Johnny Wheeler nodded.
Bill patted Johnny Wheeler’s thigh. Bill patted it gently. And Bill said, Thank you, John. Thank you.
Back in the dug-out, the home dug-out. Bill watched and Bill waited. Bill waited and Bill watched. And in the eightieth minute, Ian St John scored. And Liverpool Football Club beat Plymouth Argyle two — one. At home, at Anfield. And after the whistle, the final whistle. In the dug-out, the home dug-out. Bill stood up again. Bill walked down the touchline, the Anfield touchline again. Liverpool Football Club had now played twenty-one games. Liverpool Football Club now had thirty-three points. Liverpool Football Club were still first in the Second Division. But it was still half-time, still only half-time. Liverpool Football Club still had half the season to come. Liverpool Football Club still had twenty-one games to play. But Johnny Wheeler would never play another game for Liverpool Football Club.
In the house, in their kitchen. In the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair. Bill opened his eyes again. And Bill got up from the chair again, up from the table again. Bill walked over to the wall. Bill switched off the light. Bill walked up the stairs. Liverpool Football Club had beaten Bristol Rovers two — nil. At home, at Anfield. Liverpool Football Club had thirty-five points. Liverpool Football Club still first in the Second Division. Leyton Orient still second, Leyton Orient with twenty-seven points. Bill went into the bathroom. Bill switched on the light. Bill washed his face, Bill cleaned his teeth. And then Bill looked up into the mirror. Liverpool Football Club had lost to Leeds United. Away from home, away from Anfield. In the bathroom, in the mirror. Bill could hear the wind blowing around the house. In a gale, a winter gale. Liverpool Football Club had lost to Rotherham United. Away from home, away from Anfield. Again. Liverpool Football Club still had thirty-five points. Liverpool Football Club still first in the Second Division. Leyton Orient still second, Leyton Orient now with thirty-one points. And now with a game in hand. In the bathroom, in the mirror. Bill turned away. Bill switched off the light. And Bill walked into the bedroom. In the bedroom, in the dark. Bill got undressed. In the dark and in the cold. Rotherham United should have come to Anfield, Liverpool. And Liverpool Football Club should have had the chance to put things right. To make amends, to take revenge. But in the dark and in the cold. The weather was against Liverpool Football Club. And the game was postponed. Leyton Orient’s game was not postponed. Leyton Orient played Swansea Town. And Leyton Orient beat Swansea Town three — one. Leyton Orient now had thirty-three points. In the dark and in the cold. Bill put on his pyjamas. Liverpool Football Club still had thirty-five points. Liverpool Football Club still first in the Second Division. Just. In the dark and in the cold. Bill got into bed. But Bill did not close his eyes. Bill did not go to sleep. In the dark, in their bed. Bill stared up at the ceiling. In the dark, in their bed. Bill was still thinking things over, Bill was still turning things over. Over and over. In the dark, in his mind. The games that had been and the games-to-come, the players he had picked and the players he might. Thinking who should step down and who should step up, thinking who was ready and who was not. Ready to step up, ready or not. In the dark, in his mind. Wondering who was deserving of faith and who was not. Wondering, always wondering. Bill was always wondering. In the dark, in their bed. Bill could not close his eyes. Bill could not sleep, Bill just could not sleep.
