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

to Brighton. Brian says he’ll meet you at the Waldorf.’

So Mike Bamber and the Brighton team take a twenty-mile detour to the Waldorf; the Waldorf where you’re staying courtesy of LWT –

‘What have you done with the team?’ you ask Bamber in the bar.

‘They’re waiting outside in the coach,’ he says. ‘So it’ll have to be brief.’

‘Well, I’ve decided to consider your offer,’ you tell him.

‘That’s fantastic,’ says Mike Bamber. ‘Why don’t you come down to Brighton, to my own hotel, either right now or first thing tomorrow? We’ll have lunch –’

‘I can’t come to Brighton,’ you tell him. ‘Not tonight. Not tomorrow.’

‘Well then,’ says Bamber. ‘How about Monday?’

‘Not Monday either,’ you tell him. ‘But why don’t you come up to Derby?’

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘Just name the time and the place.’

‘Tuesday lunchtime,’ you tell him. ‘The Midland Hotel, Derby.’

Mike Bamber sticks out his hand. Bamber says, ‘See you then.’

* * *

There are just thirteen days before the first round of the European Cup and Leeds United are fourth from the foot of Division One. FC Zurich have got off to a better start; the Swiss Champions are unbeaten; they are not third from the foot of their division –

The press have got their doubts. The press have got their fears:

‘You’ve got injuries, you’ve got suspensions,’ they say –

I tell them, ‘I know I’ve got injuries, I know I’ve got suspensions.’

‘So why are you trying to sell Jordan to Birmingham?’ they ask –

I tell them, ‘Look, Freddie Goodwin came up to watch the Central League game last night and after the game Freddie asked me if any of the players were available, and he got the same answer I have given everyone else: no one’s bloody going yet!’

‘Yet? What about Johnny Giles?’ they ask –

I tell them, ‘Listen, the ball is in Spurs’ court. As far as we’re concerned, we can only wait for developments. Giles has not applied for the job and so the next move has got to come from Spurs. If they do want him as manager, I presume they will contact me and we’ll take it from there. If in fact they really do want him as manager …’

‘But what about Joe Jordan? What about Terry Cooper and Forest? Terry Yorath and Everton? Will Jordan and Cooper still play on Saturday? Will Yorath?’ they ask –

I tell them again, ‘We’ve got injuries and we’ve got suspensions and the transfer deadline for the European Cup has already passed. There are only thirteen days to go now. So I’m telling you all, everyone will still be here thirteen days from now.’

‘Everyone?’ they ask. ‘You think you’ll still be here in thirteen days?’

* * *

Derby ended up drawing 0–0 at West Ham in Dave Mackay’s first game as manager of Derby County. Longson was back on the box –

‘I could manage this lot,’ Longson told Match of the Day.

You are watching him from your bed at the Waldorf Hotel, lying on that bed in your television suit and your television tie, drinking dry your private bar –

But you’re not really watching Longson, watching Match of the Day; you’re thinking about the whispers and the rumours, the whispers and the rumours that the FA are going to throw the book at you again, throw the book at you again for all the things you said and wrote, all the things you said and wrote about Leeds United and Don Revie last summer; the whispers and the rumours that the Disciplinary Committee will finish you in football, ban you for life or suspend you for seasons; the whispers and rumours that Forest have been warned away, that no club will touch you now, no club …

Pete puts out his fag. Pete gets up from his chair. Pete switches off the TV –

‘I was fucking watching that,’ you tell him. ‘Switch it back on.’

‘After we’ve had a little chat,’ he says.

‘Here we go,’ you tell him. ‘What have I done now, Mother?’

‘I want to know if you’re serious about the Brighton job.’

‘Like the wife says, beggars can’t be choosers.’

‘We’re not beggars,’ says Pete. ‘Not yet.’

‘I will be,’ you tell him. ‘This disrepute charge could finish me.’

‘Have you spoken to Bamber about it?’ asks Pete.

You shake your head. You drain your drink. You light another fag.

‘You’ll have to tell him,’ says Pete. ‘Tell him soon and all.’

‘Why?’ you ask. ‘So he can run for the bloody hills with the rest of them?’

‘Come on, Brian. Not telling him is not right and you know it.’

You pour another drink and finish that. Light another fag and finish that –

‘I’ve got a wife, three kids and no fucking job,’ you tell him. ‘I’m scared, Pete.’

‘And you call me a fucking coward?’ laughs Pete. ‘You’re yellow through and through, and you know what? I’ve always fucking known it.’

‘It’s miles away,’ you tell him. ‘Bloody Brighton.’

‘Coward.’

‘You seen where they bloody are?’ you ask him. ‘Bottom of the fucking Third.’

‘You’re a football manager,’ says Pete. ‘It’s your job to get them out of there.’

‘With average gates of 6,000?’ you ask him. ‘It can’t be done.’

‘So what you going to do then?’ asks Pete. ‘Drive a taxi? Buy a pub?’

‘Fuck off!’

‘All mouth and no trousers,’ says Pete. ‘That’s the real Cloughie!’

‘Fuck off!’ you shout and throw a pillow at him –

‘All mouth and no fucking trousers,’ he laughs. ‘No fucking balls!’

‘All right, all right,’ you tell him. ‘I’ll take the fucking job, if it shuts you up.’

‘If they’ll bloody have you,’ he says. ‘If you’re not fucking suspended.’

* * *

Under the stands, through the doors, round the corner and down the corridor, there are tears in Terry Cooper’s eyes; Terry Cooper who has been with Leeds United for fourteen years, who has played for them 300-odd times; Terry Cooper who has