Our day in court

[Dougie Do'ins]

I posted this on the members forum a couple of weeks ago. Thought some of you might want to read this just to get in the mood for today's game.

 

Also, if any of you recognise any of the unnamed people in the group photo, please let me know as I lost all the contact details.

 

It's was a roller coaster of a 48 hours in my life supporting this football club.

 

The below image is what I have above my head when I came out the court.

I passed the same image to Christian Purslow in the court when he turned to me and said, "7-0 to us"

 

What a fucking day.

 

 

 

Once we knew the court date had been confirmed for the Tuesday 12th October, me and my mate Ben, just had to bee there. Hopefully, this was going to be the end of Cancer & Aids strangle hold on LFC. The biggest moment in the clubs history being played out in the High Court, London.

 

It's Sunday 10th October, about midday when Ben phones me.

 

Ben } “Are we still going down for the court hearing” ?

 

Dougie } I fucking hope so, I'm not missing this one”

 

I meet Ben and we walk into town to Lime Street to get some train prices.

 

The guy in bookings informs us that, if we book now, the outward journey on the Monday 19.48 to Euston will cost £11.00. And the return leg on Tuesday evening will cost £33.00. So that's forty four quid return. We reckoned we could find cheapish accommodation so that was that, we were going down to that London and nothing was going to stop us.

 

Only one problem though. I hadn't actually got the day off work, so before we part with our cash it might be a good idea to get the day off work first before we book the train. Getting the day off shouldn't be a problem as I'd got days off at short notice before. So I make the call.

 

Dougie } “Can I have a day off please. I know it's short notice but I really need this Tuesday off, is it OK” ?

 

Boss } “Errm, this Tuesday” ?

 

Dougie } “Yes, this Tuesday”

 

Boss } “Sorry Mick, it's out the question”

 

I'm told the reasons why I cant have Tuesday off, and reluctantly I have to accept it.

 

Although I know he's overheard my phone conversation, I relay the bad news to Ben.

 

Ben } “Cant you throw a sickie” ?

 

Dougie } “I cant Ben.There will be so many press there and chances are we'll be spotted”.

 

We take a seat outside on the steps to the new entrance to Lime Street station, and we're both gutted. We're sat there for some time, just speechless. Eventually we decide to move on and heads bowed we trudge down Renshaw Street until we find ourselves outside the bombed out church which sits at the top of Bold Street. We decide to pay our donations to enter the famous landmark, hoping to seek sanctuary and some solace as we try to come to terms with the situation . Although neither of us said as much, I think we were both hoping for some divine inspiration.

 

We leave the Bombed Out Church and after a walk through town, we find ourselves at the 19 bus stop and we make our way home. By the time my stop nears, there's no sign of any divine inspiration. Not yet anyway. Reluctantly we go our separate ways.

 

 

Monday 11th October 2010

 

As I drive up the M62 on my way to work on Monday morning I'm still hoping for some miracle that I may just swing Tuesday off, but as midday comes there's still no news. Midday grinds it's way into late afternoon and I have to accept it just isn't going to happen. Maybe all is not lost though. Maybe Cancer & Aids will come to their senses, and there will be no need for the court hearing on Tuesday.

 

Tuesday 12th October 2010.

 

Tuesdays drive into Manchester is worse than it usually is. Stop Start all the way. I have the radio on continually switching stations listening out for any news LFC related. I arrive at work not in the best of moods, but at least today would bring the news we had all been waiting so long for. Cancer & Aids will have been laughed out of court and, LFC under the guidance of it's new owner would rise from the flames of hell.

 

Midday arrives and like everyone else, I'm relying on the Guardian Twitter updates via a link posted on TLW to keep me informed. As the day moves on, more and more snippets of information are filtering through and it seems more and more likely that our fate is not going to be decided today. This would be unwelcome news as everybody wants this to be over as soon as possible. Well not quite everybody, as this may just be the divine inspiration myself and Ben have both been hoping for.

