Wings of a Sparrow

by Dougie Brimson

  The butterflies in his stomach took flight again and Rob took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself.

  ‘You OK?’ asked Jane. ‘You look shit scared!’

  ‘Thanks!’ he said. ‘Just the morale boost I needed.’ ‘I was only saying,’ she said as she reached forward to turn on the radio. Rob grabbed her hand to stop her. The last thing he needed or wanted was to hear anything about him on the radio.

  ‘Oh thank fuck for that!’ he said, as the car in front began to move, the hundred yards of travel being sufficient to settle his nerves slightly.

  As the car slowed to a halt again, Rob became aware of a police motorcycle pulling up alongside, the rider gesturing at him to lower his window.

  ‘Mr. Cooper,’ said the policeman, ‘for future reference it’s better if you come toward the ground from the other direction. The same as the visiting coaches.’

  ‘Sorry officer,’ blustered Rob.

  ‘Could you follow me please Sir? Close as you can.’

  The policeman sat upright, hit a button on his handlebars and within seconds Rob was moving through the gap which magically appeared as a result of the siren and blue lights.

  Minutes later, Rob was ushered into the road leading up to George Park - which was, as normal on match days, closed to traffic. However, even as he crawled toward the ground he could see that ahead of him was chaos. Aside from the inevitable and expected outside broadcast trucks, milling outside the ground were a sizeable group of people - some of them carrying banners.

  ‘Oh shit!’ he groaned.

  ‘Is this all because of you?’

  Rob slid his eyes sideways to see an anxious-looking Jane, and placed his hand on hers to calm her obvious nerves.

  ‘Don’t worry. Just look straight ahead.’

  As the Bentley approached the gates, both the crowd and the press realised who was behind the tinted windows and the noise intensified in direct proportion to the almost tangible deterioration in mood, the siren on the police motorcycle cranking up the anger among those gathered.

  Thankfully, the small group of assembled policemen quickly managed to provide a clear path. More concerned about damaging the Bentley than running over a scummer or two, Rob managed to make it into the car park without any real drama.

  ‘You OK?’ asked a slightly relieved Rob. Jane nodded. ‘I’ll come round and let you out, then we’ll head straight for the entrance over there. Don’t stop and don’t look back, OK?’

  A nervous looking Jane nodded again and took a deep breath as Rob pushed open the door and climbed out. The volume of vitriol increasing as the crowd caught first sight of their target. She had imagined it would be tense but she hadn’t even considered the idea that it would be this fraught, and for the first time Jane began to appreciate just how tough it must be for her husband to walk into this every day.

  Within seconds her door was open and Rob quickly ushered her out towards the entrance. They were almost inside when an egg hit the floor just behind them, the noise loud enough to make Jane wince.

  Rob pushed his wife through the doors and into safety before turning to face the crowd. He was suddenly furious and stood watching them for a second, his face the very picture of loathing. In response they cranked both the noise and the hate up another notch but Rob just smiled in reply and then, even as a policeman approached and asked him to move inside, he threw them a vee sign. The simple gesture was enough to send them into apoplexy.

  Inside the foyer, a slightly relieved Jane stood listening to the noise outside as she waited for her husband to follow her. Suddenly, the door burst open and Rob was bundled through by a police officer in a high visibility jacket, his flat cap and shoulder pips marking him out as something senior.

  ‘That wasn’t the wisest thing to do sir,’ rebuked the obviously annoyed policeman. ‘There’s already enough going on, without you making things worse.’

  ‘Fuck ’em,’ said Rob in response. ‘They lobbed an egg at me. What you going to do about that?’

  ‘That would be nothing sir. Unless you want to walk out there and try to identify whoever threw it?’

  Rob paused for a second and eyeballed the policeman. He’d never been much of a fan of the thin blue line but on this occasion, even he had to admit that the irritated man standing in front of him had a point.

  With a grunt Rob turned away and after noticing that the foyer was half-full with people, all of whom were staring at him, he headed briskly in the direction of his wife who was somehow looking both nervous and annoyed in equal measures.

