by Chris Harris
But then came Black Wednesday, the day things started to go wrong. When the longest honeymoon in non-league history ended.
The afternoon before, Catherine had gone to meet Sean Powell in person, hoping to persuade him to lower the asking price for the field, which people at the club had begun calling the ransom strip.
She took an immediate dislike to him, although pretty much everyone in Denham seemed to feel the same way. He had a reputation for being difficult, and there always seemed to be some disagreement or complaint involving him. Still, he was polite enough during the meeting. He listened while she explained the club’s plans, made her a cup of tea, and chatted casually with her for a while.
“No,” he said when she asked, “I’m not really into football.”
He also pointed out that he had never objected to any of the club’s previous planning applications. She warmed to him a little, lining up the sucker punch. Catherine explained how the expansion would create jobs and bring more money into the area. She spoke about improving the surrounding land and helping maintain parts of the area that had suffered through years of council cutbacks. The farmer listened carefully. Not that he cared a bit.
“Alright,” he eventually said. “That’s all worth thinking about.” Then, after a pause, he added, “I’ll email Greg tomorrow and see if I can do something about the price.” Catherine left the meeting feeling reasonably hopeful.
The next morning, the email arrived in Greg’s inbox. All his dealings so far with Powell had been informal, so an email looked pretty serious, ominous even. Greg opened it expecting something aggressive, but the tone was calm and professional.
Dear Greg,
It was good to meet Catherine yesterday and hear more about your plans for the football club, which all sound very exciting.
You will be aware that the farming industry is very much struggling these days, and it is therefore inherent upon me to maximise the assets I have available.
To me, the commercial value we originally discussed of a quarter of a million pounds was not large enough and I will therefore formally offer the six-acre site to Denham Phoenix FC for £350,000.
Yours sincerely, Sean Powell
Greg stared at the screen for several seconds. It wasn’t just the skullduggery. More than anything, he felt guilty for sending Catherine there in the first place. He had hoped she might help soften the negotiation, but instead the meeting seemed to have convinced the farmer that the club needed the land badly enough to pay more for it. He knew she would be gutted at the outcome.
Greg sat for a while before replying.
Dear Mr Powell,
Thank you for your offer to sell the field to Denham Phoenix Football Club for £350,000.
As you are aware, your previous valuation of £250,000 was already one I indicated I was uncomfortable engaging with and, therefore, regrettably, I must withdraw from any further interest in the site.
Yours sincerely,
Greg Lyons
Greg hoped the response would force the farmer to reconsider. He suspected the increased price was intended as part of a negotiation tactic, with the expectation that the club would eventually settle somewhere closer to the original figure. By the afternoon, Greg met Catherine at the clubhouse to explain what had happened.
“Negotiations have gone the wrong way,” he told her carefully. He explained the increased asking price and told her he had withdrawn from discussions for the time being. “I’m trying a little kid psychology,” he said, attempting to sound more confident than he felt. He maf=de it perfectly clear she was not to blame and actually it was good to finally get the issue of the field on the radar and not just yack about it.
Playing the whole mess down, the reality was that Greg had already been planning around the field for months. Although he considered the asking price excessive, he also knew the land was important to the club’s future plans and began to regret not coughing up the original price. Economical Tony had already helped him come to terms with the principle of a ransom strip where that land is worth what it is to a buyer and seller, not a standard valuation, and after all Greg would make considerably more money from the land than any agricultural use with the high density profits that would be realised with more parking for the club facilities. For now, though, everything would have to be paused.
The situation frustrated him because, until this point, most of the problems he had faced at the club had been manageable. His land, his decisions. This was the first issue that had genuinely stalled him, a matter out of his immediate control.
Of course the extra money itself was not impossible to raise. The bigger problem was that Greg did not want to feel pressured into paying an inflated price simply because the club appeared desperate. Or maybe it was his ego?
Catherine took the news calmly, at least outwardly. She said she understood and asked a few practical questions. But Greg could still see how disappointed she was. Not just because the negotiations had failed, but because the plans she had started making for the clubhouse and other concession areas now had to be put on hold indefinitely.
The situation with Catherine was difficult, and Greg knew he had handled parts of it badly. What had started as a fairly straightforward negotiation over the field had gradually become tangled up in personalities, pride and misunderstandings. Still, he believed it could probably be sorted out in time.
That evening, however, another problem emerged. Guy Stevens called him shortly after six and asked if they could meet urgently. They arranged to meet later that evening at Greg’s house.
“I’m a straight-up guy, as you know,” Guy said once they sat down. “So I wanted to tell you directly. I’ve had an offer from Maidstone United, and I’m going to take it.” Greg was genuinely shocked. It had never occurred to him that Guy might want to leave the club. Only a month earlier he had agreed a pay rise with him, and throughout the recent changes at Denham Phoenix, Guy had always appeared positive and supportive.
“Look, Greg, as you know, I played for Maidstone for twelve years and the club means everything to me. My roots are there, and I never imagined I’d find myself in this position,” he explained.
“We both know there are three divisions between us, and the board are taking a huge leap of faith by entrusting me with this opportunity. If I’m honest, I’m not even sure I can take them where they want to go. It’s beyond anything I ever dreamed possible. I always thought county football would be my level, so to be given the chance to manage at the highest level of non-league football is something I never expected, even six months ago.”
“The very last thing I would want is to leave you or the club in the lurch. You’ve been good to me, and I’ll do everything I possibly can to help make the transition as smooth as possible. I’ll support whoever takes over, share everything I can, and do whatever is needed to help the club move forward.” Greg shuffled uncomfortably as he realised he would never be able to persuade him to stay.
“But the reality is that they’re currently without a manager, sitting bottom of the National Conference, and they’re pleading with me to start immediately. The situation there is desperate, and given the opportunity they’ve offered me, I feel honour-bound to accept it and get to work straight away. I hope you can understand why I have to take this chance.”
“I just wanted you to be aware of the situation,” Guy continued, “and for us to discuss how we handle my exit properly for the good of the club.” Greg sat quietly for a moment trying to take it in. The timing could hardly have been worse. Problems with the field negotiations were already creating uncertainty around his expansion plans, and now the pivotal person behind the day to day running of the club organisation was preparing to leave. A double whammy if ever there was one.“
“Okay, Guy,” said Greg. “I appreciate your honesty. As you know, you’ve been fantastic to work with, and I completely understand why you want to go. Nobody’s going to be able to hide their disappointment, of course, but that’s football. That’s life.” The two men shook hands.
Greg decided he wouldn’t speak to anyone else that evening. He needed time to mull everything over. What a day of upheaval. Deep down, he’d always known that running the club had been a fairy tale. For years, everything had fallen into place. Attendances had risen, the team were brilliant, and the supporters had rallied behind every ambitious step forward. But fairy tales eventually collide with reality. He had always suspected that, sooner or later, things would start to unravel.
He just would have preferred if these two crises hadn’t arrived on the very same day. Greg cracked open a bottle of Scotch, a habit he recognised all too well. Whenever something had gone catastrophically wrong in his life, he found himself
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