500 days of summer

13:46, 21 Jul 2011
Miguel Delaney

Miguel Delaney outlines the true mechanics of the summer's long-winded transfer sagas... and why they often are exactly as they seem

As Florentino Perez retook the reins at Real Madrid in May 2009, he was having some slight reservations about his first major act back as president. Although the prospective transfer of Cristiano Ronaldo was rushing ahead, Perez felt there might be at least a few mild reasons to switch direction.

First of all, there was Manchester United’s utter obstinacy about the price. After a campaign in which Perez had promised to “do in one year what would normally be done in three”, it seemed a budget for that amount of time would be needed to break down the English side. Secondly, there was the increasingly attractive proposition of Franck Ribery. Not only did it seem he could become as good as Ronaldo at that point, but he’d be half the price.

Finally – and most importantly – there was the fact the personal deal with Ronaldo’s representatives had been brokered by outgoing president Ramon Calderon. That could have ended up a PR disaster for Perez.

Because, generally, that is the true reason we see such protracted transfer sagas at this point of the year: perception. No one wants to be seen to be taken advantage of, everyone wants to keep supporters on side. In a football world where agents have accumulated undue influence, hammering out the best deal possible for all parties is an essential but also excruciating process.

In the end, of course, Alex Ferguson told David Gill to accept Real’s €96m bid with a simple text message from his holiday in France. The deal happened because enough people – including Perez – ultimately wanted it to.

But the fact one of the transfer’s most willing parties – the Real hierarchy – had such temporary doubts illustrate how fraught with diplomacy these processes are. And why they take such a long time to complete.

The joke around newsrooms at this stage of the year is that the football season never really ends. It just changes arena: from on the pitch to making pitches.

Because, really, the process of altering perceptions in these transfer sagas starts with the media. You only have to look at the deluge of abuse newspapers or journalists receive when they first report that a player wants out of a club. In April 2009, for example, the Guardian got pilloried for this report on Ronaldo’s likely departure. This summer, both Graham Hunter and Sid Lowe have been forced to defend themselves on Twitter for merely relaying concrete information about the likes of Cesc Fabregas.

To a degree, such a sense of denial from some supporters is understandable. They have invested a lot of faith in these icons. And here, suddenly, is a media story effectively insulting that faith.

It’s also undeniable that, in a minority of cases, certain transfer stories are “fliers” or the result of a slow news day. I’ve been in newsrooms myself where there’s a gaping hole on the back page and a desperate demand to fill it. In instances like that, the most miniscule piece of info will be exaggerated to produce a transfer splash.

But then that’s also the point. There is almost always some info behind it. Exceptionally few stories are actually conjured out of thin air.

In that sense, it’s too easy for supporters to blame the media or agents for such sagas. Of course, both have huge influence in the game and both have a vested interest in the money-making merry-go-round of players. But, ultimately, these sagas start (and continue for such a long time) for a deeper reason: two parties – the player and buying club – want to make it happen; one doesn’t. Or, at least, doesn’t want to be made a fool of.

It’s at this point that the alteration of perceptions begin – usually with a drip-feeding of facts to journalists. It’s at that stage you get the “player dissatisfied” lines. The “impending bid”.

The point of them is to manufacture and media handle the situation until a transfer becomes inevitable. Pressure builds up until a player is released. In defence, however, the selling club will at least release enough statements to drive up the price. Or at least give the impression that any such move is simply impossible.

Of course, when people see such stories, the citation of “friends of the player” is often disdainfully received as such – in inverted commas. And readers are usually right. They’re not friends of the players at all.

By contrast, they’re often much higher up the information chain that that: representatives privy to negotiations, or in some cases the players themselves. They can’t go on the record, however, as that would be tantamount to ceding the initiative in the transfer negotiations. Fans would turn against them. Perception would be ruined. It would become a seller’s market.

As these transfer sagas develop, though, deeper complications begin to arise. Be they contracts, contract clauses or covert haggling over price.

In the case of Wesley Sneijder, for example, it is understood that he does not want to actively push for a move to Old Trafford because he would relinquish up to €7m in loyalty payments.

Inter, meanwhile, want to sell. But, because of the facts that he is a supporter hero, an asset that could command a huge fee and that they want sufficient money to reinvest elsewhere, their official line is that they don’t want to sell.

As for Ferguson’s denial of any deal? A few months before allowing Ronaldo to leave he said he wouldn’t sell “that mob a virus”.

It’s all a game of brinkmanship designed to ensure a balance of happiness in the deal.

The case of Luka Modric seems a little more complicated than that. As this piece points out, questions must be asked as to why a player who had just proven instrumental in a successful Champions League push signed a six-year relatively paltry £45,000 a week deal with no get-out clauses just last summer? It beggars belief.

But that’s unlike most of the transfer news you’ll see this summer. By the time the deal is finally concluded, all parties will then come up with an agreed face-saving narrative.

Until then, the sagas may frustrate. But they’re all because someone, somewhere, is trying to slowly force a resolution.

Miguel Delaney is a football writer who has covered the World Cup, European Championships and last five Champions League campaigns for the Sunday Tribune newspaper. He is also the author of Stuttgart to Saipan: the players’ stories and owner of www.footballpantheon.com

Follow us on Facebook and Twitter @eircomSportsHub

Follow Miguel on twitter @mdelaneyst