 

Then the news arrives confirming that we would be returning to court again, but nobody seems sure as to when we will have a judgement. It's 5 PM and still channel hopping radio stations, I'm now driving down the Mancunian Way to head office with some paper work when my phone rings. It's Ben.

 

Ben } “Mick, it's tomorrow.

 

Dougie } “What's tomorrow”

 

Ben } “The judges decision”

 

Dougie } “Are you sure ?” “The last I heard nobody was sure when it would be”

 

Ben } “Yes, I'm sure. It's just been on the news now” “Are we going down tomorrow” ?

 

Dougie } OK give me two minutes while I make a phone call”

 

Still on the Mancy Way I make the call to my boss at a little after 5pm.

 

Boss } “Hello Mick”

 

Dougie } Can I have tomorrow off ? “I want to go to London for the judgement”

 

Boss } “Yes, of course you can”.

 

Oh fucking joy. It turns out, me and Ben missed the semi but we are going down for the final.

 

I call Ben back and tell him the news. While I'm making my way back down the M62, Ben has been on the internet and we take advantage of Mr Bransons excellent prices. Travel down to London on the 19.48 and return the following night, all for the princely sum of £44. 'We'll have some of that please Richard'

 

I dash into head office with my paperwork. It's nearing half five now and the train is 7.48. I get things sorted and I get my “WE Win” photos printed. I know it may have been tempting fate but, I was certain the judge was just giving the impression he was taking the night to consider all the facts. I think I posted it on TLW somewhere.

 

I don't think I need to tell you all what the M62 is like at that time of the day. But ST Christopher is looking down on me. He knows the importance of time, and on this occasion he guides me home quicker than usual. I get home, and get changed and washed while continually on the move as I get the overnight bag ready. Time is tight, but we make it to Lime Street with ten minutes to spare.

 

During the journey, various texts are send back and forth between myself ATK and Barry Wom, and Bens brother, Derby day Dave. As the train nears Euston, Barry Wom has kindly arranged for us stay on his couch and armchair for the night. We decide that before we impose ourselves on the Wom residence, that we should have a little walk around the immediate area of Euston and see if there are any hotels with vacancy's.

 

You may recall England were playing at Wembley that night.

 

The first two hotels we try are full, but not having to pay £150 for the night was something we could both live with. Time is ticking on now and we need to find somewhere fast or we're roughing it. We somehow find ourselves on Euston street when we come across a little place called the Cottage hotel. From the outside it looks half decent so we decide to give it a try. WE enter the small reception area and are greeted with a musty damp odour. There's nothing at all decent about this place.

 

There's a hatch in the wall with a sliding glass panel with a service bell on the counter. After a brief discussion, and as time is short, we decide to take a chance on The Cottage. We ring the bell. A man appears and we ask him if he has any rooms for the night. Strangely enough, he tells us he has room available with a double bed and a single bed and the cost will be £95 for the night. We hand over our money and sign the guest book. When I say guest book, I should really say guest piece of paper. But no matter what, as far as our hotelier is concerned, Mr T. Hicks and Mr G. Gillett are now paying guests.

 

We're led back out into the street and to the adjoining building. After being inducted on the steps on how to use the two keys we're led inside. We find ourselves stood in a small foyer leading to a narrow flight of dark stairs which led us to room 42. On entering the room we realise Rachman is alive and well and plying his trade in Euston Street, Camden town, London. It would be wrong to call the room a flea pit, as even fleas wouldn't lower themselves and stay here. This place was a fucking hovel. We dropped our bags and made our way to the pub opposite our place of rest .

 

 

The Cottage

 

We just make last orders at The Bree Louise which was still quite busy when we entered . As some of you know I haven't drank for well over 2 years. I order 2 pints of Guinness and a large Jack D and coke and take our drinks outside and sit down. I need to sit down in order to recover from the price I've just been charged. I'm sat there looking at my pint of Guinness. I cant do it. I decide it would be more fitting to wait for the judges ruling the following day before I step off the wagon. Ben doesn't need asking twice if he wants my pint. It's getting cold now so just before midnight we cross the street and return to our room.

