Football and the young lady of Riga
Football clubs did not always have debt. For some 30 years, Liverpool never had a bank overdraft. Peter Robinson, the club's secretary and the man I consider the best administrator the English game has ever seen, made sure his budgeted expenditure matched revenue from season ticket income and match-day ticket sales. Of course, Robinson was from a different era. Then, old John Moores of Littlewoods owned Everton and had more than a quarter of Liverpool. Nobody shouted for him to open his cheque book.
Club finances were simple. Income was essentially the money clubs received from ticket sales. There was no commercial income and very little cash from television. Banks did not like lending to clubs. Those clubs that did have overdrafts had cosy deals with their local bank manager. Yes, clubs did go into administration, but until the 1990s the idea that they were floating on a sea of debt would have appeared ridiculous.
Football flourished during the because it lay outside the economic cycle. You only have to read , written in 1933, to see how the sport was the one shining light in that dismal, dishonest decade. But football in the 1990s was a different matter. It became part of the economic cycle. Now, in 2008, the credit crunch is forcing it to examine how it can survive.
During the past decade, clever financial experts discovered football and showed clubs how they could borrow money by mortgaging their income. The financiers were attracted to the game because clubs not only had income from ticket sales but also from huge television deals. The financiers showed clubs how they could use this money, or the rather the future promise of such money, to borrow - what became known as securitised debt. Many clubs took this route. You could say this was football's version of subprime debt.
The 1990s also saw football clubs capitalise on the value of corporate boxes, advance sales of which could finance the building of new stands or even stadiums. Until then, building a new stand could often be a very dangerous business for club owners. In the 1980s, both Chelsea and Tottenham changed hands because of debt problems caused by the cost of stand constructions. Spurs won the FA Cup in both and 1982 but still had to be sold, with the new owners floating the club on the stock market to clear the debts.
In a sense, floating Tottenham on the stock market was the start of football's shotgun marriages with the money men. But it was only in the 1990s that such alliances became the norm. The decade was punctuated by clubs floating on the stock exchange, with every club that floated heralding it as a new dawn.
Liverpool did not float but the club, which through the era did not have debt, now wanted money so badly that it did not mind going into the red. The result is it now has debt on its books as well as debt incurred by its American owners in buying the club. And remember, Liverpool spent some three years looking for a buyer, talking to Thaksin Shinawatra before finding Messrs Gillette and Hicks.
Liverpool's search for new owners was driven by its desire to match Manchester United and the income Old Trafford generates. United may not have incurred debt in extending their stadium but in becoming a plc it mortgaged its future. It was only a matter of time before an investor like the Glazers came along, borrowing heavily to buy the club.
The need to match United also drove Arsenal to take on huge debt and finance a move from Highbury. The Gunners did not float on the stock market, much to the chagrin of David Dein, its then vice chairman. This decision may have been because club chairman Peter Hill-Wood, a City man, knows a thing or two about markets. While its financing of the was tricky and depended on the sale of corporate boxes, the club got its timing right. No such financing would be possible now.
In contrast, Liverpool have postponed plans for a new stadium, while the debt incurred by its owners will have to be refinanced by January. Given that the two banks involved are Wachovia and , this may not easy.
To an extent, what has happened to West Ham is an even more sobering story of modern football finance. Two years ago, its former owners decided they wanted a new ground and eyed a move to the Olympic Stadium following the completion of the 2012 Games in London. A new stadium seven minutes from the Eurostar to Paris and very attractive to City high rollers would be financially very lucrative, but the move required money, hence the need for new owners. The first buyer fell through, the second was from Iceland.
However, the man who fronted the purchase of the Hammers spent so much money in the first year that the real owner took over, only to find his own country was going bankrupt, putting .
And all this has been endlessly complicated by the fact that while football was getting into bed with the City, one club, Chelsea, found a deus ex machina, otherwise known as Roman Abramovich. All clubs would like a . Yet while the Russian billionaire can act as his own banker, even he is affected by the credit crunch. And if he cannot bankroll Chelsea, what happens?
Football is now in the classic situation of the , who got on the back of the tiger thinking she could ride it only to end up inside. The credit crunch could well see a few football clubs suffer the same fate.
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