No Hunger In Paradise Read online

  Glen reasoned that an approach to Spanish clubs by a father seeking advancement for his son would be doomed to failure. Instead he used his recently earned diploma in sports psychology to give applications for a trial the veneer of professional distance. It worked: Real Valladolid, Villarreal and Atlético Madrid were prepared to take a look on those terms.

  His first session was staged in 35-degree heat, but by the time Zak reached Madrid, following polite rejections by the other two clubs, he had acclimatised. He played outstandingly well over two weeks, impressing with his diligence and technical quality. Atlético’s offer of a youth contract, contained in an email received forty-eight hours after their return to Chesterfield, gave the adventure sudden gravity.

  ‘We had viewed it as a bit of a vacation really, but that’s when the enormity of it hit home. We couldn’t relocate as a family. We were reliant on the NHS, which is wonderful despite its woes, and had a decision to make. Rachel told us to go. She would make it work at home, for however long it lasted.’

  The family agreed to regard the first fortnight of Zak’s return to Spain with his father as an extended experiment. It went well. He was allocated to Atlético’s B squad, and, once the formalities of his education were established, signed for them. Money was tight, but they paid 600 euros a month to share an apartment with an elderly Argentine couple.

  Football was the easy part. Zak excelled in a series of tournaments and enjoyed the emphasis on mastery of the ball. Yet everyday life was hardly the stuff of soft-focus cinematic fantasy. He cried each morning on his way into a local school, in which little leeway was allowed for his lack of language skills. He had only had a couple of Spanish lessons before they moved to Madrid, and struggled initially to make friends. Homework was an ordeal.

  His father failed to find work, and filled the time between academy sessions by studying for a long-distance psychology degree. It took more than six months before the artlessness of the exercise became apparent. The club called Glen into a meeting at the Vicente Calderon Stadium. They had bad news to impart.

  FIFA had noted the absence of an answer in the section of the registration form devoted to the father’s employment. Glen had left it blank, since he had none, without grasping the reality that this would make Zak ineligible to play. Despite an attempt to argue he intended to use his qualifications to set up a sports psychology practice, FIFA ruled he had moved to Spain for football-related, rather than work-related, reasons.

  This was a breach of Article 19 of FIFA’s regulations, set up to tackle child trafficking. In essence, no player under 18 can be transferred internationally unless the family are relocating for employment purposes. A statute drawn up for the most honourable of reasons, to protect minors being enslaved by unscrupulous agents or unprincipled clubs, was being used against him.

  ‘In my total and utter naïvety I thought nothing about the regulation concerning the protection of minors. We’d simply done things off our own back. We tried to fight it, but I absolutely understood the principle. I’ve read the stories of African kids left on the streets when things do not work out, but it is a case of one net catching all. It doesn’t seem to be looked at on an individual basis.

  ‘I had gone through the immigration procedures. We were welcomed into Spain, as long as we were not going to feed off their social care system, which I totally understand. Zak soon loved it there. The football was made for him. I could see so much progress in him. His language skills were improving, and he was socialising with Spanish friends. Rachel had flown over a couple of times with the twins, and we had gone back to England every three months. It was starting to work.’

  In limbo while the appeals process was underway, Zak played informally at a semi-professional club in Majadahonda, a town on the north-western fringe of Madrid. He played alongside the son of Guti, the former Real Madrid player, who, ignorant of the broader picture, offered to arrange a trial at his old club. Like Zak’s previous Spanish coaches, Guti recognised the boy’s long-term potential as a number ten; in the more literally minded English system, Zak’s skill had seen him pigeonholed as a winger.

  The irony of another unsustainable opportunity arising in such random circumstances was characteristically cruel. The family was offered the chance of taking their case to the Court of Arbitration for Sport in Lausanne, but could not afford the legal fees. They were forced, in Glen’s words, to ‘come home with our tails between our legs’.

