by Chris Harris
Promotion changed everything at Denham Phoenix, suddenly charm and DIY weren’t enough.Big Mal was fading under the pressure, and Greg knew the club needed new hands on the wheel.Then came Catherine Brown, turning his careful plans, and his focus, unexpectedly off course.As the club stepped up a level, so did the stakes for everyone involved, Gregg most of all.
After the chaos of promotion and that bruising week, where Big Mal scrambled together the ground improvement quotes, Greg Lyons found himself lying awake at night wondering what would actually happen to Mal, his old friend, now that Denham Phoenix FC were stepping into the National non-league pyramid. The days of him muddling through with charm, paintbrushes and a bar order were gone. The club now needed structure, paperwork, compliance and, crucially, someone who didn’t break out in a rash at the word ‘deadlines.’ Big Mal had risen to the occasion, reluctantly, getting the quotes, but even Gregg sensed it had nearly finished him off. The question hung quietly in the background, was Tony ‘Economical’ Pemberton, the local builder, legendary tight fisted grafter, non-league obsessive and former director of Seaford FC, that Gregg had befriended, about to become the Plan B that Big Mal, Greg believed, never wanted. But the club suddenly needed?
One and a half miles away, Lewes FC stood in stark contrast. Far too big to be considered ‘local rivals,’ they instead served as a cautionary tale, proof, through their rank incompetence, of how badly club ownership could go wrong. Since becoming fan-owned, they had become the worst sort of advertisement for it, an organisational disaster facing mounting debts, clinging on for outside investment. Gregg loved reading Lewes FC’s outstanding fanzine The Rights of Fans, which essentially took the piss out of the running of the place. But he also learned from it. Running his own business had taught him the importance of having a Plan B and listening to people’s experiences, as football was such an erratic business. They hadn’t done that at Lewes FC.
For the last couple of years Greg had become friendly with Economical Tony, whom he had met through his car dealership. Their shared interest in non-league football cemented the friendship. A while back Greg had floated the idea that Tony might join him in running Denham Phoenix. He’d even offered him a place on a board he planned to form if the club were promoted into the National non-league structure. That time had arrived, and Economical Tony had jumped at the chance to become a director.
At that time, the ground was little more than a large clubhouse and some temporary metal fencing, with a gap for paying customers. One side was fenced off because of the road, the other two because of deep ditches. It was obvious that if the club were going to progress, significant money needed to be spent. Greg liked Economical Tony’s style, although he was incredibly tight fisted, and he knew he wouldn’t get blood out of a stone. However, he also knew Tony had the connections, experience and time to commit to a club he had grown unexpectedly fond of, and was happy to give his time for free, as long as his wallet was not compromised.
Economical Tony was delighted to be invited onto the board. He had been ousted from Seaford FC’s board because of that unwillingness to put his hands in his pockets, an expectation at that level, and here he was instead, being offered a step up. Seaford were now a division below in the Sussex Premiership, and Denham was a more progressive club, with Greg valuing the time and expertise of directors rather than the ability to write a last minute cheque for unexpected liabilities, a consistent pitfall of football club governance.
Meanwhile, Big Mal’s love life had been going badly. Big Mal’s love life was always going badly. He took his failings in that department with a shrug. But as the jubilation of promotion faded, Greg sensed that Big Mal had met someone, and this time had been dumped by someone who was special. He seemed really crestfallen. The last thing Greg wanted was to kick him while he was down by suggesting that Economical Tony, who had already volunteered to facilitate the work, should take over.
With one of the four weeks before the compliance deadline already gone, and with no noticeable changes beyond a long list of excuses about why builders had not shown up, now was the time for that conversation.
They met at the end of that week in The Red Lion, chatting with Martin the landlord and postponing the inevitable. But a few pints can work wonders in these situations as they gradually eased into the task in hand.
‘Look Greg,’ Mal said, ‘I’ve loved every minute of the Phoenix, but mate, I’m out. I just can’t be doing all this upgrading work. I know it’s short notice, but can’t Economical oversee it? I know you’ll feel let down, and I’ll still go to games and help out if you’re desperate, but I understand you’ll feel let down by me.’
Greg could hardly believe his luck. In an instant, he went from preparing to tell Mal he was being replaced and consoling him over his latest girlfriend fiasco, to working out how to keep him still happily involved in the day to day running of the club.
‘Mal, the last thing I want is for you to leave. I’ve been thinking about where I need more volunteers, and you get on with everyone. How would you feel about sourcing and overseeing the volunteers instead?’
‘Oh great, absolutely amazing,’ said Mal. ‘I love working with all these people. I’ll definitely need a few more next season, and I’ve already tested the waters with a few over beers.’ He’d dodged a bullet and got a promotion and Gregg had navigated a potential banana skin successfully.
What a relief. In a single conversation, the club moved from Greg being in charge and Big Mal doing the donkey work to Greg still being in charge and Big Mal doing even more donkey work. Greg didn’t think of it in an opportunistic way, Big Mal was the life and soul of the club, respected by fans and volunteers alike, and, he reasoned with himself in his usual slightly unreasonable way, far better suited to something constructive in his life rather than focusing on the emotional wreckage that was, and always had been, his love life.