 

After a fruitless search for the remote control we manage to switch the TV on. Somehow we both knew neither of us would be getting much sleep, but as this is the age of digital TV, we should be able to find something to watch while we try to nod off. But no. It seems the digital age hasn't reached room 42 of The Cottage hotel. Of the three channels we can get the only one where the picture is watchable is showing a documentary about the universe . When this end it's replaced by a news channel showing live coverage of the rescue of the Chillian miners.

 

The room is quite warm, which is the only blessing as I look at my bed and decide it's probably best not to get in it, but to just lay on it. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

 

I wake later to the noise of Bens snoring. I look at the telly and Chillian minner No 1 is out. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

 

I wake again. Look at the telly to see if I can get some idea of the time, but during the night, the news chanel had morphed in to Cbebees and Pingu. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

 

Wednesday 13th October 2010

 

I wake again to a low rumbling sound. The London underground is running. I look at the telly. Pingu. Fuck off Pingu you penguin faced twat and tell me the fucking time. I find my phone It's and it's 5.30 am. Might as well get up.

 

Dougie } Ben, fucking get up you snoring bastard.

 

Ben } Wha, eh, what time is it ?

 

Dougie } It's half five you snoring fucker get up.

 

Ben } “Don't fucking go on to me about snoring after the noise you were making last night”

 

Look fellow MFers, I know I don't snore, but rather have a discussion and finger pointing contest with Ben, I decide to just let it go. I'm very good like that, as I'm sure my fellow MFers will agree.

 

Dougie } Right Ben, lets get showered, dressed and out of this place.

 

The showers!! Dear fucking God. What the fuck is this ? A row of four shower cubicles and only one them works. As my eyes become accustomed to the flickering light in the shower, I have discovered where all life began. It wasn't God. It wasn't the big bang either. It was on the shower head of shower cubical NO 3, The Cottage, Camden, London.

 

It's six ish now, and that cunt Pingu has fucked off and just as we leave The Cottage I think Chillian miner No 4 has been rescued. We cold have got the tube, but as it was early, we decided to walk. We have time to spare and a rough idea of where the courts are but that's about it. We set off in the general direction using a map of the London underground as reference ,

 

Standing on Euston Road with our backs to Euston station we reckon we cant go far wrong if we walk in a straight line. Our plan seemed to be working well as all the road signs seemed to indicate we were heading in the right direction. Were making good time and after stopping for a coffee we eventually decide it's best to ask someone if we headed in the right direction.

 

We spot a casually dressed, shaven headed chap walking rapidly behind us. Once he's level with us we ask,

 

Dougie } “Excuse me mate, are we heading in the right direction for the Royal Courts of Justice” ?

 

We might as well have not bothered as we were met with the typical Londoner in a hurry, and without stopping, but pointing in the direction we were headed.

 

Bald Cockney geezer } “Facking miles away lads, Facking miles away”

 

So as bald Cockney geezer leaves us in his wake, we eventually find ourselves outside Somerset House, and soon enough we see signs which read 'City Of Westminster'. We carry on walking and we decide we're going to have to ask for directions again. After surveying the early morning commuters we spot someone who's not walking like he's late for his own fucking funeral. A middle aged man is headed towards us.

 

Ben } “Excuse me mate but can you tell us where the Royal Courts of Justice are please” ?

 

Man } “Yeah ee arr lads, it's about two minutes back dis way” Come ed, I'm goinn past there on me way to work”

 

He's a Scouser. We shake hands and introduce ourselves. There's no need to tell him why we're going there, he already knows. It's an omen and it's a good one. During the short walk to our destination, Mr Scouser tells us his storey of why he's living and working in the capital city.

 

Scouser } “There it is lads, over there”.

 

He points across the road and we see it. The familiar grey stone archway and black railings, to which we've all now become accustomed. We shake hands and say our thanks to Mr Scouser, cross the road, and at about 7.45 am we arrive at our destination. To our surprise we're the first there, except for about four people from LFC TV. So, it now looks like we 're going to get in to see the next piece of our clubs history unfold.

