by Tom Bower
11
TURMOIL AND TRASH
Blind to his fate, Harry Redknapp arrived at Upton Park on 9 May 2001 understandably ecstatic. The manager had negotiated a new four year contract worth £10 million with Terry Brown, West Ham’s cautious chairman. His annual salary would rise from £1 million to £1.6 million, plus lucrative benefits. Redknapp was confident that the contract – printed and on his desk – would be signed that morning despite West Ham’s recent run of poor results. ‘It’s been a massive blow,’ he had admitted about the team’s defeats. ‘Deeply disappointing. It’s hard and very frustrating because you haven’t got the players and can’t afford to buy them.’ The team had been destabilized by the sale of Rio Ferdinand, an additional aggravation after the earlier sale of John Hartson for £7 million to Wimbledon. Six defeats had followed that transfer. His despondency had been relieved by Terry Brown’s reassurances. ‘Harry, I want you for ten years, not four,’ Redknapp recalled hearing.
Lean and undemonstrative, Terry Brown’s true sentiments were well concealed. Like a poker player, Brown regarded every opportunity with caution. In the unglamorous world of London’s East End, the trade of football players organized by agents aroused suspicions. Only recently, Pierre Ducrocq, a French midfielder for Paris St Germain, had been offered to West Ham for £1 million, yet shortly after the player had been offered to Derby for £3 million, and was finally transferred on a loan. Brown had been puzzled; some circumstances about the world of agents were inexplicable. Sitting in a windowless office while the stadium at Upton Park (sponsored by Doc Martens) was under construction, the master of balance sheets was unable to disentangle the rumours about Redknapp’s extraordinary trade in players. ‘We’ve never found any evidence of anything untoward but also we’ve never investigated Harry,’ Brown told his confidants.
Despite Redknapp’s faults, West Ham owed much to the manager’s skills, although his pontification in newspapers revealed his intellectual limitations. A particular player, Redknapp had recently written, was ‘dangerous’ because ‘he’s good with the ball at his feet’; but it was ‘important’, he stressed, that players, ‘stay on their feet’. There was an endearing naivety about Harry Redknapp compensating for his faults, but the tolerance disappeared in May 2001. A seismic change had occurred in English football since Arsène Wenger’s arrival at Arsenal in October 1996. The cool, analytical approach of the new breed of managers, especially foreigners like Gérard Houllier at Liverpool and Sven-Göran Eriksson as England’s coach, branded Redknapp as a symbol of a bygone culture. His strained relations with West Ham’s directors since Rio Ferdinand’s sale had aggravated the manager’s plight.
Redknapp had received £300,000 as a share of the Ferdinand bonanza on condition that he did not agitate a buying frenzy. That understanding had been ignored. ‘We need a defender,’ Redknapp moaned as West Ham lurched into freefall down the League table, its worst short-term performance in 105 years. Six million pounds had been spent before Redknapp suggested that West Ham buy Titi Camara and Rigobert Song, French-speaking Africans, from Liverpool for £4.7 million. ‘Titi had a great season at Liverpool,’ gushed Redknapp. Brown understood the agent would be Pape Diouf, a French former football journalist who specialized in trading players from France’s former colonies. Diouf’s associate in England was Willie McKay, Redknapp’s friend. McKay approached Rick Parry, Liverpool’s chief executive. ‘Will you pay me a fee if I can place him?’ McKay asked Parry. Unaware that McKay had been asked by Redknapp to seek out Titi, Parry agreed, pleased that McKay had found no difficulty organizing the transfer of a disruptive player. Parry was doubly delighted that McKay also set up the sale of Rigobert Song to West Ham. Terry Brown paid McKay a commission for the purchases. Redknapp hailed the transfer of Titi Camara as a coup: ‘I’ve got a £10 million striker for £1.5 million.’ Both players proved to be disappointments and Camara’s wages, £30,000 per week, added to West Ham’s soaring expenditure: £23 million for wages in 2000 and rising to £30 million in 2002.
