficult as it was for Revie’s Leeds players, you wonder how differently things might have shaken out had they been able or willing to engage with him on that kind of basis.

  ‘Diplomacy was never Clough’s strong point. At Leeds, he would have been absolutely correct in his vision for the club and how he would go about achieving his aims. But then the squad wakes up one day to newspaper reports saying that he wants Peter Shilton as his next signing, and what are the goalkeepers on the books, and indeed the rest of the players, going to make of that? If you were a sports journalist or a television football correspondent, he was absolutely brilliant, manna from heaven, but that is nightmare stuff for footballers.

  ‘So too was his labelling of some of the Leeds players as the Over-30s Club. A footballer does not want to be reminded that he is coming towards the end of his career and that his best days are behind him, but for Cloughie hitting a tender spot would be part of the strategy. He wasn’t the kind of character to bring things about tactfully. He would wade straight in where angels fear to tread. There is a misconception that his rule was by fear. It was not. It was more of an authority through plain speaking. And if he got it back, it would usually end up humorously.

  ‘I’ll never forget signing for Brian from Forest. His first words were, “Am I wasting my time, young man, or are you going to sign for me at Leeds United?” He ordered me to meet him at the Victoria Hotel in Sheffield within the hour. My wife was seven months pregnant and came with me. Brian advised her to take cod liver oil tablets and was so persuasive about me going to Leeds, I signed three blank contracts there and then. The details were filled in later!’

  Scottish international O’Hare had begun his career at Sunderland in 1963, scoring 14 goals in 51 appearances before joining Derby County in 1967 for £22,000. He scored 65 goals in 248 outings spanning 7 years, and won a league championship medal in 1972. Despite his abilities, when Clough took him to Elland Road he had a tough time gaining popularity with the fans; he was seen as the new manager’s man and therefore viewed with suspicion.

  John McGovern’s sporting life might easily have taken a different course. As a youngster, he was just as adept at rugby as he was at football, and indeed at school in Hartlepool, playing at fly-half, he captained the 1st XV. But the persuasive powers of Brian Clough ensured that it was in football that he made his career. The reward for McGovern was that he was in Hartlepool’s first team by the age of 16. He became a Clough favourite, following him to Derby County and playing a big part in the successes enjoyed by the Rams. When Clough moved on, however, his successor, Dave Mackay, felt that McGovern was surplus to requirements.

  Clough, however, had no hesitation in making McGovern a part of the Leeds United set-up when the opportunity arose, particularly in view of the ongoing suspension of Billy Bremner. Two things worked against McGovern. First, he was viewed by the fans as a Clough man when Clough himself was unpopular; and second, McGovern was filling the boots of their hero and was judged by them to be an inferior player. Accordingly, he was never taken into the supporters’ affections, and indeed some on the terraces treated him with disdain.

  Joe Jordan recalls the stir caused by the new arrivals: ‘What happened with me under Clough at Leeds was that I had had this long run of being in top form and for some reason – probably the after-effects of the World Cup – I was a bit below my best and didn’t play particularly well in my first couple of matches. The next thing I know is that he’s signed two goal-scoring forwards in John O’Hare and Duncan McKenzie and an attacking midfielder in John McGovern. It was, of course, his prerogative and I have no criticism of that. He possibly thought, having seen me in action, that that was one area of the pitch in which he could make improvements, and he had every right to go and get the players he thought capable of bringing those about. Throughout my career, I always accepted competition for places as being part and parcel of the job anyway, so I had no complaints. The plus side was that as a young player I was keeping my place in the Scotland team, so my overall form can’t have been too bad.’

  If goals are football’s currency and those who score them in abundance valuable commodities, then Clough was denied the riches he ought to have inherited when he took over at Leeds. In Allan Clarke and Mick Jones, he should have had a strike force that would put fear into the hearts of opposition defences, just as they had done for years before his arrival in Yorkshire. The deadly duo had most famously demonstrated their combined lethality in a glorious day for Leeds at Wembley – the centenary FA Cup final of 1972. Jones delivered a beautiful cross on the turn from the byline for his partner to plant a glorious diving header past a helpless Geoff Barnett in the Arsenal goal for a priceless single-goal victory. Now, though, just when Clough most needed every ally he could muster, golden-haired Jones was in the knacker’s yard.

