by Tom Bower
On the same day, Andy Burnham and James Purnell were taking congratulatory calls from friends. Both special advisers had been elected to parliament. Their contribution towards Labour’s football policy had been rewarded. Among those grateful for their retreat were football’s magnates and those aspiring to wealth. Without a regulator, football’s aristocracy could behave as if in the Wild West.
9
THE MANAGER: HARRY REDKNAPP
Even among hardened football fans the transfer of Rio Ferdinand from West Ham to Leeds on 25 November 2000 for £18 million provoked sensational gossip. Not only was £18 million a record for a British defender, but the roll-call of those involved raised questions about the process of the negotiations and disbursement of the money. The absence of an independent regulator permitted the colourful participants in the transaction to plead confidentiality and disappear. The gossip, however, persisted.
The focus was on Harry Redknapp, the raucous manager of West Ham. Born in London’s East End on 2 March 1947, Redknapp was the son of a docker who, after his apprenticeship at West Ham’s youth academy, became an acknowledged football player and successfully passed the ball to the legendary Geoff Hurst. The former barrow boy and aspiring second-hand car dealer was appointed a club coach. In 1994, he was appointed West Ham’s manager, a living symbol, portraying all the traditions of English football.
Football and money were Harry Redknapp’s preoccupation during his seven years’ management of West Ham. The pugnacious Cockney frequently boasted that other than Sandra, his blonde wife, football was his ‘obsession’. No one doubted his love of football. In Harry Redknapp’s life that passion nearly equalled his ambition for personal wealth. ‘At the end of the day,’ he pontificated with sincerity, ‘no one gives a monkey’s about you once your career’s over so in my view you should make the bucks while you can.’ In Redknapp’s view a manager’s insecurity justified greed. ‘Do your best,’ Redknapp recommended, ‘don’t rip anybody off on the way, but if there’s a chance to earn a few quid, take it because it doesn’t last for ever.’
Harry Redknapp was emphatic that he had never taken a ‘bung’ or that as an established gambler he deserved the sobriquet ‘Readies Redknapp’. Before signing his contract with West Ham, he was told by the club’s lawyers to carefully read the ‘ferocious clauses’ forbidding any secret payments. Their existence provoked Redknapp to declare with unexpected passion, ‘I don’t need to be greedy like George Graham. I don’t need to jeopardize my son’s life. I couldn’t face my son. Money is not my God.’ Redknapp talked much about money. He lived in a palatial house by the sea in Poole near Bournemouth and enjoyed expensive foreign holidays. The contrast between the hang-dog authentic Englishman thanking his ‘missus’ for making eggs, beans and a cup of tea and the tycoon manager sharing bottles of pink champagne with Ron Atkinson, an idol, suggested a man feeling entitled to take out as much as he put in. Haggling over the price of a player was, in ‘’Arry the ’Ammer’s’ opinion, the epitome of astute business. Despite West Ham’s limited finances, Redknapp appeared to be obsessed by trading players. One hundred and thirty-four players would be transferred during his seven years of management, an extraordinary number. Like an East End barrow boy, Redknapp loved dealing. No deal was bigger than the sale of Rio Ferdinand, the club’s star defender born in November 1978 in Peckham, south London.
In 1999 Ferdinand was in the fourth year of a seven-year contract at West Ham. He was an outstanding product of the club’s youth academy, proof that, with proper investment, England could produce world-class players. His annual salary was about £1.5 million. In Redknapp’s characteristically outspoken opinion, ‘The day I would want to leave West Ham is the day we start wanting to sell the Ferdinands, the Lampards and all them.’ Terry Brown, West Ham’s chairman, shared his manager’s resistance to any suggestion of Ferdinand’s departure. The defender was critical to West Ham’s recent success, orchestrated by the manager. Redknapp, Brown knew, would vehemently oppose a sale at any price.
Rio Ferdinand’s agent was Pinhas ‘Pini’ Zahavi, a genial and intelligent Israeli with a solid reputation as a discreet deal-maker representing stars. Pini’s telephone calls to club chairmen and managers were always answered. He prided himself about his care for Ferdinand and his other clients. ‘They’re babies,’ he laughed. ‘They need everything.’ Pini had mentioned to Terry Brown in early 1999 a firm offer of £12 million by AC Milan for his player, an offer of £10 million by Liverpool and the ‘interest’ of Real Madrid. Brown vetoed any sale. ‘Could you not delay any move by one year?’ asked Brown. Combined with Redknapp’s repeated opposition, Pini agreed to defer Ferdinand’s move. During those conversations, Pini and Ferdinand also concurred that the player’s next move should not be abroad but to one of England’s big clubs, possibly Manchester United. Pini and his associate Gustavo Mascardi, an Argentinian who would sell Juan Sebastian Veron to Manchester United, enjoyed excellent relations with Peter Kenyon and Alex Ferguson. ‘He wants to come to Manchester United,’ Pini repeatedly told Ferguson. ‘He dreams of coming to Manchester United. He’ll be good for you.’ But the Scotsman was emphatic: ‘No thanks. I don’t want Rio. I’ve got Wes Brown and he’s going to be the best defender in the world.’