Redknapp was unrepentant about the impression of a wasteful manager dependent upon close relationships with agents. ‘I want £12 million for new players,’ he announced after West Ham was defeated 3-2 by Tottenham at home. The record of his expenditure since Rio Ferdinand’s sale was alarming. He had spent £10.3 million for ten players. Five of those players, costing £5.3 million, had made a total of just forty-eight appearances. Titi Camara’s three appearances had cost £486,000 each. The benefit of Rio’s sale had evaporated. Instead of Rio’s single salary, there were ten salaries and not one of those new players, mostly foreigners supplied by Willie McKay, was worth retaining. All were candidates for transfer. Redknapp was unabashed by those costs. West Ham’s directors were aghast. On the verge of committing the club to a £10 million contract with Redknapp, their solution was his dismissal.
By arrangement, Harry Redknapp was sitting in Terry Brown’s office on the morning of 9 May to sign his contract. Brown dropped the bombshell: ‘Harry, we’ve decided to let you go.’ Redknapp stared in disbelief and began to cry. Tears rolled down his cheeks. There was little more to say. His compensation was agreed at £1.6 million over twenty months, sufficient to dry the tears of a man who once wrote, ‘I learned about life in the school of hard knocks.’ After the announcement Redknapp was honest, ‘Leaving the club was the last thing on my mind when I went over this morning. I never dreamt it would happen.’ Finding a new job, Harry Redknapp hoped, would not be too difficult. He met the chairmen of Leicester City and Southampton, both Premier League clubs, but his applications seem to have foundered on his reputation for spending and his relationship with agents. He retired to ‘Waterside’, his mansion with landscaped gardens running down to the harbour in Poole. The house was reported to be worth £3.5 million. Nearby, he had bought another house which would be worth over £5 million. He had decided to sell his magnificent flat in Hornchurch. While he cared for his property portfolio, he negotiated to become director of football at Portsmouth, planning to buy players for the depleted team through his friend, Willie McKay.
Harry Redknapp’s replacement at West Ham was Glenn Roeder. The 45-year-old former player and a coach under Redknapp was a clean-living, quietly spoken executive fashioning himself on the model management of Arsène Wenger. The Frenchman’s example, combined with the influx of foreign players, had focused attention upon the relationship of dependency between particular English managers, including Redknapp, and the agents who were determining the fate of the national game. Despite the importance of that transformation, the FA and the Premier League preferred to rely on the clubs’ chairmen to unravel the menace and their approach was confused.
Doug Ellis, the chairman of Aston Villa, observed Harry Redknapp’s demise and wondered about his own relationship with John Gregory, the club’s fiery manager. Ellis had welcomed Gregory, a former Villa ‘utility player’, in 1998 with the same enthusiasm as for his nine predecessors. Six managers had been sacked by Ellis and three had departed voluntarily. ‘I believe John is the best one for the club,’ said Ellis, the owner of a demoralized team who limited the money available to buy new players. Skilfully, Ellis also limited the salary for Gregory. Until he proved himself, Gregory would receive just £50,000 per year. Thanks to his vigorous agent, Paul Stretford, that income would rise within two years to £400,000, although Gregory was heard to complain that he deserved every penny and even more.
Ellis cursed that deals with foreigners were frequently fraught. Benfica, the Portuguese club, had refused to pay Villa the agreed fee after the transfer of Gary Charles, a defender; and a representative of an Italian club had threatened Ellis after refusing to pay for another transfer. ‘I suggest you drop this issue for your personal safety,’ Ellis was told after repeated requests for his money. No foreign deal excited Ellis’s misgivings more than the purchase by John Gregory of Juan Pablo Angel, a striker from the Argentinian River Plate club. South America provided some of the world’s best football players, but
their agents were also the source of unusual arrangements.
Juan Pablo Angel, undoubtedly a good player, was half-owned by Siglo XXI, a company controlled by Carlos Gustavo Mascardi, his agent. Regularly Mascardi, like his competitors, bought a 50 per cent stake in the ownership of nine-year-old footballers for £100, speculating on their future performance. Although that arrangement was an offence under FIFA’s rules, the Association refused to implement any ban. ‘A player,’ rued Ellis wisely, ‘is just an instrument used to his own advantage.’
