‘Don’t you want to hear my ideas for the future of this club?’
‘I’ve read your book. I’ve seen you interviewed on television. I have watched you on YouTube. I have even heard you on TalkSPORT. Whenever I am in London I have been to see London City. I know your ideas already, Mr Manson. I know everything about you. How you were falsely accused of rape and imprisoned. How you were eventually acquitted. How you got your coaching certificates while you were in prison and, soon after your release, you joined Barcelona. How your ex-player father is now a successful sports entrepreneur. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Mr Manson. It is evident to me that you are a chip off the old block. It seems to me that you are very keen to be a success in your own right and not to rely on your father’s money to pay your bills. Am I right?’
‘You’re not wrong, Mr Jia,’ I admitted.
‘Maybe I tell you my own philosophy about football. Which is also my philosophy of business. This is why I like football. It is possible to learn lessons from football that apply in the factory and in the boardroom. My philosophy is this, Mr Manson: if you can’t make a profit then make sure you don’t make a loss. This is simple economics. On the pitch we express this differently but, in essence it’s the same thing. If you can’t win then make sure you don’t lose. A draw is still a draw and a point is still a point and, at the end of the season, when it all comes down to the last game and you win the league by just one point — like Manchester City in 2014 — you still win the league.’
I nodded. I hardly wanted to spoil his story by reminding him that Manchester City had beaten Liverpool to the title by two points, but the point was well made. You might just as easily have said that if Liverpool had come back from their away match against Crystal Palace with more than just a draw — as they ought to have done after being 3–0 up — then they’d have won the title. Football contains more ‘what-ifs’ than a script meeting at Warner Brothers.
‘I should also tell you that you will have a budget of three hundred million yuan to buy any new players you see fit to buy for Shanghai Xuhui. This also will be in the contract. This is also part of my philosophy: you get what you pay for.’ He found another cigarette and waited for one of the girls to light him. ‘Of course I am aware that Shanghai is not yet an important part of the footballing world. But Shanghai money will be. And soon. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that success in football is all about money. Sadly, the days of Nottingham Forest winning the European Cup without big money to spend on top players are behind us. There is no longer any room for romance in football. It’s money that talks today, not flowers and chocolates and a manager with a nice turn of phrase. You want romance, there’s the FA Cup. But everything else is about money.’
‘I agree. I wish it wasn’t true. But it is.’
We talked for a while longer and then, when the match was over — Shanghai Xuhui won the game 2–0 — he offered me a tour of the Yu Garden stadium the following morning.
‘I’d rather not take you in there now, so soon after the match,’ he explained. ‘Nicola Salieri has agreed to delay the announcement of his resignation until a new manager has been appointed. So, call your agent, Miss O’Brien. Discuss it with her tonight. But I’ll expect your decision in the morning, Mr Manson.’
4
Two weeks later, after a blissful Christmas holiday with Louise in Australia at the Tower Lodge in New South Wales, I was back in Shanghai.
It wasn’t just the money that had persuaded me — although that was persuasive enough. It was the chance to be in at the beginning of something important in English football. He’d dropped a few broad hints about the club he was thinking of buying which sounded to me a lot like Leeds. I hoped it would be Leeds. Leeds was the only big club that really deserved to be back in the Premier League. After all, they had been one of the original twenty-two clubs that had voted to form the Premier League. And I could see no real reason why, with the right amount of investment, Leeds — the sleeping giant of the Championship — could not be the great team they had once been. It had worked for Manchester City. Elland Road was already the second largest football stadium outside the Premier League, with almost 38,000 capacity. That was bigger than White Hart Lane.
At Pudong International Airport I was met by an Oddjob-type driver and one of Jia’s beautiful PR girls, who escorted me back to the Hyatt. The girl’s name was Dong Xiaolian and she spoke perfect, unaccented English. In the back seat of Jia’s Rolls-Royce she told me of the schedule of events that lay ahead of us that day. It all sounded very exciting but even before the car was moving things started to go wrong. She handed me an email from Tempest sent to the hotel which confirmed what I suspected: that the million pound signing-on fee had still not been paid.
‘In the afternoon we have a press conference at the hotel with all the major Chinese media,’ explained Dong. ‘I will be your interpreter. I have a Master’s degree in English literature. I am self-employed and you should regard me as being at your personal disposal while you are in Shanghai. At least until you can find a full-time interpreter. Which I am also prepared to do. I will do anything you want me to do, Mr Manson. Anything at all. Anything. You will only have to ask.’
‘There is something,’ I said. ‘I haven’t been paid. There was a signing-on fee of one million pounds which hasn’t yet appeared in my account. It was supposed to have been paid by the time I arrived here in Shanghai.. Which is disturbing, to say the least.’
‘I shall speak to Mr Jia about this immediately we get to the hotel,’ said Dong.
‘Thank you.’ I glanced over the schedule she had given me. ‘What’s this here?’ I asked. ‘A medical? I’m going to manage, not play.’
‘Before you start work you must have a medical examination to make sure that you don’t have Ebola or HIV.’
‘You’ve got to be joking.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s standard practice for all African men who wish to work in China.’
‘I’m not African,’ I said. ‘I’m British. Or, to be one hundred per cent accurate, Scots-German. On my passport it says that my place of birth is Edinburgh. That’s Edinburgh in Scotland, not Edinburgh in South Africa. And I’m certainly not going to have a test for Ebola and HIV. You can forget about that for a start.’
‘A black man who comes from Scotland? This is a subtlety that Chinese people and more importantly the Chinese authorities will not understand. The tests are mandatory, I’m afraid. Chinese people think all black men have Aids. And now Ebola, too. It will be necessary for you to obtain a work permit in China to show that you are not a health hazard.’
‘This is insulting,’ I said.
‘Nevertheless, it is the law. All foreigners but especially blackies who play for Chinese football clubs have to be tested. Please understand that I don’t think you have Aids or Ebola. I should certainly not be sitting in the car with you if I thought you had Ebola. Not for one minute. Nor should I have offered to sleep with you if I thought you had HIV.’
I shook my head. ‘Did you offer to sleep with me?’
‘Of course. That is what I’m paid to do.’
‘Why?’
‘As well as being an interpreter I am also an escort. And don’t worry, I had an HIV test yesterday, so you could be quite sure I am one hundred per cent healthy. I will show you the certificate when we get to the hotel.’