The Reds Brothers
Background
The Reds Brothers was written shortly after the FA Cup Final in the Summer of 1991, when the game was troubled by a vast range of problems: the Super League, naff away kits, television hype, Manchester United, etc, etc, etc. We thought the Reds Brothers would solve all of that, but, as an attempt to create a fan-based movement to defeat the evils of the game, the Reds Brothers was a dismal failure. We’ve got a much better fan-led movement now.
Three parts of the Reds Brothers appeared in Volume III of The Tricky Tree: Issue 2 (September 1991), Issue 5 (March 1992), & Issue 6 (May 1992) before apathy and a lack of ideas saw them take early retirement. Maybe they’ll be back.
Part I
It’s early morning. The sun rises over the city. It’s going to be hot. Slowly, stately, a car pulls into the road. The black, open top, ‘56 Lincoln Premiere glides to a halt outside the house. (So, what did you expect? A Black Maria?) The car waits. The only sounds are the rattle of milk bottles being delivered up the road and the sweet soul of Sam Cooke’s “You Send Me” drifting from the car stereo. Behind the wheel sits Ray Cool, motionless.
Ray Charles, known as Ray Cool, is young, slim, and very laid back. No-one can remember him losing his cool since the last time he saw George Courtney referee a match.
There being no movement at the house, Ray gives a measured blast on the horn and gets out of the car. He is wearing shades, a white shirt with a dark tie, and the sharply dressed trousers of a dark suit. On closer inspection, the suit is a deep dark red, the colour of burgundy wine. The jacket, neatly folded, lies on the back seat of the Premiere, with a matching pork pie hat on top. Elegantly, Ray walks round to the passenger door, and, leaning on it, nonchalantly peers up at the house.
An upstairs window opens and a half awake/half dead head looks out. His eyes are blinded by the sunlight, yet somewhere deep in his brain he recognizes the shape below.
This is Stuart Axton. He is of above average build, yet his stature suggests a giant of Schwarzeneggerian proportions. He lives life to the full, will do anything for a laugh, and knows how to enjoy himself, as he obviously has done the night before. He is commonly referred to as Otis, partly because of his stature, but mainly due to his tendency to break out into songs from Otis Redding’s catalogue.
“Hold on, I’m coming,” he yells.
“Sam and Dave,” thinks Ray. “He’s obviously still asleep.”
Stuart tumbles out of the front door, his T-shirt hanging out, his jeans half buttoned up, his spiky bleached hair testimony to another great mistake.
“Hey man,” says Ray. “Do you know what day it is?”
At this point, it is unlikely that Stuart knows which month it is, so Ray helps him out:
“Saturday … August … 17th.”
Sam Cooke’s “Wonderful World” floats from Ray’s car as Stuart’s brain clicks into gear … and stalls. Ray helps him:
“Today is the day we’ve been waiting for for three months. It’s the start of the football season at last and we’ve got a trip to make. So go and get ready.”
“I dunno Ray, I’m kinda sick of it after last year. And with all the changes going on like the Super League, and Arsenal’s new away strip, and …”
Ray has taken off his shades. Stuart catches his cold stare.
“Get changed,” commands Ray, grabbing him by the arm and leading him indoors. Had it not been so early, Stuart would have put up a fight – not because he didn’t want to go (of course he wanted to go), but because he’s used to getting his way. Now all he is thinking is that he could use more kip and in the car is as good a place to get it as any.
Inside the house, Ray looks out Stuart’s gear:
- “One Timex digital watch, broken – no don’t need that, or maybe we should take it – it’ll still be more accurate than the scoreboard.”
- “One … – no don’t need that at a football match.” (“Speak for yourself,” says Stuart.)
- “One white shirt; one burgundy suit jacket, one pair burgundy suit pants; one hat, burgundy; one pair sunglasses.”
- “One pound 70p for the proggies (two at 50p and one at 70)” (Wait for the cheap comment… none comes; it’s still worth twice what you pay for the official match day programme (sorry magazine) and we need all the voices we can get.)
