NEARLY A YEAR AGO, IN the face of speculation surrounding Sir Bobby Robson, Freddy Shepherd said that his support for the Newcastle United manager had never been in question. Since then, Shepherd, the Newcastle chairman, has acted to the contrary. Continually undermining Robson, publicly and privately, he has done little to curtail rumours that the manager has been close to walking out on several occasions, most recently last week.
Not only did Shepherd issue a scolding press statement a few months after his vote of confidence, in which he heavily criticised Robson, he then later said that the manager would not have his contract extended at the end of this season. And to top it off, he started negotiations for Patrick Kluivert in the summer, allegedly without Robson’s knowledge.
It has served as no benefit for the chairman to embarrass Robson in this way and it would have been understandable had the manager chosen to step down gracefully. Now, Robson may feel that he risks having his magnificent career tarnished by Shepherd’s tricks, the constant sniping from Kieron Dyer and Craig Bellamy and the flack he has taken for leaving Alan Shearer out on Saturday. It was Ruud Gullit’s relationship with Shearer that proved decisive shortly before he was dismissed.
And it is notable how often a manager departs during an international break, as we have now.
Unfortunately, Shepherd is not the only chairman who views his club as an extension of his manhood. One minute Rupert Lowe was on television saying that the press do not run his club and then, two days later, the Southampton chairman parted company with Paul Sturrock, the manager, bizarrely citing press speculation as the reason. Lowe, some reports have suggested, has taken on the unofficial role of director of football at Southampton above Steve Wigley, thereby increasing his influence and power.
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Shepherd and Lowe — and Bernard Tapie, once of Marseilles — have used football clubs to fuel their ego. They are interfering glory-hunters. Why else is Shepherd trying, probably in vain, to sign Wayne Rooney? He wants the glory, to be loved by the supporters. Yet he is the same Shepherd who once mocked them for paying exorbitant prices for replica shirts. It was rich of him to complain last season that supporters and the board were not getting “Rolls-Royce” performances from the players in return for the “Rolls-Royce” salaries and treatment. It was he that negotiated those deals.
Chairmen such as these take pleasure in meddling in signings, team selection and tactics, which is frustrating to managers and players. Those chairmen are only too glad to revel in the glory, but they shy away from any responsibility for their actions. They criticise agents, managers, players, but somehow escape censure themselves. They seem to disregard that the role of the chairman should to be to ensure stability — consider the boards at Arsenal, Manchester United and Middlesbrough — not create havoc through interference.
Some chairmen establish close relationships with senior players to unearth what is happening in the dressing-room and perhaps why a certain player is not performing. Once players realise that a manager is potentially weak, they may aide his dismissal, if it is to their advantage, through their performance, by showing their disgust at being substituted or by whispers to the chairman.
I played for arguably the two most notorious chairmen in the game, Doug Ellis and Ken Bates, both different in many ways. Ellis is a busybody, patronising and has a tendency to irritate managers and players, who end up leaving as a consequence. He would parade around the dressing-room before matches to add his two-penn’orth to the team talk, often delivered in a chilling manner. Sometimes he would come in at half-time or after the match. Players simply thought: “Just get out, you are not the manager.” Graham Taylor would ask him to leave, but once he had taken the England job, Ellis pounced on Jozef Venglos’s weakness. Ron Atkinson swiftly put a stop to these interventions.
Bates, in contrast, would on occasions convey his thoughts to a player knowing that they would be passed on. He was less smarmy and more forthright. Once, on a tour to Canada, Ian Porterfield, the manager, was arguing with him about a potential transfer target. “You know the Scots player I want you to buy, you know who I mean,” he said, referring to Robert Fleck. Bates nodded in agreement before he snarled: “If I buy him, which I will do, then make sure the team becomes a top-six team in a year. If they don’t, your neck is on the line.” The players, sat at the same dinner, slipped slowly down into their seats.
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With Bates having left Chelsea and Ellis getting old, maybe Shepherd is vying for the most outspoken chairman in the league.