Football Dynasty-Chapter 27: Crisis-born opportunity

The 1987/88 season was nearing its end.

For Richard, 1987 had been a rollercoaster—his turbulent relationship with Ashley, the ups and downs of the economy, and, of course, Manchester City's never-ending struggles.

Today, he found himself at Maine Road, watching City take on a struggling Sheffield side. It was a crucial home match, and City desperately needed a win to salvage what little hope remained.

As he arrived at the stadium, the sight before him was striking. The air was thick with tension, frustration lingering like an unshakable fog.

"WE NEVER WIN ANYWAY... WE NEVER WIN ANYWAY.."

The chant echoed through the stands, a chorus of disillusioned supporters singing in unison. Their voices carried not just anger, but a weary resignation—a reflection of the team's struggles under manager Mel Machin.

It had been a season of disappointment.

Eliminated in the FA Cup quarter-finals. Knocked out in the League Cup fifth round. Sent packing in the second round of the Full Members' Cup. And in the Second Division table? A miserable 11th place, with no chance of promotion.

But the real agony? Manchester City's staggering, almost incomprehensible run of 34 league games away from home without a single victory.

Every away trip felt doomed before it even began. No matter the opponent, no matter the circumstances, City always found a way to crumble. Late collapses, defensive blunders, missed chances—it was as if the team had forgotten how to win on the road.

Even the youth team, once a source of pride, had struggled to replicate last year's success. The only shining lights were Rob Jones and Graeme Le Saux—both players Richard had personally brought to City.

Week after week, they outperformed their competition, often overshadowing first-teamers Steve Mills and Andy Hinchcliffe. But they were a right-back and a left-back—how much of a difference could they really make in a team so desperately lacking in confidence?

At the end of the day, it was the strikers who scored goals and won matches.

Richard sighed as he took his seat. The match hadn't even begun, yet the weight of failure already hung over Maine Road.

Something had to change.

Chris Armstrong, the team's biggest hope in attack, was sidelined with an injury. Since his absence, City's performances had taken a sharp downturn. Nearly every match ended in a frustrating draw, with no one able to step up and provide the cutting edge they desperately needed.

"That's the boy my boyfriend bought!"

The sudden outburst cut through the usual murmur of the stands, making heads turn in confusion.

What was this woman talking about?

City had just played out yet another frustrating draw, but their full-backs—Jones and Le Saux—had been the standout performers. Yet, instead of discussing the match, fans were now staring at the woman who had just randomly shouted into the crowd.

She wore a hat and sunglasses, clearly trying (and failing) to go incognito. Her voice carried a mix of pride and excitement, though whether she was genuinely boasting or just seeking attention was up for debate.

People exchanged glances, some amused, others bewildered.

"Who is she talking to?" someone whispered.

"Shhh, don't make eye contact," another muttered.

"Oi, someone check if she's had a few too many before kickoff," a man snickered.

Noticing the stares, she huffed and crossed her arms. "I'm not lying! My boyfriend is a scout, and he's the one who brought them in! Even Armstrong—he's here because of him! And there's another player he found... uh, Mc-something? I don't remember! But he's supposed to be really good!"

That wasn't the issue here, lady! Why scream in the middle of a match and startle everyone?

Still, curiosity got the best of the City fans around her.

"Wait, your boyfriend works for Manchester City?" someone finally asked.

"Of course! He's the best!" she declared proudly, flashing a thumbs-up.

A few skeptical looks passed between the fans.

"Really? What's his name?" one of them asked.

She simply smirked, full of confidence, but chose not to answer.

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The incident in the stands went completely unnoticed by Richard, who was seated comfortably in the director's box, far removed from the chaos of the regular crowd.

'Ah, so this is what it's like to watch a match from here,' Richard mused, leaning back in his seat.

It was his first time experiencing a Manchester City match from this vantage point. The atmosphere still carried the usual rowdy chants and frustrated outbursts, but the physical barrier separating the sections made it feel far less cramped.

Of course, despite his legal standing, Richard remained an outsider among the board members. His position was secure—he had climbed his way into Manchester City's inner circle through legitimate means—but acceptance was another matter entirely.

After all, his rise hadn't followed the traditional path. He had bypassed the covenant, seizing the club's financial crisis as an opportunity to buy his way in. And in the world of politics, nothing stung more than an outsider exploiting weakness.

Even Swales was beginning to regret ever offering Richard that single share bid. Had he not been present at the meeting yesterday, Swales could have easily increased his own stake—or even driven the price down to rock bottom.

But he never anticipated Richard swooping in and paying 50% above market value for the shares. Instead of tightening his grip on the club, he had unknowingly allowed an outsider to strengthen his foothold.

Were they dissatisfied with his presence? Absolutely.

Were they jealous? Even more so.

Did Richard care? Not in the slightest.

At the end of the day, this wasn't about who had more money—it was about who had the nerve to make bold moves. If wealth alone dictated success, why was he the one sitting here?

He wasn't the richest man in the room. With just £2,500,000 in liquid assets, he couldn't compete financially with the top brass of the club. But that wasn't the point. The real question was: Did they have the guts to pay 50% above market value for shares like he did?

