by Mel Stein
Logically there was no reason why the ESL Committee should have held a grudge. Yes, it had cost them money, but on the other hand they had been given a massive shot of publicity when last time around the negotiations for the television rights had been conducted by lawyers behind closed doors. That had meant an opportunity missed to tell the world that the Super League had truly arrived and now they might have cause to be grateful to Mo for giving them another chance to orchestrate this particular gathering in full view of the world’s Press. Then there was the question of money. There could be no doubt that they were likely to achieve a higher offer this time around and, whatever else they might say, money was what it was all about.
The applicants sat in little knots, each clearly identified as a separate unit. Halid, Conway, Donaldson, Nabil and Mark were on the left. As far away from them as possible to the right were the Jet contingent. Nathan Carr, who had just joined up with them today, seemed to be a little apart from his own team. There was a small smile playing around his mouth as if he were involved in a game with infants that he knew he had to win because of his age and size. Alissa Bland was nearest to him, her blonde hair cut very short, the make-up impeccable, wearing an understated green trouser suit and looking every inch the business woman she undoubtedly was. Andy Davison, their Scottish Head of Production, had decided to make a statement. He wore a tartan suit, with a matching waistcoat and bow-tie. Nick Donaldson had passed him on the way in and had asked if he’d forgotten his red nose, but the Scotsman had not appreciated the joke. Philip King, their Finance Director, made up their quartet and he sat uncomfortably in a dark suit, like a man who’d thought he was going to a funeral, but had found himself at a wedding.
A French consortium from Canal Sept were in their places, and a group of Italians, Luna, based in Rome, consisting of an unholy alliance between two industrial rivals, made up the fourth applicant. The contracts for Western Europe had originally been awarded to a Dutch media group, but with their chairman in an Amsterdam jail, accused of financial irregularities, they had withdrawn from the contest, whilst the Berlin-based company who had acquired the rights to the East had neither the money nor the stomach for another application. The Americans who had been given the rest of the world simply did not want Europe and so all four applicants were fresh. It was odd, but at none of the meetings that Mark had attended had Ball Park taken the European bids seriously. They had focused in on Jet as if they were their sole competitor and Mark just hoped that they were not going to be the victims of Halid’s obsession with Carr.
Pavarotti sat down to tumultuous applause and cries for an encore from those who regarded the whole circus as an excuse for some free drink and entertainment. Eventually, the applause subsided and a hush fell over the gathering. It was time for business. The lights in the room dimmed and a single spotlight illuminated the chairman of the committee, Jacques Vicheron. Jules Rimet may have been the man whose name was immortalised in the World Cup, but Vicheron had also dreamed his dream nearly a century later. He was an unprepossessing, portly man in his mid-fifties whose footballing claim to fame was having played for Auxerre in the early sixties whilst qualifying as a lawyer. His law firm had proved more successful than his sporting career and he had also become a leading political figure when supporting the socialist party throughout the seventies. They had come to power too late as far as he was concerned because by then he was working full-time on his own brain child, his baby, the European Super League. And now it was coming together he was relishing every moment of it.
He stood with his hands behind his back, spectacles perched on his nose and a sealed envelope in front of him on a highly-polished oak table.
‘Fucking hell,’ Nick said, a little too loudly, ‘he thinks he’s about to announce the Oscar nominations.’
The sound of Nick’s voice carried across the auditorium and, although Vicheron could not possibly have understood, the noise itself was a sufficient irritant for him to look across to the Ball Park party in the manner of an irritated schoolmaster. Having regained the complete attention of his audience, the Frenchman cleared his throat and began his speech, reluctantly choosing English as his language as a concession to the majority in the room. Even most of the Press contingent seemed to be gathered from the same world-weary hacks who had been with the England team in Colombia and Mark had been studiously avoiding them to ensure they didn’t get the chance to question him too closely about the situation with Barry Reed.
Vicheron was standing a little too close to the microphone and his voice reverberated round the room.
‘This is a momentous moment for me and I hope for all of us. The finest clubs have played each other for many years in Europe, but it has been at random, subject to the luck of the draw either in cup competitions or in the league section of the European Champions Cup. But it has always been on a historical basis, last year’s champions. Now they will play each other on merit, season after season. There will be no such thing as an “easy group” or an “easy game”. Every match will be a championship contest. Soon the word “Premier” and the letter “A” will live on in the shadow of the accolade “Super”. We will live up to the standards of excellence we set ourselves from the very beginning and we will achieve that in conjunction with whomsoever we choose to broadcast our matches around the globe. Today we are here to announce who will be granted those exclusive television rights. When we first approached the issue and decided to sell off the rights individually we were accused of greed. We were accused of potential breaches of cross-border regulations, we were accused like common criminals rather than the innovative businessmen that we truly are. So we have bowed to the pressures, we have paid our homage to the wiles of the lawyers …’
Mark sensed rather than actually saw a quick glance in the direction of Halid, but if there was indeed any pause in Vicheron’s speech then it was barely perceptible.
