Wings of a Sparrow

by Dougie Brimson

  ‘Well it looks like we have some er, technical difficulties,’ said a shocked Jeff Stelling. ‘We’ll get back to Chris Kamara as soon as we can. Phil-’ he continued, turning to former Liverpool legend Phil Thompson who was sitting alongside him. ‘You've got to admire Rob Cooper for sticking to his principles haven’t you?’

  ‘Principles?’ asked Thompson looking somewhat bemused.

  ‘Absolutely. He could easily have set out to appease the City fans but he hasn't. Clearly he still hates them, and they obviously hate him.’

  ‘Sounds like most chairmen,’ interrupted ex-Arsenal stalwart Paul Merson.

  ‘What he’s doing isn’t right,’ replied Thompson. ‘It’s- it’s immoral.’

  ‘Immoral?’ laughed Merson. ‘So if you inherited Everton, you'd do things differently.’

  ‘Ah well…’ said Thompson shifting uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I’d have to think-’

  ‘So the truth comes out,’ joked Stelling. ‘Liverpool legend Phil Thompson is actually a closet Evertonian?’

  ‘Sod off!’

  ‘Fair play to the bloke I say,’ said Merson. ‘If it were me and Spurs, I'd screw with their fans as much as I could.’

  ‘Me too,’ added Matt Le Tissier, Southampton and England striker. ‘If someone offered me six million quid to shaft Portsmouth I'd bite their hands off! Bloody scummers.’

  ‘Well speaking of Pompey,’ said an excited Jeff Stelling. ‘Let’s head off there, as there’s been a goal-’

  Back in the comfort of his living room, Mick Cooper glanced across at his grandson whose eyes were still firmly fixed on the screen, his face clothed in an expression which seemed a curious blend of horror, embarrassment and amusement.

  ‘I’ll say one thing for your old man, he doesn’t do things by halves, does he?’

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Rob walked through the front door and headed straight for the kitchen, fully prepared to face more music than he had ever had to face in his life.

  Having been hauled off by the police, bollocked to within an inch of his life and warned about his future conduct, he’d returned to the directors’ lounge, only to find Jane had left before the end of the game and had taken a taxi home. Forced to wait until the majority of the crowd had dispersed and hang about until the police were able to provide him with an escort through the angry mob that remained, Rob had driven home trying to imagine the kind of grief he was in for, whilse at the same time ignoring the steady stream of calls and texts to his mobile phone.

  Thankfully however, the only sign of his wife in the kitchen was a note leaning against the kettle containing a single word - Out.

  ‘Fucking marvellous,’ Rob said as he screwed up the note, sure that the inevitable verbal assault had merely been delayed, not cancelled.

  He stared at the kettle and reflected on his afternoon. Truth was, it had gone as well as he could have expected and if there was any doubt at all as to his intentions for the coming months, they had surely now been erased. On top of that, City had performed appallingly and had all but rolled over to a 3-0 defeat. Not something Rob could afford every week, but in this instance he was more than happy to take it.

  With a self-satisfied sigh he ignored the kettle and instead grabbed a beer from the fridge before wandering through to the lounge and picking up the phone.

  ‘Dad, it’s me,’ he said before the voice on the other end of the line could speak.

  ‘It’s me,’ came the reply.

  Rob paused, suddenly unable to speak, his son’s voice a stark reminder that he hadn’t seen him for four days. Pretty much the longest time they had ever been parted.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yes mate,’ Rob said. ‘How you doing?’

  ‘I can’t believe you ate that pie,’ laughed Charlie. ‘Someone could have gobbed on it!’

  ‘How did you know about that?’

  ‘They keep showing it on Sky Sports News.’

  ‘Oh,’ replied Rob with a smile. ‘Well you know me, I was caught up in the moment. I’ll tell you everything else tomorrow. So what you been up to?’

  Rob was dozing on the sofa when he was awoken by the noise of clattering coming from the kitchen. He dragged himself to his feet and after a noticing that it was after 1am, he wandered through to find Jane busily making coffee.

