Renaldo (70 page)

director mentioned that the coffers would be considerably fatter had the team

not paid out over one hundred thousand pounds on the transfer market the

previous summer.

An incensed Mallory Russell responded that without those two players,

the team would still be in the second division, and they would not be sitting

in their present posh surroundings discussing the future of the club in the

premier league. The dissenting director had no rebuttal.

“Now, about the expansion of the Bird Cage. Shall we hear from Mister

Hughes?” Sir Reggie smoothly shifted topics. John Hughes moved to an easel

that stood at one end of the boardroom table.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as you all are aware, my firm has been working on

the renovation and expansion of The Bird Cage for several years, always with

the anticipation that the Canaries would gain promotion to the first division.

That time has now come, and I am pleased to report that we have developed

a phased scheme of expansion that will not put undue strain on the club’s

finances.” Several of the directors responded to that comment with loud ‘here,

heres.’ Hughes didn’t miss a beat.

“The first step is to build a new, modern grandstand to replace the east

terraces.” At this point, Hughes flipped over the title page on his architectural

plans to reveal an artist’s conception of the new covered grandstand. “This

facility will accommodate fifteen thousand seated spectators, twenty luxury

boxes, office space that can be leased to other corporations, as well as the most

up-to-date sanitary and concession facilities available in all of Great Britain.”

This time, a rousing round of applause as well as ‘here heres’ filled the

room.

“I am informed that the cost of phase one will be in the range of four

million pounds. The second phase will take place when finances permit. The

major task here calls for the construction of a mirror duplication of the new

grandstand where the old west grandstand sits. The final phase will entail

renovation of the end terraces to permit full enclosure of the grounds, with a

ring of luxury boxes and the elimination of terraced standing. Total cost over

five years is projected at ten million pounds. Any questions, gentlemen?”

As if to acknowledge the oversight, it was Mallory Russell that raised her

hand.

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RENALDO

“Oh, excuse me, Miss Russell. That should have been ‘any questions,
ladies

and gentlemen?’”

“Thank you, Mr. Hughes. Your plans look most impressive. I worry about

the loss of revenue from having the present east stands under renovation when

we make our first division debut in only three and a half months. How quickly

can phase one be completed?”

“An appropriate question, to be sure, Miss Russell. We anticipate that the

club will be without the use of the east stand for the entire 1978-79 season.

Construction, if started immediately, should take somewhere close to eight

months. Allowances should be made for labor slowdowns and supply shortages,

however.”

There were many skeptical faces seated around the board table at this

point. Hughes sensed that he had to take the offensive to reassure the wavering

pinstripes.

“But there is a need to look at this project as a long-term benefit, not

only to the supporters, but to the entire community. The Isle of Dogs has

become something of an industrial wasteland, although there is much talk

about major government-induced development in the near future. This new

stadium could be the leading edge of that resurgence and accelerate a new dawn

for one of London’s most historic areas. All efforts will be made to parallel your

construction with future government-assisted projects for housing, commerce,

and transportation improvements. You will also be creating new interest in one

of the oldest football clubs in the country, and by having only a limited number

of seats available for your initial season in the first division, you will stimulate

a tremendous demand for subsequent years.”

Again, it was Mallory who responded. “The one overriding caveat that we

have, Mr. Hughes, is our ability to remain in the first division longer than our

initial season. We made it there with a combination of veterans, some of whom

are on their last legs, and enthusiastic schoolboys, who surely will not measure

up to first division standards. To make this expansion project viable, we must,

once again, open up the purse strings and acquire the talent that will enable

us to be competitive in our lofty new surroundings. Do not forget, gentlemen,

that the bottom three first division teams will find themselves back in the

second division a year from now. It is our job to find the men that will keep the

Canaries out of that particular birdbath!” The assembled suits chuckled with

amusement.

“Just where do you propose that we look for such players, Mallory?” Sir

Reggie interjected.

“Argentina, father, that’s where. In little over a month’s time, the very best

players in the world will be assembling in Buenos Aires. England’s National

Team will not be among them, as you are all well aware. The current state of

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JAMES McCREATH

our domestic football just does not measure up to world standards, gentlemen,

whether you care to admit it or not. I believe most of the first division managers

will stay at home and continue to naval gaze as is their sorry tradition. These

men will not admit to the dismal state of our national sport.” There was a muted

rumble of disagreement with the young lady’s sentiments that momentarily

filled the air. Mallory leapt at once.

“There! That is exactly the attitude that I am talking about. If it’s not

British, it just doesn’t measure up. Well, I say, horse droppings! There are

hundreds of talented players about to be showcased in the largest football

extravaganza that the world has ever seen, yet most of us are prepared to play

ostrich, with our heads in the sand. Argentina, gentlemen, is where we can find

the Canary’s future, and I wager that we will be almost alone on this mission, if

we dare to engage it.” Stunned looks lined the faces of Mallory’s counterparts.

“Do you actually propose to bring foreigners over here to play for us, Miss

Russell?” one of them questioned.

“That is precisely what I am suggestin, Mr. Horrocks. We already have five

Scots and three Irishmen on our roster, sir! What difference would a Brazilian

or a Swede make?”

“But the chaps we have now are at least of British origin. I don’t think

the paying public would tolerate seeing a bunch of foreigners in our colors.

