Chairmen still addicted to power

It would be intriguing to hear the breakfast conversation at the Hitzfelds or the Ranieris. "So, you won't be spending the winter in Edinburgh, working for that odd Lithuanian gentleman, then dear?"

"No, the job went to someone else, that bloke who made a pig's ear of managing Portsmouth and Oxford." "Lovely. Another croissant, dear."

In many ways Graham Rix is the perfect choice to manage Hearts under Vladimir Romanov, since he has considerable experience of working with the more hands-on type of football owners, the sort who make their children chief executive or, in Firoz Kassam's case at Oxford United, the sort who name the stadium after themselves.

Those of us who thought the days of the chairman-as-dictator had been swept away by the age of plcs will welcome the arrival of men like Romanov and Roman Abramovich. Provided you are not one of the ruled, observing the way absolute power is used is a fascinating pastime - it is why Suetonius' The Twelve Caesars is a more compelling book than John Major, The Autobiography.

Until the arrival of Abramovich from the wastes of Chukotka, and the Glazers from the relative anonymity of Florida gridiron football, it seemed these Saturday Caesars were a dying breed. In 1989, Michael Knighton could have bought Manchester United for £10 million; nine years later Rupert Murdoch would try and fail to gain control of Old Trafford with a bid of £625 million.

The archetype was Bob Lord, the Burnley sausage maker who took over Turf Moor in 1951 and ruled it absolutely until his death, 29 years later. Lord banned any critics, relocated the press box to the most inaccessible corner of the ground and then, as the club he created were collapsing all around him, sold Burnley's best players to pay for a stand, which, naturally, he named after himself.

Lord's heirs still survive. Doug Ellis at Aston Villa, where naturally enough, given his role in guiding them to a never-to-be remembered League Cup triumph in 1996, there is a stand bearing his name. There is Milan Mandaric at Portsmouth and Freddy Shepherd at Newcastle. Shepherd exhibits all the traits of Lordism: a desire to interfere with team matters, especially transfers, and an inability to get on with his managers.

There is, as yet, no Shepherd Stand at St James' Park but there is one commemorating Sir John Hall, whose family are still Newcastle's majority shareholders. Romanov will fit very well into their company.

These men have all been successful but, even if you include Chelsea under Ken Bates, who was Lord with a beard, they have never seized the ultimate prizes of the Championship or European Cup. It may be coincidence, it may not, but Aston Villa's triumph over Bayern Munich in 1982, when Ellis was not on the board, has never been properly commemorated in this corner of Birmingham.

It is easy to see why the Saturday Caesars behave in the way they do. Dreaming boyhood words of "When I win the lottery, I'll buy Newcastle" are not followed by "and create a professional management structure safe from boardroom interference". You buy Newcastle because you want to change Newcastle, knowing the only man who can is you.

And there are flipsides to these men. At Gawthorpe, Lord created England's first purpose-built football academy and oversaw championship-winning and European football at Turf Moor. Without Bates, Stamford Bridge would be a housing estate, while the Kassam and Madejski stadiums are a sight better places to watch football than the Manor Ground and Elm Park were.

Without Hall and Shepherd's ability to ignore short-term financial realities, it is unlikely that Alan Shearer or Michael Owen would be leading Newcastle's attack, while Hearts before Romanov would never have appeared on the mental horizons of an Ottmar Hitzfeld or Claudio Ranieri, much less featured in their conversation.

Taken from telegraph.co.uk