Upstairs in their bedroom, at the window. Bill drew back the curtains. Bill looked out through the glass at the trees, up through the trees to the sky. The sky and the dawn. And Bill smiled. Downstairs in the house, in their kitchen. Ness and the girls were clearing away the breakfast things. Washing up the pots, putting away the plates. They were chatting and they were laughing. Upstairs in their bedroom, at the window. Bill smiled again. And Bill turned away from the window. Bill walked over to the bed. Bill picked up his shirt and Bill put on his shirt. His brand-new red shirt. Bill went to the dressing table. Bill opened the top drawer. Bill took out his cufflinks. His gold cufflinks. Bill closed the drawer. Bill did up the cuffs of his shirt. His brand-new red shirt. Bill went to the wardrobe. Bill opened the doors. Bill took out his suit. His freshly cleaned grey suit with the white pinstripe. Bill left the wardrobe doors open. Bill walked over to the bed. Bill laid out the suit on top of the bed covers. Bill took the trousers from the coat hanger. Bill put on the trousers of his suit. His freshly cleaned grey suit with the white pinstripe. Bill went back to the dressing table. Bill opened the second drawer of the dressing table. Bill took out a red tie. The red tie his daughters had given him for Christmas. The red tie Bill had never worn before. Bill closed the drawer. Bill walked back to the wardrobe. The doors still open. Bill stood before the mirror on the back of one of the doors. Bill put on his tie. His red tie. Bill went back over to the bed. Bill picked up the jacket from the bed. Bill took the jacket from the coat hanger. Bill put on the jacket of his suit. His freshly cleaned grey suit with the white pinstripe. Bill walked back over to the dressing table. Bill opened the top drawer of the dressing table again. Bill took out one white handkerchief and one red pocket square. Bill closed the drawer. Bill put the white handkerchief in his left trouser pocket. Bill laid the red pocket square on the top of the dressing table. It looked like a red diamond. Bill brought the bottom point of the red pocket square up to the top point. It looked like a red triangle. Bill brought the left corner of the triangle to the right corner and then the right corner to the left corner. It looked like a long red rectangle with a point at the top. Bill folded the bottom almost towards the top. Bill walked back over to the mirror on the back of the wardrobe door. Bill stood before the mirror. Bill placed the red pocket square in the breast pocket of his grey jacket. Bill looked in the mirror. Bill adjusted the pocket square until just enough of the point was coming out of the pocket. The red point out of the grey pocket. Bill stepped back a little from the mirror. In the house, their semidetached house on Bellefield Avenue, West Derby. In the bedroom, in the mirror. Bill looked at himself, Bill saw himself. And Bill smiled. Today, Chelsea Football Club were coming to Anfield, Liverpool. Today, the world would be coming to Anfield, too. Today, Bill knew the world would be watching Liverpool Football Club. And Bill could not wait, Bill just could not wait.
9. THE MARCH TO APRIL
On Saturday 6 January, 1962, the world and forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five folk came to Anfield, Liverpool. Oh, when the saints. The world and forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five folk to watch Liverpool Football Club play Chelsea Football Club in the Third Round of the FA Cup. Go marching in. The world and the Kop. Oh, when the saints go marching in. The Kop clapping, the Kop cheering. Lord, how I want to be in that number. The Kop shouting and the Kop singing. When the saints go marching in. A wall of sound, a sea of noise. We are travelling in the footsteps. A sound so great the Chelsea players trembled on the pitch. Of those who’ve gone before. A noise so loud the Chelsea players could not hear the referee blow his whistle. And we’ll all be reunited. In a din, a din. On a new and sunlit shore. A din so deafening, a din so intimidating. Oh, when the saints, go marching in. That never let up and never subsided, that had the Chelsea players kicking the ball anywhere. Oh, when the saints go marching in. Anywhere for a moment’s peace, for a moment’s respite. Lord, how I want to be in that number. But there was no peace, there was no respite. When the saints go marching in. Not from the din and not from the team. And when the sun, refuse to shine. The team in red shirts, white shorts and white socks. Oh, when the sun refuse to shine. The team that came again and again at the Chelsea players. Lord, how I want to be in that number. Again and again, wave after wave, attack after attack. When the sun refuse to shine. The sound behind the team in red shirts, white shorts and white socks. And when the moon, turns red with blood. The noise of forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five folk clapping and cheering, shouting and singing. Oh, when the moon turns red with blood. The din and then the roar. Lord, how I want to be in that number. The roar in the sixteenth minute as Ian St John scored. When the moon turns red with blood. The roar of a goal. Oh, when the trumpet, sounds its call. A Liverpool goal. Oh, when the trumpet sounds its call. The roar and then, then a sudden silence. A sudden silence as Tambling equalised for Chelsea. One-all. One-all and Bill Shankly was on his feet. On his feet, his arms outstretched. Cajoling his team, rallying his team. Orchestrating and conducting. Not only the team. Orchestrating and conducting the crowd. Lord, how I want to be in that number. The forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five crowd inside Anfield, Liverpool. When the trumpet sounds its call. The crowd and the Kop. Some say this world of trouble. The Kop clapping again, the Kop cheering again. Is the only one we need. Shouting again and singing again. But I’m waiting for that morning. Roaring. When the new world is revealed. Roaring again in the twenty-eighth minute as Roger Hunt scored. Oh, when the new world is revealed. Two — one. Oh, when the new world is revealed. Roaring again in the forty-first minute as St John scored his second. Lord, how I want to be in that number. Three — one. When the new world is revealed. Roaring again as Jimmy Melia hit one post. Oh, when the saints. Roaring again as Ian Callaghan hit the other. Go marching in. Roaring again and again as Bonetti made save after save. Oh, when the saints go marching in. Then roaring again, louder than ever, roaring again in the forty-fourth minute as Alan A’Court scored. Lord, how I want to be in that number. Four — one –