May 3, 1986: Dalglish’s Red Machine Locks Down The Title And Wrecks Goodison’s Dreams – And Everton’s Bus

A stunning week in Merseyside football had seen Everton go from shoo-ins to win the title to Liverpool gaining the advantage in the most crucial season in English football history. Part one of this series gives context to events and part two gives an account of the unpredictable events that brought Liverpool to Stamford Bridge needing a victory over Chelsea to wrest the title from Goodison Park. The climax to the campaign had drama, comedy and a short sharp burst of violence

Snapshot of the crowd on the north terrace at Stamford Bridge. I’m behind the letter R on the flag in the pale shirt. One of my mates is alongside me to the right and another two are in line behind me. Oh, and the banner had nothing to do with us

CHELSEA’S SEASON HAD petered out but winning at Stamford Bridge was no foregone conclusion for Kenny Dalglish’s team. Everton were not the only ones wanting the Reds to slip up.

‘The romantics among us would love to see Liverpool falter and open the door for West Ham to clinch the title for the first time in their history by winning at Everton on Monday,’ wrote the Daily Express’s Steve Curry on the morning of the final Saturday of the league season. It was wishful thinking and it would not have gone down well in the Shed, either.

The pressure was on but Liverpool were well used to dealing with this sort of situation. ‘It sounds trite,’ Lawrenson said, ‘but every game was massive. I was more worried because I’d been injured. I was thinking I may not start.’

The centre back’s experience helped. He’d been in big games throughout his Liverpool career. The newer players like Mølby had not been in this position before and were less certain. ‘I was nervous,’ the Dane said. ‘We weren’t quite convinced. It was a difficult place to play.’

It was forbidding for supporters, too. There was always a hostile atmosphere at the Bridge. It was an ugly, open stadium with a greyhound track between the crowd and the pitch. Behind each goal there were semicircular terraces. The away section was at the north end of the ground. It was vast, roofless, open to the elements and could accommodate 11,000 people. It would need all that space for the Liverpool fans arriving in anticipation of winning the title. The match was pay-at-the-gate and there were concerns that the away support would exceed that number.

Opposite was the Shed, which was named for its strange roof that covered only a small part of the sprawling terrace. The East Stand was an incongruous three-tiered 1970s construction that looked like it had been transplanted from a different century on to the rest of the stadium. Between the East Stand and the Shed were strange kiosks that faced out on to the playing area.

Across the pitch the West Stand had wooden tip-up seats at the back but trackside the seating was on concrete in a section known as ‘the benches’. This part of the ground was occupied by a particularly nasty set of Londoners.

The strangest thing about Stamford Bridge? There were always cars parked on the greyhound track behind the goals. It was not advertising, just a group of motors sitting idle for the duration of the game.

The potential for trouble was always high at the Bridge. Because the away end backed on to railway lines, opposition supporters had to enter on the Fulham Road, close to the home fans’ turnstiles. At most stadiums, the groups looking for aggravation could be directed towards opposite ends of the ground. Here they all converged on a couple of hundred yards of west London street.

Scousers and Chelsea fans had some history together. In August 1977, after a League Cup game at Anfield, a paltry number of travelling supporters were being bused back to Lime Street for the football special. They were attacked on Scotland Road with a barrage of bricks. The windows of the Londoners’ transport were smashed in the ambush.

Chelsea’s mob wanted revenge and anyone from Merseyside would do. The next year, a west London crew jumped Everton supporters in the tube station at Kensington High Street. It became a famous incident in both cities. London Underground were in the process of installing strip fluorescent lighting on the platforms. Combatants on both sides claimed to have picked up the long, tubular bulbs and squared up to each other like Jedi knights with lightsabres. The Scousers came out worse on this occasion and soon graffiti appeared at Lime Street Station with a simple rallying cry: ‘Ordinary to Chelsea’. A new chant was born to let the London boys know that Liverpool fans were a different proposition. ‘We won’t be like Ever-ton,’ we sang, ‘we won’t die at High Street Ken.’ In Scouse, it sort of rhymes.

When Liverpool drew Chelsea in the FA Cup in 1982, there were plenty who took up the graffiti challenge and passed up the special trains to get to the capital early on the ordinaries. There was skirmishing all day but the worst violence took place in the ground in front of the cameras. The no man’s land divide of terrace isolating the away fans was breached and vicious fighting took place over the railings separating the two sets of supporters.

