By Brian Reade
Fusing the blind ardour of a lifelong supporter with the chilly eye of an award-winning journalist, this can be an up-close and private view of the whole sleek period of Britain's such a lot profitable soccer membership. From their first ever FA Cup win in 1965 to the Champions League defeat in Athens in 2007, this evaluate takes at the notable tales in the back of the forty eight trophies Liverpool has received. Highlighting the memorable nights that propelled the membership to 5 eu Cups, 3 UEFA Cups, 12 titles, and numerous family cup triumphs, this account additionally discusses their sour disasters, the tragic failures in Sheffield and Brussels, and the barren years of the overdue 60s and the 90s.
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Additional resources for 44 Years With the Same Bird
The joy was life-threatening. But on seeing her cack-handed attempt to place a number 9 on the back of it, my eyes expanded like a deep-sea diver hitting the bends, and I struggled so hard to keep down the swear-words I threw it to the deck, called her a ‘stupid bitch’ and ran out of the house and down the street. She followed, screaming at me to come back, but I just kept running, yelling back that I was leaving home for good. For hours I hid under the sink in a kitchen of a house that was being built on a new estate, moping over how near yet how far I’d come to owning my own Ian St John kit.
I couldn’t suddenly flirt with Roger after dating his mate for three years, and Hateley was too much of a big ugly lump, too easily injured and so lethal in the air the team was tempted to switch from their trademark pass-and-move system and play it straight to his head. Shankly agreed, moving him on quickly (despite scoring 16 League goals in his first season). Shanks, like me, decided heroes had to have a bit more class about them. Back at Kellitt Road I heard footsteps on the kitchen step and a presence slowly making for the gate.
I didn’t get why Vic took the scissors to Charles Buchan’s Football Monthly and covered his wall with pictures of men in shorts. What was cool about that? Why hadn’t he butchered Fab 208, like me, and taped up The Beatles, The Searchers and Sandie Shaw? For a start, you rarely saw it. Match Of The Day had begun that season on BBC2, but nobody had the channel, and all the radio gave you was the shipping forecast and Sing Something Simple. What made Our Vic squat with pained concentration before the Grandstand teleprinter every Saturday?