 

As we hadn't eaten yet Ben went to the cafe over the road next to The George pub, while I guarded our position in the queue. Ben returned a little later with two bacon and scrambled egg rolls which would set us up for the two hour wait in the queue. Before long we're joined in the queue by Chris, a bearded man wearing in a Liverpool scarf. We recognise him as the guy who was on the TV news the day before.

 

More press arrive and they show little or no regard as to the queuing system. This is getting tactical now. A shuffling game of queuing chess starts and it's a game me and Ben are not going to lose. It's gone 8 now and the pavement is busy with commuters. A girl no more than twenty stops.

 

Girl } “OK lads, are you OK ? Good luck today lads. It's not right what's been going on, they need to go” “Good luck lads”

 

She disappears in the crowded pavement as she continues on her way. Me and Ben just stare at each other. People who have no interest in football are behind us.

 

We're joined in the queue by another gent. Smartly dressed with stubble. It's gone half eight now. The queue of people has swelled and the game of queue shuffling chess between us fans and the press is becoming more tactical by the second.

 

A man stops. He's an old guy in his late sixties or early seventies wearing a red well worn woolen scarf and long overcoat. A city gent

 

City gent } “Bloody good luck boys. Have you travelled far” ?

 

Dougie + Ben } “Liverpool”.

 

City gent } “Bloody bastards they are, pair of them. Hope it all works out OK for you. Bloody good luck”

 

He shakes our hands, and he's gone. Again, me and Ben just look and stare at each other. We're humbled. One of the last of a dying breed of Londoner and he's on our side.

 

It's almost 9 now and we can see the security guard inside the court making his way towards the big wooden doors of the court just inside the stone archway. The black gates are opened and we're off through the grey stone arch and in to the entrance hall to take our place in the queue to be processed by the security system. All metal objects into a dark grey tray which enters a x ray machine. We walk through a body scanner and after a nod from a security guard, we wait for our metal objects to reappear on the other side of the X ray machine.

 

Along a corridor and up some stairs. Along a narrow corridor and here we are outside court 18. I try to call ATK and Usher but there's no signal. I move closer to the window and one bar appears on my mobile screen. I text Usher to let him know TLW has a man on the inside.

 

It's nearing half nine now and the nerves are starting to go, and my stomach is churning. From the corridor you can see right into the court through the arched wooden window frames. To the right there's a clock on the wall and shelves crammed with leather bound books. For all the nerves and stomach churning, this place had a aura of calmness about it. This place just dripped history.

 

A lady in clad in a black gown appears from behind a door the back of the courtroom. She walks up to where the entrance door is and passes through into the corridor. She looks back down the length of the passage getting a rough idea of the numbers, and she knows she's got her work cut out. She pins the court listings on the notice board and re enters the courtroom closing the door behind her. I go and have a look at the listings but there's no mention of RBS, LFC, or Cancer & Aids.

 

She appears again at the door and opens it and we here a loud authoritative voice.

 

Court Usher } “Right, lets have the press. First six please”

 

We all shuffle up towards the door once the press have gone in.

 

Court Usher } “Right, next four please”

 

We shuffle up and next time she comes out and orders up the next group, she'll be talking to us because we're next in line.

 

She's back.

 

Court usher } “Right next lot please”.

 

We move forward inside the door when she stops us.

 

Court usher } “Are you fans” ?

 

She's noticed my shirt and Ben's scarf. How observant of her.

 

Dougie } “Yes”

 

Court usher } “Right this way”

 

We're led into court 18 and to the back row of three rows of benches. Our bench backs on to the arched wooden window frames that separate the courtroom form the corridor we've just left. We're sat right in the middle of the bench right opposite the judges chair. On the row in front us is the LFC party. Right in front of me is Christian Purslow. To his left, Ian Ayre. Then someone else, and then Martin Broughton, with some girl next to him.

 

To think that three days earlier we were bot sat dejected on the steps of Lime Street station thinking we weren't going to be able to make the journey at all. Now though, not only have we made the journey but we've go ringside seats. The omens are in our favour.

 

Purslow turns round and extends his hand.