By the mid 1980s, Combat 18 and other right-wing groups had a solid toehold in Chelsea’s Headhunters hooligan mob. Merseyside’s reputation for left-wing politics added an extra dimension to encounters between the two sets of fans. Violence was never ideological but there is no doubt that the political differences played a small part in the contempt in which both sides held each other.

The authorities had been nervous enough to move Chelsea’s game at Anfield earlier in the season to a noon kick-off to reduce the possibility of trouble. With Liverpool needing three points to win the league at the Bridge, a huge number of Liverpudlians travelled south for the game. It was another security nightmare for the capital’s police – for more than one reason.

Liverpool’s ‘worst’ fans rarely tried to seek out trouble. They were thieves. They would shoplift and opportunistically dismantle cigarette and fruit machines. Their specialty, though, was jewellery shops. ‘Big crowds were used as a front for professional criminals,’ Peter Hooton said. ‘It wasn’t unusual for shops to get done at away games.’ These career thieves had found a way to combine their business with their favourite form of recreation: football.

The majority of supporters arriving at Euston were ushered on to the tube and headed for Fulham Broadway, where a strong police presence aimed to get them into the ground and off the streets as quickly as possible. A few small crews headed off into the West End. Most wanted nothing more than a beer or two. Others had different plans. There were easy pickings on this busy May Saturday.

One mob went to the Edgware Road. In those innocent times, some jewellers’ shops still had unbarred windows and the age of unbreakable glass had not yet arrived. The Scousers’ plan was to practise some smash-and-grab and soon glass and empty ring trays were scattered around the streets. Rings were always a favoured item for the robbers. They were small, would be overlooked at the perfunctory turnstile frisks by police and had good resale value. They generated funds for the return trip to London the following week for the cup final. While the Headhunters were prowling around the tube system looking for Scousers and picking off strays, Liverpool’s boys were chalking up an early victory on the Edgware Road.

At the ground there was confusion and frustration. The weight of visiting fans soon overwhelmed the small number of turnstiles and queues backed up. The police response to the situation was to bring in a mounted unit, which only served to crank up the tension and anger. Like most forces around the country, the officers on duty were less concerned with the safety of individuals than with stopping fighting between fans. That mindset, combined with the foolhardy decision not to make the game all-ticket, set up a dangerously crowded and panicky situation.

Legend has it that a well-known supporter named Bobby Wilcox came across a closed and unused turnstile. Wilcox levered the door ajar, clambered inside and took a seat before opening for business. He began clicking countless supporters through, demanding a 15p entry fee for comic purposes.

Expecting there would be chaos at the ground, our little group severely curtailed our normal pre-match drinking. Instead of leaving the pub at 2.30 and rushing to the stadium, we were at the ground more than an hour earlier. It was relatively civilized when we entered – apart from running the gauntlet of abuse as we walked the length of the West Stand. It was worth giving up beer for an occasion like this.

The excitement mounted as kick-off neared, although most of the conversation centred on the purpose of the eight cars parked between the far goal and the Shed and the small hillock of sand that sat on the track at our end. The Bridge always felt surreal: part building site, part car park, part battlefield. At least the electric fences were turned off.

At Goodison the mood was reversed. Belief had been strong since Christmas that Everton would defend their title. Even Peter Reid and Derek Mountfield’s long absences had not affected the team’s performance or the sense of inevitability that grew throughout the winter and spring. One night in Oxford had destroyed that conviction.

The Blues were playing Southampton and gathered more in hope and loyalty than anticipation. The supporters were rewarded with a dominant performance against opponents who were suffering an injury crisis. Five regular outfield players were missing for Southampton and the goalkeeper was a 17-year-old fresh from the youth team.

Both matches kicked off at 3 p.m. Up on Merseyside the game was dead as a competition early. Mountfield opened the scoring with ten minutes gone and then Gary Stevens doubled the lead after 29 minutes. As Southampton restarted the game, a buzz began to sweep Goodison. In the Gwladys Street End, groups of people began to celebrate. The word spread that Liverpool were one down in west London[AB1] .

This was the moment Gary Lineker got his shooting boots back – literally. The battered, patched-up footwear had been found in a skip on return from Oxford and Lineker made it 3–0 while the crowd fizzed with excitement. The Double was back on for Kendall’s men.

