Exposed at the Back (12 page)

High Pressure

Steinar had to hold the phone away from his ear.

‘What on earth was that?’ asked his friend Bjørnar.

‘That was the mother of the football player I’m going to represent. She’s somewhat sceptical of football agents. She recently chucked out one by the name of Ola Bugge, who was advising her boy to leave school, as it was it distracting him from his football.’

‘And his father’s the one who was arrested for killing Arild Golden?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And you’ve got to make sure the boy doesn’t sign with any other agents?’

‘Yup.’

‘Doesn’t sound like it’ll be too difficult,’ said Bjørnar, glancing over at Steinar, who had to break a smile. They were in the fast lane on the E6, heading to the Romerike district, north of Oslo, and to the home of the Second Division club FK Framfor.

‘Since when have you been interested in astroturf?’ asked Steinar.

‘Ståle’s condition made my interest grow, but I’ve had plenty of patients with torn ligaments and other serious sports injuries that could be related to the playing surface.’

‘Have any been from other sports too?’

‘Handball. Rubber surfaces have a much higher injury rate than wooden floors, especially with young girls. But the worst cases are with artificial turf. Just look at the shock pads.’

‘What are they?’

‘They’re the thin rubber underlays beneath the turf that make the pitch softer. They lessen the impact, especially on the knees and the hips, but they’re expensive. And nobody’s got exclusive rights to the product, so there’s nobody putting pressure on the NFF, ergo no
requirement to use shock pads. Even though the long-term injuries would be seriously decreased.’

‘How come?’

‘Money, as always. So many young people are being allowed to spend so much of their time on surfaces that could be directly harming their health, with no proper studies being done on how this affects their bodies in the long term. Cancer and lung problems are one thing, but I’m afraid we might see plenty of people needing knee and hip replacements 20–30 years from now.’

The turning for the pitch came a short distance after a Shell petrol station. The road led onto a large flat expanse of gravel with goals at each end. Next to it was a synthetic grass pitch, the pavilion in between. A small wood and a winding river surrounded the site.

They parked outside the pavilion and the club’s chairman, Asgeir Kringlebotn, came out to greet them.

Kringlebotn was wearing grey tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt advertising the club’s soccer school. His nose was far too large and far too red. He led them into the club room.

They sat down on a fabric sofa, with its old cushions sagging exactly where you might expect. Steinar slid down into one of the hollows. The walls were covered with treated pinewood panels, and old certificates told stories of local championships and triumphs in age-group tournaments.

A plate of freshly baked heart-shaped waffles was carried in, together with a pot of coffee. Steinar took a bite. They were fantastically brittle, with traces of the traditional sour cream. The coffee was burnt and as strong as dynamite, exactly how it gets after too many hours spent in the coffeemaker.

‘So, tell me gentlemen, where would you have put the artificial pitch?’ asked Kringlebotn, after having decked a waffle with strawberry jam and brown cheese.

Steinar and Bjørnar looked at each other. Kringlebotn went on. ‘Out there we used to have the best grass pitch in Norway, but more and more people wanted to practise in winter. We needed an artificial pitch, and space wasn’t a problem. All we had to do was roll out the astroturf on top of the gravel pitch. In the autumn of 2004 we had an inspection from the NFF, from their facilities manager Birger Holme, and he promised us funding on one condition, that the artificial pitch was laid on top of the grass one.’

‘But doesn’t it take a lot more groundwork to lay it on grass than on gravel?’ asked Steinar.

‘Yes.’

‘So why should you destroy the grass pitch?’

‘The answer the NFF gave us was how frequently it would be used. They want all grass pitches to be replaced because, in theory, gravel pitches are more useful in winter.’

‘In theory?’

‘Try to get the young ones to practise on gravel. Nobody wants to do that anymore, so the club will soon need a second artificial pitch. We have to get rid of the real grass. It’s the real grass that’s the competition.’

‘So you mean the NFF is deliberately forcing clubs to switch to artificial turf?’

‘Does that surprise you? It’s in the media all the time. The NFF want to have a longer season. In 1993 the championship started on 1 May, but in a few years we’ll be playing in February, because this forces the clubs to switch to artificial turf. Did you hear what happened with Ullensaker/Kisa a few seasons back?’

‘No.’

‘They were about to play their opening match in the Second Division, but the grass pitch was covered with snow. So the team suggested that they could play on the astroturf next to their normal pitch. It was fine by their opponents, but the NFF wouldn’t let them. They preferred them to postpone the match.’

‘Why?’

