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

Green. Tell Webster. Tell Robson. Tell Durban. Tell McFarland. Tell McGovern. Tell Carlin. Tell O’Hare. Tell Hector. Tell Hinton –

You tell the lot of them, the bloody lot of them except Dave Mackay –

‘Utter fucking shit. And, worse than that, you’re a fucking coward. The only fucking time you fucking ran out there was to find a new fucking hole to fucking hide in. So that makes you a fucking coward; a fucking coward to yourself, to your teammates, to me and the staff, to the club and the fans who pay your fucking wages, and to your own fucking moral sense of responsibility. So you’re a fucking coward and you’re fucking finished, you fucking cunt!’

You slam the dressing room door. Bang! You storm off down the corridor –

‘A cunt and a coward! A cunt and a coward! A cunt and a coward!’

Peter puts his arm round him. Peter tells him, ‘The boss didn’t mean that.’

Tells Green. Tells Webster. Tells Robson. Tells Durban. Tells McFarland. Tells McGovern. Tells Carlin. Tells O’Hare. Tells Hector. Tells Hinton –

He tells the lot of them, the bloody lot of them except Dave Mackay –

‘Didn’t mean a word of it, you know that. The boss is just disappointed because he has so much hope for you, so much belief in you. He knows you can be the best player out on that park, so he’s just upset because today you weren’t, because you let yourself down and you let him down. That’s why he’s angry, angry because he cares about you, because he loves you, thinks the bloody world of you. You know that, don’t you?’

And Green nods. Webster nods. Robson nods. Durban nods. McFarland nods. McGovern nods. Carlin nods. O’Hare nods. Hector nods. Hinton nods –

The lot of them nod, the bloody lot of them except Dave Mackay –

It is 18 January 1969 and you have just lost 2–0 at Charlton –

This is your first defeat in fourteen league games –

You’ve got it down to a fine art, you and Peter –

And you’re still top of Division Two.

* * *

There’s another set of feet outside the office, another knock –

‘What?’ I shout.

Terry Yorath opens the door slowly. Terry Yorath puts his head inside.

‘What do you want, Taffy?’ I ask him.

Yorath says, ‘Is it possible to have a word please, Mr Clough?’

‘It’s Boss to you, Taff,’ I tell him.

Yorath says again, ‘Is it possible to have a word please, Boss?’

‘Yes,’ I tell him. ‘If you take your hands out of your bloody pockets.’

Yorath takes his hands out of his pockets. ‘It’s about my contract.’

‘What about it?’

Yorath puts his hands back in his pockets, then takes them out again and says, ‘It’s run out, Boss. My contract …’

‘And?’

Yorath says, ‘And I was hoping I’d get a new one.’

‘Did you talk about a new contract with my predecessor?’

Yorath nods. Yorath says, ‘Yes, I did.’

‘And what did he say?’

Yorath wipes his mouth. Yorath says, ‘He promised to double my wages, Boss.’

‘To what?’

Yorath wipes his mouth again. Yorath says,‘£250 a week.’

‘£250 a fucking week! Why the bloody hell would he promise to do that?’

Yorath shrugs his shoulders. Yorath says, ‘Because I played in more than thirty first-team games last season, I suppose. And because we won the title.’

‘Who else knew about this promise?’

Yorath shrugs his shoulders again. Yorath says, ‘Just the chairman, I think.’

‘OK then,’ I tell him. ‘I believe you. You’ll have your new contract by Monday.’

Yorath nods his head. Yorath mutters his thank-yous. But Yorath doesn’t move.

‘Something else on your mind is there, Taff?’ I ask him.

‘Wembley, Boss.’

‘What about it?’ I ask him.

‘Will I be playing?’

‘No,’ I tell him.

‘Will I be in the squad?’

‘No,’ I tell him again.

‘So I won’t be going down to London?’

‘No,’ I tell him for the third time.

Yorath looks up at me. Yorath asks, ‘So what’ll I be doing on Saturday, Boss?’

‘You’ll be turning out for the reserves at Witton Albion, Taff.’

* * *

You are on your way. You, Peter, Dave Mackay and Derby County –

These are the happiest hours of your life …

This old, unfashionable, run-of-the-mill, humdrum provincial little club is on the bloody up and the board and Sam Longson can’t do enough for you –

The happiest hours and days of your life …

The keys to his cars. His holiday homes and his drinks cabinet. His wallet and his safe. Longson had had you in the York Hotel when you first came down to Derby; then he moved you over to the Midland, the hotel where you later set up Dave and Roy, the hotel that’s now a home from home for you and the whole bloody team; Longson then helped you and your wife and children find a house just outside Derby, a home of your own –

The happiest hours, days and weeks of your life …

You sweep the terraces and you sign the players. You take the training and you do the mail. You clean the baths and you water the grass. You talk to the press and you talk on the telly. You walk the pitch every Sunday morning and you plot, plot, plot and plot –

The happiest hours, days, weeks and months of your life …

Plot to stay top. Plot to go up. Plot to stay up. Plot –

The happiest times of your life.

* * *

I have locked the office door. Put a chair against it. I have opened a new bottle of Martell. Lit another fag. Tomorrow Leeds will have to travel to London. For the Charity Shield; the First Division Champions vs the FA Cup holders; Leeds United vs Liverpool. The first time the Charity Shield has ever been played at Wembley; the first time it’s ever been shown