Dalglish in his own words

Dalglish in his own words

This is from Kennys new book

http://www.mirrorfootball.co.uk/news/Kenny-Dalglish-The-horror-of-Hillsborough-haunts-me-Liverpool-legend-King-Kenny-reveals-all-in-his-new-autobiography-serialised-on-MirrorFootball-article578235.html


Retracing the steps and memories of April 15, 1989 is a soul-destroying task that fills me with pain and anger.

Twenty-one years have passed, but I can hardly bring myself to write or say its name. Hillsborough haunts me still.

I strongly believe that it was an accident waiting to happen. Nothing can deflect me from my steadfast opinion that the Hillsborough disaster was rooted in bad management.

Nobody could have anticipated such a tragedy but when problems materialised, when Liverpool fans began arriving late through no fault of their own, those in charge should have reacted better.


“They’re killing us, Bruce, they’re killing us.” Just writing those words – what Bruce Grobbelaar could hear the fans shouting behind his goal – chills me. At 3.06pm, a policeman finally strode on to the pitch to tell referee Ray Lewis to stop the game.

Any chance of the game being played disappeared in my eyes when I briefly went back on the pitch, stepping 10 yards over the touchline and witnessing what seemed a scene from a war-zone. Although I never realised then the extent of the loss of life, the full gravity of the situation began hitting home.

I’d gone on to the pitch looking for my son Paul, who’d attended the game with Roy Evans’s son, Stephen, and Alan Brown, a friend.

When I began to realise the extent of the problems at the Leppings Lane End, I became frantic with worry. Paul, Stephen and Alan had to go through Leppings Lane to reach their places. If they’d arrived late, they could have got caught up in it.

Suddenly seeing Paul walking across the pitch, my heart leapt. Thank you, God. I never said anything to Paul, just greeting him with a huge hug. I was lucky and Paul was lucky – all around us, people were dying. Thank God they’d passed through Leppings Lane before the central pens began trapping fans.

I’ve still never talked with Paul about Hillsborough. The emotion is too raw. I just can’t imagine how I’d have coped if my son had died, so I try to block out the awful thought.

At 5.30pm, we climbed wearily into the coach for the journey back to Liverpool, probably passing distressed parents speeding towards Sheffield. Throughout my years at Liverpool, the bus was a place of noise and happiness, filled with banter as we headed to training or returned from a successful expedition with a trophy on the dashboard. Not now. Silence and misery were our companions.

Every player was lost in thought, searching for answers. I sat there numb, holding my wife Marina’s hand, thinking of my family and wondering whether I knew any of those fans now lying in that morgue at Hillsborough, or in the emergency ward of a Sheffield hospital. As a club with deep roots in the community, with a strong bond between team and terrace, everybody feared having lost a friend.

On Monday morning, Marina telephoned all the wives, to see how they could help and I contacted the players. They couldn’t wait to get to Anfield.

It became a place of solace for the families, a haven for them to come to talk and grieve. The families were so strong, often dealing with the tragic circumstances by making wry remarks about their lost loved ones’ obsession with Liverpool.

At that stage the parents didn’t have a body to grieve over. Many of the bodies were not immediately returned to the bereaved – an unbelievably inhumane decision that still rankles. They’d seen their loved one’s body through glass in

the morgue, in that gym at Hillsborough. The police even retained clothing and personal effects. Why? So many questions have still to be answered.

Standing in the lounge, trying to comfort the relatives, I just couldn’t take in the sheer horror of the stories being related. Later that day the players boarded the coach for the sad return to Sheffield.

At 3pm we arrived at the North General Hospital for an experience that was strange, humbling and distressing. I saw one kid, Lee Nichol, only 14, hooked up to a life-support machine. I stared at him, not understanding why somebody without a mark or bruise could be clinically dead. Not a mark on him. It didn’t make sense. Lee was pulled alive from the crush on the Leppings Lane End but had slipped into a coma. He died later – the 95th to pass away. Hillsborough was Lee’s first away game. Shocking.

