Liverpool Cult Heroes by Leo Moynihan

Author:Leo Moynihan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pitch Publishing
Published: 2014-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Craig Johnston

1981–1988

Appearances: 271

Goals: 40

AT Melwood, the club’s training ground, Liverpool players were long treated to a bit of exercise apparatus ominously called the ‘sweatbox’. It was created by Bill Shankly in the 1960s and consisted of one player, one ball, four walls and two or three minutes of physical torture.

‘They timed you,’ recalls Ian Callaghan, and by ‘they’ he means Shankly, Bob Paisley, Reuben Bennett, Joe Fagan and Ronnie Moran. ‘You had to run as quick as you could, with the staff all shouting at you and you’d hit the ball against the wall, control it and run to the other boards. It was really hard work. You would come out of there and your legs really were like jelly.’

Barking loudest among the staff was Ronnie Moran. A player when Shankly arrived, Moran became the sharp end of the manager’s staff. If these incredibly knowledgeable men were the boot-room, Moran was the studs, and was always on hand to make sure players, whoever they may be, were putting in the required effort.

Things like the ‘sweatbox’ were created by Shankly to enhance his teams’ physicality and strength of character but with Moran nearby it also kept players humble. Training at Liverpool was, on the outside, simple, ball-based and no frills but whilst the players were put through their paces – even in just a competitive five-a-side game on a Friday – you would hear Moran’s voice, rasping his opinions, keeping the players’ feet firmly on the ground.

‘You big-headed bastards,’ was a particular favourite of Moran’s. League championship medals were handed out on the first day of pre-season from a shoebox without ceremony and the players were left in no doubt that what they had achieved the previous season was all in the past. ‘Big-headed bastards.’

It didn’t matter who you were, Moran was on to you. Even Kenny Dalglish and Graeme Souness, two men with ample reason to have enlarged craniums were screamed at as they went about their business. Stay humble and stay hungry, that’s what Moran ensured. One player though during Moran’s long reign of terror, who needed no such treatment, was Craig Johnston.

‘I was crap,’ Johnston said when taking stock of his playing career. ‘I had a dream to become the best player in the world, but I failed miserably. In fact, by playing for Liverpool, I was the worst player in the best team in the world… you really have no idea how crap I was.’

Self-effacing and honest, Liverpool fans will smile at Johnston’s words but they might also take issue with them. Johnston was no Dalglish or Souness but the fans that grew to adore him will recall a footballer that never stopped doing what they would do if handed the red shirt, namely work their socks off.

Johnston, his long, black curls flowing in his slipstream, never stopped running, never stopped trying to prove he belonged and whilst his enthusiasm sometimes bordered on hazardous, he remained one of the most popular players among fans who cherished his eccentricities.

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