WARNING: CONTAINS RECYCLED MATERIAL.
“We need a new stadium. If the club competes well on the field, and if you get the business side right, in my view this venture will be a success if we also have a bit of luck on the way, you need that in football.”
“At the end of the day, did he really say that?” said Nick Higgs, peering over his reading glasses.
“Oh yes,” said Barry Bradshaw in his best Boycie drawl. “The cheek of it. I’ve been running the commercial side of Bristol Rovers forever – did you see Santa’s Grotto the other year? – and just look at the top quality merchandise in the shop! We’re only a League Two club. We’re shopping in Lidl, not Waitrose. Luck and chemistry has worked just fine over the years.”
“Anyway, at the end of the day, the new stadium is my job,” continued Nick, banging his fist on the table.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Come!” said Nick. In walked an elderly man wearing a tracksuit, with an odd comb over haircut. “Who are you?”
“I’m a director,” whimpered Ken Masters, climbing up off his knees. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You are?” replied, Nick, with a puzzled look on his face. “I wondered what you had been doing in Box One on match days. There is something useful you can do. Have the rest of the day off.”
Ken bowed. “Thank you kind, Sir. I’ll tell the fans what a great job I am doing on their behalf.”
“Whatever!” snorted Nick. “Close the door on the way out,” he snarled. “Now, at the end of the day, let’s get back to business. Shall we ban the bloke who said that about our club? I’m the majority shareholder and at the end of the day I can do what I like. Toni – get me a banning order straight away, I’ll sign it and you give it to the head of security Dave Harper who can hand it to him in person.”
The finance director, Toni Watola, wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. “We can’t ban him, Nick,” he whimpered.
“Why ever not?” fumed Nick.
“Because his name is Wael Al Qadi and he’s bought the club, Nick.”
And they all lived happily ever after, especially the supporters.
