[This article was originally published in Well Red magazine, issue 5, December 2010, at the height of the maelstrom that engulfed the club under Roy Hodgson. It was updated to reflect Kenny Dalglish's return to the manager's position. It has now been revised again, as we commemorate the 100th anniversary of Bill Shankly's birth, and as Brendan Rodgers begins his second season in charge. ]
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We’ve all seen the footage. The great Bill Shankly on the steps of St. George’s Hall, arms outstretched in messianic triumph. Below, thousands of exultant Liverpool fans hang expectantly on his every word. The rhetoric has passed into legend – “I’ve drummed it into our players….privileged to play for you….if they didn’t believe me, they believe me now.” Classic Shankly – humble, charismatic, inspirational.
What was perhaps most remarkable about this show of triumphant defiance was the immediate context. For this was never meant to be a celebration, the aftermath of some historic, trophy-yielding victory. Instead, the people lining the streets of the city centre that May afternoon in 1971 were still coming to terms with the previous day’s narrow Cup Final defeat against a functional, though hardly expansive, Arsenal team.
To Shankly, the result was almost an irrelevance. What mattered most was that the club he had built, its players and supporters, were united as one single, pulsing force. No part could function without the other; there was no ‘us’ and ‘them.’ And, inevitably, Shankly was the catalyst.
No other leader could ever hope to command such unswerving devotion from his followers, be they on the pitch or on the Kop, by sheer force of personality alone. He set the template, establishing a bond between Liverpool manager and Liverpool supporter that all his successors are expected to live up to. Four decades down the line, it’s a challenge that can still make or break a career.
The Need for Solidarity
Football clubs are built on relationships. Relationships between players, between players and manager, between manager and board, and between board and owners. Under the calamitous regime of Hicks and Gillett, talk of fractured relationships at each level dominated whenever Liverpool’s affairs were discussed. The cumulative impact of such sustained negativity led to a steady deterioration in on-pitch performance and an associated rise in supporter disenchantment.
In such times, it is of vital importance that the fans feel a sense of solidarity and an understanding that they share common goals. The problem is that a united front can only really flourish under a universally-accepted figurehead. Someone with the capacity to command respect, to inspire belief and to provide assurance that collective dreams can be realised.
A leader.
Given Liverpool’s unique, sometimes tragic, heritage, at Anfield more than anywhere else this is perhaps the most significant relationship of all – the one between manager and supporters. A failure to fully appreciate this can lead to an irrevocable breakdown in trust which, once lost, can be impossible to recapture. Just ask Roy Hodgson.
It is not an exaggeration to suggest that no other Liverpool manager managed to alienate such a large proportion of the club’s fanbase in such a relatively short space of time. Whilst this was, to an extent, dictated by a series of unsatisfactory results and disappointing performances, there remains a real sense that something else may have been at play here. It seems very much as though Hodgson paid the price for failing to live up to the supporters’ ideal of what a Liverpool manager should represent.
The Manager as Charismatic Leader
We have come to demand certain standards of our managers. It goes without saying that, as a bare minimum, this should include tactical awareness, a winning mentality and a deeply ingrained knowledge of the game. But we also ask more. Just as the Catholic Church regards the Pope to be God’s representative on Earth, and committed Satanists hold up Simon Cowell as the physical embodiment of true evil, so to Liverpool supporters the manager acts as our ambassador in the dug-out. As such, we expect him to absorb and reflect our concerns, to fight our corner, to defend us against external attacks and, ultimately, to give us something to believe in. Simply put, we look to the manager to lead us into battle, and we follow, not blindly but willingly and with a keen appreciation of our collective strength.
Our club’s history suggests that, in order to fully galvanise this communal loyalty, the manager must exhibit some of the characteristics usually associated with political or religious leaders. Chief amongst these is the kind of personal charisma that commands high levels of devotion and serves to legitimise his authority in the eyes of the supporters.
This may almost be seen as an adapted form of ‘personality cult,’ where the aspirations and objectives of the leader become synonymous with those of the wider organisation or state (in this case, the football club itself). In this context, Shankly’s famous reference to the Liverpool supporters displaying a show of strength greater than Chairman Mao himself could summon, during that same 1971 homecoming speech, takes on an added significance.