 

Purslow } “OK lads. Thanks for making the effort, it's greatly appreciated.” “When did you get here” ?

 

WE explain our travels from the day before and inform him that we're part of Kop Faithful. He winks and smiles.

 

Purslow } “Well done lads, Thanks for everything. Is the SOS bus here yet” ?

 

We explain that we just know a bus left at about 4 am but dont know how many are on it or if it's here yet.

 

Purslow } “Can you call someone on the bus and see if it's here yet” ? “How many are on it “?

 

Dougie } “I cant get a signal on my phone”

 

Not only can I not get a signal but the usher has drafted in a colleague. They're stood motionless but staring, one each side of the chair from where the judge will soon be delivering our fate.

 

Court usher } “Right, can all mobile phones be switched off please, and that goes for blackberries as well.” “And can whoever it was sending the twitter updates yesterday, don't do it today”

 

There's a noticeable sound of sniggers in the room.

 

Ben } “Have you seen what written on that clock face” ?

 

I look over. I can see the the word Croyden written in a curve just under the top set of numerals. What's that written in a curve just above the bottom set of numerals ? 'Gillett & Co' Yep, here we are in a courtroom to decide the fate of the club and the fucking midgets name is on the clock that hangs on the wall of court 18. I think it's an omen , and for the first time since it was announced LFC were going to court, and with one swing of the clocks pendulum. my confidence disappears. I feel sick now and I'm scared. A clock on a wall baring the name of the midget has got my nerves shot to fucking bits. I tap Purslow on the shoulder drawing his attention to the clock baring the name of the midget. Purslow informs the Liverpool legal team who are sat directly in front of him, and soon enough the whole court is looking at midgets clock.

 

Dougie } “Lose this Ben, and we're fucked. We may as well go home and bulldoze Anfield to the ground”

 

I cant remember Ben's answer but I know he was as afraid as I was at what may lay ahead.

 

It's ten to ten now and the usher has been joined by a colleague to help keep any eye on proceedings. The first ushers attention is drawn to the gallery above us. We cant see who or how many people are up there but the usher certainly can, and she's not happy.

 

Court usher } “How did you lot manage to get up there” ?

 

Scouse voice } We told the security guard we were from RBS and he let us in.

 

Court usher } “Well you'll all have to come down from there immediately”

 

Scouse voice } “Why”

 

Court usher } “Nobody is allowed up there, it's a health and safety risk”

 

Scouse voice } “Can we appeal” ?

 

The courtroom is filled with laughter and even the ushers cant hide there amusement. 'Welcome to Scouse wit missus'.

 

Time seems to be flying by but every time I look at the clock it's still ten to ten. Both ushers are stood each side of the judges chair like a couple of statutes. They say nothing but just scan the court looking for anyone attempting to get word of events beyond the the court room. They're like lager versions of Judge Judy only more intimidating.

 

Ten O'clock on the dot and the usher calls, “all rise”. Justice Floyd enters the courtroom from a small door to the rear of his impressive wooden seat which is still flanked by both ushers. Heads bow in unison and justice Floyd takes his seat and we all follow.

 

Floyd spoke in a very quiet voice and at times it was impossible to hear him, but what we could here might as well have been in Chinese as what followed was an hour of legal talk and the vast majority of it went right over our heads.

 

There's a tap on the window behind me and I turn to see that the corridor is full to bursting point. The SOS boys have arrived. Through the glass, I lip read the words, “what's happening” But, how can I give an answer ? I can barely hear Mr Floyd, never mind understand what he's saying. Plus, both the Usher ladies eyes seem to be trained on me and I don't think either of them are fantasising about me.

 

As the judge continued to talk Christian Purslow suddenly turns to us both, he gives a thumbs up and winks.

 

Purslow }“One nil to us”

 

There's a simultaneous movement of agitation amongst all the onlookers. Imagine sitting in the Stretford end as Liverpool score but you know cant react, That's the best way I can describe it. I look to Broughton for some kind of reaction. Nothing. Not a blink, or a facial twitch. Nothing. The smooth bastard. I slowly raise my right hand and give a thumbs up signal through the window to all the reds waiting in the corridor.

