Mister Tan's Meeting with Mister Slade at the end of the season

 

Vincent Tan settles back in freshly dyed Blue leather chair as he strokes his fur ball of a white cat.

Slade shivers before him. They are deep in the underground lair beneath the towering volcano off a secret island near Malaysia, (family holidays available). Far above them the relentless dark seas crash together.

The sharks glide darkly through the blue water around Tan’s throne until at last Tan glances up and speaks.

“Mister Slade, you disappoint me.”

 

Slade swallows, knowing that his every word could be his last. “Please mister Tan you didn’t give me enough time …”

“Dave Jones, he created a team from nothing in one season.”

“y-y-yes. Yes. But he … well I …. I didn’t have enough money. If I …”

A shark fin slices the surface not far from Slade’s mammoth feet quietening him.

“Dave Jones created a team out of nothing. Even with all the players injured and us getting in unwanted players on load. He still got us to the playoffs. And a cup final! Even the man whose name is not uttered in my presence got us to a cup final in his first season!”

“Yes, yes … but you see Mister Tan 4-4-2 is played by all the great teams in the world, like Real Madrid …”

“All the great teams play many other formations too Mister Slade. Even the average manager knows more than one formation.”

“Well yes, yes.” For a long while Slade’s mouth opens and closes searching for the sort of words that usually satisfy the Western Mail and South Wales Echo reporters. “But some managers succeed with just one formation.”

“Oh? Name one!”

Tan eyes the flabby track suited PE teacher before him noticing how his forehead shines with sweat and dread.

 “Well, even Cardiff were promoted playing 4 1 4 1 every week under Malky …”

“Silence!” Tans hand cracks down on the blue chair. “Do not mention his name in my presence.”

“Oh …. No .. no … I just cannot think of any other manager but me who only knows one formation.” Slade’s fingers tighten into sweaty fists. “You see Beckham plays the long ball …erm … Scoles and Bale play the long ball. I have seen Ronaldo play the long ball.”

“Hmmm.” Tan closes his eyes and thinks. “But they do it successfully. They certainly wouldn’t hump a ball up to forwards who are both only 5’9”, only a fool would do that!”
 

“We beat Blackpool.”

“There are teams of blind Eskimos who have never kicked a ball who can beat Blackpool.” Mister Tan’s face wrinkles in disgust. “And Blackpool managed to score twice against us!”

“Aye but Blackpool are dangerous Mister Tan. I did warn everybody.”

“Dangerous? Dangerous! They have only won 4 times all season and one of those was against us!”

“That was before I took over Mister Tan!” Slade nods towards the startled Gabbidon and Young standing trembling and silent as if seeking to make themselves invisible.

“Enough!”

The word echoes around the chamber until all is still save the hum and burble of the sea tank pumps. A fin cuts through the surface before diving out of sight with a gulp of spraying water.

“You task me Mister Slade but I have made a decision.”

Gabbidon and Young hug each other in knowing misery. Slade’s eyes grow Uncle Fester huge as if his head will explode.

“You may leave.”

Slade notices a sly smile on Mister Tan’s lips as the white cat leaps with a shriek from his lap.

Young nudges Slade, whispering under his breath. “Get out of here now. We might still get a job at Port Vale.”

The three men move as one onto the bridge leading to the sanctuary of the lift that can shoot them to the surface and safety. As they reach the hump of the bridge they hear a chuckle and the men freeze. They see Tan has grabbed a lever and tugs it down.

“I do not know failure Mister Slade. So Goodbye.”

The bridge falls open beneath their feet. Too shocked to scream the three men slip into the blue water as it churns red for a long satisfying while.

When at last the water becomes still and the red fades back to Mister Tan’s favourite colour, blue, he lifts the phone.

“Mister Choo! Get me Mister Dave Jones and a plate of the extra-large pies. I know the way forward.”

“Mister Dave Jones as manager again Mister Tan?”

“No Mister Choo. He will be my advisor and do as I say. I will make my mother the manager. We will get to the Premier league!”

"Very wise Mister Tan. Oh and Mister Tan? Should I ship the sharks out to the new tank beneath the Canton stand?"

Mister Tan chuckles. "Indeed Mister Choo. I am sure the supporters will be most respectful next season."