And again. Bill Shankly, Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan, Reuben Bennett, Albert Shelley, Arthur Riley, Tom Bush and Eli Wass reached the other end of the training pitch for the twelfth time. Again. They had eight sacks of stones and weeds. But today the eight sacks of stones and weeds were not quite as full. Again. Bill Shankly smiled –
It’s still no bowling green, said Bill Shankly. Not yet. But it’s getting better. So we’re getting there, gentlemen.
And again. Reuben Bennett blew his whistle. Again. Reuben Bennett shouted, Last lap, lads!
And today the players of Liverpool Football Club knew it was a race. For dear life. The players of Liverpool Football Club tore around the training pitch. All forty of them. And again. Bill Shankly went into the pavilion. Again. Bill Shankly came back out carrying a big bag of balls. Again. Bill Shankly stood in the centre of the training pitch. Again. Bill Shankly took off his sweater. Bill Shankly took off his shirt. Bill Shankly took off his vest. Again. Bill Shankly smiled –
Right then, lads. Let’s play some five-a-sides again!
Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan and Reuben Bennett put the players of Liverpool Football Club into eight teams of five. And Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan and Reuben Bennett divided up the training pitch into four smaller pitches. Bob Paisley, Joe Fagan and Reuben Bennett would be the referees. And Albert Shelley would be the fourth referee. Bill Shankly would not be a referee. Bill Shankly would not stand on the touchline watching. If there was a game of football to be played,
then Bill Shankly played. Bill Shankly played –
He played and he ran. Over every inch of grass. Over every blade. Bill Shankly ran. He ran and he shouted. Calling. Constantly
calling for the ball. Every ball. Demanding the ball. Every ball. Getting the ball. Every ball. Receiving and then passing the ball. And running again. Over every inch of grass. Every blade. Running and shouting. Calling. Demanding. Receiving and passing. On and on. Over and over. Game after game. Running and shouting. Calling and demanding. Receiving and passing. Until his team had beaten each of the other seven teams, beaten every one of them into the ground. And Bill Shankly stood, Bill Shankly tall. Stripped to his waist, sweat down his chest. His chest heaving, his back steaming. In the winter, in the morning. Bill Shankly standing, Bill Shankly tall –
His boot upon the ball. His arms raised,
his fists clenched. Victorious.
…
On Monday 28 December, 1959, Charlton Athletic came to Anfield, Liverpool. That day, twenty-five thousand, six hundred and fifty-eight folk came, too. Two months ago, when Dave Hickson had made his debut against Aston Villa, when Dave Hickson had scored twice against Aston Villa, when Liverpool Football Club had beaten Aston Villa two–one, almost fifty thousand folk had been at Anfield, Liverpool. But not today. Today there were empty seats in the stands, today there were empty spaces on the Kop. And there was silence, too. But in the fifty-eighth minute, Jimmy Harrower slipped the ball to Tommy Leishman, who chipped it up for Alan A’Court to head into the Charlton net. Five minutes later, Jimmy Harrower put Roger Hunt through to shoot and score a second. And Liverpool Football Club beat Charlton Athletic two–nil. At home, at Anfield. There was still silence. No insults, no bawling. Just
silence –
But not after the whistle, the final whistle. Not in the dressing room. In the home dressing room. Bill Shankly was tap-dancing from player to player. From Slater to Molyneux, Molyneux to Moran, Moran to Wheeler, Wheeler to White, White to Leishman, Leishman to Melia, Melia to Hunt, Hunt to Hickson, Hickson to Harrower and Harrower to A’Court. Bill Shankly patting their backs, Bill Shankly shaking their hands. All of their backs and all of their hands.
Tap-dancing
and singing, singing their praises, all of their praises –
Well done, boys. Well done. You were great, lads. You were
great. Each and every one of you, boys. I could not have asked for more. And this is only the start, lads. Only the beginning. And so I’ll see you all first thing tomorrow, boys.
…
On Saturday 2 January, 1960, Liverpool Football Club travelled to Boothferry Park, Hull. In the thirty-first minute, Jimmy Melia scored. And Liverpool Football Club beat Hull City one–nil. Away from home, away from Anfield.