‘The clubs are supposed to play all their matches on the same pitch. Of course, they should be allowed to play their first and last few matches on synthetic grass, and then use real grass in the middle of summer, but the NFF wanted to dispose with the option of natural turf. And it’s working. Now Ullensaker/Kisa has a new stadium with artificial grass. Until I was sacked from the NFF, I was also part of the drive to introduce astroturf to Norway, but it was always intended to be an alternative for the winter.’

‘You were sacked?’

‘I probably argued a bit too much with the association president, it’s a long time ago now.’

‘Do you think artificial grass will take over completely?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s even come to the point where the NFF has agreed, in principle, that there should be astroturf at Ullevaal. The
national stadium. We’ll be the laughing stock of international football. Brazil, England, Germany and the other big countries won’t even pick up the phone in the future when we ask to play friendlies.’

‘Aren’t there any other international pitches with artificial turf?’

‘The best known is probably the Luzhniki Stadium in Moscow. But when the Champions League final was going to be played there, the surface wasn’t good enough any more. UEFA insisted that the artificial turf would have to be replaced with natural grass for the final, but afterwards they went back to the artificial stuff.’

‘They replaced the whole pitch just for one game?’

‘Ironically the final was decided when Chelsea’s John Terry slipped and missed his crucial penalty. The turf hadn’t stuck properly.’

‘What do you think will be the next thing?’ asked Steinar.

‘Most of all the NFF would like us to play indoors. Soon there will only be indoor pitches in the top division, mark my words. It was Golden’s last stroke of genius before he was taken out.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He bought the company that has a monopoly on building sports halls in Norway. It gave him yet another weapon in his armoury of coercion.’

‘Coercion?’

‘Golden built his empire through coercion. He pressured NFF executives to stop research, he forced new players on unwilling club managers and forced building projects on politicians who were inclined to leave things as they were. He put together a database with dirt on every single decision-maker, at club level, at the level of the association and in politics.’

‘How did he get his information?’

‘I’ve heard that he had people whose only job was to get this information for him.’

That would be Vlad Vidić, thought Steinar. ‘What kind of information?’

‘I don’t know exactly what kind of coercion tactics we’re talking about, but Birger Holme did whatever Golden said, and if anybody tried to bypass his system they’d end up at the bottom of the pile. Golden decided where the synthetic turf would go and who’d lay it.’

Kringlebotn took them out and across the warm, rock-solid carpet of artificial grass. The tarmac could be seen through the turf in several spots, parts of the penalty box were missing, and most of the rubber
was in black mounds around the pitch.

‘Our artificial turf had to be replaced just three years after it had been installed. And in 2008, the Softgrass company laid six artificial pitches in Akershus County. Today they’re all useless. All the clubs have complained about the playing surfaces, but it turns out to be difficult to reslove. Softgrass is a subsidiary of Golden Boys.’

‘But how can a company’s reputation survive six useless pitches in one year?’

‘The lowest bid wins, quality doesn’t matter. The politicians can boast about making investments for the community, but they want to do it as cheaply as possible. So that means no shock pads, the worst kind of turf and pitches that are getting narrower all the time. Altogether this means enormously increased injury risks.’

Bjørnar looked at Steinar and raised an eyebrow. Kringlebotn asked them to follow him across the artificial pitch into the small wooded area where the ground sloped towards the river. Behind a shed, in which the club kept balls, cones and other training gear, there were huge quantities of rolled-up synthetic turf.

‘This is our artificial pitch from 2005. Made by the same company, except it was called Topgrass then. A few days ago, there was somebody from Friends of the Earth here, who said there might be poisonous substances leaking into the river. But we can’t get rid of the bloody stuff. No refuse tip will take it.’

‘Do you know if anybody tried to take Golden’s monopoly off him?’ asked Steinar.

‘I heard that Birger Holme and a couple of his colleagues from the NFF wanted to break free of Golden’s iron grip. They were working on setting up their own company and taking over the exclusive rights on artificial turf. The NFF would be the main stakeholder, but the three of them were getting paid enormous sums for lending their services to football. It was jobs for the boys at its worst, but there are no checks in the NFF on this kind of activity. The only one who reacted to the plan was Golden. He was furious.’

Steinar nodded. He looked at his watch. 16:20. It was going to be tight to fetch Junior from nursery before 5 o’ clock. He signalled to Bjørnar that it was time for them to go.

‘Say hi to Benedikte from me,’ said Kringlebotn. ’I’m surprised that she sent someone else, she must trust you.’ He winked at Steinar, who didn’t know how to react. ‘You know, her aunt’s married to a bloke who
lives just down the road here. Benedikte used to spend a lot of time at the club as a child. Lively as dynamite, she was, although she didn’t exactly have it easy.’

