The Trib (53 page)

Perhaps fittingly, it was football's own greed that created the space and necessity for agents in the first place. As the professional game began to expand, the maximum wage was introduced in 1900. Added to it, however, was the unjustifiable restraint of trade – as the British High Court ruled in 1963 – that was the ‘retain and transfer' system. This allowed the clubs undue control of contracts and wages, right down to the penny. At that stage, football was more about serfdom than stardom. In such a climate, agents disappeared from the game other than isolated instances like when Denis Compton signed a deal with Brylcreem or the more liberally-regulated Italian clubs began to sign players such as Denis Law and John Charles.

It was around this time, in the late 1950s and early 1960s, that the situation in Britain reached breaking point. Most notoriously, Manchester United – with the significant aid of Matt Busby – greatly exploited its players. It was one of the reasons John Giles left for Leeds. Along the same lines, George Eastham refused to sign a new contract with Newcastle in 1959 and requested a transfer, which the club refused. Eastham refused to play for the club again and – as the retain-and-transfer system dictated – left the game to find alternative employment. Although Newcastle eventually sanctioned Eastham's move to Arsenal in October 1960, the player brought proceedings against the club with the backing of the increasingly influential PFA. The ‘retain' elements of the system were shattered.

From there, a new world was opened up. But slowly at first. It wasn't until the explosion of commercialisation in football in the mid-1970s – largely thanks to Joao Havelange's control of FIFA and the influence of sports promotion pioneer Horst Dassler – that agents began to really flex their muscles. By the late 1980s, almost a decade before the Pandora's Box that was the Bosman ruling, the English FA were already looking to curb their power.

In many instances, agents were merely former players exacting revenge on the system that for so long exploited them. To a certain degree, that still remains the case.

As part of this article, the
Sunday Tribune
attempted to survey each of the twenty agents licensed to work in Ireland. Of the thirteen that responded, their backgrounds cover a broad spectrum. Despite those differences, the majority adhere to a broad ideal of what an agent should be and do.

Fundamentally, an agent handles a player's negotiations with clubs as well as any outside business interests such as sponsorship and image rights in order to prevent him getting exploited. Eamon McLoughlin – a former League of Ireland player for UCD who also studied sports business before getting a job in Platinum One – explains this is where many players are happy to leave it.

‘Some will negotiate their contract and just go, “Grand, see you again in two and a half years.” Other guys want to speak every day about how training's going. It mightn't be so much a job they want you to do, they just want you to stay in touch ... sometimes a younger guy, you'll get a text, “I've had a fight with my girlfriend, please ring me.”'

Andrew Cousins, another former League of Ireland player, has seen the benefit of doing so with his client, Birmingham's Jay O'Shea.

‘The day-to-day is speaking to him, speaking to his coaches. Making sure he's going well, and Jay, like a lot of Irish lads, has a great attitude. Although I think a big thing is not to get too involved – only when they want you. Sometimes what might seem the pettiest thing to an average person can really affect players. Like if you're suddenly told you're training with the reserves instead of the first team. When you are in that bubble, that can be the worst thing that can possibly happen to you. You can be depressed, lonely. That side of things comes with the day-to-day.'

Gbolahan Balogun is a trainee lawyer as well as an ex-player. One of five Nigerians among Ireland's twenty licensed agents, he has been in the country for eleven years and ‘wanted to keep his passion for the game'. Balogun represents clients across a diverse range of countries and leagues – from Britain's lower divisions to North Africa and the Middle East.

‘My day involves trying to get in touch with clubs and a lot of telephone work. I speak with scouts in a lot of different countries. For players you represent, you are almost their personal manager. I think a lot of that is overlooked. You can also go a whole year without signing any player or getting any movement and people don't hear about that. A player might have to go to Dubai but still not get a move at the end ... You also have to take out indemnity insurance, which is very expensive.'

William McSorley represents a number of players in the top divisions either side of the border as well as a goalkeeper in League One. He explains, though, that a lot of his work consists of agents from abroad ringing for advice or to consult. In other words, lubricating transfers.

It was that side of the industry Gary Neville appeared critical of when he called for ‘the removal of agents from the game' in 2007, claiming that players didn't ‘need people taking hundreds of thousands of pounds off them, just good advice from a solicitor or an accountant'.

That is exactly why there is now a licensing exam, however. As Balogun explains, ‘It is not something that you just go and pass. It is everything about football; there are a lot of legal issues and technical questions. Of sixty going, maybe only two pass.'

Not that the exam is flawless. Peter Auf der Heyde is a South African living in Cork who sat the exam in order to help the career of a talented fifteen-year-old compatriot who stayed with his family. Although he passed the exam, he noticed a discrepancy when one of his answers was marked wrong. The question regarded a complicated issue regarding the selection of a Saudi player in Australia. ‘I phoned FIFA and pointed out why they were wrong. The exam hadn't taken into consideration that Australia and Saudi Arabia were now part of the same confederation. Although they said I could have the marks, they still didn't have the courage to inform the national associations of this. And that's an indication.'

Auf der Heyde feels this minor matter is just the tip of an iceberg when it comes to the general laxness in policing either agents or corruption in football. As the football consultant and scout Tor-Kristian Karlsen recently told the BBC, ‘The agent business is like the Wild West. It's messy and too time-consuming for FIFA to police and too bureaucratic.' Indeed, the world body is currently debating whether to de-regulate agents again, since an estimated 70 per cent of international transfers are completed with unlicensed agents. In some cases this is relatively innocent. Many representatives are family members. In other instances, McLoughlin explains, ‘A lot of people develop a relationship with a player and suddenly realise they can make money off the back of him. They fall into it and think it's simple, that there's no skill-set – if that is the right phrase.'