The two of them have followed the club as long as they can remember. They both live far away from the ground, but follow the team because of their roots – and, as Stuart says, “It’s the best goddam club in the country.”
The car rolls north as the sun warms the boys. Stuart wakes up to survey the old familiar scenery. He tries to replace the Aretha Franklin tape with Birdland, for his tastes are more eclectic than Ray’s The Birdland tape won’t play, so he slings it out of the window and sits back as Aretha Franklin takes care of business.
“What’s this?” he says.
“What?” says Ray
“This car, this stupid car”
“It’s a black, open top, ‘56 Lincoln Premiere, didn’t you read the first paragraph?”
“Huh”
“It’s a 35 year old American car. I bought it from a guy who had it imported. You don’t like it?”
“I don’t like it”
Ray stops the car. “Get out” he says. “Look at that machine. Look how long it is, look at the bodyline – it’s beautiful. It’s got a cool shape, it’s got a cool motor, it’s got cool tyres. What do you say – is it the new Reds Mobile?”
“Get the tape fixed,” says Stuart, trying to play the Lurkers.
The boys park and make for the river. Later, inside the ground, the team runs out and notice Ray and Stuart at the front of the Trent End. As the players greet Ray and Stuart, Ray turns and asks Stuart:
“So, you weren’t going to come?”
“Yeah, I was going to come,” says Stuart. “I’ve been loving them too long to stop now” and turning to the players, he fills his lungs and cries:
“I’ve been loving you too long to stop now
You reds
You Tricky Trees
Since the age of eight or nine
You’ve been a part of me
I’ve been loving you a little too long
I don’t wanna stop now
We won the League
And the European Cup
I didn’t stop then
We missed out
Last Year at Wemberley
But now we’re growing stranger
And we’re gonna win all three
I’ve been loving you a little too long
I don’t wanna stop now.”
The, as the players in their bright Garibaldi shirts applaud Stuart, he starts to get them going.
“We gotta win some jugs this year. We’ll support you all the way, but you gotta do it. SO DO IT!”
So the game starts and despite Stuart’s forceful demands, it proves to be one of those meandering early season performances. At the start of the second half with the team ahead and the crowd sensing victory, Stuart turns to Ray and asks
“So what exactly is wrong with the game? Our guys will improve”
“It’s not this team,” says Ray. “It’s football as a whole. For a start, there’s the negative play of teams like Arsenal, then there’s the kick and run tactics of others – like Palace.”
As if to underline what Ray is saying, a loud voice booms out across the ground:
“Play it to feet,” shouts the voice. “If god had meant us to play football in the clouds, he’d have given us wings.”
Stuart looks towards the voice and realises it is addressed to him not the players. As he listens, a single floodlight picks him out.
“And another thing,” continues the voice, “those so-called experts on television are wrecking the game. Liverpool, Man United, and Arsenal are all they think about. There are youths growing up thinking there is only one division, and that that consists of only five teams.
“The league and FA are doing their best to ruin the game, arguing over the so-called Super League and dividing football instead of uniting it. The game needs to realise where its money comes from … who supports football?”
Now the Trickies are really turning it on, playing the ball around as only they can. Stuart’s eyes light up. He realises his mission in life is to correct all of the evils affecting the game – he and Ray will save football.
“The band, the band,” he says.
“The band?” say Ray.
“Do you see the light?” shouts a voice. “Do you see the light?”
“Yes, yes,” shouts Stuart. “I have seen the light. Come on Ray, we’ve got to save the game. We’re putting the band back together.”
What is the band?
Will Ray and Stuart put it back together?
Will it have a midfield?
and …
Will it save football?
Read Part II of the Reds Brothers
Part II
The story so far:
Ray and Stuart, attending the opening game of a new season, are shocked to see the state the game has been allowed to degenerate into. After hearing the Godfather of football (in a cameo role) preach a sermon on the ills of the game, they embark on a mission to save football.
Driving back after the game, listening to Sam Cooke’s “Soothe me” on the car stereo, Stuart is chewing over his mission to save football.