  The toil, strain and exertion of making an immense contribution to Leeds’ 1973–74 championship-winning season had taken a heavy toll on the Worksop-born idol, and the summer of 1974 was spent undergoing extensive physiotherapy on a serious knee problem that was to require surgery and prematurely end his career. Jones’ Leeds record stood at 111 goals in 312 appearances. He had become, in the summer of 1967, the first player to go to Leeds for a six-figure fee when he was snapped up from South Yorkshire rivals Sheffield United, where his partnership with Alan Birchenall had been prodigious. Jones was top scorer in his first season at Elland Road, and went on to inspire Leeds to their first top-flight title in the 1968–69 season. Then, when Clarke joined the following season in a £165,000 move from Leicester City, a great partnership was formed. They had contrasting styles. Where Jones, the more physical of the pair, was the battering ram, Clarke relied heavily on a well-honed predatory instinct both on the ground and in the air. ‘Allan and I developed a tremendous understanding,’ Jones once commented. ‘I took the knocks and he finished it all off.’

  Clarke had begun his career at Walsall, scoring 41 goals in 72 outings having made his debut as a 16 year old. He then moved to Fulham and was equally free-scoring, netting 45 times in 86 appearances. This kind of form prompted Leicester to pay £150,000 for his services and his stay at Filbert Street, while short-lived, brought an FA Cup final appearance, although Leicester lost 1–0 to Manchester City. Just weeks later, Clarke was on his way to Leeds, where he made an instant impact. He scored 26 goals in his first season, 1969–70. Everybody sat up and took notice of Clarke, and he was brought into the international fray by Sir Alf Ramsey for the 1970 World Cup in Mexico. He had a dream debut, too, scoring the only goal, a penalty, in England’s first-round defeat of Czechoslovakia.

  When Clough arrived at Leeds, however, Clarke was set to begin United’s league season by serving a two-match ban. The start of that campaign was drawing close, yet striker Peter Lorimer could not see a coherent strategy coming together. In general, the players felt vulnerable and uncertain, at a loss to understand Clough’s plans. Lorimer says: ‘When you listen to other guys who played for him, the overwhelming consensus is that his managerial style was to bully people. At Leeds, I think he thought, “These are too big. I’m not going to be able to bully these. So if I go in big and brash and bold and strong they’ll think, ‘Hell, he’s a Herculean character.’” This was probably OK in theory, but he didn’t deliver his oratories in a strong way. They were risible really. He’d say something and you’d come away thinking, “Well that’s just pathetic.” He made no attempt to endear himself to us. He always came over as meaning, “You’re a set of tossers,” and an even more sinister side to this was being left with the distinct feeling that you’d be replaced as a player as soon as the opportunity presented itself. So there was an overriding feeling on our part of “
Who does this guy think he is?”

  ‘Whichever way you shake this mix, it doesn’t work. And of course there were consequences. As a team, players must first and foremost play for their manager. Secondly, you’ve got to play for your club. Thirdly, you’ve got to play for each other. So if you’re not playing for your manager, you’re not playing for your club, because one is dependent upon the other. As far as the third strand of that argument goes, certainly in the case of Clough and Leeds, we just went out there to play the game and get the game out of the way because we thought, “This guy doesn’t rate us. He’s going to piss us all off and get rid of us all so let’s just get on with things in that context.” Jack Charlton was getting on a bit, Billy Bremner and Johnny Giles were in their early 30s, and Norman Hunter, Terry Cooper and Paul Reaney were at the older end. So you thought Clough would maybe get rid of them. I was two or three years younger, so was Eddie Gray and we had lads like Gordon McQueen and Joe Jordan who were younger than us, so there was enough youth in the squad for there to be no cause to feel vulnerable. Yet everyone did. And in fostering that insecurity, Clough ripped the heart out of the club.’