 

More legal talk from the judge. Again Purslow turns to us, another wink and another thumbs up.

 

Purslow } “Two nil to us”.

 

I give another signal to those in the corridor and look towards Broughton again. Still nothing. I'm tempted to poke him just to make sure he hasn't snuffed it.

 

It's gone half ten by now and I'm totally overwhelmed by it all. Purslow has turned, winked and raised his thumb a further three times now, and still there's no sign of life from Broughton. His eyes are open but that's about it. I'm nudged in the arm by a man from the press association sitting on my right.

 

Press man } “You've won this hands down”

 

He shakes my hand and he leaves the court. Before I can blink there's another press guy on the bench in his place. This is the person who quoted me as “Dougie Do'ins from Kop Faithful” It's nearing eleven O'clock now and the court costs are being argued. The barrister for H&G is just going through the motions. His whole demeanour is that of a man who knows he's beat. Purslow turns again with fist clenched and a beaming smile.

 

Purslow } “Seven nil”

 

I remove the two “We win” photoshopped images which are rolled up in my overnight bag. I tap Purslow on the shoulder. He turns and I pass him one of them. He unrolls it, looks and laughs. It's passed to the left along the Liverpool bench and is met with smiles by all. Eventually it's with Broughton. He laughs and smiles, but only just. Looking back, I thing Broughton knew this wasn't quite the end. Not just yet, anyway. The image is passed back to Purslow who puts it in his bag.

 

The court starts to empty and as the Liverpool officials make their way out there's hand shaks, hugging and back slapping all round.

 

Liverpool Football Club and its fans were finally free of Cancer & Aids. Or so we thought at the time. The court case had taken just over an hour but all the whole experience was so surreal that time on that day had no meaning to us. We make our way to the corridor outside to the media scrum. Reporters were asking people for quotes and views on the case . After a while we finally made our way back through the grey stone archway were we were met with a sea of cameras, microphones , reporters ,fans and crowds of well wishers.

 

Ben was asked if he'd like to give his reaction for channel 4 news, but he declined. Later he explained to me that 'he just wanted to enjoy being part of something so historical and important in the history of Liverpool F.C' .

 

We cross the road to the George pub.

 

It's was Wednesday 5th March 2008, when I last had a drink. I cant remember the result and I cant be arsed looking for it, but we had just played West Ham at Anfield in a league game.

 

Ben has returned from the bar with two pint of Guinness. Just before I step of the wagon, I reflect on the last three years. There's no turning this pint down. It's had my name on it since the day David Moores fucked up his “homework”. I'm with one of my longest standing friends, and I'm with plenty of red men and I'm about to get drunk.

 

We were soon joined by the two lads who we met in the queue outside the court earlier that day. A young Scouse lad called Alex, who has taken a day off from his medical school studies to be at the court hearing has joined us. Throughout our time in the George pub, complete strangers were walking in off the street to congratulate us and wish us all well.

 

 

From left to right. Do'ins, Cant remember, Cant remember, Chris, Ben, Alex

 

I did have all the contact details of the people in the picture but managed to lose them, so if you recognise anyone, let me know.

 

 

A party of pensioners enter the pub and in single file start making there way to the rooms below. A lady in her eighties stops. She's seen the shirts and scalves, and she recognises the accents.

 

Lady } “How did we get on lads” ?

 

We relay the events and outcome of the day and she cant hide her happiness. Before going to join her party she informs us that she was at Anfield for the Blackpool game and doesn't mix her words when telling us her feeling about the game.

 

As the saying goes, 'all good things must come to an end' and as six O'clock neared we reluctantly said goodbye to our new found friends and the George pub, and retraced the steps we had taken some twelve hours earlier.

 

We arrive back at Euston just in time to make the ten past seven train back home. The train is busy and we decide to take a chance in the largely empty 1st class coaches. Armed with our memories and a bottle of Jack D and a bottle of Coke, we take our seats. As the train makes it's way North by Northwest, me and Ben relive one of the best, if not the best experiences we'll ever have involving Liverpool Football Club.

