Be Careful What You Wish For (21 page)

The team’s inconsistent form continued, then we drew Liverpool in the FA Cup and recorded a famous 2–0 victory in the replay at Anfield with ten men after drawing the first game at Selhurst Park.

I didn’t go into Liverpool’s scabby boardroom this time and when we scored our goals a few of our directors celebrated, prompting one of the stewards to come up to me and ask me to calm them down. Bad losers.

Trevor basked in the reflected glory of it and we went out a day or so later for dinner at Signor Sassi in Knightsbridge. It was around the corner from the Grosvenor, where I lived, and from Trevor’s house which was on, believe it or not, Trevor Street, off Trevor Square.

For the first time in his fourteen-month tenure Trevor seemed happy and comfortable. We had become good friends and we had a ritual before every game: I would go and have breakfast at his, which Helen his wife would cook for us. We called it our pre-match meal.

On one of those Saturdays, Trevor produced his mobile phone,
telling
me with a grin to listen to his voicemail. The previous night Jim Smith, former Derby County and Newcastle manager and number two to Harry Redknapp at Portsmouth, had called Trevor, they had a chat and then the call finished. Unbeknownst to Jim, sometime later he sat on his phone and redialled the last number called, Trevor. What we got to listen to that morning was a somewhat inebriated Jim Smith having a rant with Harry Redknapp about one of their star players, Paul Merson. The content was pretty extreme – let’s just say Smith was far from complimentary about Merson, particularly his attitude towards not travelling with the team to games and his non-appearance at training. What was additionally funny was that Harry could be heard agreeing and it was the exact opposite of what they were saying to the press regarding the player.

We drew Leeds United in the next round, which heralded the return to Palace of Terry Venables, now a hugely unpopular figure after the disastrous Goldberg era. We had a full house for the game and Venables was the centre of attention as the pantomime villain.

The game was a travesty and we lost 2–1.

Dermot Gallagher the referee failed to award a goal that was two yards over the line, which brought the FA down on my head after my outspoken remarks about his officiating. They eventually let me off with a warning. But we lost that game and the potential of a lucrative Cup run and Venables, some would say, got to rob Palace twice in less than four years.

After the Leeds loss we were now out of both Cup competitions and were twelfth in the league. I hoped that we would now push on up the league, but unfortunately the exact opposite happened.

Early in February there was another unfortunate incident with the goalkeeper Kolinko.

Trevor had been playing him despite the early season incident but
he
had recently lost his place in the side. He was due back in the team for an away game at Leicester and as I was leaving the Grosvenor Hotel to go to the match my phone rang. It was Alex Kolinko.

‘Chairman, I no play.’

I was stunned and asked him where he was and he told me he was stood outside the dressing room.

I told him to get back in the dressing room. I was gobsmacked that a player was calling to inform me that he was effectively going on strike.

I reminded him that I had looked after him and he said, ‘Chairman, you are a liar, no one looks after me besides my agent. I no play.’

I went out on the hotel forecourt and exploded at the player, reminding him he was talking to his chairman and that I had never lied to him. It made no difference: he wouldn’t play and it was clear he was finished with Palace.

I fined him two weeks’ wages. Initially the PFA tried to intervene but Mick McGuire, who was now the deputy chief executive, agreed with the club. He was no admirer of Kolinko’s agent Phil Graham and we moved the player out on a free transfer after I had paid £650,000 for him, which was a shame as he was a good player, but the die had been cast at the beginning of the season.

Trevor had added Noel Whelan to his squad on loan from Middlesbrough. He came with a reasonably big salary and reputation. When I asked Trevor what he thought about Whelan he responded by saying he was very good-looking.

Quite what that had to do with football I didn’t know.

I soon discovered the player agreed with Trevor in his assessment.

He cried off from an away game, saying both he and his wife
were
sick. When I returned from the game I went out to the trendy St Martin’s Lane Hotel in London’s West End for the evening and who do I bump into? Noel Whelan, who was rather stunned to see his chairman out and about. So much for him being sick and so much for him staying on loan with Palace too.

Another striker, Ade Akinbadbuy, had been recuperating for six months after his extremely expensive operation in America. Like all players he was put on the rota for corporate appearances, except for some reason he believed he was exempt from such things.

We had recently signed a shirt sponsorship deal with the Lambeth Building Society, who were sponsoring our academy. They were opening a new branch and requested one of our senior players to attend the opening to cut a ribbon or something.

So we committed Badbuy to it. Two months earlier he was given a reminder, and again a month out, a week out and the day before.

On the day he never showed. I was straight on the phone to Trevor and I wanted it dealt with. I wanted the player disciplined and fined. Trevor agreed and he said he would deal with it. A day or so later Trevor phoned me and explained how the player had got upset when reprimanded, had rejected the fine and had asked the PFA to intervene. On top of that he had picked up a chair and thrown it at the window in Trevor’s office.

I didn’t understand why Trevor appeared to take such relish in telling me situations he had failed to deal with. He didn’t seem to understand his inability to deal with these situations reflected on his control and management of the players.

I asked Trevor to get the player in his office later that afternoon for a meeting with me. When he arrived late and walked into Trevor’s office, I immediately told him to wait outside until I was ready to see him.

I let him sweat for a while and then summoned him. I was outraged that a player thought he could do as he wished. As he attempted to sit down I asked him what he was doing. Akinbiyi was confused. I told him to stand up, as I hadn’t asked him to sit.

‘You cost me £2.25 million, sixteen grand a week, and haven’t kicked a ball for six months. I sent you to the best knee specialist in the world, and this is how you repay me.’

I then got onto the chair-throwing incident and dared him to do it again in front of me.

After a relentless five-minute tirade from me he was very apologetic.