  ‘You OK love?’

  She nodded but didn't reply. Rob squeezed her hand and smiled.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you a coffee then, I’ll show you round’

  ‘Mr. Chairman?’

  Rob turned to find Joanne standing behind him, holding a sheet of paper.

  ‘Joanne, this is my wife Jane. Jane-’

  ‘I’m your husband’s secretary,’ said Joanne, holding out her hand and smiling. ‘And I actually prefer to be called Jo. This is a list of people waiting to speak to you,’ she added as she handed the paper to Rob.

  ‘Is Mr. Mayes here yet?’ he asked as he stared at the list.

  ‘Yes, he’s in the boardroom.’

  ‘Then get him to deal with it,’ said Rob, handing the sheet back to her. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. Any chance you could get my wife a coffee?’

  Both women stood awkwardly as Rob headed off in the direction of his office, Jane still nervous and now also embarrassed, Joanne silently seething.

  ‘Your husband-’

  ‘Is a prat,’ Jane interrupted. ‘It’s OK Jo, I do know.’

  The two women smiled at each other and Joanne led Jane toward the double doors at the back of the foyer. However, as Jane followed, she couldn’t help but notice something about Joanne which unsettled her, although she just couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. As she walked through the door Joanne held for her, she gave her husband’s secretary a warm smile and silently vowed to be on her guard every second they were together.

  Even as the two women in his life were sizing each other up, Rob was hurrying down a flight of stairs, the rhythmic echo of his heavy footsteps perfectly in time with the thudding in his chest. He had rehearsed this meeting a thousand times in his head, but now it was actually about to happen he wasn’t sure if he was excited or terrified.

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Rob stopped, took a couple of deep breaths to compose himself, and then strode purposefully toward his destination.

  Within a matter of seconds and without breaking stride, he had pushed his way through the heavy swing door and found himself standing in the heart of his own evil empire - the home changing room.

  It was exactly as Rob had imagined it, a mixture of mess, half-dressed players and the smell of Deep Heat.

  But if Rob was expecting any kind of instantaneous reaction, he didn’t get it. Instead, it was a slow burn, the silence rolling gently through the room as eyes fell randomly upon him and recognition hit home.

  Rob stood and took it all in. In spite of the new shirts hanging on the hooks, the contempt for his surroundings increased with each second. But before he could speak, Gary Rogers appeared at the back of the room, pulling at the waistband of his trousers.

  ‘Mr. Chairman,’ he said, wiping his hands on his jacket as he worked his way through the assembled throng. ‘Would you like me to introduce you to the lads?’

  ‘Not really, but I would like a word with them,’ replied Rob abruptly. He glanced around the room to ensure he had everyone’s attention, then pulled a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket.

  ‘Right, you all know why and how I ended up here and you all know what I have to do this season.’

  ‘Yeah,’ called a voice from the back of the room, ‘you have to kiss my arse.’

  ‘We can’t hear you,’ came another, which was closely followed by a burst of laughter.

  You’ll hear me when I sell yo
u to Saint Mirren, you shit thought Rob before continuing, this time louder.

  ‘On this sheet of paper are your salaries - and as far as I’m concerned, not one of you is worth his. Unfortunately there's nothing I can do about that.’

  ‘With respect Mr. Chairman-’

  Rob knew the voice instantly and the barely disguised loathing it contained was music to his ears. Pete MacDonald, the team captain, had featured in Wings of a Sparrow many times, due on no small part to an incident in a derby game years previously when he had grabbed a United scarf from a fan and feigned using it to wipe his backside.

  ‘I haven’t finished,’ said Rob without even turning his head. ‘As I was saying before I was interrupted, come the end of the season one of two things are going to happen. Either I fail and lose my money or you fail and lose your money.’

  The players started to murmur.

  ‘How do you make that out?’ asked MacDonald. ‘We’ve all got contracts.’

