By Chris Harris
The chaos never arrived.
Greg stood in the shadow of the evolving eco stand, surveying the rammed ground. The week had been so hectic that he had been dreading a day of complete chaos, but it simply never came. The ticketing and entrance system had worked perfectly. The drinks and food were running smoothly. The television crews were up in the scaffolding gantry. He could hardly believe that this was the same place where he used to play rugby in front of a couple of dozen people. A few hundred, mainly young Korean girls and some boys, mainly late teens excitedly took photos and some screamed in excitement whenever Jin Seo-jun touched the ball. All part of the show, but the funny side of it had dissipated by the fend of the first half.
The week had been absolute bedlam, but Greg had set up showrooms on tight schedules before and knew there was always a pinch point where there was simply no more you could do. The chaos of setting everything up eventually dissipated, and that was what was happening now. The ground show was sorted.
He was simply left to marvel at the skill of the South Korean K-pop star, without any doubt the best player who had ever played on that pitch, and quite possibly the best who ever would.
He took it upon himself to dominate the right side of the pitch, tracking back to defend, showing real guts, then sprinting forward and dribbling past everyone before plonking the ball onto the centre forward’s head, with varying degrees of success. One of them worked, though, and Denham Phoenix went in at half-time 1-0 up.
For the second half, Dean and Piotr moved him into a more central role, partly just to see what he could really bring to the team. The answer was two goals.
The final score was 4-1.
At the end of the game, the bar was temporarily closed for half an hour. A quick backdrop carrying the Denham Phoenix logo and those of the main advertisers was fixed onto an impromptu frame, and Dean, Piotr and the South Korean star held a press conference for half an hour.
Then a chauffeur-driven limousine arrived to take him away and the bar reopened.
It was freezing outside, and the assumption that the fans would hang around and wait the conference out and then keep the till ticking over was misplaced. Big Mal said to Greg, “Hey, we all know what we are doing is brilliant for the club, but we’ve got to remember, when this is all over, these fans are our bread and butter. At least the other games will be at The Dripping Pan where they can facilitate the media better.’ But Greg confided to Catherine that seeing fans locked out of the bar was not the progress he wanted. He hot-footed it to the Red Lion, where most of them had gone instead and put five hundred pounds behind the bar for the football crowd and circulated around members of the Supporter Club to apologise.
The media bulletins covered the story to varying degrees that evening and on Sunday, but Greg wasn’t watching. He spent the Sunday with Catherine reorganising his house and compressing the operation to his living room and conservatory to bring some semblance of sanity back. Removing the sleeping-over option for Stephen. After his unpleasantness of screwing Lewes FC over, his short-lived friendship would have to become purely professional for now; the friendship not irredeemable, but time would tell.
Sunday evening, the board, Stephen, and Piotr all assembled at the house at the behest of Economical Tony for what he called some grounding work.
‘As I see it, unbelievable stuff is happening; we are short-handed; we are moving up a level organisationally- all great. Cath’s done an amazing job with the catering and Stephen likewise with the commercial stuff and Dean with the marketing. But the builders are close to walking off the job because they can’t get deliveries and materials in as the gate is perpetually blocked, we.ve just started the brilliant 3g and padel board courts, but customers are complaining about the circus; they can’t park or use the café properly. Piotr and Dean have cone up with a brilliant recruitment strategy and club philosophy and that has been buried. We are a football club; we have worked so hard to get here please, please, please, can we refocus on that.’
It was a sobering delivery, Greg was deep down delighted some common sense was emerging and knew as little as his impact had been during the Jin Seo-jun whirlwind, now was his time to show leadership.
‘Tony is right, what has happened and will be with us for the next three months is set up. The home games will be at the Dripping Pan, so the circus can move there. I will instruct the builders to finish off one of the new large fledgeling rooms in the clubhouse to mock up a press conference room, so we move that away from the clubhouse and get that back to normal.
Piotr, the guy you and Dean have been talking too from Hastings, make him the first strategic addition ha ham one that is not a pop star, get on it this week.
