Vlad the Impaler is living out every fan's dream

Sue Mott

What can you say in praise of Vladimir Romanov? Obviously, something very short. "I like your tie," for instance. On the other hand, this former Soviet submarine rating with dictatorial tendencies, interfering proclivities and Lithuanian Litas (that's their money) by the bundle is living a football fans' dream.

He knows what it feels like to walk into a dressing room, hold up his hand, command a terrified silence and then threaten to sell all the players in a job lot to Kilmarnock. It wasn't quite like that at Heart of Midlothian, his latest vessel, but not very far away either. Determined that they were not flying high enough in the Scottish Premier League, he told the players he would ship them out if they did not beat Dunfermline on Saturday. They didn't. Kilmarnock can expect an influx.

Not really, of course. Romanov didn't mean it. He was cross and impetuous, as perhaps Soviet sub sailors, working for the KGB, are apt to be when not receiving their own way. You can only imagine him in that previous life. "Periscope up, comrade! You call that up? All I can see is sea! You should get out."

"But it's wet out there."

Wolfish smile. "I know."

advertisement

The perils of British clubs embracing foreign owners are embodied in the life and torrid times of Vlad the Impaler. Hearts won the Scottish Cup, qualified for the Champions League and finished second in the League. Fine players have been enticed to the club like Takis Fyssas and, arguably, the best goalkeeper in Britain, Craig Gordon.

But there is the little downside. He can't help himself. His managers are not managers, they are puppets of the state. They have come and gone in chaotic order, including George Burley, Graham Rix, Valdas Ivanauskas (who disappeared citing a health problem) and acting head coach, Eduard Malofeev. The players are bewildered to the point of insurrection, three of them holding a press conference last week to announce the decline of morale and significant unrest.

Upon hearing of this mutiny and being confronted by the press, Vlad fled away in the back of an Audi. He has now apparently pledged silence for a month, which only those who believe in fairies and Gordon Brown's new school sport initiative would credit.

Romanov is what happens when an absolute martinet with money gets hold of a football club. Fit and proper person, in whose estimation? Possibly the sub-standard Lithuanians he keeps foisting on the team are on his side but the rebellious Scots on the roster, the Rambo Jambos, have clearly had enough.

It is an absolute disaster area but … there is definitely a but. While we can all be appalled at his terrible tactical tyranny, there is also a sneaking admiration, even jealousy, for a chairman who can put his mouth where his money is.

Chairmen are supposed to be rich, seen and not heard. When Terry Brown, the chairman of West Ham United, allegedly raided the dressing room to tell the players they were no better than a "pub team" after their eighth successive defeat, the story had to be hotly denied. It would undermine Alan Pardew's management, it was said. Yet Pardew's management was being well undermined already by the dandyish likes of Nigel Reo-Coker, whose work ethic has bordered on comatose. And he's the captain.

A number of players every weekend are an embarrassment to pub teams everywhere, with their misplaced passes, muddled thinking and missed open goals. Well may Tommy Smith of Watford hold his head in his hands for missing an open goal from four yards out.

And yet the dear old chairmen are supposed to keep shelling out to keep the hapless wretches in Hummers and the poor old fans are supposed to keep the praise pouring from the stand.

If, for one brief moment, however madly, a peremptory Russian nabob reminded players they actually have a responsibility in this business, it was rather a wonderful thing.

Taken from telegraph.co.uk