his dad seemed excited as the limousine banked into the stadium’s underground car park.
‘This place cost four hundred million to put together,’ his dad said.
One of Popov’s representatives, a thin, suited man called Yvgeny, met them and directed them to an elevator. There were four floors in addition to the underground car park, numbered one to three, and then R. Yvgeny explained that the fourth floor was the exclusive restaurant and helipad, and there was a reception for corporate guests on floor 1. Forty five-star hotel rooms were situated behind the south stand.
The elevator carried them to the second floor and into the area behind the south stand. It was like an office complex, with soft music playing in the corridors, potted-plants lining the walls, and doors leading off to the executive boxes like meeting rooms. There were a few signs that the stadium wasn’t quite finished: electricians up ladders and fiddling with wiring in the walls; the general smell of fresh paint.
‘I’ve got back-to-back meetings today,’ said Jake’s dad, ‘so you’ll have to keep yourself busy.’
‘No problem,’ Jake said.
‘And don’t get into trouble,’ warned his dad. ‘Remember we’re Mr Popov’s guests. If you’re bored, Stefan can take you back to the house.’
Bored?
It would take him most of the day just to explore the second floor.
Jake’s dad walked off down the corridor with Yvgeny. Jake was alone. He slipped into one of the boxes. There was a boardroom table and comfy seating. Slatted blinds were lowered over the viewing panel, so Jake flicked the switch to make them retract. As the stadium was revealed, his breath caught in his throat.
It was immense. The stands on both sides were three tiers high. 80,000 capacity, his dad had said. The far stand was dramatically steep, a traditional Kop design, meant to createa thunder of sound when the fans were cheering. There were ten wide passages leading into the stands, four down each side and one at each end. These would filter the fans from the gates and holding areas to their seats. Jake had never seen a ground so empty before. Despite the silence, the place felt heavy with the weight of potential – all the highs and lows it would witness. It was immense.
To the left, above one corner of the stands, was a single glass-fronted structure. It was perched on steel supports, like a giant bird-box. Jake wondered what it could be.
Opposite, above the hotel rooms Yvgeny had mentioned, was the restaurant. Jake could just about make out the tables inside. What a view! A blue and red helicopter suddenly appeared above the stadium and descended on to a landing pad beside the restaurant, the rotors spinning to a stop. It looked like a bird, perched so high up in the stadium.
Someone certainly wants people to see them arrive
, thought Jake.
The pitch was a rectangle of lush, flawless green. Two groundsmen were walking rollers along either side, laying down the painted markings. Only one goal was erected, the other lying flat at the opposite end. Jake could only imagine what the ground would be like when it was full; what it’d be like playing in front of that many people. Scoring and hearingthe cheers. It gave him goosebumps just thinking about it.
He left the room and padded along the corridor. Most of the spectator boxes were of a similar design, give or take a few metres in size. One was particularly impressive: twice the size of the others, executive leather seating, modern art on the walls. Jake guessed it must be for the VIPs. The door said it was called the Truman Suite.
Jake wandered out into the stands, where the regular spectators would sit, then down the passage that led to the concrete holding areas, toilets and bars that would cater for them before the match and at half-time. His footsteps echoed as he walked.
Further down still, he came to the hub of the ground – the physio rooms and player facilities: a new gym, the running machines and
‘This place cost four hundred million to put together,’ his dad said.
One of Popov’s representatives, a thin, suited man called Yvgeny, met them and directed them to an elevator. There were four floors in addition to the underground car park, numbered one to three, and then R. Yvgeny explained that the fourth floor was the exclusive restaurant and helipad, and there was a reception for corporate guests on floor 1. Forty five-star hotel rooms were situated behind the south stand.
The elevator carried them to the second floor and into the area behind the south stand. It was like an office complex, with soft music playing in the corridors, potted-plants lining the walls, and doors leading off to the executive boxes like meeting rooms. There were a few signs that the stadium wasn’t quite finished: electricians up ladders and fiddling with wiring in the walls; the general smell of fresh paint.
‘I’ve got back-to-back meetings today,’ said Jake’s dad, ‘so you’ll have to keep yourself busy.’
‘No problem,’ Jake said.
‘And don’t get into trouble,’ warned his dad. ‘Remember we’re Mr Popov’s guests. If you’re bored, Stefan can take you back to the house.’
Bored?
It would take him most of the day just to explore the second floor.
Jake’s dad walked off down the corridor with Yvgeny. Jake was alone. He slipped into one of the boxes. There was a boardroom table and comfy seating. Slatted blinds were lowered over the viewing panel, so Jake flicked the switch to make them retract. As the stadium was revealed, his breath caught in his throat.
It was immense. The stands on both sides were three tiers high. 80,000 capacity, his dad had said. The far stand was dramatically steep, a traditional Kop design, meant to createa thunder of sound when the fans were cheering. There were ten wide passages leading into the stands, four down each side and one at each end. These would filter the fans from the gates and holding areas to their seats. Jake had never seen a ground so empty before. Despite the silence, the place felt heavy with the weight of potential – all the highs and lows it would witness. It was immense.
To the left, above one corner of the stands, was a single glass-fronted structure. It was perched on steel supports, like a giant bird-box. Jake wondered what it could be.
Opposite, above the hotel rooms Yvgeny had mentioned, was the restaurant. Jake could just about make out the tables inside. What a view! A blue and red helicopter suddenly appeared above the stadium and descended on to a landing pad beside the restaurant, the rotors spinning to a stop. It looked like a bird, perched so high up in the stadium.
Someone certainly wants people to see them arrive
, thought Jake.
The pitch was a rectangle of lush, flawless green. Two groundsmen were walking rollers along either side, laying down the painted markings. Only one goal was erected, the other lying flat at the opposite end. Jake could only imagine what the ground would be like when it was full; what it’d be like playing in front of that many people. Scoring and hearingthe cheers. It gave him goosebumps just thinking about it.
He left the room and padded along the corridor. Most of the spectator boxes were of a similar design, give or take a few metres in size. One was particularly impressive: twice the size of the others, executive leather seating, modern art on the walls. Jake guessed it must be for the VIPs. The door said it was called the Truman Suite.
Jake wandered out into the stands, where the regular spectators would sit, then down the passage that led to the concrete holding areas, toilets and bars that would cater for them before the match and at half-time. His footsteps echoed as he walked.
Further down still, he came to the hub of the ground – the physio rooms and player facilities: a new gym, the running machines and
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