Must do better in 2016

I still think, with fine tuning here and there, that our squad is good enough to make the play-offs. Galvez has to change things and get better performances, especially away from home. He also has to rely on director of football, Miguel Angel Nadal, to bring in several players who can turn our fortunes around. As long as it remains mathematically possible, the season is far from over. The clubs intend to pull out all the stops in the new year, which sees Real Mallorca celebrate their centenary. There’s been a committee formed to organise various events including games involving former players.

Since the mid 80s when I first started following the fortunes of the islanders, there have been several bizarre incidents, but these three are surely the best. On a freezing cold January night in 1996 we played Lleida in a second division game. Sitting in the stand was our newly appointed third coach of the season after 22 games, Victor Muñoz. Seven minutes into the game, the visiting goalkeeper kicked one of the goal posts and the whole frame collapsed. Chaos ensued as the referee blew to halt proceedings, then it was discovered the Luis Sitjar didn’t have a replacement goal. Another had to be brought under police escort from the nearly Miguel Nadal pitch in Son Cotoner. After an hour of head scratching, a welder finally arrived on his Vespino and he put the goal together. I had to attend a Burns Night knees up so couldn’t wait to see the game re-started after an hour, which was just as well as it finished 0-0.

In 1997, again at the Luis Sitjar, Real Madrid came to town in what was scheduled to be the very first live Monday night football game in Spain covered by Antena 3. The mighty “Real” had Roberto Carlos, Seedorf, Raul and Morientes to name but four. As the game started, the sky got darker and darker as the thunder and lightning started. Then down came the rain in torrents and within minutes the Luis Sitjar pitch resembled a lake. The old drainage system couldn’t handle the volume of water. Then there was an almighty clap of thunder and all the lights (including the floodlights) went out. The referee was handed a megaphone and tried in vain to make himself heard over the noise caused by a full house of 24,000. They meanwhile lit up proceedings with their cigarette lighters. The referee took the players off for half an hour before normal service was resumed. Twenty minutes later came an even bigger bang and this time there was a huge flash from a big fuse box. The players trooped off again and didn’t come out for an hour. By this time we’d guzzled all the wine gums as the game started, then finished well after midnight as another 0-0 draw. Local cricket captain Eric George commented that his missus would never believe that he’s only been at the football, getting home about 1 o’clock in the morning. The following day all the papers were unanimous in their condemnation about how unfortunate it was for a game shown live on national TV to be so embarrassingly interrupted.

On the subject of embarrassing scenarios, the daddy of them all happened in the summer of 2008. An unknown English businessman who had made his fortune inventing and patenting a revolutionary device for painting behind household radiators, and who owned a fleet of 30 high-powered cars, was taking over Real Mallorca. Paul Davidson, or “El Fontanero,” a blunt, earthy, chunky, gold-watch-wearing figure from Macclesfield, was all set to pay 38 million euros to buy the club. Nearly three months after initial talks began, the “Plumber”, who also made oil pipes that were allegedly in big demand in the Middle East, was about to buy incumbent owner Vicente Grande’s 93% controlling interest. On his own admission, Davidson knew nothing about football and that got the tongues wagging. Who on earth in their right mind would buy Real Mallorca for all that money when we were in debt and didn’t even own our own ground?

The plot thickened as a lot of Mallorca fans got quite excited about the idea. D-Day arrived as Davidson was due to sign all the papers in Barclays Bank offices in the Avenidas. It was shut to regular customers as the local media filled the premises waiting for Davidson to turn up. They waited and waited. Finally, all the sceptics said “I told you so”. He failed to make an appearance and the whole things was like an episode of Call My Bluff. He’d managed to hoodwink the majority of people and, as it turned out, he was well known for doing just that. Fortunately, he didn’t get his hands on the club but, boy, did it make for a good story!

As this is the final Fan’s View of 2015, may I wish everybody Molts D’Anys.