Tony, one thing is abundantly clear: we must get that field from Sean Powell. We can see now that is pivotal to our future. I’m going to deliver some sanity back to the club; you need to somehow work out how we’re going to get it without us getting fleeced”
“Have you thought about a compulsory purchase order?” Stephen interjected. “It’s a bit of a long shot, but councils will grant them if land or property owners are deliberately and unreasonably stifling the progress of a sports club.”
This wrongfooted Economical Tony, who had already begun to make enquiries as to how Sean Powell was seemingly making so much money, without running a farm properly. Tony worked on instinct, compulsory purchase orders and bureaucracy were not his friend, manual work, determination, tenacity and trimming expenses were his modus operandi.
“Why not, always good to have a plan b.” He was pragmatic too.
The meeting dragged on. Normally they would adjourn to the pub, but everyone was done in. Somehow, Economical Tony had nailed the moment, the fun had gone as everything had got so serious.
He drove home, emboldened by his call to arms and considered the task in hand. This was a question of right and wrong. This was part of the Denham community that was having an enormous amount of financial resources pumped into it, and this was a man simply trying to bugger it all up for everyone for his own greedy self-interest.
And now, with all the furore around the club and the farmer clearly licking his lips at the possibility of getting his full quarter of a million pounds for the ransom strip field, now would be the time, with everyone’s focus diverted, to try and get to the bottom of the rumours around Pear Tree Farm.
He’d already buddied up to some of the Eastern European workers up there, which he found quite easy because they seemed to be of his temperament and way of thinking on lots of things. Although he wasn’t much of a drinker, he bought them lots of drinks and had gradually been easing information out of them. Nothing solid, so to speak, other than when Tony implied shenanigans at the farm they all laughed as if to say, yes, but we’re not telling you sucker, but thanks for the beer.
Although he was no good with a computer, he knew enough to sit behind a laptop and look at every piece of authoritative paperwork, planning, licences, everything appertaining to Pear Tree Farm. This new discovery and interest into how farming worked had awakened something in Tony. He may have been a little bit brusque, as a person, but he was undoubtedly curious, with oodles of common sense. He wanted to delve further, and he knew through his investigations that the number of people working on the farm, the size and the money seemingly floating around were not commensurate with the size and dishevelled ambience of the farm.
He knew he could probably go to Greg and suggest a little cash incentive for information, but that would take away the fun of what he was doing. When he had recently spoken to Greg about such a plot, Greg was not unduly opposed to the idea, so desperate was he to get his hands on the land. Knowing the workers were beginning to open up a little bit, if push came to shove, he knew he maybe able to bribe them.
Behind the scenes, a focused Dean and Piotr had already been talking to Matt Unwin, the new young prospect from the under-18s at Hastings. Tony and Greg were both delighted to see him attend training on the Tuesday evening, where they met to discuss the field issue. Whilst both of them were of course excited by everything going on at the club, perversely they were more excited by Matt Unwin, because Matt Unwin represented their attempt to essentially revolutionise the lower levels of non-league football.
He was great in training, incredibly perceptive, but his tackles were a little bit over-crisp. Laser-sharp focus, maybe needed another year or two to physically grow, but the hype around him seemed well placed.
Chandler Foxx, whom they were lining up to replace Matt, knew exactly what was going on. But turnover at this level was more often than not seasonal, and he wasn’t bothered. He’d enjoyed his few years at Denham Phoenix. He knew the direction the club were going, and he didn’t have the enthusiasm to be part of it, so there was no bitterness.
In fact, he spoke to Dean, who had heard about Matt coming in, said there were no hard feelings and that he would do anything he could to help Matt get his feet under the table at the club. Bearing in mind already Matt was technically a far better player, albeit ten years his junior. Ten years his junior might have been considered a flight of fancy.
As far as the new strategy went, this was perfect. If the club was going to work on a quicker turnover of players, it needed to understand the reaction wouldn’t necessarily be toys out of the pram, but simple pragmatism. Players in non-league football were used to moving on, and if that became part of the culture at Denham Phoenix, it would mean less upheaval and unhappiness when decisions were made, while also keeping everyone on their toes.
It mattered because both Dean and Piotr had assumed that moving players on would be a cumbersome and potentially disruptive process. Neither of them had that much experience of English non-league football or the culture that existed within it, so it was a refreshing realisation.
Welcome to Denham nr Lewes 