Moving between the wards, I was led to the bedside of 20-year-old Sean Luckett, who was in a coma. His mother sat anxiously by his side.

“Sean, here’s Kenny Dalglish to see you,” said a doctor. “It’s Kenny Dalglish.” Suddenly, Sean’s eyes opened. Amazing. I couldn’t believe it. “Hello, Sean, I know you’re going to make it through,” I said.

Sean was stirring, waking from his coma. His mother let out a cry and leant forward over him.

“Listen, this is a special moment for you, I’ll leave you to it,” I said and hurried from the room.

Some people credited me with having an influence on Sean’s recovery. I know the mind works in strange ways and some medics argue that, in a coma, it reacts to words, but I thought it was just coincidence that he woke up then. Whatever the cause, I was just happy Sean was back with us.

When Marina and I drove into Anfield on the morning of Wednesday, April 19, we found the staff and the families enraged by a piece in The Sun.

Its infamous front-page headline, “THE TRUTH”, caused hurt and outrage by accusing fans of pick-pocketing the dying and urinating on the bodies.

Unbelievable. Liverpool punters went ballistic, some of them burning the paper on news-stands, others coming to Anfield to talk about their anger.The following day, the paper’s editor Kelvin MacKenzie rang the club.

“Kenny, we have a bit of a problem,” he said.

“Aye.”

“How can we resolve it?”

“See that headline you put in, ‘THE TRUTH’? Just have another one, as big: ‘WE LIED. SORRY.’”

“Kenny, we can’t do that.”

“I can’t help you then.” I put down the phone.

He simply didn’t realise the offence he’d caused to a grieving city. A few minutes later, the governor of Walton Prison phoned: “Look, Kenny, the inmates are getting really restless with the stuff that’s been in the papers. Can you come and speak to them?”

“OK, I’ll be there at nine tomorrow.” Liverpool was a city in torment and I had to do everything to bring some calm and hope. If there was a threat of a riot in Walton Prison, I had to go there. Entering the prison was deeply unsettling. I heard the door slam shut, the clank of keys and the quiet words of prisoners working on the lawn: “How you doing, Kenny?” Badly.

I was led into the chapel. The inmates sat there, totally silent. Suddenly, they began clapping, which startled me. It seemed they just wanted to demonstrate their respect towards Liverpool Football Club and the way we were trying to deal with Hillsborough.

The governor took me to one side. “Kenny, they’ve all seen the paper so anything you can say to pacify them would be magnificent. If you can just reassure them.”

I tried. “Listen,” I said, “what you’ve read is not ‘The Truth’. That never happened. Please, I know it’s difficult for you in here and you want to be with your loved ones outside, but please stay calm and know that Liverpool are working night and day to help the families.”

Being inside emphasised the damage wrought by one paper’s lies. Their vile insinuation emanated from the word of an unidentified policeman. Well, if they or the police had proof of mass drunkenness, show us the evidence. They couldn’t because the claim was fabricated and was dismissed by Lord Chief Justice Taylor.

Liverpool began burying its dead. Marina and I went to four funerals in one day. The last one I attended was as difficult as the first. I didn’t understand how the relatives had the fortitude to keep going, but they did.

Resilience defined Liverpool, still does. A great community spirit united the city in the aftermath of the Hillsborough tragedy.

Returning to Anfield, I saw the Kop covered, flowers spreading towards the halfway line. So many people visited. Neil Kinnock arrived with no warning, no fuss, just queuing, leaving some flowers then departing. He struck me as genuine.

Talking to the Press, I said the Kop was “the saddest and most beautiful sight I have ever seen”. “Why beautiful?” people asked. Why? Because the tributes came from all over the world, from fans of other clubs and from people who’d never before set foot in Anfield. My view of the police changed after Hillsborough. I felt no animosity towards the police as an institution, solely towards individual officers who have still failed to admit responsibility for their calamitous decisions.

