by Declan Hill
But I knew from trials and police investigations that this was a man taken very seriously by soccer and law enforcement officials. I also knew from interviews with sporting officials that there was a set of gamblers, linked to Chin who attended the big international tournaments trying to fix games.
There was the example from 1995, when a series of fixers had been arrested at the World Under-20 Championship in Doha. Two young Portuguese players had been invited up to a room to discuss an interesting proposition by an attractive young Thai woman. When they got there, they discovered a pile of money on the table, two “well-known fixers,” and a group of players from the Cameroon team.
Somehow those “well-known fixers” were not prosecuted. Even an honest soccer official of the AFC had told me, “The bookies are well known. We know who they are…. We see them regularly.” Which of course, begs the question: if you knew who they are, why don’t you have them arrested or banned from future international tournaments?
There was also the case of the German game. The game had taken place, in front of me, with the result Chin predicted, but was that simply a coincidence?
Four months later, I visited the offices of the professional gambler John McAllister. He has a database the size of a small space agency. It contains almost every detail of every match played in Western Europe, as well as the movement of the betting line before the games. Pledging him to secrecy, I asked about the Hannover versus Kaiserslautern match.
Funny you should mention that game, because it was very odd. There were a number of “dodgy” Bundesliga games at around that time. I was working with a colleague on that game. And we tried to get in [place a bet] with these agents who were Chinese but working out of Vietnam. Often when they hear our bets they turn around and just bet it themselves. And then say to us, “Oh we’re so sorry, but we couldn’t get it on in time …” That happens all the time. So we were very suspicious of these guys. But we decided to give them one last chance coincidently for that game. And we wanted to put on a punt and they said afterwards, “We couldn’t get it on, because the market moved so quickly. It was not us, but someone else.” So we were trying to take Hannover and then the line got absolutely snorked. Assuming it was someone else, they had moved in very heavily.
McAllister showed me a chart of the betting line of the Hannover versus Kaiserslautern game: sure enough, about one hour before kickoff, there was a line like a seismographic chart announcing an earthquake.
Again, maybe it was coincidence. But a few days after I’d been thinking on the beach, it was announced that some of the soccer matches of the 2005 Southeast Asian (SEA) Games had been fixed by a series of gambling match-fixers. The results of the entire soccer section of the tournament were in doubt.
If those two events indicated that there may have been some truth in what Chin had told me, they still did not answer another fundamental question I had. Chin may have wanted me to write a book about him, but I still did not understand why. I had told him that the money he could make from any possible book deal was peanuts compared to what he made fixing, and any publicity would kill off his chances of long-term fixing.
Almost two years after our first meeting, I think I partly understand why Chin was, at least, at the beginning willing to consider the idea of a book. Chin comes from a minority background. Although he is powerful, he is not a big shot politically connected wheeler-dealer. He often travels, but most people would pass him by in the airport without looking twice at him. He is also extraordinarily good at what he does. Leaving morality aside, I believe him to be a psychological genius. He is a man who, using his wits and intelligence, is capable of corrupting players and referees from different cultures and countries around the world and then manipulating the Asian gambling market in such a way that he can make enormous amounts of money.
There is also a form of cognitive dissonance for most match-fixers. They think in very particular terms. When I approached them, it was always in a very businesslike manner. I think that after years of operating in the shadows, it was hugely flattering that an outsider, particularly from a world so utterly alien, an English university, would be studying them.
However, at that time in December 2005, I was still very skeptical of Chin’s claims. I told him this frankly and directly, so he invited me to watch while he fixed matches in the 2006 World Cup Finals.
17
THE SET-UP
At KFC, you took a photo, yes? I could see you. I know that you were trying to get photo. I know that. I know everything.
They fixed the World Cup at an anonymous Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant in northern Bangkok. There were four men. They sat at a little table hunched over so they could hear one another while they spoke. One was black, tall, and athletic, wearing a tight blue shirt and jeans. The other three were Asians: one was Chin; beside him sat two younger Chinese men. They met at 12:00 p.m. on May 25, 2006, and continued their discussion for almost an hour and twenty minutes. After ten minutes, a tall white man dressed in an unironed shirt came to a nearby table. He looked harassed and had problems with his mobile phones. He went outside a number of times to try to get them to work.
The four men were discussing how to fix a World Cup match in the 2006 finals. It was a little bizarre. In an anonymous, suburban shopping mall in northern Bangkok, the four men were planning to make lots of money and at the same time destroy the dreams of millions of people around the world. I was the tall white man. I was also trying to covertly tape their meeting. I had two secret audio recording devices. Unfortunately, my hidden camera was not working properly, so I was reduced to taking photos of the meeting with my mobile phone.