On the afternoon of 14 May 2000, Rio Ferdinand proved his value. At Upton Park, West Ham’s ground, he helped to humble Leeds in a goalless draw. David O’Leary, the enthusiastic manager of Leeds, was crestfallen. Leeds was a superior team and he credited Ferdinand’s outstanding performance for the humiliation. ‘Would you be prepared to sell Ferdinand?’ he asked Harry Redknapp. ‘Don’t be daft,’ snorted the manager derisively. ‘We need Ferdinand,’ O’Leary told Peter Ridsdale, the chairman of Leeds, during their return journey to the north of England. Ridsdale nodded wearily. Managers constantly moaned about their wish list, an inevitable burden. ‘They’ll never sell,’ sighed Ridsdale. Unwilling to be rebuffed, O’Leary, a former Arsenal player, pondered how best to breach West Ham’s citadel.
A few days later, Rune Hauge, the Norwegian agent, telephoned. His disqualification by FIFA from temporarily acting as an agent had caused many English club chairmen and managers to regard Hauge as a pariah. At Everton, Michael Dunford had recently been surprised to receive a telephone call from Hauge stating that he represented Thomas Myhre, a Norwegian goalkeeper who was being offered for transfer after being successively loaned to four clubs. Myhre’s agent was Paul Stretford; the player proclaimed that he had severed his connection with Hauge. Inserting himself into deals remained a regular habit for Hauge. Dunford protested but that behaviour did not deter others from continuing their relationship with Hauge, including Alex Ferguson at Manchester United and David O’Leary of Leeds.
Hauge’s excuse for telephoning O’Leary at home was Eirik Bakke, a Norwegian attacking midfielder employed by Leeds, whom the agent represented. Hauge knew that O’Leary and Peter Ridsdale were ambitious to compete again in the Champions League. The profit for the club in one year from playing in the competition could be £20 million. In a calculated gamble, Ridsdale planned to borrow £60 million secured against future gate receipts to buy a winning team. A defender was on his shopping list. Hauge was sniffing for business.
‘Can I help you with anything else?’ Hauge asked O’Leary. ‘You can get Rio Ferdinand for me,’ laughed O’Leary. Hauge instinctively replied, ‘I’m part of the group looking after Rio. I can probably help.’ That was untrue. Only Pini Zahavi acted for Rio Ferdinand and he would not share his client with Rune Hauge. O’Leary was unconcerned about the truth. He was receptive to any ruse which overcame the FA’s rule forbidding the direct ‘tapping’ of players under contract.
Despite the agent’s notoriety, David O’Leary respected Hauge. Finding and negotiating the purchase of the world’s best players required special skills. Not only to fix the price on a commodity lacking any fixed value, but also to massage the vanities and extinguish any outbursts. Above all, Hauge was discreet, not least beca
use of the damnation he had suffered. Unlike other agents, his negotiations rarely appeared in the newspapers. Hauge agreed with O’Leary that Ferdinand was an ideal target and he persuaded O’Leary that he could deliver Ferdinand. O’Leary was aware that the terms for employing Hauge were subject to Peter Ridsdale’s agreement. Only the chairman, O’Leary explained, could conclude contracts. ‘I never get involved,’ he insisted. However, O’Leary could not agree a fee with Hauge but he could authorize the agent to act on the club’s behalf to negotiate the terms of a contract. O’Leary says he consulted Ridsdale and, with the chairman’s approval, signed on 15 May 2000 the brief authorization submitted by Hauge to Ian Sylvester, the club secretary. A separate letter from Hauge requested 5 per cent commission. Sylvester replied that only ‘my chairman’ could agree the financial terms but did not offer to secure that approval.
Despite a second letter on 14 July, Hauge failed to receive any written confirmation of the commission from the club. Ridsdale would subsequently insist that he was unaware of Hauge’s involvement at that stage, and only discovered Hauge’s existence ‘a couple of days’ before the transfer. But O’Leary and Hauge claim that Ridsdale spoke to the agent at the outset of the negotiations and stipulated that Leeds would offer £12 million for Ferdinand. For his part, Ridsdale offered to pay 5 per cent of the transfer price to Hauge if the deal was completed; and nothing for failure.