The Establishment tried to protect itself. Any other club might have let it go, but never Liverpool. The people want somebody to acknowledge their guilt. If the police accepted responsibility, the floodgates would open for compensation and that’s the big issue. So the Establishment is going to block them. Trying to discover whether there was a cover-up has seemed impossible, until Andy Burnham came along. This spring, thanks to him, a panel was formed to examine these reports, a huge step forward in the fight for justice for the 96 who died.

Recalling the events has proved a painful experience. Hillsborough changed me, changed the sport I love, and changed my Anfield home.

3EXTRACted by Brian Reade from My Liverpool Home: Then and Now by Kenny Dalglish (Hodder & Stoughton, September 16, 2010. (c) Kenny Dalglish)

A great man truly a legend. What he done on the pitch is one thing what he did of it is simply amazing

He's a warm caring humble man with a massive heart, made me feel a bit emotional reading that.

R.I.P, Justice for the 96. Y.N.W.A

Thank you Daz. I was hoping someone might post that on the forum today. Ive tears in my eyes reading that again. May we never forget

Strong stuff that ...Kenny showing the full extent of the pain he and the families endured ,you do feel like weeping reading this ,thanks Kenny for sharing this personal view YNWA

The man is a living legend, you can feel the hurt and pain in his words, to try and write his feelings must have opened the wounds from that horrible day, to a certain extent he must feel a modicum of guilt having seen his son Paul and yet witnessing fans in hospital and of hearing of those who died, the comfort he and Marina gave out was simply heart felt, April 15th 1989, a date in the history of our wonderful family, a date that will never ever be forgotten, and of those 96 brothers and sisters and their brave family members, YOU WILL NEVER WALK ALONE.

    JFT 96

God, lump in my throat reading that.
I was only 1! and couldnt even imagine what everyone went through.
Good of Kenny to share that with us-

Truly he was and is a King amongst men.

Always such simple simple, human words from a truly great man.

RIP 96.

One day the truth will out ,i just think they are waiting for all those involved to either die or retire then there will be no retribution. Kelvin Mackenzie you truly are a b***ard of a man ,i just hope one day the gods shine some sh*t down on your,e door and fck you over just like you did to our poor souls.

RIP 96.

The b***ard Mackenzie is a zombie programmed to do what he does as are the police concerned to the highest level, directing operations was the home office i.e. the establishment.
Kennys words are sincere and from the heart, I remember the pictures of him that day comforting people and his face was as scarred and torn with pain as anyones, to think of what he went through himself on the killing field when his son went missing is unimaginable, my own son was there and the tragedy unfolding on the TV was horrific - I can find no comparison to how Kenny or anyone actually there must have felt on that darkest of days.
As he wrote emotions are still raw and will remain so until justice is done and the 96 can rest in peace.  

Nice words from Kenny as always, R.I.P. the 96, Y.N.W.A.

This will sound a strange thing to post

When people in the public eye, like Kenny, pass on I always believe they should be mourned from afar by people like myself who never met them or dont know them personally. However when Kenny does leave us, hopefully many years from now, I would find it hard not to go over and pay my respects.

Super human being

Legend.

Our only beacon at the club.

R.I.P  96  YNWA  JFT96

There's quite a few of these up on the Mirror site. Going to post them in this thread for you all, as we all know anything Dalglish has to say is always a fantastic read.

Hodgson faces a battle to take Reds back to where they belong

It was right for everybody that Rafa Benitez left – for him and for Liverpool ­Football Club.

There just comes a stage in every manager’s career when the board says, ‘You’ve been good for the club but we feel it would be best if you go.’

Sometimes it works the same way for a manager – ‘I’ve done my time. There’s no animosity but it’s time to have a go somewhere else.’

When it was clear Rafa was going, Christian Purslow asked me to get involved in the selection process for the next manager.

“I’ll help in any way I possibly can,” I told Christian. They drew up a list, asked me to come and meet the candidates and then let them decide who the manager should be.