The Monday afterwards, Greg was already well chuffed with the day. He’d just come out of a meeting with his accountant, another uplifting session of encouraging figures that reassured him, a) he was a very wealthy businessman, b) he had a strong financial backbone to invest, properly, not squander, in Denham Phoenix FC. With £50,000 already committed for ground improvements, he was due later that week to sit down with manager Hilairio Vincent, who was currently recharging his batteries in the Bahamas. Quite how a postman, and a poorly paid manager at Denham Phoenix FC, could afford a Caribbean break was of no concern to Greg. What mattered was the size of next season’s playing budget, and that would depend entirely on what other clubs in the Welex Waste Products League Division 3 were spending.
In non-league football, the rule of thumb is brutal, with every promotion you realistically need to double your budget, just to stay competitive. At the lower rungs where Denham Phoenix still operated, if you wanted to push for the play-offs, you often had to triple it. With £50,000 already earmarked for ground improvements and a tripled playing budget requiring around another £100,000, plus an extra £50,000 for ‘odds and sods,’ Greg calculated he needed to find £200,000. For Gregg Lyons, this posed no real problem. He’d recently acquired another fading car dealership and had parachuted in some of his most trusted operatives to turbo charge the new venture, confident it would generate a healthy stream of fresh revenue within weeks.
The trick with car dealerships these days, Greg mused, was staying on top of online advertising. Having grown up with the internet and social media, he excelled at it. While his contemporaries struggled with the digital landscape, he dominated it, leaving rival dealers for dust in the modern era of car sales.
After wrapping up the meeting with his accountant, Greg drove over to what was now proudly called Den Park. In stark contrast to the shambles of Big Mal’s week-long attempt at project management, the ground was a hive of activity. Economical was striding around purposefully, counting every delivery and every plank of timber in his usual meticulous, tight fisted fashion. It was, Greg thought, the first time in weeks that the club actually looked like one preparing for life at the next level.
Greg was not like the directors of Lewes Football Club, he actually went to away games. He reasoned that if you want to understand how non-league football clubs work, you have to visit other non-league football clubs. It was a very simple football lesson, beyond the capabilities of Lewes, but one that didn’t require much common sense. And because he enjoyed having a few beers with Big Mal, he had, over the last few years, begun to discover what really makes these clubs tick.
He always got first hand experience because many of these clubs welcomed visiting officials. They liked the moment of shared importance. Greg and Big Mal found that part tedious, but it gave Greg the chance to speak to owners and directors who were genuinely football minded, not just showboating. It was a valuable insight into who he might want, and who he should avoid, as the club grew as a club director. Assuming it grew at all, but still living off the adrenaline from last season, Greg’s ambitions were high.
To achieve what he wanted, he knew he couldn’t run a large retail business and a football club simultaneously. Just as he’d been willing to sideline one of his best friends to improve the club’s operations, he was also willing to bring in new people. He was not precious and had no ego when it came to progression.
Football boards at any level, county league to Premier League, are usually a mix of diehard supporters like Steve Parish at Crystal Palace or Tony Bloom at Brighton, people driven by what they can do for the club, and those driven by what the club can do for them through association, networking and connections.
People often surprised Greg Lyons by how eager they were to join the emerging board of Denham Phoenix FC. But the upward trajectory of success attracts all sorts of people for all sorts of reasons. For most small business owners in the village and in Lewes, it wasn’t really about football at all. It was about profile and ego, the instant boost in status that came from being associated with the club everyone was talking about.
A board seat meant your name was in the programme, your business was mentioned over the tannoy, and you could wander around on matchdays looking important without actually doing anything. You can tell at a non-league football club if, for instance, three directors are in attendance, as there will be three people in a tie walking around, madly in love with themselves. Being a club director carried weight at the golf club, in The Red Lion, in certain social circles, and most of all on Facebook, where people would argue for hours about decisions you hadn’t even made yet.
One of the real allures lay in the chaos. Non-league football has a magnetic pull for people who secretly enjoyed being at the centre of a storm with no real consequences. Joining the board meant access to gossip, influence over signings, the chance to say ‘I’ll sort that lot out’ and believe it for a couple of weeks, with the buck stopping with the chairman when it all became too much work. Builders, car dealers and all sorts of small business owners all saw opportunity, networking, favours, extra business, and the feeling of having a say in something that mattered to the community, even when only fifty people turned up on a wet Tuesday night. Status was in the eye of the beholder. Denham Phoenix FC offered them drama, importance and belonging. For many, that was enough to sign up for a front row seat in the newest and most unpredictable soap opera in Sussex football. Gregg had other ideas, they had to offer something and genuinely buy into the project.
