My Liverpool Home (19 page)

Showering and dressing quickly, I rushed off to find Marina. She was fine, thank God, clearly distressed but not as bad as those wives who’d been threatened by Juventus supporters. One Italian tried to drag Paul Walsh’s girlfriend to see the bodies. Only when the girls began explaining to us what had happened did we realise the enormity of the occasion. The wives had attempted to leave the stadium by a back entrance but ran into ambulances and a row of dead bodies. When Marina relayed this detail to me, I was even more furious. If Uefa were going to carry on with the game, they should have protected innocent people such as our wives.

As we boarded the bus, it gradually became more apparent what had occurred. The main facts are now well established: 39 people died when a wall collapsed as they sprinted away from Liverpool fans who were charging at them. Unfortunately, they had nowhere to go, just retreating into that crush and losing their lives. Desperate. Even now, the authorities still don’t comprehend that what happened at Heysel was a legacy of Rome a year earlier. Still fresh in the minds of Liverpool fans was how brutally they had been treated by Italian supporters outside the Olympic Stadium in 1984. Kopites remembered the stones, the flying bottles, the attacks around the ground. The ambushes that befell Liverpool fans in Rome angered all supporters, who determined they would not fall victim to Italian venom again. At Heysel, Liverpool fans were hemmed in, so when rocks and chunks of concrete began coming through the air, some of them inevitably felt ‘this is Roma re-visited’.

‘We copped this the last time,’ a Liverpool fan told me. ‘It’s different people but same principle. Are we going to stand there and let somebody throw stones at us?’ Not many people would. Why should they again be used for target practice by Italians? Nothing forgives the violent reaction of a few Liverpool fans, but the whole controversy needs placing in context. After 21 years of playing in Europe, Liverpool fans enjoyed an unsullied reputation. Before Heysel, Liverpool had not been associated with trouble. I’m offering reasons, not excuses. If somebody comes into my house, I’ll defend my house. If somebody throws bricks at me, I’ll defend myself. Why are those who retaliated instantly denigrated as the bad guys? If Roma fans hadn’t attacked Liverpool in 1984, our fans wouldn’t have been so quick to retaliate in 1985. If Juventus fans hadn’t lobbed bricks, there would have been no charge by the Liverpool fans. No spark, no fire. No stones, no reaction. Juventus fans shouldn’t have been in zone Z, a neutral area. During the inquest into Heysel, people seemed to forget that Juventus fans were aggressive. Watching the footage, I noted a masked Italian running out from the stand, pointing a gun. Nobody knew at the time it was only a starting pistol, so why wasn’t he arrested?

Uefa has always sought to dodge the finger of blame. They’ve never answered questions legitimately directed at them. Why did they choose the wrong stadium? Why did they compound their mistake by authorising a neutral section? If this end was supposed to be neutral, then why did the list of dead show 32 Italians, four Belgians, two French and a man from Northern Ireland, so more than three-quarters of those who died were Juventus fans? Uefa’s ‘neutral’ area was anything but. In Rome, Liverpool fans had one end and it wasn’t full because the Olympic Stadium was so vast. Why didn’t Uefa have the same arrangements in 1985? Juventus could have had their share of Heysel and Liverpool their share. No neutral section was required. How on earth could Uefa think they could separate the passionate followers of Liverpool and Juventus with a thin piece of chicken wire? Chicken wire! Why did Uefa fail to organise a line of stewards between supporters? Why did they fail to control the situation once the trouble began? Uefa had plenty of failings to answer for but never did. Instead, and to my eternal anger, the hurricane of questions and criticism blew towards Liverpool.

The only major decision Uefa got right on the night, a call some people still disagree with, was to play the game. Uefa’s fear, and one I shared, was that a dreadful situation could have worsened. If everybody had been turfed out of the stadium, more trouble might have erupted in Brussels. Uefa couldn’t hold the European Cup final over, but they should never have held the presentation, not if they knew people had died. That was so undignified.

