17
UNFINISHED BUSINESS
EVEN AS A teenager, George Best’s status was unquestioned. He was the light of Manchester United’s future, one which would shine most luminously on a March night in Lisbon in 1966. That was when his celebrity, and maybe the shape of the rest of his life, was made in the 5–1 defeat of Benfica. But while recalling the excitement of the night and all those that would follow, it would be negligent to ignore, amid all the dawning glory, the wonderful contribution of another winger. It came from John Connelly, a vital force in the championship-winning season of 1964–65 which carried us back into the European Cup.
John scored the third goal in that thrilling performance at the Estadio da Luz, but it wasn’t some random goal from a member of the supporting cast. John may have spent just two full seasons at Old Trafford after signing from Burnley in the spring of ’64, but that had nothing to do with the consistently high level of his play. Like Nobby Stiles and Bill Foulkes at the back, he was one of those ingredients a winning team cannot do without; he mixed the cement, he made the bricks – and sometimes he would throw one straight at the heart of the opposition.
Like John Giles before him, John Connelly had a strong belief in his value as a player – and, also like Giles, he felt it deserved a better reward in his wage packet. This brought him into conflict with the Old Man. It was not something I was drawn into, and no details came my way, but I had a sense of this professional’s nature – and knew the way things had always been done at Old Trafford – and I thought trouble was inevitable.
Nobby provided one insight when he told the story of the time he, Alan Ball and John got into a little trouble with Sir Alf Ramsey during the build-up to the World Cup. They had slipped away for a pint at the local pub after a day of work at the Lilleshall training centre in Shropshire. Alf was furious and Nobby and Alan were very contrite. John, though, much to the anguish of the other two when the three of them were hauled before the England manager, was much less repentant. He said that no great crime had been committed, no curfew had been smashed.
While such players as Nobby and I, so immersed in the club from boyhood, were happy, or at least resigned, to take what was offered when United felt it necessary to recognise our progress, both for United and as World Cup winners for England, Connelly again was more defiant. He argued his case for better money, as Giles had after the 1963 cup victory. His position was that, apart from being involved in England’s World Cup squad, he had made a major contribution to the growth of the team. He pointed out that he had scored twenty goals in all games in the season of our first run to the title in eight years, and then another thirteen in the following season that saw us in fourth place but surprisingly beaten in the European Cup semi-finals by Partizan Belgrade.
We were a top team again, unquestionably, and Connelly was a vital factor. Another point that he latched on to – without too much difficulty, it has to be said, because it was common knowledge in international circles – was that United were notoriously low payers when compared to some of the other top clubs.
When you look back, you see it was reasonable to think that the climate was right for better rewards, for him and for the rest of us. There was no doubt that the team had moved up several levels as serious contenders for the major prizes. United now had a perfectly balanced attack. Best and Connelly could play on either flank. Best could bring a glow to the sky at any moment. Connelly was more predictable, but this was not a matter for relief in any of the defenders who had the job of marking him. They always knew what they were getting when they faced Connelly, and inevitably it was hard and unrewarding work. In those days there was a small group of talented wingers who had learned that in an increasingly physical game they could not afford just to take knocks, brush themselves down and return to the action. They had to make their presence felt as ruthlessly as they could and Connelly elected himself to this tough group of survivors which included Terry Paine of Southampton and Johnny Morrissey of Everton. In my view, though, Connelly was the best in this category. He wasn’t afraid of leaving his foot in and this was never a secret; it produced instant respect in any marker.
Connelly was perfectly equipped for this survival game. He was strong and quick, and I rarely saw a winger who was happier to take on the challenge of unnerving a full back. He could beat a man well enough, but he was never inclined to stay around to admire his handiwork. If he had a chance to move on goal he was not reluctant to do so, as his scoring showed eloquently enough. His greatest contribution, however, given the finishing potential of his forward colleagues, was to get to the bye-line and cross accurately. He was so willing to do this for the full ninety minutes that I was surprised when he suddenly disappeared, signing for Blackburn, where he had some good years.
His departure shouldn’t have been a mystery, not even to me. John undoubtedly had a spiky quality and, like Giles, he was to learn that at Old Trafford