In mid-June, I had to let them know my real views. I wanted the job. I couldn’t miss the opportunity.

One day, I was in a meeting with Christian and the chairman, Martin Broughton, and I formally put my name forward.

“We don’t want you, Kenny,” came the reply from Christian and the chairman. Fine. That’s their ­prerogative. They explained they had different plans for me, a position with greater longevity.

“We want you for a role at the club that would be for longer than the tenure of the manager,” the board told me. The job focused on player ­development. It wasn’t management, though.

Martin Broughton made that ­abundantly clear. People have asked me whether I was disappointed, and of course I was. I passionately wanted the job. But I would have been more disappointed if I hadn’t put my name forward. I love Liverpool so deeply I felt almost an obligation to apply.

This was about helping Liverpool more than reviving my management career. If another club came in and asked me to be their manager, I honestly don’t know how I’d react.

Liverpool’s my home. There was no self-glory attached to my application. I did feel I had unfinished business with the job, though, since my previous tenure was aborted in 1991.

But I was enjoying myself with the Academy, going in, helping the kids and attending matches at Anfield.

I usually find it difficult to promote myself. That’s not my nature.

Liverpool were experiencing hard times and I wanted to help.

If I hadn’t expressed an interest, people might have thought, ‘Well, if Kenny Dalglish doesn’t want to help, there must be big ­problems at Liverpool.’

When the news of my application emerged, the Liverpool punters were more favourable than not. That was reassuring.

Maybe I didn’t make the wisest decision in the world in going for it.

By expressing my ambition for the job, the board might think that complicated life for Roy Hodgson. They needn’t have feared. I fully respect Roy, a man I’ve known for a long, long time, ever since he was in Sweden, at Halmstads and Malmo, and he visited Melwood with Bobby Houghton. We struck up a friendship.

Roy’s a very honourable and decent person, and very experienced in football. He has his beliefs in how the team should be set up, but when he arrived at Liverpool, he will have known that he had to make one or two adjustments to his system, because the individuals are different at Liverpool.

No manager can just impose their style. It’s all right having a system but players dictate how it is played.

When Roy came in, I knew ­Liverpool would be committed and well ­organised. He’s the type of guy players enjoy working for.

He’s very honest in the way he handles players, and he speaks very well. He’ll get a great deal of respect from the players as well as the fans.

Roy must know he has walked into a world of uncertainty at Anfield, and until Liverpool are sold, the situation won’t settle down.

Even then, people always feel ­uncertain when they have a new employer. What decisions will the new buyer make? Will he keep people? Will he want his own men in? Roy understands the situation.

At his press conference, he was asked how he would cope when a new owner arrives.

His answer was very good: “I’m the same as everybody else. If I’m getting results, I’ve got a better chance of keeping my job.”

Roy knows I’ll help him in any way I canhim I I can. ­Liverpool Football Club are much more important than I am, or Roy Hodgson, ­Christian Purslow or Martin Broughton.

I’ve put aside any resentment I felt about not being considered for the manager’s job.

I’m focusing on the bigger picture, which is Liverpool Football Club. Roy has no problem with me being here.

I have never undermined a manager. When I was given the Liverpool manager’s job in 1985, I had the best guy ever as my ally to consult.

Bob Paisley wasn’t a threat. He was 100 per cent on my side, and I knew that.

I’ll be the same for Roy if he wants it. What matters is Liverpool fighting their way back up to where they belong.

Liverpool will always be special in my eyes but they must take care.

They are in danger of missing out on the support of a young generation, who’ve been brought up watching the Premier League on Sky.

They want success. Unless ­Liverpool are winning trophies and keeping hold of quality players, such as Steven Gerrard and Fernando Torres, the club will struggle to pull in that generation of support.

At the moment, the kids go to Anfield because of their dads and the players. That’s the attraction.

But that can’t last forever. Liverpool have to win some silverware or lose a generation.