‘This time we are granting the rights for the whole of the world, including Europe, to one company. If this is to be seen as a truly European league, if Europe itself is to be seen as truly united, then each country will receive the same pictures, perceive the same image. Only the language of the commentators will differ although our dream is that just as Europe will have one league, may soon have one currency, so one day it might also have a common language. So, enough of the future, enough of our aspirations. We turn to the matter in hand. We have received four tenders in all. It may interest you to know that we originally had some forty applicants, but we have set ourselves, and them, such high standards that only the four companies now seated in the room survived the course. I urge you to congratulate them all, whatever the outcome.’
He led the applause, which was both muted and sporadic, reminding Mark of the hand given to an orchestra at the end of a musical when they finally laid down their instruments just as everybody was putting on their coats and heading for the door.
‘Thank you all,’ Vicheron continued, ‘we have been most impressed by all their presentations, so much so that had they been the only criteria for selection we would have been unable to separate them. And so it came down to the question of money.’
‘Like it was ever going to be anything else,’ Richard said to the Ball Park group and everybody within earshot gave a nervous laugh.
‘This time,’ Vicheron said without missing a beat, moving inexorably towards the dramatic thrust of his speech, ‘it may be a question of money, but hopefully time will prove that this league is not all about wealth, but about a public service. We cannot expect the fans from France to travel to England, or the Italians to travel to Germany for every match. Therefore, television takes on a far greater significance than ever before. Now we have a new responsibility, a new burden to be imposed on the television company which will produce and show the ESL to Europe and indeed the rest of the world. They may be paying us the money, but we will be placing a heavy weight on their shoulders …’
Halid was drumming the table impatiently and muttering to himself.
‘Come on, you’ve already said that. Do you like the sound of your own voice so much?’
Mark could see the tension showing in his face. This meant a lot to him. He had become irrationally fond of the Iranian businessman during the relatively brief period he’d been working with him. He could see all his faults and knew that even if he pointed them all out to him, and even if Mo acknowledged them, that he would do nothing about them, probably could do nothing about them. He was what he was and Mark felt that he was a loyal and generous friend. He could not help but look across at Nathan Carr to see how Mo’s rival was coping with the endless wait, but his face was impassive, expressionless, carved in stone like a presidential face on Mount Rushmore.
Vicheron had the envelope in his hand now, but had still not quite finished with his moment of personal glory.
‘Even when the contract is granted we will not relinquish control. We have advised all the applicants that the contract will contain stringent penalties including our right to terminate if they fall from the high standards we are imposing upon them.’
He began to fumble with the envelope.
‘Who does he think he’s kidding?’ Mark said. ‘He obviously knows exactly what’s in it.’
‘He’s playing to the TV audience, I reckon,’ Nick replied, jerking his thumb towards the back of the room where the crews were pointing their cameras at the stage.
‘So television creates television,’ Mark nodded, ‘not bad programming.’
Nobody seated at the table smiled. It was too close to the truth to be amusing.
Vicheron finished opening with a flourish, put down the paperknife designed in the new ESL colours of yellow, blue and green and delicately removed one thin sheet of paper.
‘And we, the committee of the new European Super League, are proud to announce that the exclusive rights to televise all matches for a period of five years goes to …’ He paused for effect, milking the last few seconds of tension and then said in a loud, confident voice, ‘Jet Productions.’
CHAPTER 27
Nathan Carr rose without a word, without any sign of triumph, shook hands with the French and Italian losers and studiously ignored his former partner and associates. He then strode up to the podium and stood side by side with Vicheron, his arm around the chairman’s shoulders, posing for a thousand photographs as if it were a joint triumph.
The flashing of the cameras splayed a focus of light on the victors as Carr gestured to the rest of his team to join him in his moment of triumph. He offered Alissa a helping hand and then kissed her on both cheeks.
‘Come on guys, pictures of the lady. Couldn’t have done it without her and she’s prettier than me.’
The main lights had now been switched on in the hall. The leader of the French contingent walked over to Halid and put a comforting arm around his shoulder, gave an expressive Gallic shrug and walked away. It was Mark who was the first to speak.
‘He knew. Carr knew he was going to win.’
‘What do you mean?’ Halid asked. ‘What are you talking about? Carr may be a crook but nobody has ever suggested Vicheron is anything other than honest. He’s had attempts on his life because of his fight against the French mafia.’
‘People change,’ Richard said, in a tired, world-weary voice, the horrendous realisation dawning upon him that all the work, the all-nighters, the deadlines they had driven themselves to meet, had been for nothing.
‘Perhaps they do,’ Mo said, ‘but I think you’re clutching at straws, Mark. Vicheron may have been chairman but there were five others on the committee. Are you suggesting Carr had them all in his pocket?’
Nabil had sat in bored indifference throughout the proceedings, with continual glances at his watch in the vain hope that the gesture might hurry along the proceedings. Now he rose to go, almost in relief.
‘Dad. It’s over. We lost. It’s time to go home.’
The colour drained from his father’s face, then immediately flushed back into it, the crimson tide of anger clear despite the olive complexion of his skin.
‘For the Halids it is never over. It’s a matter of pride. Mark, why do you think that Carr knew he would win?’