There was pop music playing over the speakers, and until I got the KFC manager to turn it down, it ruined my recording. The “problem” with the mobile phone was me trying desperately to get my phone to take enough video and photos to link the four of them together without being seen by them or any of their henchmen, who I had to presume were somewhere close by. It was harrowing work. I pretended to read newspapers while I eavesdropped on their conversation. I glanced at my watch frequently, to try to look like an overstressed businessman waiting for a call. Then from time to time, I would pick up my phone, make a fake call, and pretend to have a conversation, all the while trying to take a picture.
Their meeting was about how they were planning to rig the gambling market. From what I heard then, and from what Chin told me later, their conversation was along the following lines. The black man was the runner or match-broker from one particular team. He claimed to have a number of players and officials from his country willing to consider throwing a game. But Chin and his associates had a problem. They did not have enough money to cover the initial payment it takes to ensure trust with the team.
The match-broker for the team wanted to work with them. He had worked with them before. There were good levels of mutual trust on either side. But he needed “shopping money” to convince the allegedly corrupt members of the team to agree to the deal. The amount of money needed in these situations depends on the level of the game. For a local Asian league match or a youth international tournament $1,000 a player will do. But to arrange a game at the World Cup Finals is serious stuff. The match-broker was asking for at least $100,000 to cover the network.
Chin wanted to introduce him to another syndicate – or investors – who could front the money. Chin would surrender control of the fix, but still receive some money for the deal. The match-broker did not like this. He didn’t know who the new people were. It was going to be a difficult task to ensure that there was trust on both sides.
On the other side, the broker allegedly had two team officials who wanted to take part in the fix. Chin and his associates didn’t like this development. They had, they claimed, worked with the team before. They knew the players in the network. They didn’t like the idea of bringing in officials at this point.
The four men talked back and forth about the various issues.
All the time, I was t
rying to listen as closely as possible, without looking as if I was listening, while trying to maintain my appearance as an overstressed businessman. A KFC restaurant is not the kind of place that one sits in for a long time. I finished my meal. I read every page of the two tabloid newspapers I brought with me, twice. At one point, a young couple came in and sat between me and the group. I almost hit them. I got up and walked past the men. As I did so, I heard a discussion about goalkeepers. I stood just outside the door and frantically took photos and video of the group.
At 1:20 p.m. the group of men stood and walked out. Chin walked with one of the Asians, the black man with the younger-looking Asian. Chin did not look at me. I tried to avoid eye contact with him. I stared at the black guy, trying to soak as much information as possible into my memory.
At 1:59, I got a phone call. It was Chin. He sounded exultant. The problems were being solved. The fix was on.
Throughout the winter and spring of 2006, Chin and I kept in contact. He had talked about organizing the fix for the World Cup and one country had been mentioned repeatedly: Ghana.
According to Chin, back in 2004 at the Olympics in Athens, some of his group were able to get close to some of the Ghana team and get them to throw their last game against Japan. I had no idea how good Ghana could or would be as a soccer team. Chin laughed at my ignorance.
Do you think Japan could ever beat Ghana? You have to be kidding Ghana has a good team. There is a player. I paid him $15,000 [prepayment]. I know very quickly if someone will take a bribe from me or not. If they say they are willing to see me, it means that they will take a bribe. The whole game cost $550,000 to fix.
It is always the same. No trust, no deal. Fortunately for Chin, he claims the Ghana team had a bad experience with another fixer in the past. Chin claimed he was able to convince them that he is a good fixer to work with, and since then he had a good relationship with various corrupt Ghanaian players. I was doubtful, but Chin seemed very confident in his ability to deliver this fix. He told me:
You want to come with me to Ghana? I will go to Ghana a month before this World Cup. I will fix the World Cup there and then…. I will show you what I do. But you must be in the background, not say anything. You will just see me work.
Then in late April we talked on the phone. He claimed he could not talk on the phone. I had to come to see him in Bangkok.
We met again, this time in an anonymous office on the outskirts of Bangkok, just as the sprawl of the capital city begins to mould into the countryside. I am, unlike most tourists, not a huge fan of Thailand. I have visited the country a number of times. It seems like a society where almost anything is possible so long as you have money. Want a girl? Pay money and you can have one. Want a little boy? Pay a little more money and you can get one. Want to chop down a rain forest and plant drugs? Pay a lot more money and you can get it done. Anything, except insulting the Royal Family, seems to be okay there if you have the money. There is corruption in other Asian countries, but not on the same scale as Thailand. It is also, ironically, the smiling that disturbs me. Singaporeans and definitely Malaysians and Indonesians can be very grumpy. Thais smile all the time. I feel as though a knife could slide into my stomach and the person holding the knife would never stop looking at me with a pleasant, polite smile.
Nor do I like Bangkok. It is steeped in traffic and to get anywhere takes hours of sitting in a cab. The office Chin is in this time is a far cry from the country club. This is bland walls and laminated office furniture. Again, I am carrying two covert audio recording devices. It makes me nervous, as Chin has another man with him. He looks much more threatening than the fellow at the country club. This man stares at me as if trying to figure out if I am recording anything. I try to cover up my nervousness by talking a lot. Chin, too, is nervous so it makes for a strange meeting.