Such a thing has never been done before. It’s preposterous,” Horrocks stated

emphatically.

“I think not, sir.” Reginald Russell was quick to come to his daughter’s

defense. “As you know, several of our nation’s finest players have already

departed for the continent because of the huge salaries that countries like Italy

are willing to pay. I feel as Mallory does, that it should not be a one-way flow of

talent. As long as they can score goals, I don’t care if it is a Peruvian, an Iranian,

or a Martian that tickles the twines for our birdies. We have nothing to lose

and, perhaps, an awful lot to gain. I will think on your suggestion, Mallory,

and report back to the board within seven days. Now, Sir Neville Strathy had

best address the terms of his bank’s most generous loan, which will enable us

to not only to build our new stadium, but also sign players the likes of which

the New York Cosmos have acquired in Péle and Beckinbauer.”

Sir Reggie sat down with a wry grin on his face, his tongue planted firmly

in his cheek. The board certainly had its work cut out for it, but Mallory’s

stimulating idea had given him a gut feeling that should they venture to

Argentina, their voyage would not be in vain.

326

Buenos Aires, Argentina. June 2, 1978.

The day of reckoning had finally arrived. A nation held its breath, for

the uncertainty of how its team would perform was at the forefront

of every Argentine heart and soul. The events immediately preceding this

day had been devastating and deadly for the host country of the World Cup

Tournament. A black cloud had fallen over the sport of football in general, and

the National Team of Argentina in particular.

Television news cameras had captured the final moments of four thugs

posing as Catalan football enthusiasts as their plans unraveled in a small

seaside town in Spain. It was in Calella, just up the Mediterranean coast from

Barcelona, that the kidnappers panicked when their car was surrounded by

an elite Spanish antiterrorist squad. Whether the detonation of their plastic

explosives was intentional or not, it blew to eternity the five occupants of the

vehicle, as well as the hopes of a World Cup championship for Argentina, in

many people’s minds.

Circumstances leading up to that cataclysmic deed began with the

announcement that an Argentine football player would take a leave of absence

from his Spanish club team to return home in preparation for the upcoming

World Cup Tournament. While this news was greeted with euphoria on the

western side of the Atlantic Ocean, on the European side, betrayal and rage

were the predominant moods in a select number of bars and cafés around

Barcelona.

Yes, Nicodemo Garcia would return to Buenos Aires in time to be the

spiritual guide for Argentina. But Spain was also about to compete in World

Cup ’78. Where did Garcia stand? For Catalonia and Spain, his adopted home,

or for Argentina, the land of his birth? Many of the more fanatical supporters

of Catalonia F.C. in Barcelona considered his brief abandonment of their

beloved team to be a breech of faith and an act of a traitor punishable by

death. Dominated and derided season after painful season by their hated cross

town nemesis F.C. Barcelona, the long-suffering Catalonia faithful could finally

sense that revenge was imminent with the transfer of Nico Garcia from the

Las Palmas club. A record amount of money had been paid for Garcia’s services

halfway through the 1977 season, and positive on-field results were instant

for the upstart Catalans. The 1978 campaign was going to be their shining

moment of glory, with Nicodemo Garcia in a starring role.

JAMES McCREATH

The only cloud on the horizon was the possibility that Garcia would forgo

an idyllic Spanish summer and return to South America to play for his country

in the World Cup. The president of Catalonia F.C. was extremely vocal in

denouncing the preparations for, and the atmosphere surrounding, Argentina

’8. Civil unrest, terrorist bombings and assassinations, economic chaos, and

a lack of facility preparedness were the constant themes used in the growing

swell of Argentina bashing. Garcia remained mute and out of the public

spotlight once his season ended in early May. Nevertheless, the international

drama continued to be played out in the committee rooms, and especially in

the media. Shaking an angry fist into a television camera, Catalonia boss Rayo

Vallencaro proclaimed that his new star would travel to Argentina “over his

dead body!”

Thus ensued a high-level tug-of-war for the services of Nicodemo Garcia.

Pressure from the Argentine FA was relentless and effective. The powers of FIFA

came down on Señor Vallencaro to release his player for the World Cup. In the

end, he would acquiesce rather than face stiff sanctions. But from the moment

that Garcia stood before the press to announce his immediate departure for

Argentina, sanity seemed to take a siesta. The player was stalked by a small

fringe element of Catalonia supporters. His taxi was run off the road en route to

Barcelona airport, and Nico Garcia became a victim of terror tactics not in his

unstable homeland, but in the very country where Señor Vallencaro had assured

him he would remain safe and unharassed. The irony was unmistakable.

For three days the kidnappers had eluded the most intense search and

rescue operation ever seen in the region. The only clue relating to the crime

had been found in the abandoned taxi, pinned to the shirt of the bullet-riddled

corpse of the driver. A handwritten note informed authorities that Nicodemo

Garcia would not be harmed. He would, however, be kept in detention until

both he and FIFA agreed that under no circumstances would the player leave

Spain. When the perpetrators and their prize tried to change hideouts on

the third night of the crisis, they were betrayed by an informer. Surrounded

by police, the fugitives panicked and were somehow blown to oblivion by

their own hand. It would be ‘the dead body’ of Nicodemo Garcia, not Señor

Vallencaro, who thousands of people would grieve over as it made its way home