Harry’s message about being the boss, finding the best players and standing no nonsense was so simple that it went unheeded, but not by me. I was Storer’s pupil. He taught me what to look for in a player and I disagreed only with his emphasis on defence and overemphasis on physical courage and bodily contact. Joe Mercer, when manager of Sheffield United, phoned Harry to protest after a bruising visit by Derby.
‘I don’t know why you bothered to bring a ball,’ said Joe. ‘Two of your players didn’t need one. They kicked us, instead.’
‘Which two?’ snapped Harry, who had missed the match to go scouting. ‘Give me their names.’
Joe, always the nice guy, demurred. ‘Oh, no. I don’t wish to get them into trouble.’
‘Give me their names!’
Joe considered it. ‘Only if you promise not to punish them.’
‘I’ll do nothing to them,’ cried Harry. ‘I’m going to crucify the other nine!’
Harry admired skilful footballers provided they also shaped like prospective VCs. I can still hear him musing, ‘Yes, I agree that lad can play – but can he play when some big, angry bloke is trying to stop him?’ He scouted for Everton as an old man when he was out of management and they still remember receiving from him the shortest possible report on a player. It was one word in capitals across the reporting form: COWARD.
I was fascinated by Storer and would go out of my way after leaving Coventry to consult the oracle, often in just a few minutes of conversation on railway platforms as our teams waited for Saturday night trains – but I disliked his prejudice against cowards and told him so. I prefer to sign brave footballers but have always seen plenty of scope for those who are less foolhardy; indeed, the word coward is one that I never apply to players. Harry remained adamant, though, that a footballer was useless if he shrank from challenges and the risk of injury. He said, ‘There’s never been a player who enjoyed being kicked but some endure it better than others. They are my kind of player.'
