It was a perfectly natural and understandable initial impulse. They fancied themselves as entrepreneurs, wanting to make their money work for them or something of that nature. It’s hardly surprising that when you’re regularly paid in millions you become increasingly loathe to let it sit there and do nothing whatsoever. They were being good and clever boys, wanting to innovate and invest and make a go of it while the cash was still happily flooding in (even I know that knees don’t last forever in the world of competitive ball kicking. I’m not sure that was the correct term for it).
It’s a terrible shame that they simply didn’t go the right way about it. They purchased a lovely little estate, a decent house with rolling gardens and that. Their cunning plan was to chop it up into nicely sized apartments and convert the whole thing into a top flight care home. They painted it, staffed it and advertised in all the proper places. Then the problems began. It all began when they mistakenly purchased the wrong sort of jelly. They very nearly had a full blown riot on their hands. When they thought they’d got the whole matter very neatly settled down, things went from bad to worse.
I won’t go into the rather mischievous things that went down. I don’t know whether the residents were merely unhappy to be there or began to resent the fortunes of the men at the top. Perhaps they were disgruntled former fans or even rival supporters. Whatever it was that made them so unsatisfied, it led them to all manner of frightfully rebellious behaviour. It might have all been averted if the athletes had invested in a proper manager rather than playing at being big men. It was a real old bungle plain and simple and it’s a chapter we all really ought to move on from, if you don’t mind too awfully.