  ‘Yes, you have,’ said Rob finally turning to face his enemy, ‘but since you almost got relegated last season, if you do worse this season then you’ll almost certainly go down. And if you go down, you all face a massive pay cuts. I’ve checked.’

  The murmurs broke out again, louder this time. Rob let them continue for a second before speaking out again.

  ‘So at the end of the day, it's down to you lot. Or to be more precise,’ he said, turning to Gary Rogers and MacDonald. ‘It’s down to you two. They're your team, not mine.’

  As expected, the chatter broke out again and after listening to it for a second or two, Rob turned and walked out.

  Only once he was halfway up the stairs and the sound of the heated discussion going on in the changing room had begun to fade did he stop and take a deep breath. However, before he could exhale, a voice called - and he turned to face Gary Rogers heading up the stairs after him.

  ‘What is it Gary?’

  ‘Look,’ began his manager, ‘I know you're the chairman and all, and you’re in a weird situation-’

  ‘If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out.’

  Gary Rogers took a deep breath and took a final step up to make sure that the two men had good eye contact.

  ‘OK. I know I’m only here because you wanted me and I do appreciate the opportunity. But if you ever come into my dressing room and upset my team before a match again, I'll punch your fucking lights out.’

  The two men eyeballed each other for a second and then Rob smiled.

  ‘Don't worry, it won't happen again.’

  The two men held each other’s gaze for a second and then with a nod of acknowledgment, Gary Rogers turned and headed back down the stairs and the sanctuary of the changing room. Rob watched him until he was out of sight and then let out a long, low breath to calm himself. That couldn’t have gone better. Not only had he satisfied his own heartfelt desire to give the players some verbals, but those same players now knew that their new manager was on their side and not simply the chairman’s puppet.

  He might not know that much about running a football club, but if Rob knew one thing it was that if players didn’t respect their manager, they’d never play for him. And hate them though he might, Rob needed the team to perform.

  He glanced at his watch and began the long climb back up the stairs toward his office. With kickoff less than an hour away and a ground which was clearly going to be packed to the rafters with people wanting his blood, Rob was well aware that if he was going to make the public statement he had planned, he was only going to have one chance.

  It was an opportunity he had no intention of wasting.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  George Park was heaving, the atmosphere as hostile as anyone could ever remember.

  To Jane, sitting nervously in the directors’ box trying her best to ignore the glares and the bank of cameras which were being directed toward the empty seat to her right, it reminded her of a scene from Gladiator, surrounded as she was by a baying mob obviously fuelled by hate and clearly desperate for blood.

  ‘Are you OK Mrs Cooper?’

  Jane turned to find Keith Mayes smiling at her. She’d been quite taken with him when they’d been introduced and had immediately pegged him as both a charmer and a looker. Not short of female admirers either, she’d guessed.

  ‘Jane, please,’ she replied, smiling nervously in return. ‘Yes, I’m fine, honestly. I don’t know where my bloody husband is, though.’

  ‘No doubt he’ll be here soon enough. The teams are about to come out.’

  Even as Mayes was speaking, the theme from Z-Cars began to play - the first chords resulting in a chorus of booing which almost drowned out the tune as the crowd voiced their obvious and angry displeasure. This turned fairly quickly into a roar of approval as the players and officials appeared from the tunnel despite each member of the home side looking decidedly uncomfortable in their new shirt.

  But before anyone could make any comment, all eyes suddenly turned back in her direction and the volume increased ten notches. Clearly, her husband had arrived.

  Jane turned to see Rob husband standing at the top of the aisle like some modern day Mussolini, surveying the scene spread out before him. Clearly, judging by the smug expression on his face, he was wallowing in the almost tangible chorus of condemnation which was pouring from every corner of the ground in his direction. Along with vast majority of the crowd, the first words to enter her head were what a dick.

  Rob however, was immune to such thoughts. This was what he’d been waiting and hoping for and he was intent on milking every second. It actually felt even better than he had thought it would and he noticed with not a little satisfaction that even the small band of visiting supporters were booing him. Legend.