The following morning, some grieving Juventus fans made their way to Liverpool’s base in Brussels. To leave the hotel was to run the gauntlet. Climbing on board the bus, we were left in no doubt about the depth of Italian fury. Juventus fans were sobbing, hitting the bus with their bare hands, their emotions so raw. One man pushed his face right up against the window. He was inches away from me and I saw and understood his anger. This man might have lost a brother, a son, a friend among the 39. Football’s a central force in millions of lives but it can never be more important than family. For all my veneration of Shanks, I’ve never agreed with his famous quote that ‘football is not a matter of life and death. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that.’ That’s wrong. I can’t have that. Football can never be more important, but staring through the window at that poor Juventus man, I couldn’t help thinking that the Italians should have vented some of their rage at Uefa and the Belgian organisers.

Liverpool’s retreat from Brussels was one of the darkest journeys I’d ever made. Not only had we left the European Cup behind, we’d also left much of our good reputation behind. My heart went out to Joe, who broke down on the tarmac at Speke Airport, overwhelmed by emotion, requiring Roy’s support. Joe’s last game as Liverpool manager ended in tragedy and a decent, honourable man deserved to be retiring in a more dignified manner.

Unfairly vilified from many quarters, Liverpool Football Club showed its remorse for what happened at Heysel. On the Friday, all the players and staff attended a requiem mass at Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral. Joe was still in pieces, needing his wife’s help to enter the church. I joined the offertory procession while Bruce and Big Al carried a wreath bedecked in the red-and-white ribbons of Liverpool and the black and white of Juventus. Bob Paisley read from the Book of Isaiah. His distinctive voice flowed like a soft breeze down the church, his words stirring more emotions. ‘The Lord will destroy death forever,’ read Bob. ‘He will wipe away the tears from every cheek and take away the people’s shame.’ Shame? That word hit me hard. Why should Liverpool feel shame? Regret, yes. But shame? I felt no shame, just sadness for those who died, and anger at Uefa for not listening.

As I sat there, seething with frustration, Joe bravely took to the pulpit to lead the prayers. His words carried such beauty and soul, making a fitting tribute to the 39. ‘We pray for their families and friends who have suffered through bereavement,’ read Joe. ‘We pray that the sporting spirit, so treasured on Merseyside, may never be lost to violence or to bitterness.’ Amen to that. In a moving and eloquent way, Joe articulated Liverpool’s deep sympathy towards the people who lost their lives, our respect for them and their families. In tragedies like this, people feel helpless. What do I do? What can I do? Liverpool responded correctly, solemnly. Juventus had an outpouring of grief. Liverpool had an outpouring of sympathy. Gathered in that cathedral, we wanted to send a message of support to the Italians and I passionately hoped we achieved that aim.

Nobody cared to think Liverpool were suffering. ‘It’s a horror story one has to live with,’ said Peter Robinson, whose warnings went so scandalously unheeded. PBR was right. Heysel was a horror story that Liverpool as well as the Juventus families had to live with it. The bereaved were the worst affected, of course, but it was not pleasant for anybody. Nobody can be proud – aggrieved, aggressor, footballer, official or politician. On 31 May, Margaret Thatcher, whose knowledge of football was notoriously limited, called for English clubs, particularly Liverpool, to be banned from European competition. The Prime Minister even labelled Liverpool fans hooligans. I felt it the height of irresponsibility for Thatcher to come out so quickly with such rash statements when she didn’t know the facts. She just saw it as a political master-stroke for her – great publicity, Iron Lady, all that baggage. It wasn’t her job to ban us. Thatcher just made it easier for Uefa to send us into exile. ‘Look,’ they must have thought, ‘even the British Prime Minister has criticised Liverpool, so let’s ban them.’ Within 48 hours of Thatcher’s ill-advised comments, Uefa banned English clubs – and I thought that football authorities, including Uefa, despised political interference. Thatcher probably got all the English clubs banned. If she’d kept her mouth shut, the rest of them might not have suffered.

I accept that Liverpool deserved some sanction, but why were Everton affected? Howard Kendall’s team won the League in 1985 and never got to compete in the European Cup. Heysel was nothing to do with Everton. Why were Roma not punished the year before? Why was that swept under the carpet and not publicised? Roma fans bricked our boys, people had blood pouring out of their heads, but they got no justice. Uefa certainly never covered themselves in glory because they never accepted their negligence. Juventus escaped criticism for their fans throwing rocks and starting the trouble. The only people held responsible were the Liverpool fans in that pen.