For a moment, Mark regretted pointing Halid down a path that could lead anywhere. But he had followed his instinct before and it had rarely led him astray and here he had more than instinct, he had the recent conversation reverberating around his head. It was, of course, no proof. Carr may have been taunting him by sounding so supremely confident, but there had been something in his voice which suggested otherwise. First he would prise away the rights and then he would take away Halid’s key staff and his aim would be to leave him only with regret that he had in turn taken away Carr’s wife.
‘Come on, Mark, put your money where your mouth is. Answer Mo’s question,’ Nick said. He had more experience of Halid’s obsessions than the rest of them and seemed annoyed that Mark was encouraging his boss not to let matters rest.
‘Of course, I’ll answer his question. Carr collared me in the Gents …’
Richard sniggered.
‘No, Richard, not like that.’ Mark half-closed his eyes to concentrate on the memory of the moment and continued half to himself, half to the other four. ‘You know, it was as if he were following me. He appeared from nowhere as if he’d been waiting for me to be alone for a few minutes.’
‘You’re paranoid, Rossetti,’ Nabil sneered. ‘Are you sure that you’ve not started drinking again?’
Mark rose to his full height and Nabil took a step back.
‘If I didn’t respect your father, I’d take you apart, you little shit, and it’d be for your own good. At least I’d leave you alive. One day, if you push your luck, somebody else might not.’
Mo listened to the pair of them and looked from one to the other. Mark thought there was a chance that he was going to receive some encouragement in how to deal with his son, but Mo had tunnel-vision as far as Carr was concerned, and was not going to be easily diverted.
‘Go on, Mark. Ignore Nabil. He can be rude and tiresome at times, but I have learned to live with it and I must ask you to do so too. If he upset you, then I apologise on his behalf.’
Mark bit his lower lip so hard that he drew blood, but he had gone so far and there could be no turning back.
‘He offered me a job. And he said when Jet gets the ESL rights, not if.’
‘And that’s it?’ Nick asked. ‘You’re basing this whole charge of corruption on a bit of bravado. I’ve heard the manager of Darlington interviewed and say when we get to the Premier. Maybe you could charge him with bribery and corruption as well.’
Mark shook his head, refusing to be shaken off the scent.
‘You had to be there. It wasn’t like that, it wasn’t like that at all. He knew the job was going to be on offer. I’m sure of it.’
‘Maybe you should take it, Mark,’ Mo said quietly.
‘You don’t mean that, do you?’ Mark replied in a hurt voice.
‘No, I don’t. And I hope you’ll stay with us. But if Carr thought you did want to swap horses …’
‘You’ve got a crazy idea, haven’t you, Mo?’ Richard said, giving Mark a pitying glance. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing, Rossetti. Turn back before it’s too late. Beware the mind of Mo,’ he added in a mock-Shakespearean declamation.
‘Supposing, just supposing, Carr does think that you want to work for him,’ Halid said, staring straight into Mark’s face. ‘If you were in there, if you get into his confidence then I’ve enough faith in your ability to be sure that you’d find out exactly how he pulled off this three-card trick.’
There was a silence as Mark realised exactly what was being asked of him.
‘How good an actor are you, Mark?’ Nick asked.
‘He can’t be that bad. He’s convinced Mo that he likes him and nobody can really like our leader,’ Richard said with a false note of jollity.
Nabil glared at his father in disapproval.
‘How c
an you put your trust in a man you hardly know? This is family business.’ He broke into his native tongue and again Mark saw the anger appear in Mo’s eyes. One day, he was sure, there would be reckoning between father and son and he had a feeling that day was not so far away.
‘Speak English, Nabil. It’s rude to do otherwise in front of our friends. We live in England now.’
‘Oh yes,’ the boy said bitterly, ‘I was forgetting how English we were. How English all your friends in the City think you are. There are times when you are remarkably naive.’
‘And there are times, Nabil, when you forget that I am your father. I trust Mark here implicitly, and if anything ever happens to me, so should you. What you are saying is an insult and I insist you apologise.’
‘Insist away. I say what I think. I didn’t inherit your two faces.’
Mo clenched his fist and Mark felt certain he was going to hit his son, but just in time he remembered they were in a public place surrounded by photographers and journalists and he restrained himself.
‘We’ll talk about your manners when we are alone. Meanwhile, as for it being family business, don’t forget your sister is out on bail and you had difficulty even achieving that, so you must forgive me if I call upon a little outside assistance.’
He turned away from his son and put his hand upon Mark’s shoulder.
‘You must excuse me. I don’t consider you to be an outsider, but I am disappointed and hurt and I am saying things I don’t really mean. Now will you do this for me? Will you go into the enemy camp? I can see Carr looking over here. He has seen us all arguing. He may well be willing to believe that you and I have fallen out rather than there having been an unfortunate misunderstanding between my son and I.’
Mark knew that he had only a few seconds to make up his mind and again he relied on his instinct. This last year or so he’d spent too much time following his head rather than his heart. It was time to take a chance.
‘Well, fuck you, Halid,’ he said loudly, ‘I worked my bollocks off trying to get you these bloody rights and if that’s all the appreciation you can show you can take the job and shove it up your arse.’