Carra: My Autobiography by Jamie Carragher, Kenny Dalglish Read Free Book Online Page A

itself. My dad would video the show and I'd watch it repeatedly until I'd memorized every word John Motson and Barry Davies said.

Back then there weren't cameras at every ground. You were only given decent highlights if you were near the top of the table, so Evertonians became used to earning top billing and having the pleasure of seeing the afternoon goals from another angle. If you weren't one of the main games, you had to settle for a clip on the local news. In October 1984 we beat Manchester United 5–0 at Goodison, but Match of the Day weren't there to film it. The goals were only shown on the BBC filmed by one of those dodgy long-distance cameras. It was literally sixty seconds – a bit like the graveyard slot the modern side gets after midnight on Match of the Day now, only with a cloudier picture. We had the tape and it circulated the whole of Bootle for the rest of the week as if it was a piece of treasure for every Blue to get a glimpse of.

I'd mimic radio and television commentaries from Everton's most famous wins of the time, repeating them when we were recreating goals during our own kick-abouts. 'Gray's there again. Oh, I say!' I'd shout as I re-enacted the striker's diving headers against Sunderland in 1985. 'Everton's hold on the cup has been re-established' was another quote which stayed with me from the FA Cup run that season. Motson and Davies provided the soundtrack to Everton's epic victories.

When I couldn't go to the game, for whatever reason, listening to the radio was torture. You hear the full ninety minutes on local and national radio today, but two decades ago it was secondhalf commentary only, with a couple of brief reports in the first half between the songs the DJ played. It was terrible trying to guess what was happening without the likes of Teletext, mobile phones or Soccer Saturday providing instant updates. From a young age I wanted to see the action every weekend, not be miles away imagining Peter Reid, Kevin Sheedy and Paul Bracewell exchanging passes before Trevor Steven crossed for Graeme Sharp to head us into the lead.

The worst experience that season was tuning into the vital away match at Spurs in April 1985. They were our rivals for the title so I'd developed a pathological hatred for them, checking their fixtures and willing them to concede goals as much as I urged Everton to score. Everton had an old-fashioned system of arranging the final scores on boards around the perimeter of the pitch to keep supporters informed of others' results. You had to match the game with the corresponding letter or number in the programme notes. I never had the patience to hang around and work it out. I'd run out of Goodison after a game, straight into the shop across the road and shout, 'How did Spurs get on?' More often than not that season I was told they had won. I'd go home disappointed, which was ridiculous after having watched my own team deliver another superb performance.

By the time we played Spurs at White Hart Lane we knew if we won, the title race was over.

'Now we're off to Tottenham where we hear there's been a goal,' the radio host said just ten minutes into the game.

For a second, my stomach ached with anxiety.

'It's Andy Gray for Everton!' yelled the commentator, his voice hoarse with excitement.

I felt I was on the pitch, scoring the goal myself. At the very least I wanted to be there joining the celebrations, especially when the game ended 2–1 to the Blues.

I never fully appreciated how good that team was at the time. Watching players of the calibre of Peter Reid gave me a perfect education in how to play football. My dad loved Reid more than any player. I've met him many times, and it's even better when someone you admire is such a great man off the pitch too. Whatever he's doing in football, wherever he's a manager, I always want him to be successful. 'Watch and learn from him,' my dad would tell me. 'Look at the way he never gives the ball away. Look how much the