Randy

Meeting with the chairman of Hampton Harriers was by no means a trivial task. Eccentric American tycoon Randy Hicks never left his home state of Iowa - "If God had meant for us to travel, we'd have been born with passports," he once remarked during a surprisingly sober conversation.

Like many American billionaires, Randy had made his money through oil. He'd invested heavily in the late nineties, when crude oil was trading for below $20 a barrel; with prices now over $100 a barrel, his finances were booming. In fact, he was buying so much oil that he started a very successful sideline in manufacturing oil drums.

Although the global price of oil was generally still heading upwards, there was enough uncertainty in the market that businessmen were beginning to look for more reliable investments - such as sports teams.

Investing in sports didn't really draw on Randy's strongest traits. He was a cold profiteer at heart; as with any other business, if an investment wasn't proving profitable, he would dump it at the earliest opportunity. Not so important if you're talking about oil, but for a professional sports team, the withdrawl of funding would often signify the beginning of the end.

So it was with a great deal of trepidation that I headed to Iowa for my first meeting with our head honcho. After the blunt note that I had received from his office, I assumed - correctly - that he'd heard about our club's precarious financial state.

Walking through the gates of Hicks House, and up to its palacial front doors, it was clear that Randy wasn't afraid to splash the cash. He was well known for his spoilt-child attitude, always wanting to get his hands on the latest craze or fad. Rumour has it that one of the garages at Hicks House is crammed full with a personalised fleet of Sinclair C5s. Similar eyebrows had been raised when he first made his investment in the then-unknown Hampton Harriers; but more about that story another day.

Walking up the marble steps to Randy's office, I was greeted by the sight of the man himself stood at the top, wearing only a towel, puffing on a cigar. "Neil, great to see you," he said, "Step into the sun lounge, and let's get down to business."

He wasn't fooling around. Before I'd taken my seat, he announced: "Look, we need to make sweeping changes. Not small, half-baked changes. Big changes. I've seen the balance sheet, and it's not pretty."

"That's right, Mr Hicks, but if you take a look at the 28-day projections..."

"Screw the 28-day projections!" he scoffed. "We're losing fifty thousand a day! Do you know what 28 times fifty thousand is?"

I didn't.

"We're blowing cash all over the shop, and this is where it stops. I invested in Hampton to make it the biggest franchise in the whole of England, to make Hampton into a team of world-beaters, one which could rival the likes of the Yankees, the Mets, the Red Sox."

"And there's still time, sir. The season kicks off in a couple of days, and -"

"We need big names, Neil. Huge, star players which will draw in the crowds and generate huge merchandising sales. This big signing of yours - Pedersen - is he the man to do it? Is he a big home-run slogger?"

It was at about this time that I realised that Randy had absolutely no idea what the team did. The investment had been presented to him as a straight money-making venture, and he hadn't taken the time to read the small print. Or the large print, it seemed.

"Well, actually Mr Hicks, Hampton aren't a baseball team. We're a football team."

Randy let out a bellowing roar. "Oh, I'm sorry man, how foolish of me. There I was, blabbering away, and you were sitting there thinking I was a prize idiot."

I kept awkwardly silent.

"Well, never you mind," he continued. "If it's football you play, I've got just the contacts that you need. Let me just make a quick phonecall to an old friend of mine."

Randy picked up the telephone, and within seconds he was connected to his old friend. "Chet, my man, great to talk to you," he said. "Listen, I've got a good friend of mine here from England. He's starting a huge new football franchise, and he's after some star talent, I was wondering if you had any free agents on your books right now? ...Ah-ha, that's fantastic." He gave me a wink and a thumbs-up, before continuing. "Yes... yes... Okay, gotcha. Yeah, an all-star quarterback is just what we're looking for."

I slapped my forehead in frustration. "Actually, Mr Hicks..."

He brushed away my objection, continuing his conversation. "Fantastic. Yes, book him onto a plane to London immediately. ...His family? Yeah, book them on too. And buy them a house to live in. Great stuff. I'll catch you later." He put down the phone. "Now, where were we?"

This was a conversation which would take some undoing.

Neil's note: Apologies to fans of Aston Villa and Liverpool - as they say in the film credits, any resemblence to real-life persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental ;)