But for Greg, always alert to opportunity and with an unnerving habit of killing two birds with one stone, another idea began to take shape. The club needed someone to oversee catering, and he also sensed a chance to create a modest in-house romance by adding a potential love interest to the board. Note, overseeing catering, number one requirement, romance is a possible but not necessary by-product. Catherine Brown had always been a Denham beauty, and she was smart, too. She had once been the local cleaner, but had landed on her feet by opening the coffee shop Heaven Is a Percolator, which had quickly expanded into a unit in Charlie Egham’s garden centre warehouse, literally across the road from Den Park.
Greg had never struggled with the opposite sex. With his confidence, banter and comfortable lifestyle, things usually came easily. He had known Catherine for years but had never imagined anything beyond polite friendship, he felt quietly ashamed to admit to himself that he had once dismissed the idea because she had been a cleaner. Now, as an emerging businesswoman who came to matches and often chatted with him, he found himself seeing her differently, someone he genuinely liked, someone who might even be a potential Mrs Lyons.
He arranged to meet Catherine on a Wednesday evening. He assumed, perhaps too confidently, that this was a situation in which he could not fail. He reminded himself to stay grounded, not to come across as self entitled or arrogant. But the evening quickly drifted off course. As they talked, he noticed a depth to Catherine he hadn’t appreciated before, but also a stiffness and distance that surprised him. She was not the warm, lively version of herself he saw on matchdays. He tried, gently at first, then with greater effort, to bring her out of her shell, hoping for the easy rapport he had expected. She stayed on soft drinks, remained politely reserved, and he, attempting to fill the gaps, drank too much and embarrassed himself.
The denouement came later in a text message.
‘Hey Greg, thanks for the invite to join the board. I’ve spoken to my boyfriend Charlie and he thinks it’s a great idea. I think it’s amazing you’re going to set up a women’s team, and an under-18s the boys can trial for. See you at 2 tomorrow.’
Even the luckiest people have bad days. Greg had failed to impress Catherine, discovered she had a boyfriend, and that the boyfriend was the quietly irritating Charlie Egham, and now he had committed the club to setting up both a women’s team and an under-18s side, with all the work that entailed. Catherine had clearly seen the evening as a business meeting.
Still, he reasoned, none of the problems were insurmountable. A women’s team would look good for the club, and Hilairio Vincent had already told him an under 18s squad was essential. Catherine could oversee catering, and she would do it for free. He awarded himself a private unwarranted five star review anyway. Besides, Lucy Lotwell from Denham Financial Services was still single, willing to help out at the club with finance, and, as he understood it, possibly interested in him. Greg didn’t struggle to find partners; he simply thought life would be far more convenient if the next one happened to be involved with the football club too.
He’d forgotten entirely that he’d arranged to meet Catherine at 2:00. That meeting turned out to be fortuitous. Gavin Neville had been the groundsman at The Den since the days when it was still a rugby club, a huge man, a heroic drinker and smoker, and an occasional landscape gardener. It had never been a question of if something unpleasant might happen, only when. This time it manifested as a minor stroke.
So, after Greg read Catherine’s email, the next message he opened was from Gavin himself, announcing he would have to step back from his duties while he attempted both a recovery and the herculean task of giving up drinking and smoking.
In all honesty, Greg was a little put out when Catherine arrived with her partner. Especially when he realised the man was both annoyingly good looking and, worse still, clever. But as Greg spoke to him, something shifted. A glint appeared in his eye.
Charlie was full of questions: the ground, the pitch, drainage, soil compaction, tree roots along the east side, waterlogging near where Greg hoped the stand would eventually be, he wanted to understand everything. And within six hours of Gavin’s announcement of a temporary hiatus from duties, Charlie Egham had become his temporary replacement.
Greg didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He kept stumbling into good fortune, one stroke (pardon the pun) of good luck after another.
When Greg stood a little apart from the others, Economical, Catherine, Big Mal, and Charlie, he felt an unexpected swell of pride. All four were going to be invaluable assets to Denham Phoenix FC. Watching them now, animated and chatting as if they’d known each other for years, he could hardly believe his luck. Four bright, grounded people, all buying into his vision for the club and for the wider community.
He was under no illusions, though. There was a long road ahead. The meeting with Lucy Lotwell still loomed, and one truth was becoming painfully clear, his current business secretary, perfectly capable at Sussex League level, simply wasn’t equipped for the rising tide of bureaucracy that came with Welex Waste Products Division 3. He’d need a part timer, someone sharp, organised, and unafraid of paperwork.
Marketing could wait. It mattered, of course, and eventually it would be essential. But his business itself was flying, and any revenue spin offs from marketing, while welcome, were hardly make or break. The foundation was solid. The momentum was real. And with this group around him, Greg finally felt he wasn’t building the future of Denham Phoenix FC alone.
Next time, Hilairio Vincent throws a spanner in the works, the Lucy Lotwell date, upgrading works continue, Economical comes up with a very economical method of building the ground’s first stand, and all sorts of other shenanigans.
NonLeagueFootball #FootballFiction #DenhamPhoenixFC #SussexFootball #SerialStory
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The Rights of Fans. 