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

‘Mercedes?’ I repeat.

‘We hear that’s what you like to drive,’ says Bolton. ‘A Mercedes?’

‘That’s what I used to drive at Derby,’ I tell them, ‘yes.’

‘Well, we can’t have Leeds United being outdone by Derby County, can we?’ laughs Cussins. ‘So Martin here is going to take you over to their showroom and get you sorted out, that’s if you’re not too busy right now?’

I shake my head. I nod my head. I reach for my fags.

‘And smile if you want,’ says Bolton. ‘What did you think you were getting?’

* * *

You closed your eyes, you nodded your head and for once in your bloody life you did pray; you prayed and prayed and then you prayed some more, but this is what you got, what you got for all your fucking prayers, for all their rallies and for all their marches, for all their sit-ins and for all their strikes –

The Derby board went to Nottingham. The board had a contract for Mackay. Mackay wanted to wait until after the Forest game against Hull. Five minutes after the final whistle, Mackay put his pen to their paper and signed the contract. Now Mackay is the manager of Derby County –

Dave Mackay. Not you.

* * *

I drive back to Derby in my brand-new blue Mercedes-Benz. I pick up the wife and the kids in my brand-new blue Mercedes-Benz. We go for a drive round Derby in my brand-new blue Mercedes-Benz. We drive past the Baseball Ground and past the Midland Hotel in my brand-new blue Mercedes-Benz. We stop for fish and chips in my brand-new blue Mercedes-Benz. Then we go back home in my brand-new blue Mercedes-Benz.

‘Are you there, Brian? Are you still there?’

I help my wife bath the kids and put them to bed. I watch a bit of telly with my wife before she goes up to bed. Then I sit in that old rocking chair with a drink and a smile because I know we’ll beat Luton on Saturday at home. I know we’ll beat Huddersfield Town in the League Cup. I know we’ll beat Zurich in the first round of the European Cup. I know we will move up the table. I know we will progress in the cups.

‘Are you there, Brian? Are you still there?’

I close my eyes but I do not sleep. I do not sleep but I dream. I dream of empty cities after the A-bomb. Empty cities in which I am the only man left alive. The only man left alive to walk around and around these cities. To walk around and around until I hear a telephone ringing. I hear a telephone ringing and I search until I find it. I find it and pick it up and listen to the voice asking me, ‘Are you there, Brian? Are you still there?’

‘Yes,’ I tell them. ‘I’m still here.’

‘Then who’s sorry now, Brian?’ laughs the voice on the phone. ‘Who’s sorry now?’

Day Thirty-six

You are still in your house. Your door locked and your curtains still pulled. In the dark. You spend half your time in bed, half your time on the settee. Up and down the stairs. Ignoring the phone, answering the phone. In and out of bed. The radio on. The radio off. Up and down the stairs again. On and off the settee. The television on. The television off. Because Dave Mackay is the manager of Derby County FC now. Not you –

Because today is Dave Mackay’s first day in the job. Your job –

Wednesday 24 October 1973.

There were angry scenes in Nottingham last night, the Nottingham Forest fans accusing Mackay of betrayal, of leaving a job half done. There have been angry words in the newspapers this morning, the Derby County players saying they won’t play for Dave Mackay, they won’t train for Dave Mackay. They won’t work for Dave Mackay –

The Derby players, your players, saying they’ll go on strike:

‘To Bring Back Cloughie!’

Now there are angry scenes at the Baseball Ground, angry scenes as Dave Mackay arrives for his first day in the job, your job, greeted by banners and protesters –

‘B.B.C.! B.B.C.!’ they chant. ‘Bring back Cloughie! Bring back Cloughie!’

Behind the door, behind the curtains, you turn the television up, the radio up:

‘Fuck off, Mackay,’ they shout. ‘You’re not welcome here!’

But Dave Mackay has guts. Dave Mackay has balls –

‘Who was that?’ Dave Mackay shouts back. ‘Tell him to come in for a trial. I think we could use him on the wing.’

The press and the television lap it up. The cameras and the lights. The fans. The autograph books and the pens. Even the protesters laugh.

‘This job is my destiny,’ Dave Mackay tells the cameras and the lights, the banners and the protesters. ‘I have a lot to prove, but I’m not afraid. You either see the glass as half full or half empty. I see it as half full and I fancy a drink.’

You switch off the television. You switch off the radio –

You sweep the papers off the bed onto the floor –

You pull the covers over your head.

* * *

I am first out of bed this morning, down the stairs and into my brand- new blue Mercedes-Benz. I am first through the doors this morning, round the corner and down the corridor, shouting, ‘William! William!’

But Billy Bremner doesn’t stop. Billy Bremner doesn’t put down his kit bag or turn around.

Down the corridor, I shout again, ‘Billy!’

Bremner stops now. Bremner puts down his kit bag and turns around.

I walk down the corridor towards him. I ask him, ‘You coming tonight?’

‘Where?’ asks Bremner.

‘Here,’ I tell him. ‘For the reserve game against