How it really went...

A few days ago my favourite soccerclub, Vitesse, got bought by a rich Georgian businessman. In the media there are a lot of rumours that it was in fact Roman Abramovich, the owner of the English topclub Chelsea, that was behind this takeover. Several media have tried to find out whether this is true, but failed to find any information. Fortunately for you I have a very good source that told me the real story behind the takeover of Vitesse. Exclusively for you as a reader of my weblog I wrote this story down.

It's a warm Thursday night in July and Roman Abramovich is drinking a good glass of expensive Italian wine when suddenly a shifty-looking man enters the room. He walks up to his boss and stands still just in front of the chair in which Roman is sitting. He waves his arms nervously.
"Mr. Abramovich, I have a newz for you."
"Nikolai, my friend! How's it going?"
"Very well sir. But it is about a Vitesse, that soccer club in Holland you were interezted in."
"What is it?"
"Well, you see, my sources, they zay the club is for a sale."
"Ah, I see. How much would that cost me?"
"They zay it's a four million euros, sir."
Abramovich laughs.
"Is that all?"
Abramovich points to the couch beside him.
"Sit down, my dear friend"
Nikolai sits down and Abramovich bends over to his dear friend, while keeping his hands folded in the shape of a pyramid.
"Very well. You know I have a very busy schedule, don't you? Yes. You must understand. My time is precious. Daria is complaining she rarely sees me any more. So I need someone to buy that club for me. The money is not a problem, but I just can't do all the negotations myself. You understand?"
"Of course sir. I thought about that. You know that buzinezz man from Georgia? Merab Jordania? He still owes us some money. He eh... he says he has been a professional football player once, in Soviet Union. He might be your man."
"Well why don't you invite him over, so we can... eh... talk."

One day later another assistent from Mr. Abramovich, Boris, calls Mr. Abramovich on his cell phone. Abramovich, who is just enjoying a cocktail on the deck of his yacht, answers the phone.
"Hello sir."
"Boris, privet! How have you been?"
"Very well sir. I just wanted to tell you that Mr. Jordania has been picked up last night and is on his way to Moscow now. You will see him tonight at 8, at the usual meeting place."
"Excellent, Boris, excellent..."

That night.
Mr. Abramovich walks into a large room, surprisingly empty. At the back of the room there is a white couch. Three men are sitting on this couch: a small man in his late forties is being flanked by two big bald men in dark suits. The middle man looks a bit anxious. Mr. Abramovich snaps his fingers and the two men disappear.
"Merab, my old friend, how have you been?"
"Fine thank you," is the concise response.
"Come on, Merab, a little bit more enthousiasm would be appreciated! I am here to make you an offer you can't refuse."
Merab looks a bit relieved when hearing the tone of his old friend's voice, but is still a bit hesitating.
"What do you mean?"
"I have a job for you. And when you do this job, I will take care of all of your debts. And if you do your job, you can even gain from this."
"What I need to do?"
"Listen carefully. There is a soccer club in The Netherlands called Vitesse Arnhem."
"Never heard of it."
Abramovich talks on, without paying any attention to the words Merab murmurs.
"...That club is high on my priority list. I want to own that club, but I can't go to The Netherlands myself. So I need you to go to Holland to negotiate with the main shareholder of that football club: some clown called Maasbert Schouten. I want you to buy that football club for me. You can be president, bring your own players in, I don't care, money is not a problem. All I want is a good satellite club for Chelsea. And if you're smart, you can just say you want to make Vitesse big again. They always like to hear that in Arnhem. Just say something stupid like you want Vitesse to become champion in three seasons and that clown Schouten will be happy to sell the club to you. The only thing is that you have to look serious and you have to move to Arnhem with your family. But of course I'll pay for your house and everything. Do we have a deal?"
Merab, still looking concerned and very serious, remains silent for a few moments. In the end he says:
"What other alternatives do I have to pay off my debt?"
Mr. Abramovich laughs.
"You have a good sense of humour, my friend. I already arranged a meeting with that clown Schouten tomorrow. Be there."
Mr. Abramovich snaps his fingers again and the two men in the dark suits appear out of nowhere and take Merab away.

One month later he is sitting next to that clown Maasbert Schouten, wearing a yellow-black tie and a suit that was borrowed from a Vitesse board member that was on holiday. He presents himself as the new owner of Vitesse and says Vitesse will play Champions League soon. Mr. Abramovich watches the press conference from the deck of his yaught, drinking some champagne.
"Cheers," he says to the tv, before he switches it off and turns to his beautiful Daria.