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Players Steven Gerrard and Jamie Carragher tell of their anger at the broken promises, as well as their pain at watching loyal fans in open revolt. Manager, chief executive, board members, leading fans and journalists reveal the turmoil at a revered sporting institution run by two men at war with each other, who trampled Liverpool's cherished traditions into the gutter. No story sums up the naked greed at the heart of modern football quite like Hicks' and Gillett's attempt to turn a buck at Liverpool.
No-one has had as much access to the truth, or tells it with as much passion, wit and insight as Brian Reade. An Epic Swindle is the riveting story of how close one of the great football clubs came to financial implosion.
It is not a normal club, it is a special club. He had long been admired in the Premiership and was finally wooed by Liverpool in the belief he could bring back the glory days to the Kop. Klopp is revered as a master tactician with his own unique playing philosophies. He is loved by his players for his passion and man-management skills, and adored by fans for his charm, wit and exciting football on the pitch.
With a foreword by Steven Gerrard, this is the third edition in a bestselling series based on revealing interviews with former players, coaches and managers. Yet that is only half of the story. The decade ended with the club being on the verge of administration after the shambolic reign of American owners, Tom Hicks and George Gillett.
Each person delivers fascinating insights into the minds of the players, coaches and boardroom members as they talk frankly about exhilarating highs and excruciating lows, from winning cups in Cardiff and Istanbul to the political infighting that undermined a succession of managerial reigns.
Ring of Fire tells the real stories: those never told before by the key players who lived through it all. His bestselling autobiography, Gerrard, published in September , is an honest and fascinating account of his life-long obsession with football and the tensions and thrills of playing at the top level. Now the book is available in this abridged version that is perfect for all young football fans.
In early March Liverpool were two wins away from an extraordinary achievement, on course for their first league title win in 30 years - since the heads days of Kenny Dalglish - and likely to seal it in the Liverpool derby against their great rivals Everton. And all this an incredible two months before the season was due to end.
Then, as we all know, the season was postponed. In his personal love-letter to the man, Anthony Quinn, journalist, novelist and life-long Liverpool fan, has written an inspiring and affectionate portrait of the incredible German manager, who came to Liverpool in late , with a growing reputation from his successes at Borussia Dortmund. Closely following the three month break, as well as the club's title-clinching return, Quinn offers a uniquely revealing and personal take on this long-awaited triumph.
In this book, Gerrard discusses the Carry On roots in the music halls of the Victorians and the saucy seaside postcards of Donald McGill. Made in post-war Britain, these films reflect a remarkable period of social change as the British Empire faded and a nation learned to laugh at itself. Nothing was sacred to the Carry On team. Carry On! The guile and trickery of the street kid made an impact with the country's biggest club, Nacional, before he was spotted by Dutch scouts who brought him to Europe.
From that moment, he terrorised Premier League defences, driving a resurgent Liverpool towards their most exciting top-flight season in 24 years. Barry and I were good mates, but our playground svaly was something es, rel physica. We picked the sides, Barrys team against mine, always dead competitive.
Bary was a decent player. He turned out for Denbarn Us,a side my dad helped run. Denburn were good: Michael Branch and Tony Hibbert played for them. Barry and I were the main men inthe sehool tam, One yeas, we helped St Mick's win a local cup which gave ue a chance of playing at Wembley Fist we had to bea sides fom dliferent dstits ina tournament, The prize was hue. Whar 1 dream come true that wold be! I eaught my knee onthe sharp rng-pl of 4 Coke can, which sliced open my leg.
That was typical of my luck. My mates were off to Wembley and I was off to hospital. The scar on my kee faded but the pain of missing that trip to Wembley remains. My teacher at St Mick's, Mrs Chadwick, gave me some sound advice. Football won. My career demanded I go here. Liverpool Boys teams were better run. Cardinal Heenan was the only place for me Having picked ay secondary school for footballing reasons, 1 sail had to endure lesions there.
