just doesn’t like the police. Is that what you are, Mr Manson?’
‘Look,’ I said, ‘if you want a police medal for this then go ahead, be my guest. I was just trying to save you the effort of wasting police time on something that will almost certainly turn out to be a random incident of vandalism. And to save the club owner a bit of unnecessary embarrassment. But when did that sort of thing ever matter to the Met? Look, I think we’ve told you all we know. It sounds to me as if maybe we’ve got even less time to waste here than you have.’
‘Yes, you said. An FA Cup third round match against Leeds.’ He smiled. ‘I’m from Leeds myself.’
‘You’re a long way south, Inspector.’
‘Don’t I know it, sir. Especially when I listen to someone like you. I’m just trying to do my job here, Mr Manson, sir.’
‘And so am I.’
‘Only for some reason you’re making mine difficult.’
‘Am I?’
‘You know you are.’
‘Then go home. We’re not talking about The Arsenal Stadium Mystery here.’
‘That’s an old black and white film, isn’t it?’
I nodded. ‘1939. Leslie Banks. Piece of shit, really. Only interesting because the film stars several Arsenal players of the day: Cliff Bastin, Eddie Hapgood.’
‘If you say so, Mr Manson. Frankly I’ve never been much of a football fan myself.’
‘That was also my impression.’
Detective Inspector Neville paused thoughtfully for a moment and then pointed at me. ‘Wait a minute. Manson, Manson. You wouldn’t be…? Of course. You’re that Manson, aren’t you? Scott Manson. Used to play for Arsenal, until you went to prison.’
I said nothing. In my experience it’s always best when you’re talking to the police.
‘Yes.’ Neville sneered. ‘That would explain everything.’
7
Before I tell you anything about what happened to me in 2004 I should first tell you that I am part black – more of a David James or Clark Carlisle than Sol Campbell or Didier Drogba, but I think it’s probably relevant in view of what happened. In fact, I’m sure it is. I don’t consider myself black but I am a keen supporter of Kick it Out.
My dad, Henry, is a Scot who used to play for Heart of Midlothian and Leicester City. He got picked for Willie Ormond’s Scotland squad and went to the World Cup finals in West Germany in 1974 – the year we came so close. Dad didn’t play because of injury, which is probably how he found the time to meet my mother, Ursula Stephens, who was a former German field athlete – at the 1972 Munich Olympics she came fourth in the women’s high jump – working for German telly. Ursula is the daughter of an African-American air force officer stationed at Ramstein, and a German woman from Kaiserslautern. I’m happy to say that both my parents and my grandparents are still alive.
After finishing his career in football my dad set up his own sports boot and shoe company in Northampton, where I went to school, and in Stuttgart. The shoe company is called Pedila and today it generates almost half a billion dollars a year in net income. I earn a lot of money as a director of that company; it’s how I can afford a flat in Chelsea. My dad says I am the company’s ambassador in the world of professional football. But it wasn’t always like that. Frankly I wasn’t always the ambassador you would have welcomed in your executive toilet, let alone the boardroom.
In 2003, aged twenty-eight, I joined Arsenal from Southampton. The following year I went to prison for a rape I didn’t commit. What happened was this:
Back then I was married to a girl called Anne; she works in fashion and she’s a decent woman but to be honest, we weren’t ever suited. While I like clothes and am happy to drop £2k on a Richard James suit, I’ve never much liked high fashion. Anne thinks that people like Karl Lagerfeld and Marc Jacobs are artists. Me, I think that’s only half right. So while we were still living together we were already
‘Look,’ I said, ‘if you want a police medal for this then go ahead, be my guest. I was just trying to save you the effort of wasting police time on something that will almost certainly turn out to be a random incident of vandalism. And to save the club owner a bit of unnecessary embarrassment. But when did that sort of thing ever matter to the Met? Look, I think we’ve told you all we know. It sounds to me as if maybe we’ve got even less time to waste here than you have.’
‘Yes, you said. An FA Cup third round match against Leeds.’ He smiled. ‘I’m from Leeds myself.’
‘You’re a long way south, Inspector.’
‘Don’t I know it, sir. Especially when I listen to someone like you. I’m just trying to do my job here, Mr Manson, sir.’
‘And so am I.’
‘Only for some reason you’re making mine difficult.’
‘Am I?’
‘You know you are.’
‘Then go home. We’re not talking about The Arsenal Stadium Mystery here.’
‘That’s an old black and white film, isn’t it?’
I nodded. ‘1939. Leslie Banks. Piece of shit, really. Only interesting because the film stars several Arsenal players of the day: Cliff Bastin, Eddie Hapgood.’
‘If you say so, Mr Manson. Frankly I’ve never been much of a football fan myself.’
‘That was also my impression.’
Detective Inspector Neville paused thoughtfully for a moment and then pointed at me. ‘Wait a minute. Manson, Manson. You wouldn’t be…? Of course. You’re that Manson, aren’t you? Scott Manson. Used to play for Arsenal, until you went to prison.’
I said nothing. In my experience it’s always best when you’re talking to the police.
‘Yes.’ Neville sneered. ‘That would explain everything.’
7
Before I tell you anything about what happened to me in 2004 I should first tell you that I am part black – more of a David James or Clark Carlisle than Sol Campbell or Didier Drogba, but I think it’s probably relevant in view of what happened. In fact, I’m sure it is. I don’t consider myself black but I am a keen supporter of Kick it Out.
My dad, Henry, is a Scot who used to play for Heart of Midlothian and Leicester City. He got picked for Willie Ormond’s Scotland squad and went to the World Cup finals in West Germany in 1974 – the year we came so close. Dad didn’t play because of injury, which is probably how he found the time to meet my mother, Ursula Stephens, who was a former German field athlete – at the 1972 Munich Olympics she came fourth in the women’s high jump – working for German telly. Ursula is the daughter of an African-American air force officer stationed at Ramstein, and a German woman from Kaiserslautern. I’m happy to say that both my parents and my grandparents are still alive.
After finishing his career in football my dad set up his own sports boot and shoe company in Northampton, where I went to school, and in Stuttgart. The shoe company is called Pedila and today it generates almost half a billion dollars a year in net income. I earn a lot of money as a director of that company; it’s how I can afford a flat in Chelsea. My dad says I am the company’s ambassador in the world of professional football. But it wasn’t always like that. Frankly I wasn’t always the ambassador you would have welcomed in your executive toilet, let alone the boardroom.
In 2003, aged twenty-eight, I joined Arsenal from Southampton. The following year I went to prison for a rape I didn’t commit. What happened was this:
Back then I was married to a girl called Anne; she works in fashion and she’s a decent woman but to be honest, we weren’t ever suited. While I like clothes and am happy to drop £2k on a Richard James suit, I’ve never much liked high fashion. Anne thinks that people like Karl Lagerfeld and Marc Jacobs are artists. Me, I think that’s only half right. So while we were still living together we were already
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