Whatever happens, the club can always count on my support.

Link

Why I rate Rush over Lineker

Gary Lineker was a brilliant striker but not in the same league as Ian Rush, Liverpool’s poacher supreme.

As a predator, Lineker was more one-dimensional in my eyes. He hung around inside the box, waiting for the ball. Rushie offered more variety, more influence in the build-up.

Liverpool’s No. 9 was a force outside the box as well as inside. He closed down defenders and tracked back, contributing more for the team than Lineker did.

I am such an admirer of thoroughbred attacking talent I could never dispute Lineker’s area of expertise, or his success, but I just felt Rushie gave more and I’d pick him ahead of Lineker every day of the week.

Gwladys Street might not appreciate the irony but, without Lineker, Everton won the Cup-Winners’ Cup and the League.

With Lineker scoring 38 goals, Everton won nothing.

Link

I wished Liverpool had made me joint boss instead of Houllier

When Liverpool brought in Gerard Houllier to work as joint-manager with Roy Evans in 1996, I wished it had been me.

Why didn’t they approach me to help Roy? I’d have gone and assisted him, just as the board appointed Bob to give me any guidance I required.

If it had worked with me and Bob, why not with me and Roy?

Liverpool’s decision to recruit Houllier was a surprise. There were no lines of demarcation. Nobody knew whether Roy picked the side or Gerard did.

Nobody knew who was responsible for signing players, Roy or Gerard.

Who set the blueprint for training? The players were asking Roy and Gerard the same question and sometimes receiving different answers.

Two equals never works in football. Players will always play one off against the other. There could be only one leader, one person making the calls and taking responsibility.

If it had been Roy and me, I’d never have tried to undermine him. Having been manager of Liverpool, knowing the pressures of the job and having enjoyed such support from Roy and Ronnie, I could have made the relationship with Roy work.

I’d have kept my counsel, just chipping in when Roy asked. I’d have been loyal, doing anything to make Roy’s time in the job a success.

Good players abounded at Melwood, some of whom I’d signed. Steve McManaman, Jamie Redknapp and Robbie Fowler were all coming on, and Liverpool could have challenged for trophies.

Roy’s joint-managership with Gerard was doomed, so I wasn’t totally surprised when it broke down.

Roy was incredibly honest, telling the board it wasn’t working, making a brave decision to walk away from the club he loved.

Many people would have thought ‘last in, first out’ and waited for Gerard to leave.

Link

Why I stuck up for Fergie in his dodgy early days at United

Fergie and I have had the odd disagreement down the years but I stood up for him when he first came south from Aberdeen.

At one North-west football writers’ dinner in Manchester, Fergie didn’t turn up because he was getting pilloried in the Press. So I made a wee speech, trying to correct the wrong impression the media had of our relationship.

‘You have Fergie and me in a conflict,’ I said. ‘I’m in competition with him, I want to beat him, but I don’t have a problem with Fergie. He hasn’t got a problem with me, so you are inventing the problem.

'And another wee thing. You are presumptious in your critical thinking about him as a manager. Fergie’s a good manager and you need to take a rain check on that. Give him time.’

It wasn’t the greatest speech but I wanted to explain my relationship and respect for Fergie.

United’s old physio, Jimmy McGregor, was at the dinner and came up to me later on.

‘I’m sure the Gaffer will appreciate that support,’ said Jimmy. ‘He needs it.’

‘Jimmy, it’s only the truth.’

Given how well United have done since then under Fergie, I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but his success is no surprise to me. Fergie’s got the work ethic, toughness, ability and knowledge, and he’s built United the way he wants it.

When I look across at Old ­Trafford, it’s like the old days with Liverpool, bringing in two or three class acts every year.

Link

Why I consider Rafa Benitez to be a success and a good man

I certainly considered Rafa Benitez a success.

Rafa won the Champions League in Istanbul and the FA Cup in Cardiff. In losing to AC Milan in the Champions League final of 2007, I actually thought Liverpool looked better than they did in Istanbul.