Without telling Doug Ellis, John Gregory had flown at his personal expense in summer 2000 to Argentina to watch Angel play. Mascardi ensured that his guest enjoyed himself. On his return, Gregory persuaded Ellis that Angel was ideal for Aston Villa. Initially, Gregory said the price was $16 million. As the days passed during November, the price fell to $9 million. By the time Ellis met Mascardi’s representative and lawyer in London in January, the price had risen to $12.5 million. ‘My nose told me it was suspicious,’ complained Ellis. He suspected that the gyrations between dollars and sterling were to pay ‘bungs’ to some of the participants. Nevertheless, Ellis agreed to pay £9 million (converted by the club at $11.9 million) with the unusual proviso that £1.6 million was for Angel’s image rights, not a property that would be of any value in Britain. To Ellis’s irritation the payment was also split. Just over £2 million was paid to a bank in Medellín, in Colombia, while the remainder was transferred to Trinicom Holdings BV, an offshore account at the Citco Bank registered in the Dutch Antilles. Ellis believed that the money would be divided between four people in three countries, who all owned a share in Angel. The player himself would receive 15 per cent of the fee, and declared himself to be ‘rich and happy’. In a fruitless attempt to protect his club from any ethical breach, Ellis arranged for the FA to transfer the money to South America but his behaviour annoyed the agents, Carlos Gustavo Mascardi and Pini Zahavi. The Israeli expected his normal fee of 10 per cent of the original purchase price of $16 million. Eventually, he reduced his commission to an ‘agreed’ £350,000. Ellis disputed the existence of any agreement for that sum and paid £300,000 spread over Angel’s contract. The confusion and arguments prompted Ellis’s suspicions about everyone involved, including John Gregory.
In Mascardi’s version, Gregory was ‘absolutely not involved in the deal. Ellis did everything.’ The agent did not warm to Ellis’s manner, alleging that £1 million was missing. There was no evidence for that allegation. The discrepancies and bad feeling prompted Adam Crozier to criticize the transfer as ‘corrupt’.
Crozier’s suspicions were aroused by the revelation that Mascardi represented another client, Juan Sebastian Veron, the famous midfielder, who had obtained an Italian passport although he was an Argentinian national. Forged documents, based upon a dead man’s identity, invented Veron’s great-great-grandfather in Italy and allowed Lazio buy a non-EU national. The agent had shared with Pini Zahavi a commission of £2.4 million for arranging Veron’s sale to Manchester United.
Ellis’s suspicions about Mascardi erupted again soon after Angel’s arrival. Passing through the dressing rooms after a match, Mark Ansell, his deputy, spotted Gustavo Arribas, Mascardi’s partner, and Gregory in conversation. Soon after, Gregory began suggesting that Villa should buy a succession of foreign players through foreign agents. His suggestion was unexpected; on his arrival at Villa, Gregory had boasted that he would only employ English players. ‘Our team is ten Englishmen and a convict,’ Gregory had laughed. The ‘convict’ was Bosnich, the former Australian. But in September 2001, Arribas possessed a letter signed by Gregory stating that he could represent Villa to buy Diego Forlan, a Uruguayan striker, from Club Independiente of Argentina. Ellis had not approved the letter. The price for Forlan, Ellis was told, was $8 million. Ellis rejected the proposition and Forlan was sold to Manchester United for $10 million. The escalating price suggested to the suspicious that the extra cost was for ‘bungs’ distributed in South America, and, unusually, Forlan personally received £500,000 as an incentive from Manchester United for signing a contract.
Ellis’s suspicions were exacerbated by his own purchase of Ozalan Alpay, a Turkish defender recommended by Gregory. Alpay had cost $8 million (£5.6 million). Two payments for the transfer had been deposited by Ellis in two Swiss bank accounts: $1 million was for Rolf Mueller in the Hypobank in Zurich, and $7 million for Fazul Akgunduz in the Catrada Private Bank in Zurich. In retrospect, Ellis could not understand why those payments had been made in Switzerland. Mascardi also had a Swiss bank account which, Ellis suspected, was shared with Englishmen. Ellis was particularly perturbed that at least five agents had become involved, including Pini Zahavi and Mascardi. He could only speculate about the final destination of Aston Villa’s money, deposited in a Swiss bank.
Football was not clean, as Ellis knew so well, although his anger about agents depended upon the success of his team. In 2001, his dissatisfaction with his team’s performance shifted to suspicions of ‘Honest John’ Gregory, a fan of Terry Venables and George Graham, who relied upon a handful of agents. Ellis focused on his manager’s friendship with one particular agent, Paul Stretford, the chairman of Proactive Sports Management, and a potential conflict of interest.