He tells me that the fix is on. The allegedly corrupt contingent of the Ghana team will play along and, so he claims, will two of the officials. Here is the soaker. He wants money from me. Not money as a book advance, not money as deposit, but money as an investment. I am to give him $100,000 and he will invest it for the two of us in “coffee money” for the corrupt members of the Ghanaian team. I tell him absolutely not. We talk briefly. I leave.
Again my head is in a whirl. What happened to the network of sixteen associates around the world? What happened to the Mr. Big at the country club? He is asking me for money? I am so broke by this point of years of travelling and research that I stay in the absolute cheapest hotel I can find anywhere in Bangkok that still has a lock on the door. I share the bathroom with fifteen other people, including an entire family from eastern Thailand. Have I come all this way to be fed a ridiculous line about match-fixing, the World Cup, and a team that is probably as honest as a collection of Mennonite preachers?
Late that night, I hunker down with a cup of tea and examine my options. It seems that there are three possible scenarios:
1) It is all a big con job. Chin has heard about my research and thinks it will be a way to make some money and have a good laugh. If I had money to give, which I don’t, he would take it and then disappear with it.
2) He was a big fixer but now has fallen on hard times. He is sincere. He still has contacts. He genuinely can fix a World Cup game. But he is desperate and wants to finance it somehow.
3) He is still a big fixer. He is telling the truth. His money is in Switzerland, as he claimed, but is tied up in a transfer from Credit Suisse. He is genuinely trying to do the deal.
The only real option, I realize, is to stay in the region and keep working. I will not give him any money, and so I rule out the first option. But I will stay in contact with Chin and see what will happen.
What happened next was the meeting in the KFC. Between the meeting where Chin had asked me for money and the KFC incident were two weeks where I hung out in Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur. I did more interviews with players and agents. When anyone got curious about my research, I would talk about Singapore and Indonesia. I never mentioned Bangkok. And almost every day, I would call Chin and ask him what was happening. Our relationship had grown rather strange. He seemed to take it as a personal affront that I was skeptical of his claims. He told me he was determined to prove to me that the fix was on.
We met two days after the KFC meeting. Chin was in a great mood. This time we were alone. No associates, either muscular or not. We talked in the same bland office on the outskirts of Bangkok. I asked him what the meeting was like. He told me about the disagreements of bringing in new people on either side of the deal: the new Asian investors on his side, and the new players and officials on the team side. Then I asked how he knew that the runner was not fooling him – did he really have the clout in the Ghanaian hierarchy?
Hill: He is powerful enough in the Ghanaian Football Association?
Chin: Yes! He is an Under-17 coach for the Ghanaian team.
Hill: So he knows everyone?
Chin: Yeah. He knows everyone.
Hill: Because I was thinking of you. Because I saw in the newspaper that they are going to pay everyone on the team US$20,000 for every game they win.
Chin: Win is not 100 per cent. You think win is 100 per cent? … But I’m paying each player. Each player gets US$30,000. Right? So I know about the Ghana team … He told me, “Okay, boss, now we got eight players.”
We spoke a little more, and then near the end of the conversation, I almost peed myself when Chin leaned forward. “At KFC, you took a photo, yes? I could see you. I know that you were trying to get photo. I know that. I know everything.” I stammered and tried to look as calm as I could. The problem was that I was recording this meeting too and now my hidden camera was working. The only problem was that it threw out a little red light. As he said, “I know everything,” Chin seemed to be staring right at the lens. I leant forward across the table and tried to distract his gaze. It seemed to work. It was a good reminder that I was engaged in a very odd dance with some people who could be extremely da
ngerous. Chin may have asked me for money. He may be playing some bizarre game, but he had the capacity and capability to really hurt me if he wanted. I had to be very careful.
A few days later, I flew back to Europe. The latest developments played over and over in my mind. Either there was one of the biggest scams in sports history going on or some very weird game was being played at my expense.
18
A SMALL TOWN IN GERMANY
FIFA dismisses the possibility that players or officials could be open to temptation, saying no player would want to do anything but their very best at a World Cup.
I fell in love with the World Cup in the Allianz Arena, Munich. It was a few minutes before the opening match between the host Germany and Costa Rica on June 9, 2006. The thousands of balloons, doves, and bits of coloured paper had fluttered up into the sky. The opera notes had faded away. I watched a laughing Michael Ballack, the captain of the German team leading a group of his team in a ballet warm-up. I watched the red-shirted Costa Rican fans dancing in their section of the stands. I waved my waffleboard in time with everyone else.
I was over in Munich to deliver a lecture on match-fixing to a group of European gambling executives. They paid me enough that I could continue my research for another few weeks, but the real treat was a ticket to the opening game. It is a heady feeling, being present at an event that the entire world is watching. The air itself seems coloured and distinct. There are invisible lines going out from the event to streets and houses around the world.