All of which is not to say that a manager can survive and prosper on personality alone. Nor is it intended to suggest that someone less naturally given to charismatic flourishes will inevitably fail to elicit respect. We only have to look at Bob Paisley and remember the esteem in which he was held by Liverpool fans to see the flaw in that idea. However, it is perhaps true to say that, for all Paisley’s unprecedented on-field triumphs, he was never quite seen as the terrace advocate that Shankly, or even Benitez, was or engendered the kind of unequivocal adulation once reserved for Dalglish.
Whether by accident or design one of the by-products of the manager as ‘charismatic leader’ is his elevation to figurehead status, where the relationship with supporters becomes almost a symbiotic one, each side drawing from the intense conviction of the other. Although we can trace the origins of this bond back to Shankly and his inimitable rapport with the Kop, the canniest of his heirs have also understood its value. With varying degrees of success, Dalglish, Houllier and Benitez have all tried to re-establish the link, be it a conscious strategy or a consequence of shared adversity. Unfortunately for him, Roy Hodgson’s failure to engage the supporters in such a way more closely resembled the tarnished reign of Graeme Souness than any of his more illustrious predecessors.
The Special Relationship
Before Shankly, the manager’s primary responsibility had always been to satisfy and live up to the expectations of the board members. Though the manager (usually) picked and trained the team, there was never any doubt where the balance of power within clubs truly rested. Supporters, if they were considered at all, were a long way down the footballing food-chain, expected to pay their money, swing their rattles and accept that they had little influence in the affairs of the club they followed.
Shankly changed all that. To him, the club belonged to the people who stood on the Kop, not the board of directors, not the owners, not the cigar-chomping businessman with a seat in the executive box and a barely-suppressed yawn of indifference. When he spoke of football’s ‘holy trinity’ – the players, the manager and the supporters – he did so with an acute appreciation that the fans were the one constant factor in the union and made it his quest to reward their loyalty by instilling in them a sense of pride, purpose and belonging. To accomplish this, Shankly himself became Liverpool’s biggest fan. And because his fellow supporters could see this, and could see that every decision he took, or player he signed, or wisecrack he made was ultimately intended for the greater good of the club, the bond of trust became an unbreakable one. This, more than anything else, was his enduring legacy.
Despite the undoubted regard in which Liverpool supporters held both Paisley and his short-term successor, Joe Fagan, it took the appointment of Dalglish, initially as player-manager, to restore the sense that the man in the top job was someone completely in tune with their ideals. Obviously it helped that he was already regarded by many as the club’s greatest-ever player, and so was immediately afforded the sort of goodwill that was arguably withheld from Hodgson, but over the course of his stewardship Kenny proved time and again that the interests and well-being of the fans were his priority.
He swatted away Alex Ferguson’s juvenile barbs like a woodsman dispatching a diseased elm; he created a team that brought fantasy football to life; and, most poignantly, he bore the suffering of Hillsborough with unmatched dignity and provided the kind of leadership in the aftermath of the tragedy that will never be forgotten. Ultimately the immense burden told on Dalglish, but his continued deification amongst followers of Liverpool FC is testament to his success as someone who has always understood what the club means to its fanbase.
Ironically, this was only emphasised by the actions of another playing legend-turned-manager, Graeme Souness. In selling the story of his heart surgery to the same publication that had printed baseless, repulsive lies about the supporters, Souness effectively destroyed any prospect of emulating the sort of relationship with them that his two countrymen had forged. As he learnt to his cost, betrayal, of the supporters, the club and its tradition, is one thing that will not be tolerated.
The Outsiders
On paper at least, it follows that any manager will find it significantly more of a challenge to establish the reciprocal closeness with the fans that Shankly and Dalglish enjoyed if they are, to all intents and purposes, ‘outsiders.’ Scousers are, by nature, initially suspicious when someone with no prior connection looks to advance in their city and, by extension, their football club. Though respect may be given, genuine, unqualified support will not be forthcoming until the interloper’s intentions and methods have been squarely ascertained. Both Houllier and Benitez were astute enough to see that their chances of success would be enhanced if they could harness the power of a staunchly committed support.