“Yeah, we’ll put the band back together, pull a few stunts, save the game.” He turns to Ray, “so where are they?”
Lazily Ray looks across: “A lot of the older ones are doing a gig in Sheffield.”
“What – the Sir Trevor Sextet? No. we don’t want them. They’re all past it. We need some young blood. What about The Face?”
“He’s down in London, working in TV.”
“What about Billy Bragg? They don’t appreciate him at Everton. He shouldn’t have moved north from Chelsea. I’d love to see him in the band.”
“And Elvis, That guy’s a real genius, isn’t he?”
The conversation is interrupted by the scream of a police siren. The boys have shot a red light. Ray looks at Stuart.
“Whatever you do, don’t say a word – you know what happens when you open your mouth.”
The cop walks up to the car and Stuart hands him his licence.
“We’re sorry officer,” says Ray. “I guess we weren’t concentrating.”
The cop reads the licence: “Stuart Axton, 748 High Road, London N17. So you were named after the guys that founded Stax Records? But shouldn’t that be ‘Stewart’?”
Stuart says nothing. Ray answers: “No self-respecting football supporter would spell it that way.”
“True – you don’t get many footballers called ‘Stewart’. So why’re you two in such a hurry?”
“We’re on a mission from Cloughie. We’re going to save football.”
The cop hands Stuart back his licence saying: “Off you go then… Nice car!”
As they drive on, Ray crows, “See, I told you – you just gotta be cool. Good job we don’t have to drive through the West Midlands to get home.”
Later that week, the boys are in London looking for the band as the team doesn’t have a midweek game. They arrive at Thames Television Studios, which is where The Face works. His real name is Teddy Edwards, but he has been known as The Face since his days as a Mod down in London’s East End. He was a child actor in the sixties, making his name playing John in Thunderbirds; indeed, it was as a result of the recent revival of Thunderbirds that he got his current job in TV. He has grown somewhat since his days on Thunderbird Five, but still insists he is only five foot eight.
The Face is walking down a corridor carrying a pile of films when Ray and Stuart find him. He eyes them suspiciously.
“What have you got there?” says Stuart.
“These are tapes for tonight’s Sports Special,” he says, then immediately wishes he hadn’t.
Stuart’s eyes light up and a wicked grin crosses his face as he grabs the tapes. “But this is old stuff,” he says.
“It’s an old Arsenal game so we can show bits of it instead of tonight’s boring game. The TV contract says we can only show Liverpool, Man United, and Arsenal, so when the games are naff, we show the old film instead,” says The Face.
“Do you think the fans don’t notice?” asks Ray.
“The people that run TV think most football fans are brainless morons. They think that if they talk up the game, the viewer will believe what he hears, not what he sees and if the game’s bad, you just cheat. Why not? Southampton do it. Besides, using old tapes gives more time to get the names right. Anyway, football is boring these days. Nothing but the same five teams.”
“Of course it’s boring” says Stuart ” if you just watch TV.”
“Oh you may be weary
And some guys they do get weary
Watching that same old dreary mess
But if you get weary
Try a little Trickyness
If you’re bored with ‘Captain Marvel’
And you don’t like Howard Kendall
And you never never never
want to see Souness
No don’t watch Arsenal
Try a Little Trickyness
Ignore the press and Welsby
Forget the Saint and Greavsie
The answer’s really easy
You won’t regret it
True fans they don’t forget it
The beautiful game is pure happiness
See it’s all so easy
All you gotta do is try a little Trickyness.”
“We’re putting the band back together and we need you. We’re on a mission from Cloughie and we’re going to save football. Starting now.”
The two boys take a startled Face by the arm and carry him along with his tapes into a nearby room. That night, millions of viewers up and down the country tuning into Midweek Sports Special expecting to see another old Arsenal game followed by just the result of their team’s game, in the summary, at the end of the show, if they are lucky, are surprised to see a confused Elton Welsby saying:
“Well, we’ve got a wonderful game for you between a team playing in yellow with green shorts – I don’t know who they are – and, er, another team in sport of purple …”
Back at Ray’s flat, Stuart, Ray, and The Face sit back to enjoy Norwich v West Ham. Stuart says:
“This is what I used to like about football when our lot weren’t playing. Settling down to enjoy watching a couple of quality sides on TV.”
