Read Online My Liverpool Home by Kenny Dalglish - Free Book Online Page A

on about diets, warming up and down, stretching properly and getting enough sleep, as if this was some fancy, new-wave thinking. We did all that under Bob. We never had the technology, the rooms full of computers and conditioning labs, but we appreciated the value of preparation, although at times our warm-down was nothing more scientific than a cup of tea. Nothing happened at Liverpool by chance. In the team meeting before the game, Ronnie ran through set-pieces, telling which players to pick up which opponents. Researching the opposition was a given for me, such as studying the keeper. How far would he come out for crosses? Did he go down early? Watching games on the television, I logged all this information in my head, so when the crunch came in a match, I was ready.
    A tried and tested formula dictated how Liverpool’s day unfolded. Every morning, we arrived at Anfield at 9.30, changed and hopped on the bus at 10.15 for the 15-minute ride to Melwood. I loved a tradition punctuated only by the arrival of a new driver after the last one got fed up with being hit by mud or banter. They always did. As I remembered from my trial in 1966, that journey was vital for team camaraderie. I always believed this routine gave the club a feeling of warmth. Big Hansen would be in the back seat with Stevie Nicol close by so Al could give him stick. The A and B teams got on the bus, and the senior players had the opportunity to inquire how their matches had gone.
    ‘How did you do Saturday?’ I’d ask.
    ‘We won,’ they’d chorus, faces reddening.
    ‘Well done,’ we’d respond.
    It was great for the younger boys to feel part of the football club. The facilities at Melwood and Anfield now are so fantastic that there’s no need for a bus and I believe that the kids lose out a bit. They don’t see Stevie, Carra, Fernando and Pepe Reina now and that’s a pity because these players are role models for the boys to aspire to.
    Back then, having got off the bus at Melwood, we walked into the pavilion, put our boots on, went out and loosened up and trained. Back in the pavilion after training, there was a cup of tea waiting. Back at Anfield, there was a three-course lunch spread out on tables in the players’ lounge: soup, steak pie and a dessert. With single boys on the books, Liverpool knew they’d have one good meal inside them each day. The players loved those lunches and trouble almost broke out when the board, deciding to cut back on overheads, stopped the meals one year. This affront occurred one pre-season when David Hodgson had just arrived, and he got terrible stick.
    ‘Hodgy, it’s your fault the lunches have been scrubbed,’ I told him. ‘Liverpool spent the money on you. I’ve had a wee conversation with the other players and we’ve decided we’d rather have the lunches than you.’ Hodgy laughed, slightly nervously.
    The food was made by May and Theresa, who became family for the players, as all the staff at Anfield did. Liverpool players of that era being impish by inclination, we’d wind up some of the staff, especially Ken Myers, who ran the maintenance side. A wee bit of a grumpy man, Ken was easy to provoke.
    ‘Ken, the showers are too hot,’ we’d tell him. So Ken got the wrench out, attacking the plumbing in the dressing room, grumbling away as he wrestled with the pipes. When he’d finished, we’d announce, ‘Ken, the showers are too cold.’ Ken just glowered.
    Anfield teemed with characters. Friends of players, particularly of local lads such as Sammy or Tommo, wandered in and out, providing services, boys who ran about town and knew everyone. Liverpool now have a player liaison officer but back then the older players helped the new ones, taking them into Southport or the Wirral and showing them houses. John Toshack took me round.
    A man often appeared at Anfield trying to sell us cars – legit ones, of course. A pal of mine in the rag-trade popped into the club, selling trousers and shirts to