Neither the actual skills required nor the exam can prepare agents for some player requests though. An English agent tells the story of a colleague attempting to sign up a middle-tier Premier League player. The clincher, however, was odd.

‘Will you do me Tesco's?'

‘Sorry?'

‘You know, me shopping?'

‘We've had that before,' McLoughlin admits. ‘There was one high-profile Irish player. He turned around and said, “Will you go and get me tickets for a concert?” We told him to go and jump. We don't do that. A lot of players just want a yes-man. Or they just want someone who's going to be their best friend. And I found out the hard way, players will say they're your best friend, and then somebody will come along with a better offer.'

Often, there's a lot of exaggeration behind better offers. Indeed, for certain members of the profession, their entire career is one long game of brinkmanship. That's what many enjoy. The very best agents – the super-agents – legitimately have the contacts. The very worst – in the truest sense of the word – invent them. That's something Cousins has found to be the case both in his old life as a young player and his new life as an agent.

‘When I was young and naïve and let go by Leeds, lots of agents wouldn't answer my call when I really needed one. They string you along. Then one agent told me he had a club lined up for me for the 2 January. He never said who. I went back over straight after Christmas, training every day on my own. So 2 January came, no phonecall. Never heard from him again. That stuff happens a lot.

‘Another time I was over at a Premier League game and there were six or seven fellas lined up outside the manager's office. It was like a competition to see who had the loudest suit. I started laughing. But maybe they were laughing at me. I'm not in it for that. I think that's a lot of it, people will pretend to be more than what they are. I mean, I can spin a story saying me and Alex McLeish are great friends. When really, I could ring him, but we'd only speak about Jay. That's the long and short of it. But often I've seen agents tell a player they know someone in the game well ... then the player sees them introduce themselves to that same person for the first time.'

It's that alternative element of brinkmanship that can also bring those into the game who are merely after a fast buck. ‘There's a lot of people that do live up to the image, that people would say are parasites,' McLoughlin says. ‘They might view the player as an asset and work with him for one year rather than develop something over the course of his career as we would try to do.'

With reference to the Rooney situation, the question was put to the agents interviewed: would you actually agitate your client for a transfer? Cousins said no, that he would only take into account the players' happiness.

Here, however, Balogun adopts a much more dispassionate view. ‘A player is a marketable commodity. Your job is to look after their interest. People don't understand this. If I feel my player can have better options elsewhere it is my responsibility to look for the best deal and tell them. Also, you cannot tell a player what to do. Most are over eighteen. An agent is like a lawyer. You merely tell your client what all the options are. It would be irresponsible to not do that.'

McLoughlin, to a certain extent, can see that viewpoint. ‘We don't really know the ins and outs of the Stretford-Rooney situation, or what his strategy was so it's impossible to comment. The thing about it is though, the only person Stretford has to answer to is his client and not the 100 million Man United fans.'

It's perhaps a reflection of the inherent problems football faces that so many more people will get self-righteously angry about that acceptable side of agency work, rather than the corruption that's rife elsewhere in the business.

The loss of a brother, cousin and best friend have only emboldened Noel O'Leary to approach football as life – with fearless resolve.

19 August 2007

F
or a moment Noel O'Leary was sure he'd got away with it. It was down in Tralee on a shitty wet Saturday night, Kerry had just beaten them, and towards the end he'd snapped. The Kerry boys had been winding him up all night and then Tomás Ó Sé kicked the ball at him and O'Leary had gone and eyeballed him, lashed out, and picked up his second yellow card for his troubles. As he was walking into the dressing room tunnel, Billy Morgan tapped him on the back and half-grinned, ‘Well done, Noel!' At that, inwardly, O'Leary smiled too. Someone understood. If anyone could, it was Billy. The sight of that green and gold jersey, the passion, the fury; sure he knew all about it himself.

And then? Well then when they were inside, Morgan closed the door and proceeded to give his wing back, as O'Leary so eloquently puts it, ‘an unmerciful fecking'. In front of everyone. He shakes his head and grimaces bashfully at the memory, thought and accusation. Too fiery and volatile – even by Morgan standards. ‘But he was dead right too,' says O'Leary. ‘I was a bit mad that night. A rush of blood to the head.'

Admit it. It's how you know him, perceive him. There mightn't be a better attacking wing-back left in this year's Championship or anyone on the Cork team more adept at playing that ball into Michael Cussen, but to you, he's that serial yellow-carder who keeps getting into scrapes. He'll probably take up Geraghty today and, well, it's hard to see both of them lasting the distance. But, as Dan might say, if you don't know him, don't judge him.

He's from a place called Cill na Martra, the second smallest parish in the biggest county in Ireland, a few miles outside Macroom, off the road to Ballyvourney, but as a kid he developed a passion for West Cork football and West Cork footballers more than fifty miles down the road. There was Castlehaven and Tompkins and Cahalane. And even though they were junior, there was Urhan and Ciaran O'Sullivan too. He remembers going with his father Donal as a twelve-year-old to see them play Midleton in a county junior championship replay in 1992 in Ballingeary.