“All we need now is for these guys to wise up to Europe” says the Face. “How come they stop showing the European Cup when the English team get knocked out?”
“We’re just gonna have to run TV ourselves,” says Ray.
“Hey, this is my favourite bit,” interrupts Stuart as the credit rolls while the seven Chelsea goals are shown.
The boys still need to get the rest of the band together. They set off north to find more of the guys. Driving over a bridge near Ray’s pad, The Face shouts, “Hey, isn’t that Ron Noades up ahead?”
“Looks like it,” says Ray as he puts his foot down. Ron Noades sees them coming, but his only escape is over the side of the bridge and down into the cold murky waters of the Thames below.
“I was taken out of context.” he screams as the boys drive off.
Back up in Nottingham, a week later, the boys walk into a cafe. Ray orders toasted dry white bread while Stuart asks for four chickens and a coke. The Face just asks for better service. In the corner sits a quiet young man: Declan Nigel McManus, a man of rare genius, a guy who is often days, if not weeks, ahead of his colleagues. He’s known by his mother’s maiden name, Elvis.
“So where have you been?” he says to Ray and Stuart. “I’ve been waiting for two months.”
“But we only decided to put the band back together two weeks ago,” says Stuart.
“Let’s just say that me and Cloughie have got an understanding,” answers Elvis.
“Hey, is it true your dad had 250 number 1 records?” asks Stuart. “What does he say when you ask him about it?”
“Bugger off,” is the answer.
“Come on, let’s go,” says Ray.
The four of them walk off. Propping up the bar is another local, Chester Atkins, known to his friends as Chet. Quietly, he follows them out. Night is falling. The boys are passing Meadow Lane where Notts are entertaining Liverpool.
“What’s the time?” asks Stuart.
“Just after eight,” says Ray.
“Wait here then,” says Stuart, as he jumps out of the car, pulling a screwdriver from his pocket. (You don’t actually think he’d carry a briefcase with him everywhere, do you?)
Ray and Elvis follow him inside and watch him unscrew a sign from a door and carry it down what seems like an endless maze of corridors before ultimately fastening it to another door.
“What’s going on?” says Ray.
“What happens at half time when Liverpool are playing?” asks Stuart.
“If Liverpool are winning, Souness bribes the linos to make sure they flag for offside whenever the opposition attack. If Liverpool are losing or drawing …. Ah ha!”
The penny drops and, at that very moment, Souness walks down the corridor looking for the referee in order to discuss penalties. He stops outside what he thinks is the referees door, but seeing no sign saying “Officials”, he looks around. He trots through a fire exit, across Meadow Lane, and through a warehouse. Finally, he finds a door marked “Officials”, but, as he rushes through it, he discovers too late that the door opens onto the river. He cannot stop himself from falling headfirst into the water and is washed away, never to be heard from again.
Part III
The story so far:
Ray and Stuart have collected the band together to help them in their mission to save football from the evils of the Premier League, television, Sheffield United, and Brighton’s new strip. In addition to Elvis, The Face, and Chet, they have been joined by Ian “Lazy Scouse Git” McCulloch, Roy “Mr Dynamite” Clown (the hardest working boy on show business), and Prince Desmond, known to his mates as Prince Buster or Judge 400 girls (sarcastically because no-one had actually seen him score).
Having removed racism from football and having ensured that Liverpool get no more undeserved penalties, the boys meet to discuss their next crusade.
“Arsenal are coming up next week,” says Ray. “How are we going to break the team’s bad tun at home against them?”
“They’re not a championship1 side this year, but they still seem to get a few results away from home,” says the Face.