At Stamford Bridge, Dalglish pulled one of his tactical surprises. He reverted to a back three but instead of using Jan Molby as a ball-playing sweeper, he was keeping things tighter against Chelsea. Molby was not quite right after picking up a knock at Leicester and the player-manager switched to three centre backs.

Mark Lawrenson’s fear of being left out was unwarranted. ‘Kenny wouldn’t tell you the team until about an hour before the game,’ the centre back said. ‘He probably thought we’d run off and tell the opposition.’

The information would certainly have caused raised eyebrows in the Chelsea dressing room. It was not what anyone expected.

‘Anyway, he said we’d play three at the back: Jocky, Dizzy and me,’ Lawrenson said. ‘We’d never worked on it in training, it was just, “This is what we’re going to do” in the team talk.’

It looked an unduly negative selection for a team that needed to win. A draw would probably suffice to stay ahead of Everton, who in those circumstances could finish on the same points total, but Liverpool’s goal difference was significantly better.

The problem was that a tie at the Bridge would give West Ham a late and unexpected opportunity. If Dalglish’s team drew and the Hammers won their remaining two games, the East End club could end up a point ahead of Liverpool. Victory was imperative.

The home team started well. Liverpool’s system looked as if it lacked adventure and Chelsea had lots of possession without seriously threatening Bruce Grobbelaar’s goal. Then the method behind the player-manager’s logic started to emerge. Steve Nicol and Jim Beglin, the full backs, were pushing on to join the attack. The first real chance of the game came halfway through the first period. Beglin surged forward, found room in the area and shot only to see his effort cleared off the line. The ball went out for a throw-in.

It came back into the penalty box and was scrambled clear to Ronnie Whelan 25 yards out. The Irishman shot but the ball was blocked and looped into the air. Whelan leapt and headed goalwards. Beglin, who had stayed up to support the attack, chipped the ball forward. It spun downwards just inside the Chelsea area. Dalglish, stepping in front of his marker, cushioned the ball on his chest, waited for it to drop and then calmly dispatched his shot into the far corner of the net from 16 yards. It was a remarkable, stunning piece of skill – and just about the last moment of flair the crowd at the Bridge would see that day. The player-manager wheeled away in celebration, the joy apparent on his face. Now it was time to take the sting out of the game. Just 24 minutes had gone. More than an hour was left.

Why it took so long for the real scoreline to reach Goodison has never been explained. The harsh truth had begun to dawn in the Gwladys Street End before half-time. The goals continued to fly into the Southampton net – the game would end 6–1 – but the last, faint vestige of hope ended with the news that Liverpool were in front at Stamford Bridge. Lineker bagged another hat-trick but it was too little, too late.

At Upton Park, there had been similar misleading speculation about the result at the other end of the District line. West Ham had beaten West Bromwich Albion 3–2 with a late penalty and were ecstatic until they reached the dressing room. ‘We got told Liverpool had drawn at Chelsea,’ Frank McAvennie said. ‘I’ve never seen so many grown men cry when we heard the true result.’

The Scot had mixed feelings when he was told who had scored at the Bridge. Dalglish was McAvennie’s idol. The West Ham striker had fulfilled a dream when appearing alongside the Liverpool player-manager when on Scotland duty. He said, ‘How hard was it for me when I heard who’d scored? Kenny was my hero. It was one of the greatest moments of my career when I played with him. I was delighted for him but sick for myself.’

McAvennie’s frustration was palpable. ‘They won it because they’d won it before,’ he said. ‘They ground out results and knew how to win. But we were the best team in the league.’

On the north terrace we were ecstatic. It was tense but it was impossible to imagine the team getting to this situation and throwing it away. We had seen Liverpool squeeze the life out of matches many times before. We were not interested in being entertained. We were interested in winning. The team had the same attitude.

‘Has there ever been a more professional performance?’ Nicol asked. ‘We made the game crap. We killed that game. We were never not going to win it.’

Few teams were better at taking the excitement out of a match. ‘If we scored after 20 minutes, everyone could stop watching,’ Nicol said. ‘The game was over. We played the same in the league as we did in Europe. The first job was to keep the ball.’

Watching from the sidelines, Molby was able to confirm the Scot’s verdict. ‘It wasn’t a great game on a rock-hard pitch,’ the Dane said. ‘We did what we did well. Got ahead and held on.

