Our recent Coca Cola Cup matches against Liverpool
plus the demise of the old Kop brought back memories of the halcyon days of the mid
sixties, when I was a student on Merseyside and saw many stirring matches between the two
sides. I’m sure that the Longsiders (and anyone else who has seen the magnificent
Hampden road end at Roker Park) will agree that the Anfield Kop, along with the Stretford
End and the North Bank, have been completely over–romanticised in recent years. But I
have to admit that standing on the Kop in those days was a great experience, especially
when Brian O’Neil was standing on the edge of the Liverpool box grassing any red
shirt that came near him, with everyone around me baying for his blood. (I think that was
probably the 1-1 draw in the 1964/65 season.)
However, my most vivid memory of Anfield was the FA Cup fourth round replay on a
misty February night in 1963, an occasion which sparked off one of the most traumatic few
days in the Club’s entire history (the Orient game excepted, perhaps). For those who
can’t remember such matches, the gate at Turf Moor for the 1-1 draw on the previous
Saturday was an incredible 49,827, and at Anfield for the replay, 57,906. For this
particular game I was actually stood on the Anfield Road end, but the main drama was in
front of the Kop. Noel Wild of the Lancashire Evening Telegraph did a marvellous piece on
this same match some months ago as his outstanding memory of the Kop, so I’ll let him
tell the story.
"Anfield was packed. The Kop was a seething mass of human flesh: singing,
joking, cheering, chanting, as the two teams, having previously drawn at Turf Moor, were
still locked in stalemate with a goal apiece and in the very last minute of extra time.
It was then that Adam Blacklaw, an otherwise excellent goalkeeper for Burnley
and Scotland, produced the monumental clanger of his life.
With the last seconds ticking away Adam, ball in hand and under no pressure
– except, perhaps, the pressure of the Kop right behind him – carelessly kicked
the ball tamely into the back of Ian St John who was walking away at the time.
St John spun round and pounced on this incredible chance like a striking cobra,
an empty goalmouth yawning and certain to score. Adam Blacklaw dragged him down
desperately for a penalty kick, which even his grandmother could not have denied.
Moran crashed the ball home from the fatal 12-yard spot - and the Kop erupted in
the most explosive frenzy any football ground could ever have witnessed. Moran leapt about
the field. Blacklaw hung his head in a fog of despair, which you could have cut with a
blunt cleaver. And Burnley were out of the Cup.
Edgar Wallace, Peter Cheyney and Agatha Christie working collectively could not
have conceived a more sensational finish. Bob Lord however did. The day afterwards he
sacked Jimmy McIlroy! Why McIlroy and not Blacklaw we will never know, but Lord was not
the kind of man to suffer the indignity of such a last minute defeat without demanding
somebody’s scalp.
Blacklaw’s boob was on the Wednesday night. The following morning McIlroy
turned up as usual for training just before 10am. As he walked into the dressing room Ray
Bennion told him, ‘’The boss wants to see you.’’ Minutes later, in the
boss’s office, it fell to manager Harry Potts to plunge Lord’s knife in.
Jimmy Mac told me, 'I could scarcely take it in. I cannot remember a day in my
life when I felt so shattered.' Lord, true to type, was totally unrepentant. Among Burnley
supporters all hell broke loose. There were public meetings, organised public marches to
Turf Moor, petitions.
But Butcher Bob thrust his cleaver even deeper into the wound. Having gone on
record only a few weeks earlier as saying that the Italian club Sampdoria, could not buy
McIlroy for what was then a major fee of £100,000, he sold him to Stoke City for
£25,000."
Well there you have it. In those days I had an evening paper round and as most
lads probably did, I used to scan the back pages for football news. But on this particular
day it was all over the front pages as well! Which brings me to the sub-title of this
piece. I’m afraid I can’t tell you where I was when President Kennedy was shot
or when I heard that Elvis was dead. However I can take you to the very spot where I first
read that Jimmy Mac was on the transfer list. Perhaps they’ll put a blue plaque up
sometime.
