Romanov no faint-heart, but matching Old Firm looks fanciful

GLENN GIBBONS

IN THE way that an off-shore swimmer would quail at the sight of a dorsal fin, this column is flushed with unease at the very mention of a prospective benefactor’s willingness to re-float a shipwrecked football club by means of a very large input of cash.

The disquiet is deepened by the kind of casual certainty with which Liutauras Varanavicius, a non-executive director of Hearts, announced this week that his fellow Lithuanian, Vladimir Romanov, is to effect a reversal of fortunes at Tynecastle with an injection of £30 million over the next three years.

Such proclamations invariably lack detail, and this one was no exception. With public limited companies such as Hearts, there are only three ways in which to advance capital. One is to purchase new shares, another is to provide a loan and the third - and least common - is to make a no-strings-attached donation.

Buying new stock, of course, would be an investment which may or may not yield a return, a gift would be a simple act of beneficence and a loan - even if interest free - would require, sooner or later, to be repaid.

Since it was reported by The Scotsman that Romanov "is looking for Scottish investors to contribute to the fund", but that, in the event of no takers, "he will pay the full amount himself", it must be assumed that his intentions lean towards share issues he will basically underwrite.

In Scottish football’s present state of financial flux, this is hardly a risk-free exercise and, if undertaken, nobody could accuse Romanov of a faint heart. What is naive to the point of reckless, however, is the declaration of ambition by Varanavicius. "It’s a long-term plan, maybe three, four or five years," he said. "We want Hearts to be a symbol of Scottish football, equal to or even better than the Old Firm."

Here’s the rub. The Lithuanians, despite the undoubted sincerity of their wish, seem to have no idea of the enormity of the task of realising their ambition, or of the length of time it would take. This would be measured not in years, but in decades.

Anecdotal evidence of the difficulties was provided more than 20 years ago, when Billy McNeill was manager of Celtic. At the time, the Parkhead club were regularly invited to participate in the lucrative pre-season Feyenoord tournament, featuring some of the most illustrious clubs in Europe.

It was organised - as were several other comparable events - by a very reputable German agent, Gunther Bachman. Dundee United at the time were emerging along with Aberdeen as a genuine force in the domestic game and achieving some striking results in Europe. Jim McLean, then the manager at Tannadice and alive to the kind of financial rewards available, asked McNeill if he could put a word in for United with Bachman.

"I asked Gunther if he could help out," McNeill said. "But he said to me, ‘Billy, to be perfectly honest, as far as Scotland is concerned, people in Europe are only interested in Celtic and Rangers.’ I felt sorry for wee Jim, but that’s just how it is."

This disparity in fame - and, therefore, in attractiveness to entrepreneurs such as Bachman - was the result of decades of year in, year out, competing in the European theatre by the big Glasgow clubs, along the way contesting five finals and numerous semi-finals and quarter-finals between them.

Sustained excellence - and it should not be forgotten that the Old Firm numbered some fancy reputations among their victims in those golden times - has always been at the core of the biggest clubs’ celebrity.

Of even more significance, however, is the fact that clubs like Hearts, and the others in the SPL, are shackled by parochial appeal. Celtic and Rangers have actively interested followers - that is, merchandise buyers - on almost a global scale, like Manchester United, Real Madrid and the other authentic giants of the game.

Echoes of the ambition outlined for Hearts by Varanavicius are to be found in places such as Blackburn and Parma. At Ewood Park, the benefaction of Jack Walker bought a Premier League championship, while, in Northern Italy, sponsorship by the food giant, Parmalat, brought a certain, previously unimagined standard of achievement to the local town.

Neither was ever within sight of becoming a symbol of English or Italian football. A present-day example of a similar phenomenon is to be found at AZ Alkmaar in Holland, where a small-town team are performing heroically on the field. They will not, however, replace Ajax, Feyenoord and PSV as the most readily-identified symbols of Dutch football.

In Spain, authentic international renown - and the benefits to accrue from it - remains with Real Madrid and Barcelona, despite the admirable efforts in recent years of Valencia and Deportivo La Coruna. In Germany, the deeds of Bayer Leverkusen, Werder Bremen and Stuttgart in the past few years are mere footnotes to the towering reputation of Bayern Munich.

This is not to say that Hearts, under the Romanov influence, cannot emulate Aberdeen under Alex Ferguson by challenging, and even outdo, the Old Firm on the field of play. The most astonishing aspect of the great manager’s successful challenge at Pittodrie was that it should last for eight years. But even Aberdeen, like those mentioned above, did not become symbols for their country’s football.

The immensity of Celtic, Rangers, Manchester United and the other great institutions in countries throughout the continent is a phenomenon that, in the 50 years since European football began, has grown into an eternal verity. It is something that clubs like Hearts are never likely to come close to matching, far less surpassing.

Taken from the Scotsman