‘We may not have been the best team ever but we knew how to win games.’ Molby echoes McAvennie’s view. ‘We ground out results. We got into a relentless stride. After the Everton game, we knew there were 36 points left. We only got 34 of them.’

Lawrenson credits Dalglish’s acumen in team selection. ‘Kenny got it right,’ the defender said. ‘We didn’t concede. But not only that, Jim Beglin supplied the pass for the goal. If we’d have been playing 4–4-2 he probably wouldn’t have been so far up the pitch.’

The team gathered afterwards to salute the supporters. ‘Hand it over, Ever-ton,’ rang out from the visiting fans. Then the players trooped off the pitch to the dressing room to celebrate with champagne and beer. There was no trophy presentation, no fireworks or booming music, just the sound of Scouse voices from the north terrace and a team that still had a mission to fulfil: winning the cup. Everyone in the squad was conscious that this was one competition that Liverpool had struggled in for more than a decade.

‘There was an element of joy and happiness in the dressing room but there was a big shadow over us – the FA Cup,’ Molby said. ‘You looked around at Hansen and Dalglish and they’d won the league plenty of times before. They’d won European Cups. But they’d never won an FA Cup. They’d never done that before.’

Psychologically, Liverpool were on top after nearly two years of playing catch-up with Everton. They had taken the title back. And they had one last indignity to inflict on their neighbours on this final day of the league season.

‘We hit the ale in the dressing room and carried on drinking on the bus home. We were in a pretty happy state,’ Lawrenson said. ‘We were all hammered and then the coach broke down. They had to call Liverpool – Ellison’s, the bus company – for a replacement.’

While they waited, the players continued their knees-up. It took a couple of hours to get a substitute vehicle out to the new champions. When it arrived, it was a surprise.

‘They sent the Everton team bus,’ Lawrenson said. ‘The irony of it. We’d just beat them to the title and the last part of our journey home was on their coach. We thought it was hysterical.

‘Anyway, we made sure we trashed it.’

They had destroyed Everton’s title dream, wrecked their transport and Liverpool’s next mission was to ruin the entire season for the Blues by beating them at Wembley.

By the time they reached the city limits, the army of Liverpool fans had a new ditty for their songbook. It would not go down well with their Evertonian friends.

The Blue-nosed bastards aren’t the champions any more,

Cos they went to Forest and they only got a draw,

Then they went to Oxford and the bastards couldn’t score,

So the Blue-nosed bastards aren’t the champions any more.

Liverpool fans poured off the trains and coaches and headed to town, where Everton supporters had been drowning their sorrows since just after 5 p.m. The last thing they needed was a late influx of thirsty, overexcited Liverpudlians flooding into the pubs. It was a combustible place.

Derby nights in the city centre can be fractious. This was even worse than when the two teams played each other. An exchange of views in the Great Charlotte Street Wine Lodge escalated and a glass was thrown as the Everton contingent left. At first the mood was to let it go but the insult festered among the Liverpool boys as the drink went down. Everyone knew where the Blues were headed: Daley’s Dandelion on Dale Street.

The name belies the sort of place Daley’s was. There were plenty of Scally hangouts around town but this was one of the worst. Reds and Blues drank there and frequently came together during Groundpig’s residency in the place. The main characters in both mobs knew each other well. Liverpool’s boys decided to go down to Daley’s. The lobbed glass was an affront too far on a night like this.

The brawl that followed was massive, vicious and uncharacteristic. Both sides launched themselves at each other with a gruesome fury. Bouncers converged from across town but it took the arrival of the police to stop the mini riot.

Both sides went home to nurse their bruises. The feud could not continue. They had to live with each other, after all, and share the same city. They would have laughed through broken teeth about the notion of the ‘friendly derby’. And another one was only a week away.

Next: The lead-up to the FA Cup final

• Two Tribes is available here. Yeah, it’s probably cheaper on Amazon

• Another anniversary passed last year when it was 20 years since Istanbul. It probably didn’t get enough coverage because of Liverpool’s title win. Far Foreign Land my book about the journey to Turkey – both literally and philosophically. It’s about Kopite culture as much as anything. You can read it on substack here for free. For a hard copy, buy here: Cost £10 UK, £15 Europe, £18 Rest Of World. All including postage

• Good Guys Lost is my novel about Liverpool life between the 1960s and 2010s. Buy here although the same applies as Two Tribes. Again, you can read it free on substack here