In the house, in their front room. Bill got up from his chair. Bill kissed Ness on her cheek. And Bill said, Goodnight, love. Goodnight. I won’t be long, love. I won’t be long …
In the house, in their front room. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill stared down at his book. His book of names, his book of notes. The pages of names, the pages of notes. And Bill cursed. Ian St John had not played today and Ron Yeats had not played today. Ian St John and Ron Yeats had been selected to play for the Scottish national team against Northern Ireland. Ian St John and Ron Yeats had travelled to Belfast. Ron Yeats had not even played for Scotland. Ron Yeats had sat in the bloody stands in Belfast. And Liverpool Football Club had lost two — nil to Middlesbrough Football Club. For the first time this season, Liverpool Football Club had bloody lost. For the first time this season, Liverpool Football Club had gone backwards. Backwards in time. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill sighed. And Bill closed his book. His book of names, his book notes. And Bill closed his eyes. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill heard the rain falling on their house. Bill heard the wind blowing around their house. And Bill knew the dangerous months were here. These dangerous months, these winter months. These months of short days, these months of long nights. Nights of rain and days of mud, days of injury and nights of hurt. In these winter months, these dangerous months. Bill knew you had to be prepared. Prepared for the injuries, prepared for the hurt. For the hurt and for the pain. You always had to be prepared. For pain and for hurt.
In the house, in their front room. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill opened his eyes again. Bill looked at his watch. Bill put his book to one side. His book of names, his book of notes. And Bill got up from his chair. Bill walked out of the front room. Bill walked into the kitchen. And Bill switched on the light. Liverpool Football Club had beaten Walsall Football Club six — one. At home, at Anfield. Lewis had scored. Melia had scored. Hunt had scored. Then Hunt had scored again. St John had scored. And then Hunt had scored again, his third. His second hat-trick of the season. Roger Hunt had now scored sixteen goals this season. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill walked over to the cupboards. And Bill opened one of the drawers. Liverpool Football Club had lost two — nil to Derby County. Away from home, away from Anfield. Liverpool Football Club were still first in the Second Division. But Liverpool Football Club had now lost twice in their last three games. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill took out the tablecloth. And Bill closed the drawer. Liverpool Football Club had drawn three — three with Leyton Orient. At home, at Anfield. Bill had kept faith with the same team who had lost to Derby County. Bill had picked the same eleven players to play against Leyton Orient. And at home, at Anfield. Liverpool Football Club had drawn. The first point Liverpool Football Club had dropped. At home, at Anfield. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill walked over to the table. And Bill spread the tablecloth over the table. Liverpool Football Club had beaten Preston North End. Bill had dropped Kevin Lewis and Bill had brought in Ian Callaghan from the reserves. And Ian Callaghan had scored. It was Ian Callaghan’s first goal for Liverpool Football Club. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill walked back over to the cupboards. And Bill opened another of the drawers. Liverpool Football Club had drawn one-all with Luton Town. Bill had kept faith with Ian Callaghan. But Roger Hunt was not fit, Roger Hunt was injured. So Bill had brought back Kevin Lewis. And Kevin Lewis had scored. Kevin Lewis had made his point. But that was all Liverpool Football Club had got. A point. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill took out the cutlery. And Bill closed the drawer. Liverpool Football Club had beaten Huddersfield Town. Roger Hunt was fit again, Roger Hunt could play again. But Bill had kept faith with Ian Callaghan. Bill had dropped Kevin Lewis again. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill walked back over to the table. And Bill laid four places at the table. Liverpool Football Club had beaten Swansea Town five — nil. Bill had kept faith with the same team. And Liverpool Football Club now had thirty-one points. Liverpool Football Club still first in the Second Division. Leyton Orient second, Leyton Orient with twenty-three points. Liverpool Football Club eight points clear of Leyton Orient. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill walked back over to the cupboards. And Bill opened one of the cupboards. Folk were beginning to say that promotion was assured, folk were beginning to think promotion was a foregone conclusion. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill took out the crockery. And Bill closed the cupboard. Bill knew folk often talked rubbish, Bill knew folk often got things wrong. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill walked back over to the table. And Bill put a bowl and a plate in each of the four places at the table. Bill knew nothing was ever assured, Bill knew there were no foregone conclusions. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill walked over to the pantry. And Bill opened the pantry door. Not in life. And not in football. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill took out the salt and pepper pots. The jar of honey and the jar of marmalade. And Bill closed the pantry door. Liverpool Football Club had lost two — nil to Southampton Football Club. Away from home, away from Anfield. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill walked back over to the table. Bill put the salt and pepper pots on the table. And Bill put the jar of honey and the jar of marmalade on the table. Backwards and forwards. One step forwards, two steps backwards. Backwards and forwards. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill looked down at the cutlery and the crockery. The salt and pepper pots. The jar of honey and the jar of marmalade. Backwards and forwards. Bill turning things over, Bill thinking things over. Over and over. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill sat down at the table. And Bill stared across the table at the cutlery and the crockery. The salt and pepper pots. The jar of honey and the jar of marmalade.
In the house, in their kitchen. In the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair, Bill stood up. Bill walked back out of the kitchen. Bill walked back into the other room. Bill walked back over to the other chair. Bill picked up his book from the arm of the chair. His book of names, his book of notes. Bill went back out of the room. Bill went back into the kitchen. Bill sat back down. In the night, in the kitchen. At the table, in the chair. Bill opened his book again. His book of names, his book of notes. And Bill stared down at the pages of his book again. The pages of names, the pages of notes. And Bill turned the pages again. Again and again. These pages of names, these pages of notes. Backwards and forwards, again and again. Through all these names, through all these notes. All the players and all the games. The games still to come and the games that had been. Again and again, forwards and backwards. In the night, in the kitchen. Bill stopped turning the pages. The pages of names, the pages of notes. Bill closed the book. The book of names, the book of notes. And at the table, in the chair. Bill closed his eyes again –
It was half-time, half-time in the game against Plymouth Argyle, half-time in the twenty-first game of the season, half-time in the 1961– 62 season. Half-time and Liverpool Football Club were drawing one-all with Plymouth Argyle. At home, at Anfield. Bill walked into the dressing room, the home dressing room. And Bill sat down on the bench beside Johnny Wheeler. Johnny Wheeler had come in for Tommy Leishman. Tommy Leishman was injured, Tommy Leishman could not play. So Bill had brought in Johnny Wheeler. Bill had had no choice. In the dressing room, on the bench. Bill put his hand on the top of Johnny Wheeler’s thigh. Bill gripped it hard. And Bill said, Christ, you are playing well today, John. You are playing well. As well as I’ve ever seen you play, John. And Christ, I’ve seen you play some games. Some great games, John. But today you are turning back the tide. Rolling back the years, John. But I know you must be feeling those years by now. Feeling every one of those years, John. But forty-five more minutes. Forty-five more minutes, John. That is all I ask. That’s all I ask of you, John. Just give forty-five more minutes like the last forty-five minutes. Can you do that for me, John?