People talked about whether Rafa had been given enough money for transfers but the Liverpool board will always give as much as it can.

It’s not in the club’s interests to restrict the manager and the team. All managers would like more. But I felt the board did as much as they could financially for Rafa.

I was still surprised he went. Not too many people felt much resentment towards Rafa for going. The fans supported him because they support the position of the manager at Liverpool. They are loyal to the chair, especially in times of trouble. Rafa certainly wasn’t disliked.

Some of the critics might have perceived him as cold but every time I was with him, we’d have a chuckle, tell a few stories. Rafa’s good company.

It’s important to understand that Rafa Benitez is obsessed with only two things: family and football. After games, Rafa was straight on to the video, analysing play on the way back on the coach. He works an awful lot and takes very little time off.

Maybe he should have rested more, although the fresh challenge of Inter Milan must have felt as good as a holiday for him.

Rafa is not without feeling. He made a fantastic gesture to the Hillsborough Families Support Group with the huge donation he made to help them with their cause.

Link

Scandalous that legend Paisley was never knighted

Bob Paisley is the greatest manager in the history of British football – I have no hesitation in saying that.

His relentless amassing of silverware justifies that statement. In nine years, Bob won six titles, three League Cups, the Uefa Cup and three European Cups. Three! Some record – and, remember, that was in the days when if you lost in Europe, you were out. There were no second chances, no group stages providing a nice safety net.

Yet Bob never got any recognition from the country. Three European Cups and he can’t get a knighthood.

Matt Busby was knighted. Alex Ferguson was knighted. Bobby Robson, God bless him, was knighted. So why was Bob missed out?

I believe it was because he was never one for self-promotion. He let the results speak for themselves, but obviously they didn’t speak loud enough for somebody to be listening in Westminster.

Link

Liverpool had a chance to bring me home, and they blew it

The call was a pleasant surprise, a welcome reminder of my Liverpool home.

It came through from reception at Ewood Park to inform me that Peter Robinson was at the ground, picking up tickets for the Liverpool game the following day, and he wanted to say ‘hello’.

The date was April 2, 1993 and I’d been manager at Blackburn Rovers since October 1991, enjoying the task of rebuilding this famous old Lancashire mill-town club.

Driving into Ewood, I saw PBR standing there, and all the Liverpool memories raced back – the European Cups, League titles, open-topped bus rides and non-stop banter.

‘‘Hop in, Peter, I’ll give you a lift back up to the car park,’’ I said.

When he’d settled in the passenger seat, PBR turned to me and asked, ‘‘Kenny, when are you coming home?’’

‘‘What do you mean?’’

‘‘When are you coming back to Liverpool, Kenny?’’

‘‘Peter, you just have to ask.’’

‘‘OK,’’ he said.

‘‘It’s up to yourselves,’’ I added. ‘‘You just need to phone.’’

PBR nodded, climbed out of the car and walked across to his. Liverpool never phoned, though, and regret has been my constant companion ever since. My hopes were lifted and dashed.

I’d have leapt at the chance to rejoin Liverpool. The people at Blackburn were special, really ­unassuming, but Anfield was home.

Ewood never felt like home.

Before the start of the 1994–95 season, a year that was to climax so gloriously for Rovers with the Premier League title, the chairman, Robert Coar, called me into his office.

‘‘We want to give you a new contract, Kenny,’’ Robert said, pointing out that my current deal expired in October 1994.

‘‘No, I’m not signing.’’

‘‘Why?’’

‘‘I’ll honour my contract to October, but I’m not staying.’’

‘‘OK,’’ said the chairman. ‘‘You can take some gardening leave until October.’’

I felt he was challenging me, not believing I’d stand down. ‘‘Aye, no problem,’’ I said and walked out.

My time at Blackburn looked over. The next thing I knew, Ray Harford was on the phone, sounding nervous.

‘‘What’s going on?’’ he said.