O’Leary was unaware of any financial arrangements between Ridsdale and Hauge. After signing the authorization, he rarely spoke to the agent. According to O’Leary, after signing the authorization, ‘I was out of the loop’. Sporadically, O’Leary heard from Ridsdale, ‘We’re pursuing Terry Brown’ or, ‘West Ham are digging their heels in’, but nothing more. Ridsdale, O’Leary had discovered, prided himself on handling financial matters and announcing with a smile, ‘I’ve done the deal. Everything is sorted out.’ Potentially, Peter Ridsdale’s approval was worth at least £600,000 to Hauge who quickly approached Pini Zahavi.
‘Leeds want to make an offer for Rio,’ Hauge told Pini. The Israeli was surprised since in his search for a new club, he had never considered Leeds. ‘What’s your position in this?’ asked Pini suspiciously. ‘I’ve got the official authorization,’ replied the Norwegian. ‘Let me see it,’ said Pini. The fax machine produced the evidence. The single sheet was sufficient. ‘Talk to Terry Brown,’ said Pini. ‘We’re interested.’ For both agents, the potential financial reward was huge, and that alone would excite suspicions. Why, it would be asked, was a transaction between two English clubs initiated between a Norwegian and an Israeli? Could Peter Ridsdale not just telephone Terry Brown? No one could provide a comprehensible answer.
Over the following weeks, Hauge telephoned O’Leary at home to confirm his conversation with Pini, adding a critical ingredient. ‘I’ve spoken to West Ham’s chairman,’ said Hauge. ‘We’ve got a good chance.’ That was incorrect; Terry Brown had been unwilling to speak with Hauge. That rejection did not deter the Norwegian; in football, even the unwelcome could insert themselves into a deal.
Days later, Terry Brown heard disappointing news. ‘Rio wants a transfer,’ announced Pini Zahavi. Brown was surprised because only recently Ferdinand had mentioned that he would remain at his club. Newspapers had reported that Rio was not for sale; but suddenly the Mirror had reported that Rio was being sold to Leeds. Brown recognized the fingerprints. Agents and managers regularly used trusted journalists to promote their lucrative deals. The mischief-makers, however, had forgotten the stumbling block – Harry Redknapp. Brown knew he would oppose any sale.
Hauge’s approach to Pini had triggered secret conversations with Redknapp. ‘Rio’s worth £20 million,’ said Redknapp to both Hauge and Pini. That staggering sum, Redknapp hoped, would deter his two friends from further interest. Redknapp’s opposition to the deal, the agents knew, would be fatal. That was unwelcome news in Leeds. ‘We’ve got to bid,’ urged O’Leary. Ridsdale agreed. The telephone answering machine in Brown’s office began to record messages from Ridsdale asking for a conversation about Ferdinand, but the messenger who finally made contact with Brown was unexpected.
Terry Brown was watching cricket at the Oval when Redknapp telephoned. ‘I’ve just had a bid for Ferdinand from Leeds,’ he said. ‘They’re offering £15 million.’ Brown was puzzled, not least about why the manager and not the chairman should receive the offer. ‘What do you think?’ Brown asked. ‘I know you can’t reject it,’ replied Redknapp, ‘because it’s best for the club.’ Brown expressed his astonishment that Redknapp was suddenly so willing to lose a key player: ‘This doesn’t sound like you to let Rio go.’ Redknapp sounded unusually measured. ‘No, I think this is best for the club. The transfer market is going to collapse soon.’ Redknapp knew that the transfer fee would not only benefit West Ham but also the two agents.
Pertinently, Redknapp’s version about those events is sharply different. He portrays himself as an ignorant bystander in West Ham’s most crucial transfer and denies making a telephone call to Brown at the Oval. He says that the first he heard of an offer for Ferdinand came from Brown himself. Redknapp says that Pini had told him that Ferdinand was ‘happy’ at West Ham and never wanted to be sold. And finally, Redknapp expresses amazement that Rune Hauge was involved. ‘I never knew,’ he says, although in that same period he was in contact with Hauge concerning the transfer of Ragnvald Soma, a Norwegian player. ‘There will never be a transfer for me,’ exclaimed Soma, explaining his unwillingness to deal with West Ham, ‘as long as Rune Hauge is involved in the negotiations. I simply don’t trust him.’ Irreconcilable contradictions are common in the football business.
