By Yue Ting Cheng.
Second comings don’t always work out. Not least in football.
Howard Kendall, Everton’s greatest manager, who won the league twice, was a pale imitator in his second and third spells, while Kevin Keegan’s return to Newcastle was short-lived.
But the curious reappointment of Kenny Dalglish as Liverpool manager – the Reds’ and Scotland’s greatest all-time player – brought an unusual warm feeling to the heart.
Since last year, I thought that, paradoxically, Liverpool won’t be able to move on until they bring back the past – that Rafa Benitez should be replaced by the club’s favourite son – Kenneth Mathieson Dalglish!
His reappointment brought back childhood memories. It was an era just before the Premier League, pay-per-view, Sky Sports and massive, massive salaries. I read in an old economics book that John Barnes, Footballer of the Year in 1988 and 1990, was paid £100,000… a year! Imagine that. Nowadays, some players earn that in a week.
It was an era before Sir Alex Ferguson and Manchester United were winning everything in sight, with occasionally Arsenal and Chelsea upsetting them – and for one time only – Blackburn Rovers, managed by, guess who? Dalglish.
Now I’ll say that I am no Liverpool supporter. Yes, the team of the 1980s – particularly the 1987-88 team featuring John Barnes, Peter Beardsley, John Aldridge, Ronnie Whelan, Alan Hansen, Steve Nicol and Bruce Grobbelaar – remains one of the finest British teams of all time. But I have always supported the two teams of my roots, Norwich and Watford.
But Kenny Dalglish represents something unusual in that he is a symbol of real change. Both in the sense that he was Liverpool’s first player-manager, and following his shock resignation to an entire nation in 1991, marking the end of the Liverpool dynasty.
Then the Premier League happened. Fellow Scotsman and former team captain, Graeme Souness’ reign was the start of a downward spiral heralding an era of underachievement starting in 1991 and lasting till about… now.
Twenty years is a long time in any part of life, especially in football. One could only imagine Dalglish’s burning desire. The feeling that he had unfinished business at the club he should have made dominate English football for another two decades.
In 1991, Sir Alex Ferguson had yet to win a league title. In 2011, with Liverpool and Manchester United jointly holding 18 league titles, Ferguson is now close to bringing Manchester United a record 19th, finally eclipsing the Anfield outfit. History comes round in circles, it seems.
People are saying that Dalglish has been out of the game for too long or his methods are outdated. Cynics add that he is behind the times, and that he’s not managed a club for ten years – since picking up the pieces following John Barnes’ disastrous spell at Celtic, and a turbulent spell at Newcastle, where he was sacked after finishing 2nd in the Premier league in 1996-7 and 13th the following season.
But his record speaks for itself. Four league titles as manager at two different clubs – a feat achieved by only two other men, the legendary Brian Clough and Herbert Chapman – and countless more as a player, including several European Cups. And Liverpool fans know his passion for the club, inside and out. His reappointment has already galvanised the Reds and the city. He probably won’t cause miracles. He may be lucky to get the team to finish in the top six this season, but then, who would expect him to? When you clear up a bloody mess, it takes time to get the kitchen clean!
Simply, Dalglish is the spiritual king of Liverpool FC, and a link between past, present, and possible future. Remember, he’s younger than Roy Hodgson – his sorrowful predecessor by four years, younger than his arch-nemesis Alex Ferguson by ten, and even Arsenal’s Arsene Wenger is older by two years.
Who knows how much he’ll be able to achieve? But for me, this story is not about Liverpool, Kenny Dalglish or even football itself, but people feeling optimism when they think they’re down and out. And suddenly a spark arrives.
I don’t know if it has anything to do with him as a man. He’s a very earthy Glaswegian (detractors would say dour and often verbally cryptic!), but although he hardly brims with bright charisma, he has a real straightforward charm and wit about him which more pretentious people lack. But I can sense he really means something to the people who understand him as a man and as a footballing legend.
At the start of last year, I watched an old Scottish television documentary of his life (from a VHS video I’ve had for years) from 1986, about his life until that point. What I was struck by, was not just the documentary style – which was very thoughtful and partly shot on film, giving it an artistic quality – but the minimalism of how they portrayed him, his frankness, and the constant look of worry on his face!
He was still a player in 1986 at 35 years old, but almost completely free from the razzmatazz and hype you see surrounding players of today like your Ronaldos, Messis and Beckhams. There’s a poignant moment in the film when he walks on the beach with his wife Marina and their kids. He is talking about his family and how much they matter to him. It’s very hard to imagine a modern day footballer in such a scene at all.
So here’s to you King Kenny, and your continued success!