  The final submissive gesture came just before Christmas 2015, when Glen drove alone to Madrid in a completely empty car. He loaded as many of their belongings as he could, settled his outstanding rent with his landlady, and pulled the shutters down on an impulsive, impossible dream. By then, Zak was back in the domestic system. Arsenal had offered an official six-week trial, and Chelsea were sufficiently interested to want to monitor his progress, but endless hours on the motorway network had finally lost their allure. He trained with Sheffield United for a short spell before joining Derby County, a progressive academy flourishing under Darren Wassall, their former defender.

  His father’s comfort in relative normality is reflected by a self-deprecating summary: ‘I’ve plenty to compare it to, but it’s very difficult to find a negative with Derby. The staff are very approachable, reliable. Zak had a good first full season with them, and is really enjoying it. He’s quite vocal and quite forward without being rude, but, unlike some, the coaches there say they appreciate that.’

  The past is, literally, another country. Though he cannot officially be represented until he is 16, Zak has an association with Ten10 Talent, an agency that counts Pelé, Gareth Southgate and Glenn Hoddle among its clients. They facilitated a minor kit deal with Adidas, in which merchandise was also made available to his brothers.

  The family’s collective challenge is to retain perspective and stability. Though football, as an industry, is uncomfortable with candour, their openness is refreshing. On this particular night in Sheffield it didn’t seem impertinent to ask Glen to outline the enduring lessons of his role in his son’s irregular development.

  ‘I had a sort of inner arrogance, because Zak was showing a certain level of promise, but I am not an arrogant person. I thought, we need to look for Premier League. He’s better than Chesterfield, Sheffield United, Rotherham, whoever. Maybe if I had not taken that path Zak’s path might have been different. He may just have gone to Derby at an early age and loved it. The grass isn’t always greener. Don’t let pride get in the way. Bigger clubs don’t treat players any better. The coaching is not necessarily any better.

  ‘I am much more relaxed about things now, a totally different person. I still get anxious before a game, and let a little grunt go if he skies a free kick. I still feel like I’m out there with him, so I’ve still got some progress to make, but I enjoy it more now. The one golden thing I try to remember is, I’ve still got a relationship with my son if football doesn’t work out. We have our little tiffs and fall-outs but I’m very close to him, irrespective of how it goes on the pitch.

  ‘If I had my time again I wouldn’t get as emotionally involved. I’d actually ask Zak what he wanted to do, which is what I do now. He has the final say. I wouldn’t discuss things in front of him with Rachel, or anyone for that matter, because a child naturally wants to impress his parents. He tends to think, oh well, they’re thinking that way, so I’m going to go with that. Some things have been bad for him, but he’s learned a lot, very early, about who you can and can’t trust.’

  His study of sports psychology continues. He offers advice to other parents, free of charge, and knows he is a powerful case study: ‘I see the parents as I was. It’s like dealing with an alcoholic. You need them to get to a point where they say, “I’ve got a problem.” The amount of parents that won’t acknowledge they’ve got an issue with their son would surprise you.

  ‘Some are in football for the right reasons, but others are doing it because essentially they live through their son. They see a pension plan and all
sorts. They get caught up in it. It goes through me, some of the things I hear parents do and say …’

  He trails off, the inference of his having learned from past mistakes a beacon in the gloom. A group of Asian lads are waiting to take their turn on the five-a-side pitch. Having packed the kit into four bags, Zak and Finn Hunter, a school friend preparing for a trial with Rotherham, are absent-mindedly scuffling for possession, kicking footballs against the fence.

  There is always time for another lesson: ‘This is the English culture,’ Llera exclaims. ‘You should be resting, cooling down after a good session. Now, boom, you are running around again, smashing balls. You are treating your body like a car that has been driven at two hundred kilometres an hour. It ticks over at thirty for a short while, and then you accelerate it up to two hundred again. No wonder things break.’

  Lecture over, he lowers his voice and considers the merits of his principal pupil: ‘Zak wants to be better every day. He gives good feedback and works really hard. His desire is very strong, but he is also a boy. He tries to fuck with me a little. In Spain there is more discipline, more respect for the coach and manager. But if he listens to me, maintains his focus and concentration, he can adapt to the football life. He must be true to himself.’