On 18 November 2000, West Ham were playing at Leeds. Rio Ferdinand’s excellent performance helped the Londoners win 1-0. In the small directors’ suite after the match, Ridsdale approached Brown. ‘What’s the price for Ferdinand?’ he asked with some embarrassment. ‘£18 million,’ replied Brown, who had consciously plotted to raise the stakes. Ridsdale nodded and walked through the crowd towards Allan Leighton, the chief executive of Asda and a shareholder of the club. Four minutes later Ridsdale returned. ‘OK,’ he smiled. ‘Fax me your offer on Monday morning,’ said Brown.
The £18 million was to be paid in two tranches, £12 million and £6 million. Ridsdale was pleased. Ferdinand would sign a five-year contract. ‘He’s now worth £35 million,’ Ridsdale told his fellow directors. Pini valued Rio at £30 million. On either valuation, Ridsdale was certain of a substantial profit. The final reckoning was the commissions. Pini earned about £1 million, paid by Leeds in stages during Ferdinand’s contract. Rune Hauge’s payment was considerably more complicated. Hauge had asked for 5 per cent which meant a payment of £900,000 for a few telephone calls. According to the rules at Leeds, Ridsdale was authorized to spend £2 million without reference to the board of directors and he decided not to mention to any non-executive director his agreement with Hauge. Until February 2003, over two years after the transfer, Allan Leighton remained unaware that any payment had been made to the agent, or that the agent had even been retained. Once the payment was revealed, Ridsdale asserted that he had paid Hauge £900,000. In reality, the directors felt that they had not been fully informed.
According to Ridsdale, it was only after the transfer was agreed, during a conversation with Terry Brown with whom he was negotiating Ferdinand’s transfer directly, that he discovered Hauge’s involvement. The picture is unclear. Firstly, Brown denies that the first approaches came from Ridsdale. Brown says that the first approach was from Hauge – an approach which he rejected. After refusing to deal with Hauge, Brown first discussed Rio’s fate with Zahavi. During the long discussions with the Israeli agent, Brown consistently ignored Ridsdale’s telephone calls and recorded messages. Only after some weeks, did Brown finally engage in the negotiations with Ridsdale. Brown’s version is supported by Zahavi.
More baffling, if Ridsdale’s version was correct, Leeds was under no contractual obligation whatsoever to p
ay Hauge any money. Yet, immediately after the transfer was announced, says Ridsdale, he was warned by the Norwegian that the deal would collapse if Leeds did not pay an increased commission of 10 per cent, or £1.75 million. In Ridsdale’s version, he says that he shouted to Steve Harrison, the finance director. ‘We’ve been raped.’ Although there was no contractual obligation by Leeds towards Hauge, and Ferdinand’s transfer was agreed, Ridsdale says that he felt nevertheless compelled to pay the commission. On Ridsdale’s authority, £1.75 million was discreetly transferred to the Norwegian’s off-shore account and was not made known to the board of directors of a public company.
In subsequent explanations, Ridsdale claimed that the pressure to pay the extra commission came from Pini Zahavi. The Israeli agent, says Ridsdale, also threatened to undermine the deal unless Hauge’s demands were met. Zahavi vehemently denied exerting any pressure on Ridsdale. ‘Never in my life,’ said Zahavi, ‘did I say anything to Ridsdale about Hauge’s commission. Never. I never knew what they paid Hauge. I assumed it was 5 per cent. I never threatened to stop the transfer. That is just not true.’ According to Ridsdale’s version, the Israeli agent had also argued that Hauge had worked hard to achieve the transfer and deserved the extra money. That suggestion by Ridsdale is also vehemently denied by Zahavi: ‘I have no idea what Hauge did.’
Ridsdale has also justified the extra money on the grounds that the Norwegian agent mentioned his own need to pay other unnamed people. The link of Hauge with the suggestion of secret payments should have alarmed Ridsdale. After all, Hauge was banned from operating as an agent in 1995 for giving ‘bungs’ to several British football executives. Ridsdale claims to have been untroubled by that history.
Other exceptional payments were made to complete the transfer. Ferdinand earned an additional windfall. Since he expressed his ‘reluctance’ to transfer to Leeds and only agreed after his agent’s persuasion, Terry Brown agreed to pay the player £500,000 in compensation for the remainder of his contract; and Brown also agreed to pay Redknapp £300,000 for not spending any of the sale money on new players. ‘Every business needs a bit of luck,’ Brown said to him. ‘Your luck was when I arrived,’ replied Redknapp with his usual self-confidence. West Ham’s bonus to Redknapp proved to be wasted.