  ‘Sorry, did I wake you?’ she said without a trace of irony and a slight slur.

  ‘Had fun then?’

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘We went to a bar with some of Vicky's friends. Talk about how the other half live!’

  ‘Money then?’ replied Rob., eager to avoid any mention of events at City for fear of unleashing the wrath of his wife.

  ‘You could say that. They were ordering bottles of champagne like they were diet Cokes!’

  ‘Well I hope you didn't-’

  ‘Of course I did!’ she exclaimed, a little too excitedly. ‘D’you know, for the first time tonight I actually got a glimpse of what it feels like to have money - and I bloody loved it.’

  ‘But we haven’t got money Jane,’ sighed Rob. ‘This is all- well, on loan.’

  ‘Oh yes we do Rob. And we always will, because I'm not going back to being poor and you're not going to let me. Got it?’

  Years of experience had taught Rob to know when he was on the back foot where Jane was concerned, so he simply sighed and changed the subject.

  ‘So what's the deal with this Vicky bird then?’

  ‘I’ve told you all this already,’ said Jane as she slid a steaming cup across to him. ‘Her husband won a fortune on the lottery last year, then just after they moved in to their new house he had a massive heart attack and dropped dead.’

  ‘See her credit card bill, did he?’

  ‘That's not funny. I think she's actually quite lonely.’

  ‘Hmmm- single female, big house, Aston Martin and millions in the bank. She should post that on Facebook. I'm betting she wouldn't be lonely for long.’

  ‘Don't take the piss Rob. She's really nice.’

  Rob raised an eyebrow and turned away from her as he headed for the living room.

  ‘I saw that,’ she called from the kitchen. ‘And don’t think I’ve forgotten about today either! You have no idea how embarrassed-’

  Rob zoned her out as he had done a million times and headed not for the living room, but for the stairs. He suddenly felt absolutely drained.

  It had been quite a day, and although he’d had a blast, Rob was under no illusions that it was going to continue like that. There was a long haul ahead both on and off the field and he was going to need all the strength he could muster to pull it off.

  But Rob was suddenly struck by something else. Since all this had kicked off, he’d barely exchanged a wordthat didn’t relate to football with anyone, and no way to escape from it. It had been full on 24/7 and while he was happy Jane had made a new friend, he was lacking any kind of moral support either at the club or at home. Rob realised that sooner or later he was going to need an ally of some kindI, if only to talk to.

  The trouble was, he had no idea where they were going to come from.

  Wings of a Sparrow

  Part Three

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Rob stood nervously in the semi-darkness, staring at the scene spread out before him.

  He’d watched this TV show a thousand times and now he was here for real. Not just here, but about to go on air. Surreal didn’t come close.

  Yet although what was going on under the lights in front of him had a familiarity about it, everything else was different from how Rob had imagined.

  It was smaller for a start, and everywhere seemed messy. Not in a bad way, more organised chaos. The floor was covered in cameras, cables and boxes which appeared to serve no real purpose other than to get in the way, while tinsel and Christmas decorations hung everywhere - hardly surprising with the holidays less than a week away.

  On top of that, there were numerous people milling around in the shad
ows whose sole function was to do nothing except shout, cheer and clap on cue.

  The one saving grace was that seated in the Luther Blissett stand, the weekly home to a group of fans who feature in the show, were eight lads from United - most of whom he recognised. If nothing else, they provided a degree of familiarity in what was a totally alien environment.

  ‘OK, we’re just going to a break and then I’ll take you closer,’ hissed a voice in Rob’s ear. ‘Would you like some water?’

  ‘Any chance you could sling a double Vodka in it?’ asked Rob, forcing a weak and very nervous smile.

  ‘Don’t worry, just relax and be yourself,’ said the voice. ‘You’ll be great. Come on.’

  The young man led Rob through the maze of cables toward the edge of the set, where hosts Helen Chamberlain and Max Rushden were sitting on the sofa alongside former England striker Peter Beardsley and Dragons Den star and former Millwall chairman, Theo Paphitis.