Paul Stretford, an assertive former salesman of vacuum cleaners lacking any personal participation in professional football, had started his agency in the basement of his home near Manchester in 1987, seeking clients by offering a better service than established agents. He promoted his talents after the transfer in 1995 of Andy Cole for a record £7 million, a major coup which he had never repeated, and his brief fame as the agent for Stan Collymore, an occasionally notorious celebrity. Collymore was subsequently concerned that he was unable to establish precisely how much Stretford earned in commission representing his interests. This lack of transparency characterized the football business, undermining its credibility. To correct that tarnished image and to parade the fact that he represented 240 players and employed seventy-two staff in nine countries as a legitimate sector in a billion-pound business, Stretford floated his company, Proactive, on the stock exchange on 17 May 2001 for £24.5 million. ‘There are stringent safeguards and controls on plcs,’ the chairman enthused to those questioning the probity of football agents. ‘Plc,’ he suggested, was proof of honesty. Public companies, he emphasized, unlike one-man-band agents working on mobile telephones, were transparent. This faith in plcs is contradicted by the frauds perpetrated under the guise of public companies such as Maxwell, BCCI, Polly Peck and Barings Bank; experiences which, sadly, had not occurred to Stretford, a dealer rather than a sage.
Proactive’s ownership was constructed by Stretford on close relationships. Kevin Keegan, the manager of Manchester City, Peter Reid of Sunderland, Bobby Robson of Newcastle, Michael Dunford of Everton and Graeme Souness of Blackburn Rovers were invited to become founding shareholders of Proactive. In the real commercial world, the flotation of Proactive made little financial sense. But Stretford personally recovered about £1 million from the company’s flotation, and anticipated a rising share price as the football boom continued. To assist his expansion, he would hire Jamie Hart, the son of Paul Hart, the manager of Nottingham Forest, and Kenneth Shepherd, the son of Freddie Shepherd, the chairman of Newcastle United. Both Hart and Shepherd earned commissions selling players to their fathers’ clubs. Stretford understood the value of those relationships and flatly rebutted any challenge. ‘Nepotism is not a crime,’ he believed. A conflict of interest was acceptable and not a ‘problem’, he sought to delude critics, ‘so long as it’s conducted professionally’. Proactive’s share price moved between 25 pence and 40 pence, encouraging its shareholders in the football clubs to use Proactive’s services and increase their company’s profits. Those circumstances, especially football agents operating under the cover of public companies, excited Doug Ellis’s suspicions.
In recent months, Paul Stretford had supplied four players to Aston Villa and simultaneou
sly also acted as John Gregory’s personal agent, managing Gregory’s private company. In his autobiography, John Gregory paid many compliments to Paul Stretford, although the manager omitted to mention the earlier bankruptcy of FrontLead Ltd, the agent’s company, an insolvency which cost Stretford’s creditors £128,000. Paul Stretford admitted the existence of suspicions but denied any wrongdoing. Keen to portray himself as the opposite of Eric ‘Monster’ Hall, an agent criticized by the FA for taking and giving secret payments, Stretford commented in an interview titled ‘Paul Stretford the honest football agent’, ‘I can honestly say in eight years, I’ve never been even asked by any manager to make a payment to him for a transfer to go through. Or when a deal’s complete, asked to pay him something. Never . . . So if it’s going on, I don’t know how or who with.’ Irritated by the shabby image of agents, he paraded his own probity: ‘I don’t think we live in a bung culture as such.’ He did, however, admit the existence of suspicions about his relationship with John Gregory: ‘I could be accused of having a conflict of interest but I have acted in a proper manner throughout.’ Stretford was, however, critical of his peers: ‘I’m really worried about the lack of professionalism and I am frankly appalled at the behaviour of some of the so-called agents that certain players have signed with.’ While praising his own empathy with players, he highlighted those who ‘leave themselves open to attack. I’ve managed to be successful because I’ve made sure all parties are satisfied.’
‘You’re too close to Stretford,’ Ellis told Gregory after paying £1.475 million to agents during 2001. Doug Ellis prided himself that any deal involving Paul Stretford was closely scrutinized, especially after the agent was paid £250,000 for negotiating Peter Schmeichel’s ‘free’ transfer to Aston Villa. The goalkeeper was a mixed success. ‘That’s the last time you use Stretford,’ ordered Ellis. Some of Stretford’s deals, Ellis believed, were unsuccessful.
