The football manager looked up from his desk as one of his most experienced players walked in. It had been a long day, one in which several problems had been addressed – some taking a mere 15 minutes to thrash out, others taking up much more time. But then, that was nothing new.

The player, Jonathan Dalton, had been giving him trouble for quite some time. Ever since the two had been embroiled in a nasty challenge for the top post at the club, which Larry Gonzalez, the manager, had won handsomely, things had never been the same again. They were still on the same team, but the two had barely spoken to each other since that fateful day.

That morning, Gonzalez had received his mail as usual. Among the many envelopes there was one marked ‘Personal’, which was not unusual. Gonzalez received many of those, most of them from angry fans who complained that the team was not performing well, that their stadium tickets behind the goalpost did not give them a total view of what was going on, or that the seat was uncomfortable. Some also grumbled about the cost of tickets.

But this envelope stood out. Its corners were torn, the address was written haphazardly and, as there was no stamp, it had probably been pushed into the office letterbox in haste. He had opened it quickly, and immediately smiled to himself. There, in black and white, was evidence that Dalton had been offered a bribe, and that he had accepted it.

There were photos of him with the secretary of another football club. The photos had been taken at night, were not clear, and a few of them were grainy. However, the sequence left no doubt that the man accepting what seemed like a large envelope containing money was Dalton.

Gonzalez had not taken long to make up his mind. He had picked up the phone and called Dalton, who had his own busy schedule and could only make it to the manager’s office that evening.

The two locked eyes as Dalton was offered a chair.

“I’m afraid you have to call it quits,” Gonzalez said.

“Why? What’s up now?” Dalton shot back, still unaware of what was going on.

“I’ve received this,” Gonzalez replied, and almost threw the envelope containing the ‘bribery’ photos across the desk to Dalton. One of the photos fell out on to the floor.

Dalton flipped through them quickly. “That’s not me,” he burst out. “This is pure fabrication. Can’t you see that the photos have been doctored? I don’t even have a red T-shirt.”

“That’s you, I’m sure of it,” Gonzalez retorted. “Now, you either leave quietly, resign from the club claiming incompatibility, or else I will go to the media, and expose your crime. The fans will want to kill you.”

“But you can’t do this to me. You’re destroying my career. You’re doing this because you’re still afraid of me,” Dalton shot back.

Gonzalez sneered. “Your career is nearly over anyway. Now go, write that letter, and get out of my life.”

Dalton stood up, his fierce eyes never leaving Gonzalez’s. “You’ll regret it,” he managed to say. “I will come back to haunt you”.

The next day, the letter of resignation was on Gonzalez’s desk.

It was accepted immediately. No request was made asking him to reconsider his resignation.

***

Gonzalez was sitting at his desk again. Work never stopped for him. It was tough managing a football team. It wasn’t only what they did in the stadium, in front of the public – supporters and adversaries – that mattered. What happened in the dressing room, on the coach before and after matches, and in his office were matters that the people out there knew little about, but they were taking their toll. Still, the pay was good and the prestige was even better.

The shrill sound of his mobile phone startled Gonzalez, lost as he was in his thoughts. But when he looked at the screen he could not help but smile. It was one of his junior players, one he had full confidence in, one for whom he had great plans.

“Tell me, dear boy,” Gonzalez said after pressing the green button to take the call.

“I don’t have good news.” Christian Sanders’ voice was broken, as if the lad was in tears.

His words wiped the smile off Gonzalez’s face. “What’s happened?” he asked.

“Didn’t you see the news? They’re showing footage of the last game and have me on tape elbowing an opponent in the face. I thought no one had seen it. But it’s there, on all the TV stations.”

“Don’t panic,” Gonzalez said, trying to calm down the young player. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Yes, I know that you trust me completely. But I will be suspended, and it won’t be for just one game,” Sanders stammered.

“Don’t worry. I will issue a press statement saying that you have my full backing and that from the footage it is clear that you were provoked and did nothing wrong. Maybe the disciplinary board will let you off lightly. You may even call the media – I’m sure it won’t be the first time for you – to explain yourself and say that you will be forfeiting your salary for the time you’ll be suspended. That’ll look good.”

Sanders’ voice was suddenly sharper. “Good idea, chief. That’s what I’ll do. Thanks for your help and support.”

“Now, you go and have a break, lad. Spend some time with your wife and kids. And remember, when the suspension is over, your first team place is guaranteed.”

***

Months later, there was a knock on Gonzalez’s door.

“Come in.”

But the door did not open. Wearily, Gonzalez walked across his office. It had been another strenuous day and he wished he were at home, watching a film.

He opened the door but there was no one there. He looked both ways and then he noticed the envelope that was lying on the floor.

It was similar to the one he had received when he had forced Dalton to resign, only this time the corners were not torn. The person who had delivered it had had the temerity to leave it outside his office, rather than squashing it inside the letterbox.

Gonzalez’s hand trembled as he tore open the envelope.

Inside, there were copies of the photographs he had received the first time, the ones that Dalton had claimed had been tampered with, the ones that had led him to demand his player’s resignation.

But there were other photographs this time. And in them there was another person receiving the envelope containing the money.

Dalton had been right. He had never been bribed. Somehow, Dalton’s face had been super-imposed on that of the man in the “real” photograph.

It was too late to change things now. Dalton had resigned from the team and cut short his career, all because of a photograph that had been doctored, and doctored well enough to fool Gonzalez.

But he felt no pity. After all, it had helped him get rid of his rival.

He tore the photographs into pieces and threw them away. But he did not feel relief. Someone, somewhere, knew the secret.

Without him knowing, Dalton’s parting words had come true. And Gonzalez knew that he would be haunted for life.

All characters appearing in this article are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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