Working in football might sound glamorous from the outside, but if you’ve spent years behind the scenes looking after top-flight players, you quickly learn that beneath the fame and fortune, you’re often firefighting chaos.
That’s the life I led—tasked with managing the off-pitch lives of Premier League players.
I wasn’t their agent, friend, or babysitter… but sometimes I had to be all three at once.
The Day I Found Uzi Bullets and Fluffy Handcuffs
You get used to a lot working in this job. But nothing quite prepared me for the day I stumbled across blank Uzi 9mm bullets scattered across a garden—at one of our star player’s homes, no less.
My visits were often casual check-ins: making sure the players were safe, settled, and not wrecking their rented mansions. But this one? Something else entirely.
The bullets turned out to be blanks, but still—what were they even doing there?
Later, I found pink, fluffy handcuffs and a packet of condoms by his indoor pool. I took the hint and made a quiet exit.
Helping Players Off the Pitch Meant Turning a Blind Eye
For years, my job was about helping players stay focused and functional, no matter what madness was happening off the pitch.
The goal? Keep them happy and stable so they could deliver on match day.
I had a simple motto: “I’m here to service your needs, not your wants.”
That worked most of the time… until it didn’t.
Gambling, Shisha, and a Car Full of Roulette Chips
Players are not allowed to bet on football, but gambling? It happens.
One star used to send his friend to the bookies with thousands of pounds in cash.
The slips were so long, they could wrap around your arm.
Another time, a staff member taking a player’s car for a service discovered casino chips spilling from the glovebox.
Then there was the shisha. One player puffed away inside the training ground, burning a hole in the carpet.
I had to beg him to pay for the damage before the manager saw it. He told me to “f*** off.” Then he did it—and actually thanked me later.
A Smoke Break During Half-Time
Some habits were just baffling. A player once vanished during a big game’s half-time break.
We found him passed out in a disabled toilet, surrounded by cigarette smoke… He still played the second half.
Loneliness, Ice Cream, and a Backyard Golf Hole
Boredom is one of the biggest threats to footballers off the pitch.
Some get lonely, others surround themselves with the wrong crowd.
One high-profile player once built a full par-3 golf hole in a rented garden.
Later, he moved to a different house—while still paying rent on the first.
That’s tens of thousands per month just vanishing into thin air.
And the time he was late for a reserve match? He stopped en route to buy ice cream for all his mates. This guy had 65+ international caps and still got distracted by a Cornetto.
Unstable Families, No Driving License, But a Top Performer
The same player had complex issues—a strained relationship with his father, serious anxiety about his kids back home, and no interest in taking his driving theory test, despite regularly getting behind the wheel.
Yet, on the pitch? He was one of our absolute best.
Agents, Fights, and the Myth of Representation
People often ask: “Where are the agents in all of this?” Well, agents represent the player. I was there for the club.
About 20% of agents cared deeply for their players. The rest? Mostly in it for themselves.
I once saw a player and his agent literally rolling on the floor fighting in my office. They called it “play-fighting,” but punches were definitely thrown.
WAGs, Lies, and Luxury Furniture Battles
Some relationships were rock-solid. Others? Not so much.
One player begged me to tell his girlfriend he’d been “playing golf” on a day he was most definitely not.
Another player’s wife rejected his massive new TV for being too flashy—on the same day she received a Swarovski crystal dressing table.
Secret Parties, Curfews, and Pole-Dancing Poles
End-of-season tours were something else.
Players would throw underground parties in basement mansions, collecting phones at the door and inviting a select group of “guests.”
One trip included a “sightseeing minibus” with blackout windows and two stripper poles inside.
Not quite the cultural experience the itinerary promised.
Late-Night Hotel Escapes and Lockable Cupboards
Hotel curfews? Not always enforced. Some players booked women into separate floors of the team hotel, breaking curfew the old-fashioned way.
There was even a suspicious cupboard at the training ground we suspected was occasionally used for “illicit entertainment.”
No one was ever caught, but I’ve got my list of suspects.
SWOT Analysis and the £100 Pizza Runs
To help manage players, we created SWOT reports—Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, and Threats.
These helped us spot cultural issues, loneliness, or dodgy influences early on.
But sometimes, you just had to watch a guy spend £100 per trip sending a friend to fetch a £15 pizza, five nights a week—and shrug.
Dressing Room Language and Zidane in the Bathroom
The dressing room culture has come a long way.
Today, players are much more mindful about diversity and respectful language.
Still, I’ll never forget one player asking if he could no longer call his teammate “a French t**t.” Everyone just fell about laughing.
And the time we loitered in a restaurant bathroom because Zinedine Zidane was in a stall? Worth it. My guy got his autograph.
Christmas Jealousy and the Rolex Effect
At Christmas, players would hand out Rolex watches or envelopes of cash to coaches and staff.
Word always got around and caused massive envy across departments. HR nightmare.
But for me, it was never about that. It was about being there.
Always on call. Always ready to pick up that 11pm cry for help.
The Good, The Bad, and the Pink Handcuffs
Most players? Funny, kind, generous, and surprisingly down-to-earth. A few? Total nightmares.
One made a female staffer retrieve his golf balls for weeks before someone stepped in.
Another had a nightclub fight and only signed a letter of apology after I begged—and then wrote his name so small you couldn’t even read it.
Still, I liked them. Most of them. I wouldn’t trade those years for anything.
And yes, part of me wishes I kept one of those bullets—a little souvenir from the madness.
The fluffy handcuffs? That memory, I’m happy to forget.