"We did not know exactly who the men
with the money were… It was a black box - we did not exactly understand who or what
was behind it." So said Mario Cueni, Vice-President of Swiss club Basle FC, about
a shadowy group who were involved in trying to take over their club, whom they turned down
on the grounds that they were suspicious of their penchant for secrecy. But who were these
mystery backers? They were of course, the same people whom Shackleton has insisted will be
providing the funds for his "take-over bid."
Yes, it's another "take-over" piece.
You see, I have a sort of superstitious belief that, given the delay between writing and
publication, if I start beefing about how it hasn't happened and it seems like it never
will, then by the time we go to print, I will be wrong.
Frankly, we may as well pin our hopes on
supernatural forces to get this farce resolved, for everything else has failed. The only
thing that has stopped our club becoming a laughing stock is that no one is much
interested in the fortunes of a failing third-rate club. When recently all talk has been
of mega bucks media take-overs of the elite, what does it matter when some old ex-teacher
can’t scrape together a measly few million?
The problem with the take-over is that it has
been going on for so long (or rather, not going on for so long) that it becomes difficult
to sustain one’s interest, and the whole thing threatens to become a bit boring. This
is a crucial stage in the development of the club we all care about. Yet when I see
take-over news, my eyes start sliding off the page and I begin to daydream. Perhaps that
is because I can’t see that it will ever happen.
Most Burnley supporters seemed to prefer
Ingleby’s bid to Shackleton’s. With their characteristic contempt for whatever
we might think, the board promptly backed Shackleton. And that might have been and end to
it. We might have had our reservations but decided to give him a chance; if the take-over
had been completed we could have judged the new regime on the basis of how quickly it
dispensed with Waddle, who we hired as his replacement, and what kind of spending power he
was given. That would have been reasonable, but unfortunately, the "take-over"
has not happened, so we are entitled to judge Shackleton on his failure.
Any judgement of Shackleton must begin and end
with the question of why he has not yet been able to lay his hands on the promised money,
and in particular that one million pounds that was promised us so long ago. Over the
course of this last year, he has left a string of broken promises and has changed stories
more times than Bill Clinton. That down payment of a million, that "gesture of
faith," first a gift, then a loan, has on several occasions been said to be "on
its way" to our club’s bank account. I can only suggest that Shackleton change
his bankers, as they are clearly incompetent. Given that the only other explanation is
that Shackleton is a liar, we can only assume the bank is to blame, can’t we? If we
didn’t believe this, then we would have to assume that the promise of a million,
coincidentally made one day after the transfer deadline, before which we might have wanted
to use it in a hurry, was an empty gesture, designed to buy time. Obviously, we
couldn’t believe that, as we would then be forced to ask the question of why
Shackleton needed to buy time. We might conclude, in answer to that, that he needed to buy
time because he couldn’t get his hands on the money as easily as he claimed. If this
was to be the case, then we might worry what could happen the next time we needed funds
quickly before transfer deadline day, to stop us going down or even help us win promotion.
We might ultimately question whether this was the right man to entrust the future of our
club to. Better blame the banks, then.
Shackleton described this sum of money as
"small potatoes." He said transferring it was just a matter of "pressing a
button." It is my profound hope that he never enters the greengrocery business or
tries to make a phone call.
The only thing that stops us being able to call
Shackleton a spiv is that at least spivs are smooth-talking and have a certain amount of
roguish charm. It could not be said that Shackleton possesses either of these qualities in
any measure. Witness his snide and underhand attempt to undermine Uncle Stan’s mighty
wielding of the axe through the ranks of the Waddle deadwood, from which he has
subsequently tried to distance himself. All who know or feel anything about this club will
understand that this act was necessary, overdue, and, having lead to an improvement in
teamwork and commitment on the pitch, the best thing to happen in a long time. Yet
Shackleton, speaking through a minion and after having spent all last season supporting
Waddle, chose to attack it. This shows that, for all his pointless parading of the number
of games he attends, he knows so little about what matters in football that he may as well
be on the same side of the ocean as Ingleby. There is no point going to games if you so
evidently fail to understand what is going on and why. Perhaps he spends too much time
cronying with Teasdale and co. Perhaps he spends too much time in France (or sometimes
Switzerland - the story changes) waiting for his alleged "backers" to return his
calls.
For that’s where the success of his alleged
"bid" will be resolved: somewhere in France, with alleged "backers"
who have been busy trying to buy a Swiss club. Does no one find this odd for a man who has
built his campaign on the fact that he is a local man compared with the American-based
Ingleby?
Having looked at what little scraps of evidence
our masters feed us with, we can only conclude that Shackleton is a little man trying it
on. He’s an ex-teacher with a few contacts, and it now turns out that those contacts
are not as good as he first led us to believe. His lofty claims to have represented
Britain abroad make him look puffed-up and pathetic. His talk of wining and dining with
royalty and heads of state do little to endear him to the average supporter. Frank
Teasdale is a little man who thinks small. We have no need of another. We do not require a
bigger, dumber version of Walter Mitty than we already have.
How can it be that we have not shown this
tiresome little man the door? Well, there are a number of reasons why our great leader
Teasdale could be going along with this. He could, of course, be entirely lacking in
self-respect and personal dignity, to have allowed our proud club to be strung along in
this undignified manner. Alternatively, he might stand to gain financially from the
promised offer, and to be sticking with it in the hope of eventual financial reward. Then
again, he might have been offered a continued and safe position on the board in the event
of a Shackleton take-over. Given the famously litigious nature of the otherwise
uncommunicative one, it is best to leave that question hanging in the air.
As I write this, it now appears that
Shackleton's "bid" is "falling apart." This may be a generous
description. Many of us are not convinced that there ever was a bid in the first place. As
the only player in town is now Ingleby, the club may as well listen to him. This is not to
say that we all think he's the best thing since Ted McMinn. If he succeeds, we should have
to watch him closely for proof of commitment. It's just that people can at least take his
bid seriously. We were never able to stop laughing at Shackleton's.
Whatever happens next, would it be asking too
much for it to be sorted quickly? Could we ask our directors, who like to wear their
Claret hearts ostentatiously on their sleeves every time they are criticised, to get this
finished even if it means they do not make quite as much money as they first hoped? As I
write, we have an excellent manager for our current situation, yet had a squad of only 14
players available for Gillingham, many of them teenagers; there we lost to a goal scored
by a player who cost more than our entire squad. This is embarrassing. As I write, we are
nineteenth in a division full of dross. Why are we being told things will be worth waiting
for? Why does no one seem to be in a hurry?
And if the take-over has somehow been completed
by the time you read this? I stand by every single word. Shackleton will take us nowhere.
Firmo
October 1998
