Time for the truth about Hillsborough

by Mike Martin   @thefootietweet

The really scary thing about the Hillsborough tragedy is that it could have been far, far worse.  The perfect storm of policing error, a dilapidated ground, poor signage and ill-advised wire fencing at the front of the Leppings Lane end could have claimed far more than 96 lives.

Just think, for instance, if Peter Beardsley’s shot early in the FA Cup semi final between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest on 15th April 1989 had been six inches lower.  Quite what a goal, rather than a shot striking the crossbar, would have led to is a matter best left in the darkest recesses of the imagination.

Let us not pretend that anything Parliament might do in the coming weeks – any inquiry, revelation, apology or disclosure of cabinet minutes – can remotely heal the pain felt by the families and friends of those who died, nor of the thousands who were injured and traumatized but able to walk away from the stadium.

What it will do is finally end the 22 years of deceit and cover-up that has served to slander the victims.  It will vindicate those who have campaigned tirelessly and with great dignity to shed light on what really happened that afternoon.

So many questions remained unanswered.  Why, for example, was Hillsborough chosen to host the match in the first place?  Liverpool had complained following crushing in the Leppings Lane end in the previous year’s semi final between the same two teams, while in 1981 38 fans had been injured in a crush during the Spurs-Wolves semi final.  There was

Why was it decided that the Nottingham Forest fans would occupy the larger Spion Kop End, with a capacity of 21,000, despite Liverpool having the larger support?

Why was Chief Superintendent David Duckenfield made officer in charge of a match for the first time in an FA Cup semi final between two well-supported teams, as opposed to a quiet league match at Brammall Lane?

Why did police allow only one of the forty-four ambulances which arrived at the stadium to enter the ground?

Why did Duckenfield tell the then chief executive of the FA, Graham Kelly, that the fateful Gate C had been forced open by Liverpool supporters, when he had in fact ordered it to be opened?

Why did Margareth Thatcher’s press secretary, Bernard Ingham, say that the tragedy would not have occurred “if a mob, clearly tanked up, had not tried to force their way in?”

Why did the coroner, Dr Stefan Popper, limit the main inquest to events up until 3:15 pm – a mere nine minutes after referee Ray Lewis halted the match – thereby rendering himself unable to consider the effect of the inadequate police response?

This led to a public narrative that was wholly inaccurate, defamatory and deflective.  It was maintained when the Sheffield coroner took blood alcohol measurements from every single corpse, including the youngest fatality, Jon-Paul Gilhooley, cousin of Steven Gerrard.  Jon-Paul was ten years old.

The Sun, the best-selling tabloid rag, ran a disgraceful headline, ‘The Truth’, which was anything but.  It accused Liverpool fans of picking the pockets of the dead, urinating on police officers and assaulting a constable giving artificial respiration.  All were lies, for which the execrable then-editor Kelvin Mackenzie has never properly apologized.  You do well to find a Liverpool newsagent, even 22 years on, which will stock The Sun.

Senior policemen doctored evidence to the inquiry conducted by Lord Justice Taylor in order to cast the police in a better light.  The police’s story took root because, in 1989, people were too ready to believe that this was just another instance of hooliganism.

That is why the truth must come out, warts and all.  It will achieve, after a fashion, a sort of justice for those who lived, as well as those who d

England put to shame by the Welsh

by Mike Martin   @thefootietweet

It has been a peculiar Rugby World Cup for followers of England.  With every victory, the temptation to worry became ever more irresistible; the sole defeat, by seven points to a rejuvenated France, gave rise merely to philosophical acceptance.

England have not been remotely good enough to win the tournament – though that did not prevent them reaching the Final four years ago – so there is no great sadness.  Indeed, the though occurs that the tournament is much the better for the absence of a side who have so regularly betrayed their status as professional athletes.

To triumph at any tournament, certain factors are essential.  Preparation, performance and discipline.  The technical aspects of England's tournament are for more knowledgable commentators than your humble author to discuss but there can be no question that indiscipline, on and off the pitch, has punctuated England's disappointingly short sojourn in New Zealand.

Gone forever is the notion that rugby is a somewhat nobler form of football than the 'other codes', at which the fifteen-man game still tends to look down a lofty and often lopsided nose.  The tour has reeked of unprofessionalism.  The appalling penalty count, lack of leadership and dismal decision making have been matched by misadventures between matches reflected the delinquency between fixtures.

Mike Tindall, an decidedly ordinary centre – England excels in their production – who probably never merited his place in the squad even when the paucity of alternatives is taken into account, attracted tabloid headlines for his short excursion between the breasts of a mystery woman, who turned out not be a mystery woman after all once the effects of excessive drinking had worn off to the extent that the England vice captain – vice captain! – could remember where he'd been and who with that night.

Then there was the, frankly, disgusting behaviour of three players who deemed it the acme of wit to corner a young female hotel worker and invite her to carry out an act normally only on offer at a quite different kind of hostelry, to her considerable distress.

Both misdeeds were exacerbated by the bewildering disinclination of anybody among the entourage to take them remotely seriously.  The media storm was described my Mark Cueto as a 'mountain made out of a molehill', when in fact it was a rare example of tabloid outrage being largely justified.  Dare we even contemplate what would happen if three England footballers had behaved in such a way at a FIFA World Cup?  Players have been sent home for considerably more trivial transgressions.

Indiscipline bred indiscipline.  Had Martín Rodríguez's kicking radar been in anything dimly resembling working order, or if first choice kicker Felipe Contepomi hadn't been injured, Argentina would have been out of sight before Ben Youngs's 67th minute try.  Courtney Lawes and Delon Armitage both picked up bans while Dan Cole and Dylan Hartley were both sin-binned, both the result of England's constant, unrelenting infringing at the breakdown.  Only Tonga amassed more yellow cards.

To put it bluntly, England's pack were irredeemably dismal throughout.  Argentina, Scotland and France rucked them to death; the set pieces were poor and the forwards scored just one try in five matches between them.  Meanwhile, balls were constantly dropped, poor passes thrown to bewildered recipients and promising attacking positions spurned.  Even Jonny Wilkinson got the rugby equivalent of the yips.

Ridiculously ambitious penalty kicks were attempted despite the fly half's poor form when kicking for position would have better consolidated possession and territory and, hoping against hope, brought the odd try against England's less obliging opponents.  Ludicrous drop goal attempts, such as the one from Toby Flood against France which dribbled in the vague direction of the posts, also saw possession handed to the opposition.

Where was the leadership?  Not from the coach, Martin Johnson, who faffed around without ever seeming to make a decision about England's starting fly-half, wing or inside centre.  Where was even the thinnest evidence of proper preparation or the setting of boundaries regarding off-field conduct?

What a waste.  Some players shone: Manu Tuilagi was brilliant, doing the work of two centres at once; Mark Cueto remembered what a try is and nobody in the tournament has crossed more times than the lethal Chris Ashton at the time of writing.

Still, at least there's Wales.  Whatever the All Blacks fans might say, the Welsh have been, bar none, the best team in the tournament.  Their running play has been beautiful, they are scoring tries at will and they should, justly, have beaten South Africa.  Their forwards have been menacing, tight and have conducted themselves largely within the rules of engagement, vague as they often are.

Away from the matches, the squad have voluntarily taken to teetotalism, at the behest of the younger players.  Wales have been a great advert for northern hemisphere rugby, as were Ireland, whom they conquered in the Wellington quarter final.  Those two facts may just be connected.  Wales have come to play in a Rugby World Cup, England seemed to come on a jolly old boys' trip out.  It is the Welsh who will go home with something rather more substantial than a headache.