These comments were, the club said — again anonymously — reflective of Mike Ashley’s views. Staveley has been stung by that, irked by the suggestion that her pursuit of Newcastle, which has been very open, was nothing more than an exercise in self-publicity. “It is only right to let the fans know that there is no deal on the table or even under discussion with Amanda Staveley and PCP,” the source said, which was news to her. “I’m very much still interested in buying Newcastle,” she says. “And our bid remains on the table.”
It is the first time that the 44-year-old has spoken publicly about Newcastle since she launched 1,000 headlines and more conspiracy theories by attending their home game against Liverpool on October 1.
There has been a non-disclosure agreement in place with Newcastle since the middle of that month — her initial bid for the club followed on November 2 — but she feels obliged to defend herself.
“I’m very concerned, I’m very surprised and I’m disappointed about what’s been said this week,” Staveley says. She is wearing a pale blue jacket, dark trousers, sipping water from a pink plastic bottle, and coffee from a mug. She is agitated and clearly upset. “The suggestion that we were either wasting time or not serious is absurd. It’s hurtful. Hugely hurtful,” she says.
If she was not serious, why would PCP have made three offers to put Ashley out of his misery after his loveless, contentious 11 years at St James’ Park? Why would she have engaged Chris Mort of Freshfields as her lawyer, a man who worked as Newcastle’s chairman under Ashley? Why would she involve the Reuben family, who have an estimated worth of £13 billion and a significant property portfolio on Tyneside, in her bid? “This is something we’ve been working really hard on,” she says. “It’s not something we’ve just thrown together. I’m putting a lot of my own capital into this and our investors, who come from around the world, include sovereign wealth funds.”
Her first bid was for £300 million, £200 million up front, the rest payable in two chunks. The second, made on Friday, November 10, was for £350 million, payable in instalments, as the sportswear retailer had encouraged. There would be £150 million on completion followed by £50 million every year after that, with the final tranche dependent on achievement, such as reaching the Champions League. For both were penalty clauses, in the event of demotion or Newcastle being stung by HMRC’s tax investigation into the club.
There was a third offer on November 17. “Dear Mike,” it began. In this one, £250 million would be paid in full, no caveats, no conditions, no clauses. This was substantially below Ashley’s £350 million valuation, aside from one sense; Staveley is committed to investing another £200 million, at least £100 million on new players across the first two transfer windows and the same again on improving a tired training ground and ineffective academy.
PCP brokered the deal that saw Sheikh Mansour buy Manchester City. Staveley has also attempted to buy Liverpool, but Newcastle fits, Newcastle works — so much potential, never realised — and she has been courted by supporters. “They’re such passionate fans and it’s a great club,” she says. “I’m a northerner. My family home is an hour away from St James’ Park. I just love football and Newcastle has a proper history and a real magic.
“That passion of the fans is vitally important when you’re looking at a club, because you know that you’re a custodian. I’m also a passionate believer in investment in the north east, because I know it’s tough. A lot of great things are happening in the city — we’ve got friends, like the Reubens, who have invested there — and it’s a really special place, with its own identity. It is absolutely unique.”
PCP is not a charity. “This is an investment, but it has to be a long-term investment,” Staveley says. “Newcastle would be run as a business, but we want it to be a successful, thriving business that is an absolutely integral part of the city.” Equally integral is Rafa Benítez; in each of PCP’s three bids, was a stipulation that the manager must stay and agree to a new contract. “Rafa is doing an incredible job,” Staveley says. “We want Rafa to be part of this project.”
By November 20, it is understood that Mort was confident that a deal might be on at £250 million. At the start of December, Staveley met Ashley at an Indian restaurant in London, brokered by Richard Desmond, the publisher. Pictures appeared in The Sun. “The famous curry house is the only time I’ve met Mike,” Staveley says. “It wasn’t a formal meeting and it was arranged by Mr Desmond. Mike was engaging and interesting. I enjoyed his company.”
And those photographs? Convenient, no? “I would never had done that,” Staveley says. “If I had, I certainly wouldn’t have been pictured smoking. I hadn’t had a cigarette for years. My dad nearly killed me. There has been a lot of miscommunication through the press, but that’s not my fault. This is football.”
In the middle of December, Staveley was told that “another bidder” had emerged, prepared, according to Ashley’s people, to pay £350 million. Fine, PCP said, but come back to us if you want to re-engage. Since then, they have heard nothing. Not a single thing. Which, again, hardly fits with the Ashley-sanctioned notion of “exhaustive” discussions. “Where are the other bidders?” Staveley says. “It’s been for sale for three months.”
Staveley had not given up. When people asked, the official line was that the process was ongoing, although time was ticking on and there were concerns; PCP would not be able to fund Benítez in this transfer window and the team remain in a precarious position. What happens next? A staging post feels like the next Premier League broadcasting rights. And beyond that, whether Newcastle stay up will be pivotal.
In the meantime, supporters continue to wait; for something different, something better. It is the loyal 52,000 who squirm and suffer as Benítez attempts to find gold in a nettle patch. Perhaps Staveley could have been the answer. Perhaps she still can. But it has been a bruising week. Will it happen? “I don’t know,” she says. “I hope so.”
