MR LIVERPOOL
An incredible 44 trophies in 50 years. Now a new book honours Ronnie Moran. He’s...
TUESDAY night in Liverpool. At the club’s superstore in the heart of the city centre, legends have gathered to recount old times.
Phil Thompson, the European Cup-winning captain, is here. So too is Phil Neal, Liverpool’s most decorated player, Alan Kennedy — whose left foot decided two European Cup finals — and Roy Evans, an embodiment of the fabled Boot Room traditions. Jamie Carragher represents the modern era.
They are here to pay homage to a man who has had a profound effect on them and countless others, a man who has just reached the grand old age of 83. That man is Mr Liverpool.
Sadly, though, Ronnie Moran cannot be here to see this. Diagnosed with dementia in 2012, he now resides in a nursing home in Southport. His wife, Joyce, is with us and so, too, his son, Paul, who was the driving force behind a new book that has been published in his dad’s honour.
Its title could not be more fitting. Mr Liverpool tells the story of one of the most extraordinary careers in football, about a one- club man who had an unremarkable demeanour but achieved remarkable feats.
‘We just wanted to see someone who was great in football get some recognition and let people understand what he did at the football club,’ said Evans. ‘Of course it is about the team, no matter what. But when he was there, he made a difference.’
Moran, who was born in the Crosby area of Liverpool, first turned up at the club in 1949 as a 15-year-old and was so successful that he didn’t leave until 1998, having collected seven honours as a player and, astonishingly, a further 37 as a coach.
Bill Shankly may be Liverpool’s architect for future generations of success and Bob Paisley the most successful manager, but Moran’s influence was no less important. He was the constant — a gruff figure responsible for setting high standards.
‘He was on at us day after day after day,’ recalled Thompson. ‘He never gave you a chance to relax. You could batter someone 5-0 on a Saturday and then on a Monday you would come in and he would be moaning like a drain! You’d be thinking to yourself “God, Ronnie! Get a life!”’
‘Phil is right,’ interjected Evans. ‘There was always something. He’d give a b******ing if you needed one or not. But that was him. He wanted to give everyone a winning mentality.’
The book is a testament to that. Written by Paul, with the help of co-authors Carl Clemente and Arnie Baldursson, it is crammed full of stories of how he went from being the team’s left back to the man who led Liverpool out for the 1992 FA Cup final against Sunderland.
Moran retired in 1998 but that did not stop him returning to Melwood, Liverpool’s training base, until recently to have a walk alk around the pitches to keepep him himself fit. Even then, his reputation assured he was afforded respect.
‘ I remember a story about Fernando Torres asking Sammy Lee, “Who is that old fella walking around the pitches?”’ explained Paul Moran. ‘Sammy took him down a corridor to showsho him pictures and trophies trophies. From then on, Fernando never did anything but say hello to Ronnie each morning.’
The best stories about Moran revolve around him walking into the dressing room at pre-season with a box of medals for winning the title. He would bellow, ‘If you deservede one, take one,’ beforebe plonking the box on the table.
HeH had a brilliant mind and forensicfor attention to detail. TheTh inside cover of the book is t two pages from his diaries, whichwhic had every treatment, every training drill and every selected Liverpool team, complete with result and scorers.
‘We were like Barcelona with attitude,’ said Thompson. ‘The ball would get fizzed about — one touch — and you had to expect it.
‘ We were taught to hound people. Ronnie would shout “hound!” so if one went, you would go in support. Hounding is what they now call gegenpressing.’
Sadly, that brilliant mind is now fading. Paul is aware of how dementia has affected footballers from his father’s generation.
He doesn’t know whether there is a connection with those old heavy balls, yet he says: ‘I know it could be down to football, but I don’t want it to be.’ What he does know is this: Ronnie Moran is a football institution, a man who has lived a life less ordinary.
Nobody is more deserving of the title Mr Liverpool.
‘If we won 5-0, he’d still moan at us!’