  After about a minute he strode down the aisle toward where Jane was sitting and ignoring the incessant calls from the assembled press clan, finally took his seat just as the referee called the two captains to him.

  ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ hissed Jane into his ear. ‘You shouldn’t have left me here!’

  ‘I did warn you,’ he said, struggling to be heard above the noise. ‘But you insisted on coming. Now smile for God’s sake, the cameras.’

  Jane glared at her husband, but then turned and fixed a smile to her face. The last thing she wanted was to have a picture of her scowling face spread across the back pages.

  Rob meanwhile, was in full performance mode. He’d been a football fan long enough to know how to wind people up - and to that end, had worked out every single gesture he was going to make, secure in the knowledge that more eyes would be on him than on the pitch.

  After a few seconds, just as the two captains were making their way back to their respective ends, Rob suddenly stood up and cupped a hand to his ear. The home end went mental and quickly broke into a chant of Fuck off Judas! closely followed by a rendition of You ate all the pies. Rob laughed and waved at them. Then he turned to wave to all corners of the ground. He even turned and waved to the fans sitting behind him, his smile increasing as he caught sight of Keith Mayes, who was gently shaking his head in disapproval.

  Rob winked at him before sitting down. He then simply sat and stared into space for a few moments until the whistle blew, at which point he reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulled out a copy of The Sun and made great play of becoming engrossed in it, much to the anger of those sitting nearby who once again began hurling abuse at him.

  Jane was mortified. But if she thought things were bad, they got even worse a few minutes later when, without lifting his eyes from the paper, Rob held his right arm aloft and began rubbing his fingers together in the classic loadsamoney gesture. If the abuse had been bad before, it now turned into pure venom.

  ‘Will you bloody behave?’ said Jane anxiously. ‘Why are you trying to wind them up?’

  ‘It's fun. Don't you-’

  Before Rob could finish his sentence, a pie [Caffeine 1]came flying through the air from the back of the stan
d and bounced off the top of his head. Even before it had hit the ground, he was up and glaring back up in the direction of the guilty party.

  ‘Come on then you fucking retards!’ he screamed, his arms outstretched in the bog standard let’s have it pose.

  ‘Sit down you fat cunt!’ came a chorus of replies, closely followed by more missiles.

  ‘Mr. Chairman!’ shouted Keith Mayes as he gestured furiously at the stewards who were standing watching the drama unfold. ‘Will you please sit down.’

  ‘Rob!’ shouted Jane furiously as she grabbed her husband and pulled him back into his seat, ‘for Christ’s sake.’

  At that moment, a little more than twenty miles away, Mick and Charlie were sitting watching Soccer Saturday on Sky Sports when mention of City made them both sit up.

  ‘Well it seems like there’s all kind of drama going on at George Park,’ said an excited Jeff Stelling. ‘What can you tell us Chris?’

  The screen split into two, with Stelling on the left and reporter Chris Kamara on the right. Behind him all hell was breaking loose and in spite of the microphone held closely to his mouth, Kamara struggled to be heard over the noise.

  ‘Well there’s no goals Jeff but it's all kicked off here. The fans have been wound up since just before kick-off but just after the game started the new chairman began arguing with some fans close by.’

  ‘Well we certainly don't want to see that kind of thing,’ said Jeff Stelling. ‘Did it calm down?’

  ‘No,’ shouted Kamara. ‘It got worse. The police were just getting involved when the chairman was hit by a pie thrown from the crowd.’

  ‘Was he injured?’ asked Stelling, struggling to suppress a giggle.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ laughed Kamara. ‘He sat down and started eating it!

  The shot on the left hand side of the screen widened to show the entire panel who, to a man, had started laughing. Even as they did so, the scene behind Chris Kamara became more chaotic, with policemen and stewards running past and fans shouting abuse. Suddenly, Kamara was pushed out of the way and an angry face replaced him. However, before the man could utter a sound the screen went blank.