  It wasn’t only among the playing staff that the Leeds boat was rocking, as explained in this contemporary article from the Bradford Telegraph & Argus by John Wray:

  I STAY AT LEEDS SAYS SYD OWEN

  Leeds United’s chief coach Syd Owen today crushed strong rumours that he is preparing to quit the club following behind-the-scenes rows with new manager Brian Clough. His future became uncertain when Clough recruited trainer-coach Jimmy Gordon from Derby to succeed Les Cocker. The rumours snowballed when Clough decided to send Gordon to Switzerland next Sunday to run the rule over FC Zurich, the team Leeds meet in the first round of the European Cup. Owen is recognised as the Leeds ‘master spy’, having travelled thousands of miles with assistant manager Maurice Lindley during United’s nine years of European competition.

  A somewhat marginalised Owen was to remain at Leeds a while longer but things were just not the same at the club, as explained by Lorimer: ‘There were a few significant telltale signs about his inner feelings towards Leeds in Clough’s behaviour at the club. For instance, he wouldn’t sit on the chair that Revie had sat upon; he wouldn’t have the desk that Revie had used in his administration of the club; he wouldn’t have the settee that had been a part of Revie’s office furniture. He had everything removed. But rather than just getting on with those things and doing it he had to let everybody know that he was doing it. “I don’t want anything that Revie had. I’m not going to be tainted by Revie’s presence here” was his mantra. To put this into context, it has to be realised that there was a long history at Leeds of a tremendous bonding between the players and the manager.’

  Now, after all the drama of recent days, Leeds were down to the real business. It was all about to kick off.

  6

  UNCHARITABLE

  Get in there – that’s what I pay you for!

  Brian Clough

  Saturday, 10 August 1974. There is so much that is new and unfamiliar about this year’s FA Charity Shield. It is the traditional curtain-raiser to the English domestic football season, but much has changed.

  When the first Charity Shield match was played in 1908 between Manchester United, the reigning Football League champions, and Queens Park Rangers, the Southern League champions, it was professionals versus amateurs. This format was continued for many years, and the match often featured teams that were assembled on a one-off basis. Back then, the games were fairly informal and played at the end of the season, at a neutral venue or at the home ground of one of the teams involved. In 1930, the league champions versus FA Cup holders format was introduced and in 1959 the Charity Shield (known today as the Community Shield) was moved to coincide with the start of the new season. Until 1974, it was a less prestigious fixture, and the match continued to be played at various club grounds.

  Then, in 1974, FA secretary Ted Croker proposed that the FA Charity Shield should be played at Wembley. Instantly, its profile was raised. The fixture was to be played at the venue where only eight years previously England had won the World Cup, and it drew the attention of television executives who deemed the Leeds United versus Liverpool fixture attractive enough for the event to be screened for the first time.

  There were good reasons for the cameras to be there. Not only did the match concern two teams who were the deadliest rivals of the time, but there was added interest in the fact that it was to be the swansong of Bill Shankly, the man who started the Liverpool revolution. He had shocked the football world with his decision that enough was enough after 15 years in charge at Anfield. What was more, it was also to be the first game in charge of Leeds for Brian Clough. Wembley that day was a paradise for voyeurs. A crowd of 67,000 was attracted and they, in common with the watching millions, had an almost morbid interest in issues such as how emotional an occasion it would be for Shankly and what public face would be shown by Clough, the enemy sniper turned commander-in-chief of the Leeds battalion. If Clough looked sheepish, then that would be understandable; if he appeared comfortable in what might be deemed excruciating circumstances, it would be entirely in character.

  In terms of club service and loyalty it would have been difficult to imagine two men further apart. Shankly had guided Liverpool out of the Second Division and won the Football League championship in 1964, 1966 and 1973, the UEFA Cup in 1973 and the FA Cup in 1974. He had stunned the adoring fans when he announced his retirement, five weeks after he’d told his directors, who’d spent every minute trying to get him to change his mind before the news went public. Insisting he wanted to spend more time with his family, Shankly had said, ‘The pressures have built up so much during my 40 years in the game that I felt it was time to have a rest.’ Clough, on the other hand, had nothing at all in common with Leeds other than that he was their new manager. There was no camaraderie between Clough and Shankly. Leeds’ manager was simply ignored by the elder statesman when he attempted to initiate some light-hearted conversation.