Monopoly

Were they all really that corrupt? Steinar too? Could the reason that he quit be that he was fixing matches and that he was on the verge of being exposed?

Benedikte was sitting at her desk. Ten days had passed since Golden had been killed, and still she was uncovering more questions than answers. She called Per Kristian Boltedal.

‘You didn’t tell me everything,’ she said when Boltedal answered.

‘What do you mean?’

‘In a transfer like the one you described to me, there’s at least one missing link on the pay list, the Norwegian club executives. Let’s suppose that Golden ran off with some money and that the player and the manager in England got a cut, but then the Norwegian club still has to accept the transfer. Somebody there, such as the director of football, is also taking money under the table.’

‘I can’t tell you everything about what we’re working on.’

‘Come on, PK. Didn’t we agree to help each other?’

‘Each other, yes.’

‘I promise to send you what I find out.’

‘I don’t want my story to be on the TV2 website while our paper’s in print.’

‘That won’t happen.’

‘I’m working on a story involving Norwegian club executives, and it’s quite clear that a number of them were making money. Especially one. I won’t give you the name yet, but there’s one key club executive in Norway in particular whose exploits we’re really trying to unravel.’

‘What have you found out?’

‘Like you said, Golden also needed the Norwegian clubs’ blessing. And the clubs usually have one strong man. One man who can get
the board to do what he wants. If Golden could get such a man in his pocket, he could easily have a monopoly on that club’s investments, both in terms of facilities and, not least, player transfers.’

‘But how? Surely he couldn’t just transfer the money?’

‘He could do it several ways. One’s the classic brown envelope. That works with a few hundred 1,000-kroner notes that you can stick in a safe-deposit box, but there are still limits to how much money you can have without the tax authorities noticing. So there are other methods too, not least property and luxury holidays.’

‘But surely those things are traceable?’

‘They don’t bother. Firstly, the NFF won’t investigate anything like that. They haven’t got the resources and, besides, they’re afraid of the Golden Boys set-up. Secondly, the authorities aren’t on to them, and thirdly, the media’s afraid. I expect that TV2 would be cautious with a story like that.’

‘Why?’

‘Imagine if Golden started a press boycott, if he got his players not to talk to TV2. That would strangle the channel’s output. Golden must have had 90 per cent of the top Norwegian players, the ones who featured regularly in the national team. Imagine if there was only one player who would speak after every international match, or if there were entire rounds of the top division championship when it was impossible to speak to the goal-scorers. The same goes for the big papers. Golden’s reach extended deep into every corner of football.’

Benedikte hadn’t been able to understand why TV2 didn’t publish everything they had on Golden and his business dealings, especially in Africa. Neither had she understood why the papers weren’t a bit tougher when covering football stories. So much money had gone in, and yet so many clubs had practically gone bankrupt, where had all the money gone? A boycott went a long way to explaining it. Was that also the reason why she’d been warned not to investigate artificial turf?

‘But you’re still looking into it?’ asked Benedikte.

‘
Dagens Næringsliv
doesn’t have a sports section, so it was either up to us or the comrades over at
Klassekampen
. It’s an interesting story, but it’s also a difficult one to crack open.’

‘What have you found?’

‘The club executive I’m focusing on tends to travel to Spain. Four years ago he bought a tiny house there on a large plot of ground. The house was derelict and he got it for 100,000 euro. This was declared as
a financial outlay, and he pays tax on the place. It’s all out in the open. But nobody’s gone down to see what the house looks like now. Nobody except me, that is. It’s a palace. I got a local estate agent to estimate its current value. He said at least 2 million euro. According to the club executive’s tax return, he hasn’t spent a single krone on renovation, or on extending it to many times its original size. Neither did he submit a single planning permission application. Golden Boys dealt with it via foreign companies.’

‘It’s sheer corruption, basically.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘You say that you’re focusing on one executive in particular. Are there many involved?’

‘I also know of an apartment complex which is owned by executives from many different Norwegian clubs. As far as we know, none of them have declared this on their tax returns. They book their places on the cheapest unspecified charter tours, but they never stay in the mouldy old hotel. They stay in a luxury complex that they own themselves.’

‘Why don’t you just go for it, all guns blazing?’

‘We need more time on the apartment complex. We haven’t got any proof about that yet, but we’re starting to get some about that one executive. His transfer dealings are so incredibly transparent. How many players do you think his club’s bought over the past few years from outside the Golden Boys system?’

‘You guessed it, they all came from Golden Boys. Football’s answer to the state alcohol monopoly.’