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

criticisms on the box and in his columns, his criticisms of the Football League and the Football Association –

Longson shits his fucking pants. Longson goes into hospital.

The birds and the badgers, the foxes and the ferrets, the dogs and the demons, the wolves and the vultures, they circle and gather with the black clouds and the winter storms as your new, pylon-mounted floodlights creak and groan over the Baseball Ground in the wind and the weather, creak and groan and threaten to collapse, to fall.

The football then comes as a relief; a relief from the childish vendettas and the mischief, the back-biting and the politics; comes as a relief even if it’s at Leeds, Leeds, Leeds –

It is 7 October 1972 and you are on the Derby coach to Elland Road, Leeds.

You are the Champions of England, not Leeds United; Derby County finished first, Leeds United finished second; you won and they lost; Daylight Robbery, say Don Revie and Leeds, Leeds, Leeds United, again and again and again –

Daylight Robbery. Daylight Robbery. Daylight Robbery.

There is a point to prove for both sides today, a point and a lot of bloody needle. But when you stand up at the front of that coach, when you stand up to count the hearts on board today, you can sense the doubt and smell the fear, the trouble and the tension –

There is no John McGovern today. No Terry Hennessey –

In their place you’ll play Peter Daniel in midfield; an experiment. But, in your heart of hearts, you know Elland Road is no place for experiments, no place at all –

On that field of loss and field of hate, that field of blood and field of war.

The Derby coach pulls into Elland Road, to fists banged on its side, to scarves up against its glass, and the players whiten, their hearts sink and you’re a goal down –

A goal bloody down before you’ve even got off the fucking coach.

Two long halves and ninety minutes later, Derby County have lost 5–0 thanks to two from Giles and one each from Bremner, Clarke and Lorimer –

‘They didn’t even play that fucking well,’ says Pete. ‘They’re not that good.’

But you’re not listening; you’ve had enough of him, the team, the game –

These fields of loss and fields of hate, these fields of blood and fields of war.

* * *

The long rope. The sharp knife. The loaded gun. The press here, here to watch me parade McGovern and O’Hare, here to listen to me parade my lies and my deceits:

‘I stick by what I said a fortnight ago, that nobody will be leaving Leeds for a long, long time. Invariably when people talk about unloading they mean the very players you would least want to let go. I can honestly say that unloading any of these players has never come into my mind. The two new signings were out of necessity. I am very conscious of the fact that Leeds United are the Champions and that I cannot afford to bring any ragtag and bobtail players here. They have to be the right type of man as well as good players, and I am sure McGovern and O’Hare are tailor-made for this club.’

A question from the front: ‘Any news about Eddie Gray?’

‘It could be another lengthy spell out,’ I tell them. ‘And obviously there’s a question mark over the lad’s fitness.’

A question from the back: ‘There have been reports of behind-the-scenes rows between yourself and Syd Owen; have you any comment to make on these reports?’

‘These reports are disgraceful,’ I tell them. ‘Utterly disgraceful. I have never had differences with anyone at the club staff-wise, none whatsoever. Syd has worked like a slave for me since the day I took over. He is totally honest, he is dedicated and exactly the type of man to get on with me.’

A question from the side: ‘So absolutely no one at all is leaving Elland Road?’

‘There’s a job for everyone here,’ I tell them. ‘Even me.’

* * *

You go to Portugal to watch Benfica. To spy. You don’t take Peter. You take your wife and kids instead. You are glad to go. To get away. You’ve had enough of England. Had enough of Derby fucking County too; their bloody directors and their fans; their ungrateful directors and their ungrateful fans:

‘They only start chanting at the end, when we’re a goal up,’ you tell the papers. ‘I want to hear them when we’re losing. They are a disgraceful lot.’

Benfica are shit too and are lucky to draw –

You have no doubts. Have no fears –

Not about the Eagles of Lisbon –

You know you can win –

Know you will win.

* * *

I never learn; never bloody learn. Never did and never fucking will. Back in the bar at the Dragonara when I should be back at home in Derby with my wife and my kids. Here in the bar with Harry, Ron and Mike; blokes I’d never met two weeks ago, never even bloody heard of, now my new best mates and pals for life –

‘A drink for all my friends,’ I shout. ‘Another fucking drink, barman.’

On the chairs and on the sofas of the Dragonara Bar –

‘Play “Glad to Be Unhappy”,’ I shout at Bert the pianist.‘“Only the Lonely”.’

On the tables and on the floors –

‘“In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning”.’

On the chairs and on the sofas. On the tables and on the floors. In the lift and in the corridor. In my modern luxury hotel room, in my modern luxury hotel toilet –

Because I never learn; never bloody learn; never did and never