The idea of moving among so many strangers horrified me. Cardinal Heenan was three miles from another country in my mind. Bur Mom and Dad home a persuaded me it would he best for my football. Reluctantly, 1 went. Christ, fle gown up. Sean was a nightmare, late every day. Terry and me chucked stones at Sean's bedroom window to get him up at quarter t0 nine Sometimes we got so annoyed we threw the stones really hard, A few shards of broken glass around Sean's bedoom would, sort out his lousy time-keeping, When we finaly go Sean out of his house, there would be « mad dash to the bus.
All cree of 1s, schoo-bags dangling, legs racing, spining down the road, laughing our heads off. Great times. Sean i a bricklayer now, doing well. He's a huge Everton fan. So we have some banter. I wanted football, indoor for on the field.
Or tennis. I was quite warm at tennis. But football emained the main subject on my personal cursicalum. Ihad my own gang and we looked out for each other.
Older boys, bigger boys, no-one. I lived for those moments, Lessons were jus the ead time between games. All the way theough Cardinal Heenan, Iwas in the middle academi- cally.
Different subjects provoked diferent moods. I liked messing about with words. Reading, My favourite book at school was Of Mice and Men. Nevet, Dad wouldn't have any of that.
The consequences of busking off, sneaking a ciggy, oF fare-dodging, were unimaginable, Dad gave me a few clips round the ear and bollockngs, but nothing too damaging, He never hit me. Dad showed his disappointment in a diferene way.
He had a stare that could break my heare, What stopped sme messing about was I feared losing the great relationship we hhad. He wouldn't tolerate having police coming round to Ironside, Loads of people banged on the door to complain about Paul and me throwing stones a their windows, but we never had the police sound. Never I serewed up once Just once. I went robbing and got aug Me and a mate were mocking about in the cette of Liverpool, aseleven-year-olds do, just being stupid in Woolies.
The plan was sorted with Woolies the target We snuck in and weat up and down the aisles patting pens in out pockets and paper up my coat. Confident, we walked towards the exit. The plan scemed to be working. Shit, The Woolies security man was standing there. Liverpool is fished. The club will go crazy. Das sing to disown me. He then gave usa right bollocking.
What school are you at? Give us your phone number now. The guard asked agai, so gave the address of my aunties house. He wrote that down, gave us another rollicking, and kicked us out of Woolies. Woolies would Phone school, then get hold of Dad, and chat would be it, me srounded, no football forages. Home was out ofthe question, wane 0 I sprinted round to my auntie Lynn's. She let me in, sat me down, and listened me out. Will you go and sce Dad? Bad news taveled fast.
Why go robbing? Why dida' you ask me or your mum for money? You'l get another bollocking at school. Ie wasn't sweets I ook. Nothing could save me from the doghouse. I fee so small. I hated ling him down. Why had I gone robbing? Our pasents always told Paul sand me: You don'rhave to steal.
Idiot chat I was, I went robbing and now faced the consequences As Dad slated me, Mum stood in the doorway, watching and listening. Mum wanted Dad to stress how serious the situation was, bu she was ako behind him making sue there were no belts. Me and Paul were mummy's boys, and she protected us. A ot of kids wo gor aughe smoking or robbing got leathered by their dads, My accomplice in Woolies certainly sufered an almighty hiding when he got home.
Dad jus sent me to my room and rounded me for thee nights. Just the opposite. Come fon Thanks. He wound me up something rotten. Ir was torture I heard the game going on, listened almost sn tears tothe screams of delight, the jokes, the nosy eeebra- sions. I couldn't eseape. My room as inthe front. Crue laughter followed theie words up to my window. My mates! My bloody brother! They knew I could hear. They knew it would kill me. When they stopped calling up, I sneaked a look fut the window to watch them enviousy.
Ie was my fale. Mates of mine robbed shops and garages nicking sweets and drinks, when I was wit them, [never got involved, but I was dhere. Anonymous ikURam. Nagy Magdy. Franklin Mano. Carmen Rujan. Ricardo Luiz. Razvan Radulescu. Abdul Majeed. Alan Considine. Shef Domi. FootballUnited Blogs. Kakouris Andreas. Pallavi Sharma. Adolfo Valenzuela Bustos. Jhanzaib Aslam. Ivan Koks Kokalovic.
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