  That is a difficult concept for any adolescent to come to terms with. Glen asks me to pose for a photograph with Zak, and is eager that his son and I should chat. In truth, I’m uncomfortable with conducting a formal interview, but I play down its significance by suggesting to him that it will be good practice for the future.

  He speaks softly, but smiles readily, almost as a self-defence mechanism: ‘It has been rough at times. It has been a long journey, a great experience, and I have enjoyed the ride. Looking back, it has made me stronger as a person. It has developed me as a player. Different aspects of my game have improved.

  ‘There were times when I thought, this is too hard. When I was training at Manchester United I looked around and thought, wow, this is unreal. I thought it was too difficult at times in Spain, when I was missing my mum, brothers and friends, but I got through it. Scoring a hat-trick for Atlético in front of my grandparents and brothers was my best moment. I’m buzzing, thinking of it now.

  ‘My dad used to be aggressive at times. The worst time for me was in the car on the way home from United. I’d had a bad session. He had a go, and I cried my eyes out all the way back home. I didn’t want to go out of my comfort zone, but if that involved me doing something for him to be happy, I did it.

  ‘Now I have grown up nothing bothers me any more. No other lad has been through what I have been through over the last eight years. It is unique. I am stronger than a lot of people out there. I have also got my brothers behind me, which is a big drive for me. I do think I am going to be a footballer. It is going to be really hard to make it, but it has got to be done.’

  Go well, young man. You have earned the right to dream. Stay safe out there, for there are still many swirling rivers to cross.

  6

  Ghosts in the Machine

  THE AIR IN the Cozy Stadium, home of St Neots Town, is scented by chips, simmering in puddles of malt vinegar. High-speed trains on the East Coast Main Line, inadequately hidden by immature trees behind the dugouts, are an intermittent blur. The Rowley Rabble, a terrace tribe closer in spirit to The Archers than the Ultras, idly taunt a teenaged winger.

  ‘We’ll give you a rusk at half-time, number eleven,’ shouts one, when the youth disputes a throw-in decision. Darren Foxley can’t resist a glance in the general direction of those teasing him, which makes their night. He is compensated by the belief that, one day, they will have cause to remember his name rather than his number.

  His father Derek sits in isolation, close to the halfway line. He is blissfully unaware of the gentle joshing endured by his son because, in a ritual that combines superstition and pragmatism, he is listening to eighties guitar rock on a miniature MP3 player. Headphones are only removed at the interval, when, right on cue, Thin Lizzy announce over a tinny tannoy that ‘The Boys Are Back in Town’.

  Foxley is one of three players from the Newbart project turning out for Soham Town Rangers, a club from the eighth tier of English football, the Isthmian League Division One North, which is happy to offer a refuge for the waifs and strays of the academy system. The 2–1 win in a friendly against St Neots, a team from tier seven, completes a successful trial for his companions, Billy Harris and Kieran Bailey.

  Their pedigree was obvious in a match that featured several of the clichés of non-league football: the well-upholstered goalkeeper, the shaven-headed midfield enforcer and the striker whose paunch suggested he was not a stranger to a 2 a.m. kebab. The trio were technically sound and thought fractionally faster than their opponents, without having the confidence and personality to consistently impose themselves on the game.

  That hint of uncertainty was understandable, given their need to mentally re-attune in the early stages of the rehabilitation process they were each undergoing, but they still figured in the decisive moments of the match. Soham fell behind, but equalised midway through the second half when Foxley made a break down the right before setting up Harris to score with a well-struck, marginally deflected shot from the edge of the area.

  Five minutes remained when Bailey, running intelligently between the lines, was crudely hacked down. Much to his apparent surprise, substitute Will Gardner channelled his inner Gareth Bale to direct a curving, dipping free kick inside the angle of post and crossbar. When it was over, and the club bar reclaimed its patrons, players meandered to the dressing room to the accompaniment of Biffy Clyro’s anthem ‘Many of Horror’. A fragment of the second verse seemed mockingly relevant:

  My bruises shine

  Our broken fairytale

  So hard to hide.