  As soon as they saw him, a buzz emanated from the United lads and Rob glanced across to see the majority of them standing and bowing at the waist. He instantly relaxed and, with a grin, returned the gesture in time-honoured fashion.

  ‘Let’s just turn your mike on,’ said the hissing man as he fiddled behind Rob’s back. ‘Don’t say anything until you’re on the sofa. Have some fun - and remember, just be yourself.’

  Rob thought about responding, but before he could say anything, another man appeared in front of him and began counting down. Within seconds, they were live.

  ‘Welcome back,’ said the two hosts. ‘On the sofa today we have the legend that is Peter Beardsley, the legend that is Theo Paphitis and in the Luther Blissett stand - it’s the United fans!’

  Rob glanced across as the mob stood and began to sing.

  ‘If I had the Wings of a Sparrow,

  If I had the bum of a crow,

  I’d fly over City tomorrow,

  And dump on the scummers below!’

  United, United-’

  The inhabitants of the sofa and the shadow lurkers clapped enthusiastically as the camera returned to the two co-hosts.

  ‘You have no idea how much we had to promise them to get them to sing the cleaned-up version of that,’ laughed Max.

  ‘So time to bring out our final guest, but before we do, let's see him in his now famous matchday pose.’

  Rob smiled as the monitor to his left showed a short film of City playing, before the camera panned up to show him sitting in the directors’ box reading the paper. As it ended, the United fans began to chant again.

  ‘Love him or hate him, it’s City chairman Rob Cooper!,’ said Helen Chamberlain a little too excitedly.

  The hissing man gave Rob a shove and he walked through the famous SoccerAM tunnel and out into the glare of the lights. As he made his way to the sofa and shook hands with everyone, the United fans broke out into song again.

  ‘Well this lot are pleased to see you,’ said Helen once they had been silenced.

  ‘And me them,’ said Rob. ‘Alright lads?’

  ‘So,’ began the female host, ‘how many papers do you get through on match days?’

  ‘Most of them,’ laughed Rob. ‘I tried a Kindle but it didn’t have the same effect.’

  ‘You’ve been at City for almost four months now,’ said Max. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Well,’ said Rob thoughtfully, ‘it’s been interesting if nothing else.’

  ‘The City fans have certainly taken you to their hearts,’ laughed Helen as the monitor began showing a film of Rob walking down the stairs toward the directors’ box, a target sight superimposed over him with the bull’s-eye on his chest. Suddenly, an object flew through the air and hit the bull’s-eye, at which point Rob began remonstrating with the crowd who all began hurling abuse at him. The studio audience laughed as Rob smiled to hide his embarrassment.

  ‘Must be great to be a target man,’ laughed Max.

  ‘Well it worked for me!’ said Peter Beardsley.

  ‘What game was that?’ asked Helen.

  ‘Could be any of them actually,’ replied Rob with a smile. The subsequent laughter helping him to relax slightly.

  ‘I guess you must have some sympathy with Rob, Theo,’ said Helen. ‘I mean, you weren’t popular with the fans when you took over at Millwall.’

  ‘Well yes, but-’ spluttered the Dragons Den host.

  ‘But everyone loves you now, so maybe there’s hope for you yet Rob.’

  ‘I don’t want them to love me,’ said Rob jokingly, ‘quite the opposite.’

  ‘So let’s talk football shall we? Gary Rogers seems to be working miracles and with no money.’

  ‘We’re on course to meet my targets, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Which is simply to better last year?’

  Rob nodded. He suddenly had a bad feeling about where this was going.

  ‘You're a hugely successful businessman Theo,’ said Max, suddenly using a tone akin to something you’d hear on Newsnight, ‘what do you think about what Rob's doing at City?’

  ‘I'm about making things work to the best of their potential,’ replied the guest thoughtfully, ‘not keeping them reined in.’

  ‘So you don't agree with it?’

  ‘I'm not saying that. But well, if someone came onto Dragon's Den with the kind of business plan Rob is working to, they'd be out on their ear.’

