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“The
socialism I believe in is everyone working for each other, everyone
having a share of the rewards. It's the way I see football, the
way I see life."
That was the creed that fuelled and inspired the greatest football
manager that ever drew breath or is ever likely to. Bill Shankly
not only built a great football team at Anfield – two of them
actually – he built a football club in his own image, giving
Liverpool FC an ethos unique in English football, a communal bond
between players, supporters and city that has yet to be broken.
Without Shankly’s genius, without his ability to speak to the
man on the terraces, his ability to include them in the club, would
Liverpool have gone on to dominate English football like no other
side ever has; to achieve a mastery in Europe surpassed only by
great Real Madrid at the European Cup’s inception; or, more
important yet, to withstand the savage, heartbreaking blows that
rained down upon it one grisly day in Sheffield fourteen years ago
this month? I doubt it.
Shankly knew instinctively that the club existed only to give the
working people respite and entertainment away from the drudgery
of normal life, that Anfield was there as a refuge from the world,
and that if he could harness the power of the Kop, the most irresistible
noise in the game, to a team that played the right sort of winning
football, Liverpool would be unstoppable. So it proved as he took
them from a team languishing in the old Second Division to the point
at which Europe was opening up in front of them, England having
long since been conquered by a team every bit as inventive, intelligent
and loquacious as it’s garrulous manager, a man of rock hard
exterior which protected a heart that bled for the people, for the
victims of injustice, of the system, of life’s grinding monotony.
Shanks saw it as his mission to give the people what they wanted
and no manager has ever managed to do that so thoroughly, not even
Busby or Ferguson, not even Bill’s own successor Bob Paisley.
He gave them a team that played winning football, and football that
won the love of people, a team that played with its heart and soul
as well as its head, a red machine that still had a human side that
allowed for the full flowering of charismatic talents like Ian St
John, Kevin Keegan, Peter Thompson and Steve Heighway.
They, and granite tough colleagues such as Ron Yeats and Tommy Smith,
were always aware that they were the servants of the people, supporters
who Shankly always respected and who, in return loved him. Having
lost the 1971 FA Cup Final to Arsenal, those fans still lined the
streets as Liverpool returned home on an open top bus. Turning to
Brian Hall, Shankly said, “Son, who’s the Chinaman with
the wee book?”
“You mean Chairman Mao boss?”
“Aye, that’s him.”
Minutes later, as the crowd went into raptures as Shankly appeared
on the balcony at the reception, he silenced them by raising his
arms.
“Even Chairman Mao has never seen a show of red strength to
match you today.”
Genius.
That was the guiding principle behind Shanklyism. He was there for
the people, the people were the engine that powered Liverpool FC,
and Shanks never let them down. He truly did live and breathe football
and as a kid, he was my hero alongside King Astle – what higher
recommendation is there than that?
With the prospect of Liverpool leaving Anfield in the future, there
is only place they can play. The Shankly Stadium. But given that
Annfield itself may be on borrowed time, one of the greatest highlights
of this Premier League season was the chance it offered to go there
to salute the Shankly Gates and pay homage to the statue of the
great man. The tribute on his statue simply reads, “He made
the people happy.” He’d be happy with that.
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