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think how difficult it is to find experienced players. And then how costly it is to procure them. It makes more sense to look much closer to home, does it not? And I just cannot believe, I simply refuse to believe, in a city as soccer-conscious, as soccer mad as Liverpool, that we cannot find the talent we need. The boys we need. And if we get enough of them …
    Bill Shankly jumped back up onto his feet, Horace Yates jumping out of his skin in his chair. Bill Shankly pacing the room again, Horace Yates turning his neck again. Horace Yates writing as fast as he could, Bill Shankly talking as fast as he could –
    If enough of them come, then we are sure to get a percentage of winners. I am certain of that, Horace. I know that. I know that within three years of them leaving school, these boys could be in the first team. I know that. So I know it is not even that long term. Not as long term as the cynics might say. Not so long term, Horace. Not when you can’t get the ready-made material. Not when it is so difficult. So heartbreaking. Look at Roger Hunt. How many more Roger Hunts are out there now, playing for their school, playing in their street? Look how many we found at Leeds Road. At Huddersfield, Horace. In a town that size. A town that small, Horace. It should be much easier here, in this city, with its size, with all its people, with all its history, all its passion. Its passion for football, Horace. I refuse to believe there aren’t the boys, aren’t the lads, out there who think, who eat, who sleep football. Just hankering after a career in soccer, just waiting for the chance. For the opportunity. The opportunity, Horace. And so all I ask is for those boys, those lads, to give me the opportunity, to give me the chance to help them achieve their goal, to achieve their dream. If they give me the chance, Horace, I will give them the chance …
    Talking and pacing, pacing and talking,
    jabbing his finger into the chest of Horace Yates, looking into the eyes of Horace Yates, saying –
    Football is my life. My life, Horace. And so I do not mind how long it takes, how much time I spend among these boys, these lads. Because I have great hopes. Great hopes, Horace. And I know the boys, the lads of Liverpool, I know they will not let me down. They will not let me down. And so to me the sky is the limit. The sky is the limit, Horace. And so the gates are open. The gates are open, Horace. And they will stay open. For as long as I am at Liverpool Football Club, the gates will always be open. Always open, Horace. Always.
    …
    On Saturday 16 January, 1960, Sheffield United came to Anfield, Liverpool. That afternoon, thirty-three thousand, two hundred and ninety-seven folk came, too. In the ninth minute, Jimmy Melia scored. In the fifteenth minute, Roger Hunt scored. And in the sixty-eighth minute, Roger Hunt scored again. Fifteen minutes later, Dave Hickson was sent off. But Liverpool Football Club still beat Sheffield United three–nil. At home, at Anfield –
    Every morning, every morning of the week. In the ground, in the dressing room. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club took off their suits and ties. And their shoes. Every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club put on their tracksuit bottoms and their sweaters. And their boots. Every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club walked out of the dressing room and down the corridor. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club walked out of the ground and into the car park at Anfield. Every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club climbed on board the bus to Melwood. Every morning. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club travelled on the bus to Melwood to train. And every morning, after training and a nice cup of tea. The players and the coaching staff of Liverpool Football Club climbed back on board the bus. And every