  ‘Yes,’ interrupted Helen, ‘but in Rob's defence there is a bigger picture here. I mean, it is City and it's widely accepted that they are pretty scummy. Don’t you agree Peter?’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ said the Geordie, shifting slightly uncomfortably in his seat. ‘But it does kind of go against the grain. There is the whole football family thing to consider.’

  ‘So you-’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Rob irritably. ‘I am sitting here you know.’

  The sofa fell into an embarrassed silence for a second before Helen jumped up, a fixed smile on her face.

  ‘Let's see what the fans in the Luther Blissett stand think. It's the United fans!’

  More cheers broke out from the shadows as the camera panned across the smiling, eager faces.

  ‘So what do you guys think of all this?’ asked Helen thrusting a microphone under the nose of the first of the group. ‘Is Rob hero or villain?’

  ‘Neither,’ came the reply. ‘He’s a legend!’

  ‘Hero.’

  ‘Hero.’

  ‘Legend.’

  Rob beamed as he listened to the glowing endorsement of his peers. In truth, they were the only people whose opinion he actually cared about.

  ‘Villain.’

  The set fell suddenly silent and the smile vanished from Rob’s face as he peered through the glare of the lights at the lad second from the right in the back row. It was a face he didn’t recognise at all.

  ‘So you don't agree with what he's doing?’ asked a bemused Helen.

  ‘No I don’t,’ said the fan. ‘When he took over City he said he was going to make the scummers suffer. What happened to that then?’

  ‘Yeah,’ chimed in the fan sitting to his right. Another face Rob didn’t recognise. ‘City are mid-table. You ain't been that high for years.’

  Rob baulked, suddenly annoyed.

  ‘What d'you mean, ‘you’?’ he called across the set. ‘I'm not bloody City!’

  ‘Yeah? Well from where we're sitting, it's starting to get hard to tell the difference mate.’

  Rob glared angrily at the two men in the back row as an argument broke out among the lads on the Luther Blissett stand. Clearly, they were in the minority but nevertheless, having his loyalty called into question didn’t sit well with Rob at all.

  A few short hours later, Rob was walking briskly along Vicarage Lane in the company of Charlie and his father.

  With City’s away trip to York having been called off due to the weather, he was looking forward to seeing United in the flesh for the first time in weeks. However, he was still sil
ently seething from the encounter at Sky Sports and had barely said a word since picking up Charlie and his father.

  ‘Fuck me it’s cold,’ said Mick. ‘Couldn’t you have swung it for us to get into a box or something?’

  ‘Cheeky bastards,’ moaned Rob in response, ‘calling me City.’

  ‘Jesus wept, give it up will you? Moan, moan, bloody moan. Come on, get the beers in.’

  Rob looked up and felt a warm glow of satisfaction as he approached The Wellington. However, as he went to enter, Clive the bouncer stepped forward and held his arm up, blocking the entrance.

  ‘Home fans only mate.’

  Rob stared aghast at the man in the black suit as Charlie and Mick burst out laughing.

  ‘Sorry Rob. Couldn’t resist,’ said Clive with a toothy grin.

  ‘Funny,’ said Rob irritably as he pushed his way past into the warmth of the pub. ‘You should be a fucking comic with material like that!’

  ‘Well fuck me! It’s that fat bloke off the telly!’

  Even above the din of the matchday pub, Rob not only heard but recognised the voice calling out and looked up to see Baz, Neil, Rich and Steve standing at the bar. He grinned and headed toward them, acknowledging the numerous greetings which came his way as he battled his way through the crowd.

  ‘No, this can’t be him’ said Neil. ‘He was much better looking. This geezer’s an ugly fucker.’

  ‘I’d have thought someone with your money would have dressed up a bit,’ said Richie. ‘You look like something out of a Primark catalogue.’

  ‘More funny fuckers,’ said Rob. ‘That reminds me, I've got something for you two.’

  He reached into his coat pocket and after fiddling around for a second, pulled out his hand showing a two-fingered salute.

  ‘Christ almighty. Look what the cat dragged in!’ Rob turned to see Jamie approaching through the throng, with Tony not far behind. ‘Alright lads?’ continued Jamie as he shook hands with everyone.