Trevor popped up now, having found the courage of my convictions and condemning the player’s behaviour.

It was agreed that Akinbiyi would donate three weeks of his wages to charity and would advise the PFA that he no longer required their help. He would also write to the Lambeth Building Society’s MD and apologise. Actually, I thought better of it: we wrote the letter and he signed it.

It was not long after this that I decided to put him out on loan to Stoke and eventually as part of cost-cutting I paid Akinbiyi some of his contract and let him go on a free transfer, writing off another £2.25 million in transfer fees.

This was proving to be a wonderful business. Fallouts and pay-outs were all I seemed to get out of football.

Against this backdrop of underlying turmoil in the football club I had other issues going on. I lost the court case with 121 over the £6.5 million warranty reclaim. This had been ongoing for two years. I had paid enormous legal fees and now had launched an appeal, which a short while later overturned the original verdict in my favour. That should have been the end of
it
but they took the case to arbitration which would take a year to be heard.

As the season wound down, amid the backdrop of disharmony and a growing lack of belief in Trevor, I wanted him to illustrate to me by means of a written blueprint how we were going to achieve my goal of promotion to the Premier League.

After eighteen or so months we were going nowhere. What I wanted was a clear illustration of what we were going to do and how we were going to achieve it. Yes, it was a business tool, but why should a business that requires a massive investment not have a clearly outlined plan? And how could its manager not understand how he was going to achieve its goal? Trevor greeted me with a look of bemusement when I told him what I wanted.

To be fair to him, he had a stab at it – and after I had read it, it was exactly what I wanted to do to him. In essence it said that more of the same was the order of the day.

I asked Trevor to do it again in a fractious meeting in the boardroom and he refused. I lost my patience and walked out in frustration.

Sitting on the steps outside my office I thought that wasn’t right for me, so the next morning I went to the training ground and fired Trevor.

I don’t think he was surprised. I almost got the impression he was relieved when I told him. He just nodded, remarking it was his birthday the next day, and without thinking I said, ‘Many happy returns, Trev!’

Trevor was a decent man and to this day remains a good friend. We had shared some good moments, notably beating Millwall at last, the old rivals Brighton and the Liverpool games, and some bad, especially being dragged along to
Madame Butterfly
at the Royal Albert Hall by our partners.

Crystal Palace was just not the right club for Trevor. Some places
just
don’t fit with certain managers’ faces and Palace and its supporters never really took to him.

When we parted I advised Trevor we would have to work out a settlement between us and not to get his agent involved.

Trevor ignored my advice and got his agent Leon Angel involved, a man I grew to dislike immensely.

I railed against agents and I more than anyone brought them into the public domain and made them and their activities public knowledge. But this guy was near the top of the pile as far as I was concerned and I refused to deal with him.

Six months and numerous conversations later we still hadn’t agreed compensation. By now Trevor had grown fed up with Angel. He asked me if I could discuss the matter with his friend Nick Rogers, a man I had met on numerous occasions and respected. Within an hour or so Trevor had his settlement.

9

IT’S NOT ROCKET SCIENCE

I HAD A
serious conundrum after repeatedly asking managers to take on Steve Kember and Terry Bullivant as part of their structure. Now Trevor Francis had left, Kember was banging down my door for the top job.

I felt duty bound to give him a shot as he had always been overlooked in favour of someone who invariably failed to deliver. This was a classic case of ‘be careful what you wish for’.

Anyone looking for pearls of wisdom about recruiting managers from within should consider this. If players come out and say they like a certain coach and hope he gets a chance as manager the same players, by the very nature of their inadequate performances, will get him the sack sooner rather than later. As soon as an assistant manager or coach becomes the manager his relationship with the players radically changes. He is no longer their confidant or shoulder to cry on. He is the reason why they are not picked or don’t get something they think they are entitled to and the football graveyard is full of them.

My next challenge for the approaching season was Wayne Routledge. Our young and highly rated starlet was making quite a name for
himself
. He had just returned from a pre-season tour with England under-19s to rave reviews from the critics. But I was more concerned by what was going on off the pitch, and right under the eyes of the FA. I had heard disturbing things about young players being tapped up by other players’ parents on behalf of agents.

Wayne had made it into our first team at the tender age of seventeen. He was a product of my prized academy and someone I had watched come through the ranks since he was fourteen. I took a particular interest in Wayne’s development and also got to know his mother Sheila well. She was a single parent, and I made sure that the family’s needs were part of the equation in our handling of the player.

I gave him his first scholarship, his first pro contract and was instrumental in ensuring Trevor Francis gave him his first-team debut.

So imagine my utter disgust and fury when an agent called Paul Stretford phoned my secretary to advise her that I was to talk to him and no longer directly to the boy or his mother.

Stretford had got to Wayne whilst he was away with England. It was a disgrace that agents had access to young players while they were away on England duty and believe me, it was rife in the industry. This was another fine example of the FA, an organisation that was supposed to police football, who banged on about the crucial development of young players in the game but did bugger all to protect clubs against predatory agents. And people wondered why I had numerous altercations with them.

Stretford was just another of the agents that in my opinion operated when it suited them in a manner which ignored regulation. He became better known as the agent of another Wayne – Rooney – and in recent years his wrongful conduct got the attention it deserved with a substantial ban from the game.

In the instance of my Wayne, I refused to deal with Stretford, banned him from the training ground and the stadium and attempted to talk some sense into the ungrateful player and his mother. But despite my best efforts, it was ultimately a battle I was to lose.

During my time in football I worked tirelessly to reduce agents’ influence and expose them in their true light. It still bemuses me why the only people in football who pay nothing yet earn out of it are agents.

Football clubs pay League levies on gate receipts and transfer fees. Players pay membership fees to the PFA, broadcasters pay to broadcast and fans pay to watch.