‘‘Well, Ray, my contract is up in October and the board have asked me to sign a new one. I told them I’ll honour the contract I’ve got but I’m going no further.’’

‘‘You can’t do that,’’ said Ray, shocked.

My hope was that Liverpool would come in for me. They’d have to move quickly, getting me in for pre-season and paying Rovers compensation to October.

When I was on holiday, I got a phone-call from Liverpool.

‘‘Will you come and speak to us?’’ PBR asked.

‘‘Of course.’’

‘‘We just want to know whether you would be interested in coming back to the club,’’ Peter said.

‘‘Of course I am ­interested.’’

I couldn’t pack fast enough, jumping on a plane and, once back in England, hurtling up to David Moores’ house.

PBR, Roy Evans, Tom Saunders and David were already there. Scarcely had I sat down when Peter announced, ‘‘We don’t think the time’s right for you to come home.’’

I was taken aback.

‘‘What?’’ I said.

‘‘We just don’t think the time’s right.’’

‘‘Why phone me and ask me to come back if you don’t think the time’s right?’’ I was furious. ‘‘I want to come back to Liverpool.

‘‘I wouldn’t be sitting here now otherwise. I did a good job the first time.’’

Liverpool’s logic baffled me then, and still does now. Never before in all my life have I felt such anger. My stomach was churning as I got in the car and sped off to Anfield, of all places, because Paul was playing some game for Liverpool reserves.

So what was the board playing at? Why lead me up the garden path and then shut the gate in front of me? So I returned to Robert.

‘‘Chairman, look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’’ I offered. ‘‘I’ll sign a contract ­extension to the end of the season and that’s me finished.’’

And that’s what happened.

Link

Agony and relief the day I quit Anfield

Five hours before kick-off in the FA Cup fourth round derby at Everton, I made up my mind.

Whatever happened at Goodison, I would tell the chairman I had to go.

The pressure was too much. Driving home after games, I was nipping away at my kids Kelly and Paul.

The atmosphere at home wasn’t good and I was to blame. My state of mind was unfair on the kids,

I was a mess. The previous December, I’d come out in big red blotches all over my body. I went to the office Christmas party covered in blemishes.

To ease the rash, Liverpool’s doctor pumped me with Piriton at Anfield every other day, alternating the cheeks on my backside, so in a fortnight I felt like a pin cushion.

As Piriton made me drowsy, I’d fall through my front door then slump into a deep sleep on the couch for hours.

I wasn’t an alcoholic but I found a few glasses of wine took the edge off me.

Having stopped playing, there wasn’t the professional necessity to stay in and stay fit. I’d been at work all day, so it was nice to go out and have a meal and a drink.

The nation’s amateur psychologists claimed it was the strain of that extraordinary Cup tie at Goodison that tipped me over the precipice. It wasn’t.

My nerves were shredded long before February 20, 1991. Recalling the seesaw sequence is still distressing.

Liverpool kept taking the lead, but Everton kept equalising. When Digger curled in a fourth after 102 unbelievable minutes, I thought that might be that. Job done.

“Let’s shut up shop,” I said to Ronnie Moran. “Let’s stick Jan Molby back to sweeper.”

“Hold on,” said Ronnie.

“Just leave it,” I shrugged.

At that instant of indecision, I knew the emotional conclusion I’d reached that afternoon was justified.

I should have put Jan back there but I froze. Time to go.

When Tony Cottee again exploited our defensive disarray, my failure to shift Jan back was punished.

In the dressing room afterwards, the mood veered from frustration to fury. Having gone in front four times, it was criminal to let the lead slip four times. I was speechless – helpless.

At least the pain would soon end. The dressing-room storm went on around me and I was there in body but not mind. The process of leaving had begun.

The following morning I drove into Anfield for a routine meeting with Peter Robinson and chairman Noel White.

“I want to resign.”

“Pardon?” said Noel.

“I’ve had enough. I need a break. I just feel as if my head is exploding.” They were shocked.