Of course, it was only right that the full force of the British justice system should pursue those Liverpool fans who’d been the most aggressive. I can’t hide from the fact that a degree of malevolence motivated some of those leading that charge. When 27 people were arrested by the police on suspicion of manslaughter, it was clear some were no angels. A few had previous convictions for violent behaviour, but an analysis of any crowd would probably reveal criminal records. Did any of the 39 who so tragically died have convictions for violence? When it also became apparent that a lot of the fans arrested didn’t have Liverpool addresses, the thought crossed my mind that maybe they were supporters of other English clubs, simply using a crowded European Cup final as an opportunity for hooliganism. This was the mid-Eighties when the English disease, as the continentals called it, was at its ugly peak.

While the police went about their work, the Belgian parliament launched an investigation into events at Heysel. On 6 July, a Belgian judge laid the blame at the feet of politicians, police and football administrators. His verdict totally vindicated Peter’s judgement and reputation as one of the best administrators in football. PBR offered good advice but the people of Uefa arrogantly refused to listen. The judge condemned Uefa, saying they were also culpable. Based near Geneva, in Switzerland, Uefa clearly felt themselves above Belgian law.

‘How can that be right?’ I said to PBR. ‘How can Uefa be outside the jurisdiction of a country where they’ve held an event?’

Uefa should have been called to account. If Uefa had any shred of compassion, they must have felt guilty. The same as the Liverpool fans who charged across zone Z must have felt guilty at the consequences of their actions, although they never had any intention of killing anybody.

Amidt all the carnage and recrimination, some good came of Heysel. Policing standards improved, a dangerous stadium was rebuilt and fans taught themselves a bit of restraint. Liverpool supporters had six years to go away and think about their part in the tragedy, and learn from the awful events in zone Z. Liverpool and Juventus worked hard to rebuild their shattered relationship. Central to that was the strong rapport between Peter and the Juventus president, the tall, grey-haired Giampiero Boniperti.

Almost 20 years on, Liverpool and Juventus were drawn together in the Champions League. The Kop welcomed the Italians with a mosaic spelling out ‘Amicia’, showing that friendship had developed out of hatred. PBR and Boniperti were instrumental in that. Good links were made and both clubs have to be admired for the way they went about the reconciliation. Liverpool had the greatest ground to recover as they were banned from Europe. This was the situation I walked into as, even before Heysel, I knew I was succeeding Joe.

11

STEPPING UP

F
OR
the life of me, I don’t know why Liverpool appointed me manager. PBR and the board could see my intense love for the club, and were aware I thought deeply about the game, but they also understood how committed I was to continue playing. That Liverpool No. 7 shirt was a second skin to me, and one I dreaded shedding. Looking back, I believe they carefully sounded me out about the possibility of management without my even realising it. A year before Heysel, PBR called me into his office at Anfield. Peter was his usual self, relaxed but always on top of everything. Calmly, as if opening a conversation about the weather, Peter said, ‘Kenny, how do you see the future going?’

‘Just concentrate on playing, I hope, Peter.’

‘We want to give you a four-year contract.’

‘Four years? Peter, I’m thirty-three. I’m not young!’

‘We just want to reward you for what you’ve done for Liverpool Football Club.’

‘Reward me? Shouldn’t I be rewarding you for what you’ve done for me?’ I meant it. Liverpool gave me the platform to reach for the sky. ‘Look what I’ve done here. Look what I’ve won. I’ve only got those medals because you brought me here. Look, Peter, if you want to reward me with a new contact, I’m honoured. Just give me the contract and I’ll sign it now.’

‘There are no figures in it yet.’

‘I’m no bothered. If I can’t trust you, what chance have we got!’

‘I’ll have it ready for you tomorrow, Kenny. Come up then.’

So the following morning, before training, I reported back.

‘Sorry, Kenny, it’s not finished.’

‘Peter, I trust you. I’ll sign the blank contract, you fill in the details and I know I have a four-year contract.’

As I turned to leave, Peter remarked casually: ‘Kenny, what do you see yourself doing in the future?’

‘Play for as long as I can, then get into coaching or management. Football’s all I know.’