Working as a player liaison officer for a top Premier League club means very little can shock you. Yet, even for a seasoned professional, discovering spent machine gun bullet casings scattered across the lawn of one of your star players' rented mansions is a genuine eye-opener.
The Bizarre and the Dangerous Behind Closed Doors
For many years, my world revolved around managing the lives of elite footballers at a major club in the south of England. The role was about protecting the club's assets—the players—by providing structure, support, and a watchful eye. This meant occasional home visits, especially for young, single foreign stars in club-arranged rentals, who were often vulnerable to boredom and loneliness.
The 9mm Uzi submachine gun blanks found on that lawn were just the beginning. A subsequent tour of the same player's home revealed a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs and a packet of condoms by his indoor pool. No questions were asked. Another player, struggling with a gambling addiction denied to me, had his car glove compartment overflowing with roulette chips. Despite strict FA rules forbidding betting on football, one major international star would hand thousands in cash to a friend to place old-school betting slips "as long as my arm."
Managing Vice, Deception and Dressing Room Diplomacy
Boredom remains the modern footballer's great enemy. Our team conducted SWOT analyses on individuals to identify vulnerabilities, from loneliness and exploitative "friends" to cultural clashes that could breed dressing room cliques. Smoking was a common vice, notably among some Eastern European players. One even went missing at half-time during a big match, only to be found passed out in a smoke-filled disabled toilet—he still played the second half.
The lines between personal and professional were constantly blurred. Wives and girlfriends ran tight ships; one sent back a player's new TV as too ostentatious, while accepting a Swarovski crystal-covered dressing table. Players would sidle up after games seeking alibis. Post-season was particularly fraught, with one "sightseeing tour" involving a minibus with blacked-out windows and built-in pole-dancing poles.
Agents were a mixed bag. My philosophy was that only 20 per cent truly had their client's best interests at heart. I once had to break up a physical fight between a big-name player and his agent in my office, which they dismissed as "play-fighting."
Crisis Management and the Relentless Pursuit of Trust
Everything hinged on trust and discreet crisis aversion. We maintained a trusted list of staff—cooks, drivers, nannies—all bound by NDAs. Fan mail was a minefield, ranging from requests to packages containing human excrement, most of which we filtered out. One England international insisted only his mother handle his correspondence.
We intervened where we could. I persuaded a player who smoked shisha at the training ground (burning holes in the carpet) to pay for repairs before the manager found out. After a nightclub altercation, I drafted an apology letter for a player to sign to appease a girl's angry father; he signed it in script so tiny it was illegible, but it was sent.
The dressing room culture has evolved. During one diversity session, an Eastern European player joked, "Does this mean I can't call him a French t**t anymore?"—bringing the house down. Underneath the glamour, they are normal people with amplified problems. I once waited in a restaurant toilet with a star player so he could get Zinedine Zidane's autograph.
Ultimately, the job was about serving the club, phone always on for that 11pm call. It was a glamorous yet jealous-inducing role, especially when players gifted Rolexes to staff at Christmas. Do I like them? Mostly, yes. Many are funny, generous, and kind. A percentage are 'd***heads'—just like in any profession. I helped them dodge many bullets, both metaphorical and, on one memorable occasion, literal.
