Parody extracts from acclaimed author David Peace’s – writer of the Damned United – forthcoming book on Brendan Rogers’ first season in charge of Liverpool Football Club.
Beginnings
The American rang Cilla Black. Cilla Black told the American the name of the man Liverpool football club needed. The American rang John Bishop. John Bishop screeched ‘fifty shades of greyyyy’ and waited, hoping for a laugh, then John Bishop told the American the name of the man Liverpool football club needed. The American rang the actor who played Theo Huxtable in The Cosby Show. It was a wrong number. Even so, Theo told the American this ‘Brenton’ guy sure sounded like the man Liverpool football club needed. The American rang no-one. He couldn’t pay his phone bill. The American regretted calling those people who had little knowledge of Liverpool Football Club, but whose names the writer found amusing. No matter: it was time. He Skyped Brendan. But Brendan couldn’t do it. Brendan was a good man, an honest man, a man of his word. What about Swansea City? The American laughed. This is Liverpool: we do what we want. We do do that though don’t we though, added Sammy Lee. It was a conference call.
My town
In the town and on the Mersey, in this land the place he loved, Brendan watched the people. From every corner they poured – like rain or a can of Lilt. The people. From Clinton Cards, the people, from Zara, the people, from The Beatles Museum, the people, from The Gerry and the Pacemakers Museum, a person. To bar Celsius and bar Fahrenheit and bar Monaco Grand Prix 88, where your first drink’s free if you’ve got an NUS card or a tattooed arse, there to drink, there to forget. Liverpool people, noble people. Brendan’s people. (well, the ones from that posh bit of Cheshire where all the Liverpool players and staff live). This is my town. And here I’ll stay, vowed Brendan. And here I’ll stay. Results permitting.
Media duties
In his first year, the cameras came and the cameras saw. For Channel 5, the cameras came and the cameras saw Pepe Reina toast a cheese sandwich for his ungrateful son, saw men in overpriced leisurewear drink tea and cluck sound bites, saw Jamie Carragher’s wife tip an aromatherapist, saw Martin Skertel play pool with Malteesers. Every ball the same colour, every ball the same weight, every ball a job to do. Like socialism. Chocolate socialism.
Because this is Liverpool football club and we do what we’re asked.
Red in tooth and claw
On 21 April, 2013, Liverpool football club play Chelsea in the Barclays Premier league. That afternoon, 45,009 Irish and southerners packed into Anfield. In the first minute, the very first minute, the game kicks off. Chelsea score first, then Liverpool. Trading punches, punches traded. In between, disaster strikes: Tom O’Connor is doing the half-time entertainment. In the 57th minute, Chelsea score again. 1-2. Brendan looks to the sky, despairing, and the sky is red. Liverpool red. And he sees a flock of liver birds flying, like in a dream he once had of a flock of liver birds flying. Up there next to the Sky Sports match day blimp with Gary Neville and special guest Ray Wilkins.
But Brendan is a fighter. So Brendan kicked every ball the players kicked (There was only one – it didn’t take long). Brendan made every tackle the players… tackled. Ate every pie in the ground, drained every glass in the Titi Camara executive lounge, rotated every pitch-side advert for International banking conglomerates. And in the 90th minute, the very 90th minute, comes his reward. Suarez, who up until then had had a quiet game, scores with a header. The stadium erupts.
On 21 April, 2013, Liverpool football club beat Chelsea football club 2-2.
This is Liverpool and the coveted 7th spot is ours. This is Liverpool and we’ll definitely push on next season, la. Definitely.
Michael Curle
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