32- The Mighty Quinn and the game of my life (possibly)
We followed up our fine win at Chelsea with a 1-0 win at Wimbledon on April 6th. It would be our last ever visit to Plough Lane (possibly) as The Don's were in process of making a hugely unpopular move across London to Crystal Palace's Selhurst Park. Palace had a vacancy for a tenant now that Charlton, who'd lodged there for six years were going home to the Valley.
Before completing the double over the Don's, we'd thrashed hapless Sunderland at Elland Road on Tuesday April 2nd. It was probably our most complete team performance of the season, Chapman and Speed two a piece and one for Carl Shutt, his sixth of the season. We'd well and truly got our missing out on Wembley/third spot disappointed out of our system. I loved beating Sunderland. Although I was a baby when they spawned the luckiest freak result in the history of world football eg the '73 FA Cup Final, I could not stand their Chairman Bob Murray. Thanks to The Square Ball fanzine who'd often regurgitate his anti-Leeds stance and he always had plenty to say about us, I despised him and laughed at him in equal measures. Leeds were living rent free inside Murray's head. They shouldn't have been in the First Division anyway, it was only but for Swindon Town's "financial irregularities" that cost the Wiltshire side promotion having beaten the Mackems in the play-off final the season. Happily it looked like they were on their way back to the Second Division to meet another over-hyped club in Newcastle United. They were second from bottom and running out of games.
One man who would later have a long association with Sunderland was Niall Quinn. At the time, he was a 24-year-old ex Gaelic footballer deemed surplus to requirements at Arsenal and had rocked up at Manchester City, our next opponents on April 10th. I remember thinking how nice it was to catch the coach in daylight and arrive in Leeds before the night shadows cast over the ground, illuminated by those amazing floodlights we had back then. That was about my only fond memory of the evening as Quinn was inspirational that night, providing the flick on for Andy Hill's opener and after Gary McAllister had equalised in the 79th minute the so called beanpole striker powered in a header at the Kop End and celebrated in front of dvd seething masses. Quinn later claimed he'd lost his bearings and momentarily thought he was at Maine Road but for City it was sweet revenge for our 3-2 away win six months earlier and of course knocking them out of the Zenith Data Systems Cup.
Three-days later, I saw what was the most memorable game of my life as Liverpool rolled into Elland Road for the first time in nearly a decade. Although they'd had a difficult season, they were still the reigning Champions and this drew a packed house to Elland Road. They were just days away from appointing Graeme Souness as Kenny Dalglish's successor, so Shankly boot-room boy Ronnie Moran was in caretaker charge for one last time.
I went straight to the ground from the coach park, although we had nothing much to play for, this game was massive. Standing on the Kop on a typical showery April afternoon, one of the first thing I noticed were unusual advertising boards promoting companies and products I'd never heard of. The game was being broadcast live in Germany which explained why "Karcher" and "Spill V6 " adorned the perimeter hordings. As well as Howard Wilkinson's "Man at the Top" column, just before kick off a pre-recorded message from Sgt Wilko was played over the PA. It had been a regular feature that season and hush descended over the masses as Wilkinson's measured and eloquent south Yorkshire burr relayed around the stadium, but he said something about Liverpool being the best and biggest club in the world, the rest of his words were drowned out by boos and a defiant chorus of "Marching On Together", the visiting fans in the South East corner rather enjoyed the Leeds managers tribute and they'd have more pleasure as the afternoon wore on.
If Wilko ran the risk of offering the visitors too much respect his team were most certainly guilty of that in the first 45 minutes as Liverpool stormed to a 4-0 lead without breaking sweat really. Time and time again they found space behind our defence, Ray Houghton tapping home the first after 12, then a Jan Molby penalty after John Lukic felled Ian Rush, John Barnes who was running the show then set up David Speedie to make it 0-3 after 25 minutes and then Barnes burst through the offside trap to finish off their fourth. Half of the fans around me applauded along with many in other parts of the ground, but some let our a furious chorus of "What the fuck is going on?" whilst many others, like me stood there stunned fearing the worst, just a few weeks earlier Liverpool had rolled up at bottom of the table Derby and hammered them 7-1, they looked on course to clock up another humiliation but this time at our expense.
Thankfully our defensive frailties were not evident or exposed during the second half and 12 minutes from the end, Lee Chapman hooked home our opener. This drew ironic cheers and applause from the Kop. Minutes later, the ground was seething as Chapman had a perfectly good goal disallowed for an alleged foul on Mike Hooper by referee Ken Redfearn. Chris Whyte pinged the free kick back deep into the Liverpool half, Gary Speed's hard run at Steve Nicol forced the Scot into conceding a throw-in which Speed launched into the area and Carl Shutt turned the ball in, 2-4.
Alas our joy and dreams of a comeback were dashed when Barnes scored their fifth. However we weren't done and two superb headers by Chapman roused the ranks again. "We're proud of you, we're proud of you..." we sang to the tune of Auld Lang Syne and the final-whistle was greeted by a standing ovation and a roar of approval from the Leeds fans despite losing. If the German fans watching on satellite TV didn't realise how crazy this country was before this game there was no excuse now.
I couldn't wait to get home and put my gladrags on and head out on the town, well Derby anyway, to go to the infamous Pink Coconut night spot, which you were apparently guaranteed "to pull". No such luck I'm afraid, I was told by one young lady that I stunk of garlic. I remember my mum insisting I eat something before I went out and I'd munched on some garlic bread. But as my mate Lee drove me home later on, I was still buzzing about the afternoon's events not to let little set back in some over-rated night-club spoil the day!
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