“It’s their kit,” says Elvis, who knows everything. “It is actually carefully designed to induce hypnotism in anyone who gets too close to it. It’s a little known fact that certain geometrical patterns and particular colour combinations have a brain-washing effect on the human mind. The Iraqis used blue chevrons on a yellow background to get information from Kuwaiti prisoners after the invasion.”
There is no end to this guy’s knowledge: Psycho-physical optics is one of thirty-five subjects in which he holds A level qualifications.
“Right,” says Stuart. “We’re all signing up tomorrow. I’ll drive the tank.”
“No, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. We’re not fighting a war. It’s uncouth,” says Elvis.
“And unfashionable,” says the Face.
“We’ve just got to stop Arsenal wearing those shirts,” says Ray. “I’ve got an idea.”
Then Mr Dynamite arrives and announces: “I heard a rumour that Desmond made it with Patsy Kensit last night.”
“Who saw him score?”
“Well, nobody actually saw it,” says Mr Dynamite. “I left early, Mac couldn’t be bothered to go, and Chet spent the night in.”
“Yeah, me and Ray go down to Charlie Chans at Walthamstow on Fridays, so we missed it too,” adds the Face.
Saturday arrives. The boys get to the ground early and notice that the Arsenal coach hasn’t yet arrived. They head out towards the Motorway and stop at the Poly2. A few students recognise Stuart, so he asks them to help out.
Then, when the Arsenal coach arrives, two of the students run out into the road and lie down while the others stand in the road behind them waving “Can’t Pay, Won’t Pay” banners. The driver stops and gets out to remonstrate and a heated discussion develops when it transpires that all of the Arsenal first team squad have paid their poll tax.
Meanwhile Ray and Stuart open up the side of the coach and pull out the kit bag. Ray puts his shades on to avoid being blinded by the glare from the shirts. Stuart hands him a bottle of hair bleach which Ray empties over the kit. Right before their eyes, the colour fades.
“So that’s how you got your hair that colour, Stuart,” says Ray
“No, you have to rinse through a straw colouring afterwards so it doesn’t look so harsh,” says Stuart.
The boys put the kit bag containing sheep-white shirts back and give the students the nod. As the coach drives off, Stuart says “They’ll enjoy wearing those.”
At the match, it is obvious that without the hypnotic effect of the shirts, Arsenal are not a match for the Trickies who romp to a three-nil lead. Meanwhile, the canny Arsenal management have legged it into town and have bought an Arsenal shirt from Redmaynes. The tightwads obviously didn’t want to splash out and get two. Halfway through the second half, they manage to get a substitute on wearing the hideous shirt. Almost at once, the Tricky defence falls asleep on their feet and Arsenal pull back a goal.
“We’ve got to do something,” says the Face to Stuart.
“Don’t worry lads – I’ve got an idea,” he replies. “We need some stuff from the DIY. Who knows which place shelfman uses? Mr Dynamite – you never stop running. Whip out and pick up some silk vinyl paint and take it to Elvis. He’s a seat boy – you’ll find him in the Main Stand.”
Dynamite runs off to get the goods, but time is running out and Arsenal score again. Arsenal’s substitute is mesmerising the team with his runs down the wing. Just in time, Dynamite returns with two cans of white paint and legs it over to Block E.
“They hadn’t got silk vinyl, so I got gloss and matt. Which do you want?” he asks.
Elvis, who has telepathically divined Stuart’s intentions, picks up the matt, prises open the lid with the swiss army knife he always keeps for such occasions and throws the complete can towards the Arsenal substitute whose yellow shirt is instantly changed to ram-white. The Trickies wake up and play out the rest of the game comfortably.
Mr Dynamite says: “I guess we only needed one can.”
“Don’t worry,” says Elvis. “I won’t waste the other one.”
The players troop off, and as the Arsenal number 6 disappears down the tunnel, Elvis empties two litres of Dulux non drip gloss white over him.
“See you at Highbury,” he says to the drenched defender.
The boys are congratulating themselves after the game when Mac walks up. He has obviously only just woken up.
“Er, did I miss anything, like?” he asks.