One week later, Leyton Orient came to Anfield, Liverpool. That afternoon, forty thousand, three hundred and forty-three folk came, too. In the first minute, Roger Hunt scored. In the sixty-second minute, Foster scored for Leyton Orient. But in the last minute, Roger Hunt scored again. And Liverpool Football Club beat Leyton Orient two–one in the Third Round of the FA Cup. At home, at Anfield –
After the whistle, the final whistle. In the tiny office, before the small desk. Horace Yates, of the
Liverpool Daily
Post
, watched Bill Shankly jump up from behind the desk in the office. Horace Yates watched Bill Shankly pace the room. He watched him pace and he listened to him talk. Ten to the dozen, one hundred miles an hour –
Talking and pacing, pacing and talking,
talking about the future,
the future now –
The gates of Anfield, the gates of Melwood are wide open. Wide open, Horace. To every schoolboy and every youth on Merseyside. The gates are open, Horace. They need feel no embarrassment. No shyness, Horace. They must come and report for coaching and training. Every one of them. Every lad who has ever kicked a ball within one hundred miles. They are all welcome. All welcome, Horace. And we will watch them all. So any boy, any lad, who has any potential, we will develop that potential. That is my promise. To give every boy, every lad who comes through these gates the opportunity. The opportunity, Horace. Because that is what I believe in. Giving people, whoever they may be, wherever they may come from, giving them that opportunity. That opportunity, Horace. Because without opportunity, there is no chance for talent. And so if any boy, if any lad, has any talent in them at all, we will do our very best to bring it out of them. Our very best, Horace. Because that is
what I believe in. Finding that talent. Then giving that talent the opportunity. Bringing out that talent. Then developing that talent. So they are all welcome. They are all welcome, Horace –
The more the better. The more the merrier …
Bill Shankly sat back down behind the desk. Bill Shankly looked across the desk at Horace Yates –
You know, it’s not such a giant step from school to League football these days. Not such a long stride, Horace. Not these days. And when you think how difficult it is to find experienced players. And then how costly it is to procure them. It makes more sense to look much closer to home, does it not? And I just cannot believe, I simply refuse to believe, in a city as soccer-conscious, as soccer mad as Liverpool, that we cannot find the talent we need. The boys we need. And if we get enough of them …
Bill Shankly jumped back up onto his feet, Horace Yates jumping out of his skin in his chair. Bill Shankly pacing the room again, Horace Yates turning his neck again. Horace Yates writing as fast as he could, Bill Shankly talking as fast as he could –
If enough of them come, then we are sure to get a percentage of winners. I am certain of that, Horace. I know that. I know that within three years of them leaving school, these boys could be in the first team. I know that. So I know it is not even that long term. Not as long term as the cynics might say. Not so long term, Horace. Not when you can’t get the ready-made material. Not when it is so difficult. So heartbreaking. Look at Roger Hunt. How many more Roger Hunts are out there now, playing for their school, playing in their street? Look how many we found at Leeds Road. At Huddersfield, Horace. In a town that size. A town that small, Horace. It should be much easier here, in this city, with its size, with all its people, with all its history, all its passion. Its passion for football, Horace. I refuse to believe there aren’t the boys, aren’t the lads, out there who think, who eat, who sleep football. Just hankering after a career in soccer, just waiting for the chance. For the opportunity. The opportunity, Horace. And so all I ask is for those boys, those lads, to give me the opportunity, to give me the chance to help them achieve their goal, to achieve their dream. If they give me the chance, Horace, I will give them the chance …
Talking and pacing, pacing and talking,
jabbing his finger into the chest of Horace Yates, looking into the eyes of Horace Yates, saying –
Football is my life. My life, Horace. And so I do not mind how long it takes, how much time I spend among these boys, these lads. Because I have great hopes. Great hopes, Horace. And I know the boys, the lads of Liverpool, I know they will not let me down. They will not let me down. And so to me the sky is the limit. The sky is the limit, Horace. And so the gates are open. The gates are open, Horace. And they will stay open. For as long as I am at Liverpool Football Club, the gates will always be open. Always open, Horace. Always.