“Why?” Peter asked.

“It’s the pressure. I’ve been feeling this for some time. You knew last summer the reservations I had. I’ve soldiered on, but no more. My health is suffering. I want to go now. Today.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a sabbatical?” asked Peter.

“I’m out. I’m shot. I’ve got to go.” Liverpool’s solicitor Tony Ensor walked in.

“Kenny, Peter’s right. Why not have a sabbatical? Take some time off, then come back.”

“Tony, how can I go on holiday and know I’m coming back?”

It wouldn’t be a holiday. I couldn’t walk out on a club, leave Ronnie and Roy to take the team for Saturday, not knowing whether I would be fit to return. It left everybody in limbo.

It’s the middle of the season, we’re top of the League, still in the Cup, with a replay with Everton, so how could I have a sabbatical?

My mind was made up. I needed a clean break. It was over. Tony sighed.

“OK, Kenny. Now I have to talk to you as the club solicitor. If you go, first you have to read this and sign it.”

He pushed what looked like a contract across the table, to cover Liverpool for compensation if I pitched up elsewhere. “Tony, I’m not even going to read it. I’ll sign it because I don’t care what the conditions are. I’ve just got to go.”

At 4pm Liverpool held an emergency board meeting at which they reluctantly accepted my resignation.

Later I read a comment from Peter Robinson saying that “watching Kenny walk out of Anfield was the saddest moment of my life”. Well, I wasn’t best pleased either. Nor were Kelly and Paul. Sensibly, Marina had kept them off school.

“I’ve resigned,” I told them. They burst into tears and so did I. The kids were distraught I’d turned my back on the club we all loved. Paul had turned 14 three days before. Happy birthday, wee man, you can’t go back to Anfield. Telling the players was almost as hard.

I reached the ground at 10am and headed straight to the dressing room. “I’m finished here. I’m just going upstairs to announce it. Thanks very much.” With that, I turned and walked out. What more could I say?

Alan Hansen knew what was happening. I always kept Al abreast of things. He told me later that he went in the dressing room and said “I’m the new manager – there are going to be big changes”. The players looked at him, wondering if they’d be bombed out. “Only kidding,” he said. Upstairs, I was forced to go through the nightmare of a Press conference.

I sat there, not understanding why I had to be there. Liverpool were just prolonging my agony. They could have announced it and I could have been heading to a beach with Marina and the kids.

Everybody in football knew I’d rather face a firing squad than the Press. My ordeal deepened as I spoke. “The main problem is the pressure I put on myself because of my strong desire to succeed. The stress that comes right before and after games has got the better of me,” I said

Honesty underpinned my every word, but the Press still hunted for alternative motives and I found that hurtful.

Inevitably, the fancy columnists weighed in, trampling over my reputation. Michael Parkinson berated me in the Sunday Telegraph, claiming I knew nothing about pressure.

“Pressure is something nurses know about, or people who grind out a living in a factory, or men who dig a coal mine underground,” he wrote.

“Pressure is being poor or unemployed or homeless or hopeless. What it’s not is being paid £200,000 a year to manage one of the world’s greatest football clubs.”

Parky talked crap. The money and the profession were irrelevant. Some people are more prone to pressure, some people had jobs where they could take time off, but I couldn’t. Managing Liverpool was relentless.

Did Parky work every day of the week? What did he want anyway? For me to grind myself down? For my kids to have a stressed-out dad? I just thanked God I got out in time.

The kids’ tears soon dried. “Can we go to Disney?” Paul asked. So we did and it felt good to focus on the kids. I’d neglected them due to my obsession with Liverpool.

If Liverpool had asked me to carry on as manager the moment I returned from Florida, I’d have jumped at the chance because my batteries were recharged. Sadly, they never asked.

While in Orlando, I received a phone call to tell me Graeme Souness had got the job and I felt a twinge of regret.

Liverpool were my club, my job, my home. Now it was someone else’s.

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