The Damned Utd by David Peace (easy readers txt) 📕

to one side, one by one, player by player, and one by one, player by player, they make their peace with Dave Mackay. Last of them all, Roy McFarland makes his peace and he shakes Dave’s hand in front of the dressing room. Then Roy calls for the Derby County Protest Movement to end its activities.

But you still hope, hope against hope, that something will happen today because today Dave Mackay and Derby County are at home to Don Revie and Leeds United –

It is Saturday 24 November 1973.

Today Brighton are at home to Walton & Hersham, an amateur side, in the FA Cup. But you’re not thinking about the cup, not thinking about Walton & Hersham. Today you are distracted. Today you are diverted. Today you’re only thinking about Derby County, thinking about Leeds United. You know this is the big test, the big test for Dave Mackay. You know he is only one defeat away from the sack; the sack that could bring you back. Distracted and diverted, your thoughts at the Baseball Ground while here at the Goldstone Ground Brighton are losing –

Losing 1–0, losing 2–0, 3–0 and then 4–0 –

Brighton have lost 4–0 at home to an amateur side in the FA Cup.

You stand in that beaten dressing room. You stare at that beaten team; your beaten Brighton team who dare not even look you in the eye –

Who cannot pull on their shirts, who cannot lace up their boots –

Cannot pull on their bloody shirts or lace up their fucking boots without you –

That beaten bloody Brighton team who are scared fucking shitless of you –

Tears down their cheeks. Tears down their shirts. Tears down yours –

Derby County have drawn 0–0 with Leeds United.

* * *

The sharp knife and loaded gun. The long rope. The post-mortem. The press conference:

‘All we’ve got to do is get out there and bloody win on the field,’ I tell them. ‘That solves everything, a win on the bloody field.’

But there is something in their eyes …

‘There was no question of me being carpeted. The board wanted to be informed of everything that goes on within the club, and rightly so. I informed them of everything. It has always been my policy to work with the chairman of a club, and the board, and everyone connected with a club, and this will continue to be my policy.’

No questions today, just something in their eyes …

‘The bid from Forest wasn’t high enough. I feel Terry is worth more. We think he can do Leeds more good. Forest’s bid didn’t meet with our valuation of him. The price we have on Terry Cooper.’

The way they look at me, the way they stare, but only when I look away …

‘I have never been so convinced of anything in my life as that I am getting the full support of the players. That the players back me.’

Like I’m sick, like I’ve got cancer and I’m dying but no one dare tell me …

‘The situation is beautiful and clear.’

* * *

Just when you think things could get no worse, things get bloody worse, much, much fucking worse; Brighton and Hove Albion lose 8–2 at home to Bristol Rovers; this is the single worst defeat of your career, as a player or as a manager.

You put your youngest lad in the car and drive to London. You sit your youngest lad on your knee in the studios of LWT. In front of the TV cameras. This is your defence. This boy is your defence. This boy is your protection –

‘The Brighton players are a disgrace,’ you tell Brian Moore and his cameras. ‘They do not know their trade and they shirk all moral responsibilities –

‘All moral responsibilities.’

* * *

I put out my cig. I finish my drink. I lock up the office. I double check the door. I walk down that corridor. Past those trophies. Past those photographs. Through those doors and out into the car park. To my brand-new blue Mercedes-Benz –

There are two young lads stood beside the car, in their boots and in their jeans, their scarves round their necks, their scarves round their wrists, hands in their pockets –

‘How are you this evening, lads?’ I ask them.

They nod their heads and blink. They nudge each other with their elbows.

‘Were you here on Saturday, were you?’ I ask them.

They nod their heads again. They sway from side to side.

‘What did you think then?’ I ask them.

‘Rubbish,’ says one of them, and the other one giggles.

‘Why do you think that was then?’ I ask them.

‘Because of that John McGovern,’ says the one that speaks. ‘He’s rubbish, he is.’

‘He won the Championship at Derby,’ I tell them. ‘Just give him time, will you?’

The quieter lad asks, ‘But are you going to bring all the Derby players here?’

‘Don’t believe all that crap in the papers, lads,’ I tell them. ‘And don’t worry, it’ll all come right in the end. You’ll see.’

They nod their heads again and blink.

I take out my car keys. I open the car door.

‘Where are you going?’ they ask me.

‘Home,’ I tell them. ‘Now don’t you get too pissed tonight, eh, lads?’

They smile. They laugh. They wave –

‘Cheerio then,’ I tell them. ‘Cheerio, lads.’

Day Forty-two

Derby County draw with Arsenal. Derby County beat Newcastle. Derby County beat Tottenham. Dave Mackay has started winning. Dave Mackay keeps winning. Leeds United keep winning too. Don Revie keeps winning. But Brian Clough keeps losing.

The only good result you get is from the FA Disciplinary Committee; the FA find you not guilty of bringing the game into disrepute for all the things