…
On Saturday 16 January, 1960, Sheffield United came to Anfield, Liverpool. That afternoon, thirty-three thousand, two hundred and ninety-seven folk came, too. In the ninth minute, Jimmy Melia scored. In the fifteenth minute, Roger Hunt scored. And in the
sixty-eighth
minute, Roger Hunt scored again. Fifteen minutes later, Dave Hickson was sent off. But Liverpool Football Club still beat Sheffield United three–nil. At home, at Anfield –
Every morning, every morning of the week. In the ground, in the dressing room. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club took off their suits and ties. And their shoes. Every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club put on their tracksuit bottoms and their sweaters. And their boots. Every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club walked out of the dressing room and down the corridor. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club walked out of the ground and into the car park at Anfield. Every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club climbed on board the bus to Melwood. Every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club travelled on the bus to Melwood to train. And every morning, after training and a nice cup of tea. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club climbed back on board the bus. And every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club travelled back to Anfield. Every morning. The players and the coaching staff got off the bus in the car park at Anfield and walked back into the ground. Every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football
Club walked back down the corridors and back into the dressing room. Every morning. The players and the coaching staff took off their boots. Their sweaters and their tracksuit bottoms. And every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club went into the showers and into the baths. Every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club washed and then changed back into their suits and ties. And their shoes. And then every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club said, Goodbye. See you tomorrow. Take care now. See you. This was the Liverpool way. Every morning –
The Anfield way –
And every morning. A young lad with a broom in his hand stood by the bus in the car park at Anfield. Every morning. The young lad with the broom in his hand watched the players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club climb aboard the bus to Melwood. And every morning. The young lad dreamt of the day he would no longer have a broom in his hands. The day he would have boots on his feet. The day he would climb aboard the bus to Melwood –
What’s your name, son, asked Bill Shankly.
The young lad jumped. Out of his dreams, into the car park. And the young lad said, Christopher Lawler, sir.
What are you doing just standing here, son, asked Bill Shankly. Why aren’t you changed? Why aren’t you on the bus, lad? Hurry up.
The young lad said, But I have my work to do, sir. My work.
And what work is that, son, asked Bill Shankly.
The young lad said, During the day, I have to clean the place up, sir. That’s my job. That is my work, sir.
So when do you do your training, son, asked Bill Shankly. When do you play your football, lad?
We do our training at night, sir.
You train at bloody night?
Yes, sir. At night. All the boys do.
Not any more you don’t, son, said Bill Shankly. So you go now and you get all the boys together, all the ground-staff lads. And you tell them to get changed and get on board this bus. Because you are here to play football first and to clean up second. So you’ll play your football during the day and you’ll do your cleaning at
night. Is that clear, son? Is that understood?
Yes, sir.
Well, don’t just stand there then, son. Get to it. Hurry up, lad! We haven’t got all bloody day. We’ve got football to play!
…
After their lunch, in the afternoon. The directors of Liverpool Football Club were sitting in the boardroom at Anfield. The directors of Liverpool Football Club were waiting for Bill Shankly. Again. The directors of Liverpool Football Club heard the footsteps in the corridor. Again. The fast steps, the heavy steps. And the knock upon the door.
Tom Williams said, Come.
Bill Shankly opened the door. Bill Shankly stepped into the boardroom. Again. Bill Shankly looked around the boardroom –
You wanted to see me, asked Bill Shankly.
Tom Williams said, Yes. Sit down, please, Mr Shankly.
Bill Shankly sat down at the long table. Bill Shankly looked up the long table at the directors of Liverpool Football Club.
Tom Williams said, I am afraid you have upset the routine of the club, Mr Shankly. The young boys are needed to help the staff clean up the stadium. That is their job, Mr Shankly.
I know that, said Bill Shankly. I know that is
part
of their job. But first and foremost they are here to play football. They can still do their cleaning, they can still help the ground staff, but they can do it at night. During the day they should be playing football. They should be training. Developing. Not cleaning toilets.