  The three academy rejects are ‘ghosts’, a term coined by Professor Ross Tucker, the eminent South African sports scientist, to describe youngsters who become lost in the maze of muddled thinking and short-termism that defines the professional system. They hope to emulate Jamie Vardy, who recovered his ambition and equilibrium playing for Stocksbridge Park Steels, by recalibrating in non-league football.

  Foxley joined Charlton Athletic at the age of 7, but left for West Ham, who released him at 16, citing a lack of pace. Soham took him on the rebound from Dagenham & Redbridge, who put their praise and promises over two seasons as a scholar into perspective by opting not to offer him a professional contract, following a retrial at the age of 18.

  Harris, primarily an attacking full back but a viable option in central midfield, was captain of the under-16s at Southend United, the club he joined as a 6-year-old. He was passed over for a scholarship following an ill-timed change in senior recruitment staff at the academy, which signalled a strategy shift.

  Bailey, arguably the most naturally talented of the three, was picked up by Colchester when West Ham let him go at 18. He was undermined by a season-ending injury, in which a calf muscle repeatedly peeled away from the bone. The problem was traced to faulty posture, and John McGreal, Colchester’s first-team manager, thought sufficiently of his promise, in a number eight or ten role, to allow him to continue to train with them while they waited for his future to become clearer.

  Foxley’s father spoke with revealing bitterness: ‘These boys are commodities, full stop. That’s how clubs look at them: can we make money? Important decisions have very little to do with football. They are personality-driven – does this manager or that coach like you? Being released is a lovely pleasant use of language. It means you were kicked out.

  ‘Forget the pretence that people care. Rejection feels like being kicked in the balls. The system sucks because it has so much wealth. Why persevere with one of your own when you can pick up the phone, bring in a fifteen-year-old from Mexico, and give him a hundred grand?’

  Fred Harris, Billy’s father, conceded he was in danger of losing his religion. As a youth scout for West Ham, he was becoming bur
dened by ever-accumulating evidence of the imperfections of a game that engaged and enraged him in equal measure. Natural loyalties were being stress-tested; the undertone of sadness was unavoidable when he admitted quietly: ‘When Billy goes, I might go with him.’

  The Newbart project is funded by Birmingham-based brothers John and Peter Finnegan. Newly established agents, or intermediaries to use FIFA’s preferred nomenclature, their philosophy is based on a holistic approach to sports management, in which their complementary business and sporting backgrounds are used to revive the faltering careers of easily forgotten young players.

  For the avoidance of doubt, John, who has built and sustained a successful IT company over thirty-five years, insists, ‘We are in this to make money, no two ways about it.’ He handles all contract negotiations and organises support services, but recognises profit is a long-term goal. In the short term representing a stable of up to thirty young players, the majority of whom are redirected into the top end of the non-league pyramid, is a loss-making exercise.

  Football nous is provided by Peter, a former non-league manager and club owner who ended a ten-year association with Aston Villa, as a senior scout in the UK and Europe, to help set up a venture ‘which knows it can’t change the system, but tries to put a dent in it’. Bold words, in keeping with a distinctive set of values.

  Newbart operates on word-of-mouth recommendation, and adheres to the strict policy of not representing a player until any existing relationship with another agent expires. Even the story behind the initiative’s name is highly individual; the New element of the company title pays discreet homage to a spiritual inspiration, Cardinal Newman, the nineteenth-century theologian beatified by Pope Benedict XVI in 2010, and the Bart reference is a reminder of their Irish grandfather, Bartholomew.

  The filial intimacy of their conduct is striking. They often defer to each other in conversation with the simple term ‘brother’, and argue that their status as outsiders sharpens their instinct for the amorality and duplicitousness with which they are regularly confronted.