No.

Then why blame him?

And that was why he was in the director's box, while they sat there, bitter and powerless to do anything about it.

Richard glanced around. Seated nearby were Peter Swales, Simon Cussons, Joe Smith, and other club directors, all watching gloomily as their beloved City struggled on the pitch.

Once again, City had inexplicably lost—this time 3-2 at home to a struggling Sheffield United side.

"WE NEVER WIN ANYWAY... WE NEVER WIN ANYWAY..."

The chants rang through the stadium, carrying a mix of frustration and resignation.

Before the league season came to a close, it was briefly put on hold for a week as Wembley Stadium hosted the Football League Centenary Tournament.

The event, celebrating the league's 100th anniversary, featured 16 clubs competing over two days.

Nottingham Forest emerged as the winners, but the excitement quickly faded when violent clashes broke out between Scarborough and Wolverhampton Wanderers fans. Eighteen Scarborough hooligans were sentenced to up to 12 months in prison for their role in the chaos.

The Football League Centenary Tournament is over, and soon the league will be over as well.

As expected, Manchester City finished the 1987/88 season in 9th place in the Second Division, ensuring another year outside the top flight.

Meanwhile, Portsmouth, Watford, and Oxford United were relegated from the First Division, while Millwall and Aston Villa secured promotion. Middlesbrough, Bradford City, and Blackburn Rovers qualified for the play-offs.

Without bothering to bid farewell, Richard left the stadium early.

For the next few weeks, not much happened. Now one of City's largest shareholders, he was, of course, required to attend the club's operational meetings—though he rarely gave his opinion.

The Top Shareholders:

Peter Swales, Chairman – 619 shares (30.05%)

Simon Cussons, Vice-Chairman – 566 shares (27.48%)

Joe Smith, President – 366 shares (17.77%)

Eric Alexander, Vice-President – 238 shares (11.55%)

John Humphreys, Vice-President – 46 shares (2.23%)

Sidney Rose, Vice-President – 43 shares (2.09%)

Richard Maddox, Directors – 182 shares (8.77%)

Today's agenda featured two major issues that could shape the club's future.

First, the board would deliberate on Tottenham Hotspur's record-breaking £1.7 million bid for star striker Paul Stewart.

Second, they would review an ambitious proposal for a new stadium, part of Manchester's bid to host the 1996 Summer Olympics. The plan envisioned an 80,000-capacity state-of-the-art facility on a greenfield site west of the city center.

High-stakes decisions loomed, but Richard wasn't particularly interested. The other board members would simply outvote him, rendering his input meaningless. It was a game he had no interest in playing.

'Such bullies... tch.' Richard clicked his tongue in annoyance.

After wrapping up discussions on other matters, the board finally turned to potential transfer targets—now this was something Richard actually cared about.

He put forward two names:

Lee Sharpe, a talented 16-year-old winger from Torquay United, turning 17 next month.

Andy Cole, a promising 16-year-old striker from England's elite Lilleshall Hall academy.

Lilleshall wasn't a club; it was England's National School of Excellence, an elite residential academy established by the FA to develop the nation's most promising young footballers.

Often referred to as the Hogwarts of English football, it was founded by England manager Bobby Robson and FA technical director Charles Hughes.

Richard had visited Lilleshall out of curiosity—after all, how could anyone passionate about English football not be interested in the place where the country's future stars were being molded?

What he hadn't expected was to see a familiar face.

Andy Cole.

Sharpe would cost only around £30,000. As for Cole, they would have to wait until next year since he had just turned 16.

Considering Richard's impressive track record in talent scouting—having already brought in Rob Jones, Graeme Le Saux, Steve McManaman, and Chris Armstrong—the board didn't immediately dismiss his suggestions this time. Instead, they opted to observe first.

After all, one of his recommendations had come from the prestigious Lilleshall. That alone carried weight. And as long as the costs were low, the board was open to considering his proposals.

The next issue was finding a new striker. With Paul Stewart's departure all but finalized, they needed a replacement to support Paul Moulden, who had now taken over as the team's main striker.

Richard proposed four affordable options:

Teddy Sheringham (Millwall, Striker, Age: 21)

Tony Cascarino (Gillingham, Striker, Age: 24)

Les Ferdinand (Hayes, Striker, Age: 20)

Ian Wright (Greenwich Borough, Striker, Age: 24)

And the result?

It didn't matter. Ultimately, it was manager Mel Machin and Tony Book who had the final say—Machin overseeing the first team and Book handling the youth squad.

Lee Sharpe? Too thin.

Andy Cole? Too young.

Cascarino, Ferdinand, Ian Wright? Not even on the radar.

Instead, Machin and Book opted to spend £320,000 on Brian Gayle—a move that left Richard fuming.

Storming into Machin's office, he erupted.

"Brian Gayle?! BRIAN GAYLE, SERIOUSLY?! You spent £320,000 on him?! Are you f*cking insane?! And what the hell is this—John Deehan?! A player-coach?! You must be fing kidding me!!!*"

Machin's expression darkened. "Mr. Richard Maddox, I suggest you watch your mouth...!"