Stuart glowers, “Why can’t you get here on time you simple and late lazy scouse git?”
At that moment chairman Mo walks up.
“Aaaah, boys,” he says. “I’ve been wanting to show you something. Come to my office.”
The boys follow him, hoping there might be a free drink in it. When they get there, they see a table with a green cloth on it covered in pitch markings and surrounded by various models that look like shoe boxes selloptaped together.
“I don’t know you played Subbuteo,” says Stuart
“No, no,” says Mo. “This is the new ground. Look, we’ve got executive boxes, a restaurant, and seats, here for you guys.”
“So is it going to be a football ground, or a museum?” asks Stuart. “We need a bit more space for us behind the goal, otherwise there’ll be less atmosphere than there is now. Why do we have to sit down? We want to stand. You should put your foot down and refuse to join the Premier League if they won’t let you have room to stand. We know sitting isn’t necessarily safer than standing. And why can’t you give the place more unity. All four sides of the ground are different. And why don’t you ask all the supporters? You should put a picture of this in the proggy together with a questionnaire. The problem is, Mo, boy, you’ve got no respect for the ordinary fan, but we’re the ones who follow you through thick and thin…
“When you win, you got us
And when you lose, you got us
All we’re asking is
Give us a little respect
when we come here.
We’ll go to the Dell and Plough Lane
We’ll watch you in wind and in rain
All we’re asking is
Give us a little respect
when we come here.
And you know, it’s not funny
We always give you all our money
But all we’re asking is
Give us a little respect
when we come here.
“Oh,” says Mo. I didn’t know you cared so much.”
“And another thing – why don’t you play some James Brown when the team runs out onto the pitch?” asks Ray as the boys leave the office.
“He didn’t even offer us a drink,” says Chet.
“I’m worried about this Super League,” says Stuart. “We’ve got to do something about it if it means having to sit down when we come here.”
“Other clubs, like West Ham are using this all seater stuff as an excuse to rip off the fans” says Ray. “The Hammers support have organised a red card demonstration which fans everywhere should support.
“Yeah – I’m all in favour of red cards and West Ham,” says Stuart.
“I thought it was the government,” says The Face.
“There is no law to make us sit down,” says Elvis. “They backed out of ID cards when they realised how crazy it would be. It’s the football licensing authority saying we must have it – wherever they come from. The Super League boys are pushing it so they can filter out small clubs and choose teams with more support like Newcastle and Sunderland.”
“I know we don’t like playing against Wimbledon,” says Stuart, “but getting into the First Division by winning games is better than getting there just cos you’ve got loads of supporters.”
“It’ll be really naff going to grounds that have just plonked seats straight on top of terracing like Wembley, where the slope is so shallow everyone stands up to see.”
“Yeah – how can it be safer to stand on plastic seats than to stand on concrete steps?”
“Getting to the Cup Final is what it’s all about,” says Ray, “but I wish we had somewhere better to go than Wembley.”
“Right then lads, we’re gonna do something about this Super League then,” says Stuart.
“Agreed,” they all shout.
Just then Desmond walks up, grinning.
“You look pleased with yourself?” says Ray.
“Yep, I just got a call from Winona Ryder. She’s coming round to look at my proggy collection tonight.”
Will they stop the Super League?
Will they get to Wembley?
Will they ever see Dessie score?
Will we meet the deadline for the next issue?
Answers to these questions and more questions to answer sometime in the next 6 months …
[or more …]
Footnotes
- Back in 1991, “a championship side” meant a side capable of winning the league rather than a side in the second tier of English football.
- Trent Poly became Nottingham Trent Uni in 1992.
Links
Notts v Liverpool, September 1991
The Band
- Ray Cool (Ray Charles)
- Stuart Axton (Stuart Pearce)
- Elvis (Nigel Clough)
- The Face (Teddy Sherringham)
- Chet (Steve Chettle)
- Ian McCulloch (Ian Woan)
- Roy Clown (Roy Keane)
- Prince Desmond (Des Walker)
- Billy Bragg (Pat Nevin)
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