It has been a difficult twelve months for Bolton Wanderers. Three different managers, relegation form throughout and the loss of key players and backroom staff. Some might think that the situation is down to sheer incompetence. Vital Bolton can exclusively reveal that the reason for the clubs decline is far more sinister.
It started with a meeting held at the Reebok Stadium in April 2007 with Chairman, Wicked Uncle Garty and Chief Executive, Allan Duckworth in attendance. Garty was despondent. He`d bought his way onto the board in 1988 with 40,000 pieces of silver and become chairman 11 years later. His mission was to destroy Bolton Wanderers. It wasn`t going well. He was lounging in the boardroom, picking his nails and muttering to himself, when Duckworth burst in, clutching a bright blue coloured folder.
“I`ve got some good news,” he exclaimed, breathlessly.
“Good news?” snorted Garty, “what can be good? I appointed that Brummie idiot to get us relegated to League one and he turns out to be a bloody genius. We`re looking at four top eight Premier League finishes now. It`s been a disaster. I`ve done my best not to give him any money to spend. I even tried to sell Jay Jay Okocha when he wasn`t looking”
Duckworth was used to the temper tantrums. He carried on.
“This is the latest Premier League fans survey,” he said brandishing the folder.
“And?” sulked Garty.
“Nobody likes us. They don`t like our football, our manager, the drummers or the cheerleaders, and they reckon the stadium`s too cold.”
“Well that`s something,” said Garty, brightening slightly.
“There is a downside though,” muttered Duckworth.
Garty said nothing. He leaned back, folded his hands across his ample stomach and raised a single eyebrow quizzically. A bit like Roger Moore but not as good.
“Out with it then.”
“They`ve got a grudging respect for us, especially Sam, I mean Big Sam.”
Duckworth braced himself, waiting for the usual eruption. It didn`t come. Instead, Garty had a strange look on his face. Duckworth didn`t like it when he did that. He could never work out whether his boss was about to say something insightful, or break wind.
“That`s what I`ve been missing,” mused Garty quietly. “Big Sam. A big man, with a big ego, a big reputation and a big gob. Why didn`t I see it before?”
“You mean?”
“Yes,” said Garty firmly. “We`ve got to give the manager`s job to a midget.”
Duckworth was aghast. He too had missed the obvious.
“But where will we get one of those from?” he asked, “there was a dwarf throwing competition on the fair at Easter, but the little fellas have all gone home to Blackburn. I suppose we could ask Stelios at a pinch, but he`s never managed bef?”
An eerie silence descended on the room, as both men realised that they had arrived at the same thought together. Simultaneously, they turned to look through the window at the Reebok pitch. Where Sammy Lee was conducting a training session.
Part Two is Here
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