  He and Shankly were two men with very different things on their minds as they led out their respective teams on a day that was to disgrace the game of football. As Eddie Gray admits: ‘The Charity Shield did Clough no favours.’ The match had an extraordinary prelude, as later explained by Clough in his book Clough: The Autobiography:

  The television pictures from Wembley, for the traditional curtain-raiser of the Charity Shield, should have been different. They showed dear old Bill Shankly leading out his magnificent Liverpool side and alongside him, followed by the Leeds team with the glummest faces ever seen at such an occasion, there was me. Much as I admired Shanks, and I loved the man, I didn’t want to march from the tunnel at the head of the Leeds United side that day. I asked Don Revie to lead them out, instead.

  Yes, I was prepared and eager to relinquish the honour of that managerial march onto the Wembley turf which was, and still is, the dream and ambition of everyone who enters the profession. I had not won the title with Leeds – Revie had. I phoned Revie on the day of the match. ‘This is your team,’ I told him, ‘you lead them out at Wembley.’ Apart from anything else, I thought it was a decent thing to do, a nice gesture towards a man who had just won the League title – the toughest test of management anywhere in the world. But he was not to be tempted.

  ‘Pardon?’ he said, obviously taken aback by my offer. ‘You’ve got the job now, Brian. I’m not coming down to lead them out. It is your privilege.’

  There should be a feeling of pride and immense satisfaction when you make that walk from the tunnel to the touchline at what is still the most famous old stadium in the world. There always was on the umpteen occasions I did it with my Nottingham Forest team. I wonder how many managers have taken their teams to Wembley as often as I did? Not many.

  I was proud – and, to use Revie’s word, privileged – to walk out alongside Shankly. In fact, I remember turning towards him and clapping him as we walked. But ther
e was no sense of togetherness with those who walked behind me.

  This set the tone for a fiery afternoon.

  Match of the Day commentator Barry Davies’ observation that this was a ‘sunshine start to the season’ was ironically undercut when, in the opening exchanges, Tommy Smith clattered into Allan Clarke and went straight into the referee’s notebook. Then Norman Hunter clipped Steve Heighway, but these two stern challenges did not prevent some good football developing. Then in the 19th minute, out of nothing, Keegan brought a fine save from Harvey only for Phil Boersma to bundle home the rebound from close quarters, with the Leeds defence appealing for handball. The goal appeared to deflate Leeds, with Liverpool assuming the ascendancy, A wild challenge in midfield just before the interval brought Johnny Giles a stern rebuke from the referee before the teams marched off, with Liverpool deserving their narrow lead.

  Leeds began the second half with renewed vigour, but then the game took an ugly turn. Keegan held his face after an incident described by Davies as ‘looking like a right hook from Johnny Giles’ and earning the Leeds man a booking. Then Bremner and Keegan, two of the biggest names in football, began throwing punches at each other. The referee was called over after the intervention of a linesman. A clearly incandescent Keegan, who moments earlier had appeared to be sympathising with Giles, was sent off and immediately removed his shirt. On the long walk back to the dressing-room, he threw it down in disgust. Bremner, meanwhile, had received his own marching orders and he too took off his shirt. ‘This is just what English football did not want to see,’ remarked Davies. ‘Surely, we have got to get away from this. What do the players think they are doing? To dismiss the referee’s authority in such a manner cannot be good for the game. We are seeing the unacceptable face of English football.’

  Thankfully, football once again became the order of the day, and on 70 minutes, Lorimer’s well-measured cross into the box was met by Trevor Cherry, who headed sweetly past Clemence to bring Leeds level. It was to end all square, requiring a penalty shootout, with the Reds coming out on top. Now the inquests were to begin.