 

It's gone nine O'clock when we step back onto the platform of Liverpool Lime Street, and I step back onto the wagon.

 

And the rest, as they say, is history.

 

The mass has ended, go in peace.

 

Dougie & Ben

[paddyberger15]

Marvellous read that Mick, really smashing.

[llego]

You are an excellent storyteller!

[milky]

Brilliant read. Really enjoyed reading that. Very well written mate. Although Pingu's no cunt ;)

[caracaracara]

Great read mate from a red scouser with raw passion who knew (unlike 000's of other reds) that this was 'make or break' time.

 

I was outdside the high court as I only work close by so good on yer that you managed to get inside and witness history.

[The Albert Cock]

i dont nomally post on here much but after reading that I had to. Fantastic that mate, a great account of a great day in our history!

 

I had a place on the SOS bus but couldnt get day off work at short notice so missed out.

[jp carroll]

Absolutely brilliant read, well done

[Skully]

Great read , thanks for posting that

[gkmacca]

Great stuff, Dougie. The bloke you've got your arm around appears to be that bloke from Twin Peaks who walks and talks backwards. Did he say: 'Now ew! Now ew! Now ew!'

 

 

 

[grandrake]

It's 4:00am here and I've just finished reading this. Wanted to sleep earlier once I'd let the excitement of our triumph over Chelsea pass, but this account was just too riveting and I couldn't stop reading on.

 

In other words, that was brilliant stuff!

[hashimwars]

Great read , a day to remember.

[Trumo]

Still a bloody good read even though I already knew how it ends.

[johnshields83]

Excellent read. Would have been great to have been there. Hard to imagine how it would have felt.

[Joe Le Taxi]

Bump.

 

Amazing post DD.

[StevieH]

A great account of events written by someone who played a major role in ousting Hicks and Gillett.

[YNWAViking]

Kudos, tip of the hat, etc. Great read.

[navbasi]

Reds pair fight on

Hicks and Gillett head back to High Court

 

Tom Hicks and George Gillett are heading back to court in the latest twist in Liverpool's ownership saga.

 

The pair lost control of the club - and £140million - when the Reds were sold in October to New England Sports Ventures for £300m.

 

During the legal manoeuvrings at the time, an anti-suit injunction was taken out when Hicks launched a £1billion lawsuit in Dallas trying to halt the sale of the club.

 

Solicitors for the duo now want to discharge the suit, which currently runs indefinitely, in a move which could result in the American pair launching a bid for damages.

 

A High Court date has been set for 9th and 10th February to be heard before Mr Justice Floyd, who ruled the deal with NESV could go ahead.

 

Hicks and Gillett will be represented in court against NESV, now the Fenway Sports Group, the Royal Bank of Scotland and former Liverpool chairman Martin Broughton.

 

Keith Oliver, from solicitors Peters and Peters, told the Daily Express: "It is hoped that the hearing will enable the dispute between the various parties to be unravelled and the way forward to be determined.

 

"They (Hicks and Gillett) feel very wronged by the process and will consider their options."

 

But it is thought Broughton is unconcerned by the latest legal move and believes the motion will be defeated.

 

Sky Sports | Liverpool News | Football | Premier League | Reds pair fight on

[WaltonRed]

Fucking excellent that

 

You should write a book on it!

[Joe Le Taxi]

So they go to court on my birthday. If they get bummed it will make my 18th all the more sweeter.

[The Tott]

Mick, I've read this before and im reading it again........abolutely fabulous.

 

 

Fabulous read.

[Trumo]

I think the OP is my favourite post of the year.

[Carvalho Diablo]

Boot.

 

Just reread this and now I've got a smile on my face. Things could be worse, a lot worse.

 

Brilliant post Dougie Doins'

[lifetime fan]

This should be in the hall of fame. 

[SammyAftershave]

Fair fucks yer massive loon.

[s(k)aturation]

Just read for the first time.

Very nice, Dougie.