Daniel Farke was worried. His team had just scraped a draw against West Brom. Three games gone, seven points dropped already. He was still trying to build his squad, but the owners were still messing around over the sale of the club, and he was having trouble getting the players he wanted. Willy Gnonto was refusing to play; Georginio was mooching around like a lost puppy. How was he going to fix this?

He ordered a beer to help him take his mind off things. The bar was crowded and noisy. He ordered another one. Suddenly a stranger appeared in front of him, wearing a striped blazer, cravat and riding boots, and handed him a business card.

“Terribly sorry to bother you, old chap. I’m Patrick Bamford’s agent. Can we talk? It’s rather important.”

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