| Saturday 11 October 1969 15:00
Division One |
| |
 |
|
 |
| "Newcastle
United" |
1 - 0 |
"Liverpool" |
| |
(0-0) |
|
| |
| GOAL |
| Foggon |
|
|
| |
1
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
- Alan Foggon
Subs:
12 |
|
1 Tommy Lawrence
2 Chris Lawler
3 Geoff Strong
4 Tommy Smith
5 Ron Yeats (c)
6 Emlyn Hughes
7 Ian Callaghan
8 Phil Boersma
9 Bobby Graham
10 Alun Evans
11 Peter Thompson
Subs:
12 Ian St John |
| |
| SUBSTITUTIONS |
| |
|
|
| |
| OFFICIALS & BOOKINGS |
| Referee: |
| |
|
|
| VENUE |
|
MANAGERS |
St James' Park (capacity )
Attendance: 43,830 |
|
Joe Harvey (Newcastle U)
Bill Shankly (Liverpool) |
 Price: 1 shilling
|
|
Ian St John has mixed
feelings about Shankly
Liverpool great Ian St John has mixed feelings about Bill Shankly
"Not so long ago, I found myself standing alone behind the Kop at Liverpool's
football ground, staring intently at the bronze image of Bill Shankly. Bill Shankly, for
me, will always be flesh and blood, human to a fault. Conflicting emotions rise to the
surface when I think of him. I'm torn between love and hate, admiration and, sometimes,
let me be honest, at least a little anger and disillusionment."
I never imagined the situation that unfolded in the pre-match lobby of Newcastle
United in the autumn of 1969. Well, maybe that's not quite true. I always knew I had to
play out the scene one day, because it is one no player can avoid forever, but I assumed
the circumstances would be rather different. I didn't expect such a gut-wrenching
surprise, an ambush that came without a hint of warning.
I had just performed one of the rituals of match day, as I had done countless times
before. I had gone out front to pass on some tickets promised to friends, and exchanged a
few pleasantries, all the time my mind ticking down to the forthcoming action. In the
lobby, the great legend of the north east, Jackie Milburn, who had become a football
writer, was handed copies of the teamsheet by a club official, and we amiably shared the
latest gossip. As Milburn ran his eyes down the teams, I said I had to get back to the
dressing room to change. Then he looked up sharply and said a few words that might have
been, for the impact they had, imprinted on my brain with a branding iron - 'Bonnie lad,
you're not playing.'
Bill Shankly had dropped me without saying a word, without even meeting my eyes.
This was the day I stepped down from one of the certainties of life - the one that said I
always made the team and the anguish of omission was somebody else's fate. Of course, like
death and taxes, it was inevitable, but I thought it was reasonable to believe that the
day would not come unannounced, like a thief in the night to rob me of a confident
expectation that, suddenly, I realised how much I had always cherished.
"Somehow the blow might have been softened. I always thought I would have the
chance to absorb the blow before I had to deal publicly with my new, diminished status. I
didn't expect to get the words so suddenly, in a room full of strangers, and from a man
who knew right down to his bones the implications of what he was telling me. He couldn't
keep the shock off his face.
As I hurried down the corridors of St James's Park I thought of the great
relationship I had had with Shankly, all the warmth and the intimacies, the endless
laughter and the deep sense that beneath all the passing pressures of the game, and
sometimes the terrible tension and the cruelties that from time to time it produced, we
had a deep under-standing. If it wasn't father and son understanding, it was something
very close indeed - or so I had thought.
To this day, I cannot shake the belief that, at the end, Shankly had let me down. I
was terribly disappointed he didn't handle it better. He should have taken me to one side,
even in the hotel in Newcastle on the eve of the match. He could have said any of a
hundred things. Anything would have been better than the blow administered by Jackie
Milburn.
Neither Shankly nor I could change the realities of football, or the ageing
process, but he could have shown a little courtesy. He could have taken away some of the
rawness of the pain."
Copyright - "The Saint" - Ian St John's autobiography |