It is now often overlooked but up until his penultimate season in charge, Houllier enjoyed almost universal acclaim from the Liverpool fans. The fact that he restored the club’s pride and moulded a team that was again able to compete for (and win) silverware undoubtedly influenced his standing. However, there was also a real belief that Houllier understood the Liverpool ethos and was following the blueprint laid down during the ‘60s revolution. On more than one occasion, the chant that went up from the Kop was “Are you Shankly in disguise,” a mantra that was as well-intentioned as it was premature.
Eventually, Houllier was undone by his tactical inflexibility and his failure to build on the foundations he’d put in place, but it was also felt that a prickly arrogance and growing lack of humility were traits not befitting the role of Liverpool manager. Despite his achievements, there were few dissenters when his tenure came to an end.
By contrast, the Benitez regime spawned some of the most zealous and fiercely protective displays of loyalty that any ex-manager could hope to witness. This is perhaps unsurprising given Rafa’s continued efforts to position himself firmly on the side of the supporters and the widely held notion that, for the latter part of his time at the club, he stood alone against an untrustworthy, discredited hierarchy. Although not averse to exploiting his popularity in the interests of political manoeuvring, there can be no doubt that Benitez fully embraced both the club and the city’s unique fibre.
Endless attacks by ill-informed media drones and Ferguson’s moribund old-boys’ network only heightened his iconic status in the eyes of many supporters, while his integrity, passion and willingness to stand up for what he believed in resonated strongly with those old enough to remember the Shankly years. Crucially, in the eyes of some these traits only served to highlight his successor’s perceived deficiencies.
Roy Hodgson was not the manager most Liverpool fans wanted.
From the outset he was met with guarded suspicion and a nagging belief that, in different circumstances and with a more stable structure in place, he would not even have made the short-list. It took only a handful of league games before such misgivings gave way to hostility and, increasingly, open resentment. What was most noticeable was the speed at which this antipathy took on a personal tone, as internet forums quickly raged with comments ridiculing his appearance, his speech, his age and (perhaps justifiably) his tactics.
At the heart of this lay an overriding, though uncomfortable, truth. Hodgson wasn’t one of ‘us.’ He didn’t comprehend what the club represents to the supporters, he failed to grasp the basic tenets of humility and dignity that Shankly laid down, and his public utterances were self-serving exercises in buck-passing and negativity. In short, he was a symbol of a despised and dysfunctional regime.
Amidst the tumult, legitimate criticism was frequently overtaken by vitriolic abuse. Oddly, much of the fiercest censure stemmed from those who, six months earlier, had insisted that Benitez should be afforded appropriate levels of respect and patience. That the same courtesies were not extended to Hodgson is testament to both his unrivalled unpopularity with supporters and the desire to see the manager’s post filled by someone capable of upholding its fundamental values.
The Return of the Native
In asking Dalglish to replace Hodgson, the new Liverpool owners demonstrated a canny understanding of the importance, at that particular time, of re-establishing the bond between manager and supporters. The need for stability, for everyone to be seen to be pulling in the same direction after the upheaval and disharmony that had passed, was paramount. And there is no man more in tune with what that entails than Kenny Dalglish.
For the first time in years, bitter recriminations and internal rifts were put to one side. The Liverpool of old was back, as dignity, empathy and ambition usurped sniping, self-interest and defeatism. For a while at least.
However, it is perhaps a sign of the times that even the King of the Kop, a true icon of the club, fell victim to the kind of shabby denigration from professed Liverpool supporters that would once have been unimaginable. That this, on occasion, crossed into the kind of unacceptable, ugly invective that plagued Hodgson (and, to an extent, Benitez) may be seen as a sign that the relationship with the fans has been damaged, perhaps irreparably.
It now falls to Brendan Rodgers to add his name to the illustrious roll-call of managers who have served the club with distinction. Though his first season was often an uncomfortable one, starting as it did in the wake of Dalglish's brutal sacking and the apparent snubbing of Benitez, there are clear signs that Rodgers has come to terms with the demands of his position and is establishing a structure and a rapport that bode well for the future. It goes without saying that the more successful the team is, the more willing the Anfield crowd will be to accept him as one of their own.
Whether the current Liverpool manager can live up to the supporters’ expectations remains to be seen. But, like Shankly outside St. George’s Hall, if he can get them to buy into his vision, if he can take them with him and build a potent, unified force, then this special relationship could once more be the springboard to lasting success.
