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

‘Why?’ asks Bremner.

‘I told you,’ I tell him again. ‘I’d value your input on the bench.’

‘I have to come then?’ asks Bremner. ‘You’re ordering me?’

‘Course I’m not ordering you,’ I tell him. ‘I’m asking you, because I think …’

But Bremner is shaking his head, saying, ‘Only a Game tonight.’

‘What?’

‘On the telly tonight,’ says Billy Bremner. ‘Only a Game; Scotland vs Brazil. Having some friends round, a few drinks. You don’t expect me to miss that, do you?’

I turn my back on him. I walk round the corner and down the corridor to the office. I pour a drink and I light a fag. I get out my address book. I pick up the phone and I make some calls. Lots of fucking calls. Then I put down the phone. I put away my address book. I put out my fag. I finish my drink and I get changed. I put on my old green Leeds United goalkeeping jersey. I open the desk drawer. I take out a whistle. I lock the office door. I double check it’s locked. I go down the corridor. Round the corner. Through reception and out into the car park. I jog through the potholes and the puddles. Past the huts on stilts. Up the banking. Onto the training ground –

Bastards. Bastards. Bastards.

I blow the whistle. I shout, ‘Jordan, Madeley, Cooper, Bates, Yorath and young Gray, you’ll all be playing in the reserve game tonight. See you there.’

I turn my back on them and there’s Syd Owen and Maurice Lindley stood there, stood there waiting, heads together, whispering and muttering, whispering and muttering. Maurice has a large envelope between his fingers. He hands it to me. ‘There you go.’

‘What the hell’s all this?’ I ask him.

‘The dossier on FC Zurich,’ he says. ‘The works.’

‘Just tell me if they bloody won or not.’

‘They did,’ he says.‘3–0 away.’

‘And are they any fucking good?’

‘They are,’ he says.

‘Ta,’ I tell him and hand him back his envelope. ‘That’s all I needed to know.’

I jog off down the banking. Past the huts. Through the potholes and the puddles. Across the car park and into reception. Sam Bolton is stood there, stood there waiting –

‘How’s your car?’ he asks me.

‘It’s very nice,’ I tell him. ‘Thank you.’

‘That’s good,’ he says. ‘Now get yourself changed and up them stairs.’

* * *

You are still in bed, still under the covers. Downstairs, the telephone is ringing and ringing and ringing. You don’t get out of bed. You don’t answer it. Your wife does –

‘Brian!’ she shouts up the stairs. ‘It’s a Mike Bamber. From Brighton.’

You put your head above the covers. You get out of bed. You go down the stairs. You put the telephone to your ear –

‘Mr Clough, my name is Mike Bamber,’ says Mike Bamber. ‘And I’m the chairman of Brighton and Hove Albion Football Club. I was wondering if we might have a chat about a vacancy I have here.’

‘Brighton?’ you ask him. ‘They’re in the Third Division, aren’t they?’

‘Unfortunately,’ says Mike Bamber. ‘But I believe you’re the very man who might well be able to do something about that …’

‘I might consider it,’ you tell him. ‘And, if I do, I’ll be in touch.’

You put down the telephone. You look up at your wife –

‘A job’s a job,’ she says.

‘In the Third Division?’ you ask her. ‘On the south coast?’

‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’

* * *

Mike Bamber and Brighton and Hove Albion are taking legal action against Leeds United. Mike Bamber and Brighton and Hove Albion have issued writs against me and Leeds United. Mike Bamber and Brighton and Hove Albion are claiming damages against me for breach of contract. Mike Bamber and Brighton and Hove Albion are claiming damages against Leeds United for inducing me to breach my contract. Mike Bamber and Brighton and Hove Albion claim Leeds United promised to pay them £75,000 in compensation for me. Mike Bamber and Brighton and Hove Albion also claim Leeds United promised to play a friendly match against them at their Goldstone Ground. Mike Bamber and Brighton and Hove Albion want their friendly match. Mike Bamber and Brighton and Hove Albion want their money –

‘They’re getting nowt,’ shouts Sam Bolton. ‘Bloody nowt. Same as all these other chairmen and directors who have been calling us all morning, asking us about Joe Jordan, asking us about Paul Madeley, asking us about Terry Cooper, asking us about Mick Bates, asking us about Terry Yorath, and asking us about Frankie Gray –

‘They’re getting nowt,’ says Bolton, ‘because we’re giving them bloody nowt.’

* * *

You meet the Derby players again, your players again, for lunch at the Midland Hotel. Just you and Peter and the Derby players, your players.

The Derby board still won’t meet the players. The players are thunderstruck. The players are bitter. The players are hurt. These players are young. These players are emotional. These players are loyal. You understand this –

‘I played centre-forward for Derby County every week,’ you tell them –

They understand this. They know this. They tell you, ‘We’re not going to train. We’re not going to play. Not until we get you back, Boss.’

You thank them countless times. You order countless bottles. You tell them, ‘Next time we meet, it’ll be up at my house to celebrate my reinstatement …’

But tonight the Derby players, your players, have to meet Dave Mackay –

‘That’s not going to resolve anything, is it?’ says Red Roy McFarland.

‘But he’s your manager now,’ says Pete. ‘Not us, Roy. It’s Dave.’

You turn to Peter. You look at Taylor. You shout, ‘What? You bloody what?’

‘Fucking face it, Brian,’ he says. ‘It’s time to move on. It’s over.’

‘Is it fuck,’ you tell him. ‘What about