Azerbaijan: Different Strokes for Different Folks
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Last week, I briefly mentioned that I had been to Azerbaijan in search of a new club at the end of 2008. I brought attention to the fact that one can make quite a wealthy living out of playing football in unfamiliar and untested countries such as Azerbaijan.
Coincidentally, I picked up one of the daily newspapers last Friday that publish a weekly 8 page pull-out on the Airtricity League of Ireland. On the front of it read the headline, “JOE’S LIVING HELL”. The headline referred to a rather interesting insight into one of my former team-mates at Drogheda, Joe Kendrick, and his time in Azerbaijan. Some of the things that he said he experienced over there were frightening to say the least. Receiving threatening phone calls, his house phone apparently bugged, punched in the head by his captain at training, told his safety was at risk if he stayed in the country and denied wages for months. A horrifying experience for anyone, especially someone with a young family.
What made the piece even more interesting, personal and to be honest, a little scary, was the startling realization that the headline could so easily have read “EAMON’S LIVING HELL”. Let me explain why.
In my column last week, I touched on the fact that when I left Drogheda United at the end of 2008, I received a few phone calls from a various agents offering the opportunity to go on trials abroad. One call I received was from a Dutch agent. He had actually got my phone number from Joe Kendrick, John Tambouras, Adam Hughes and Fahrudin Kudozivic. All four of them, who I played with at Drogheda, were sent over by this Dutch agent, for a week’s trial at a club in Azerbaijan. Apparently, the club who they were training with, Neftchi Baku were on the look-out for a striker and my name was brought up.
After talking with the agent, he told me that the oil-rich club based in the country’s capital city, Baku, were willing to take me over on trial for 5 days, all expenses paid for. He also explained that if the trial went well, and both parties were happy, I would have a contract offer of €18,500 cash in hand every month, along with €800 towards living expenses. Win bonuses were in the range of anything over €1,000 per game and the length of contracts between 1 and 3 years. He also mentioned the possibility of a wage increase after a few months. €18,500 a month, cash in hand, do the maths; that’s €222,000 a year before bonus’s, a healthy sum for anyone and a large part of a mortgage paid off in just 1 year.
I thought, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained” and decided that I would go. If nothing came of it, I was sure the footballing insight into a relatively unknown country would be an experience in itself. I was right, an experience it was.
Firstly, Azerbaijan has to be the poorest and dirtiest country I’ve ever set foot in. You have to see it to believe. Despite an abundance of expensive resources such as oil and natural gas (most of the football clubs there are funded by these wealthy oil tycoons), the standard of living there is so low with poverty and destitution increasing. Sometimes, you can only appreciate what you have until you see actual poverty with your own eyes. I remember going to training every day and seeing the heads off dead sheep hanging up on clotheslines. It was a complete wake up call for me.
Anyway, back to the football side of things. The club put me up in a relatively okay hotel. It was meant to be a 5 star hotel, but to be honest; it was a 2 star at best. I trained every day with the team whilst I was there. The training facilities were tolerable, not great as there wasn’t a lot of grass on the training pitch but perhaps that was because of the time of year. The team consisted mostly of players from Azerbaijan but there were also a few foreigners on the team and the coach at the time was German.
The Azerbaijani players were not very welcoming to say the least but there were a couple of guys, one from Estonia and the other from Turkey that I chatted to. The reoccurring theme that I got from both players was that living in Azerbaijan was a nightmare but they put up with it because the money was so too good to refuse.
I think I’m being too generous here when I say the standard of football I witnessed over there was terrible. Any premier division team here in Ireland would beat them quite easily. They couldn’t string two passes together. They were tactically inept, technically they were clumsy and their attitude as professional footballers was embarrassing.
I was over there for 5 days altogether; 5 days too long. No amount of money would make me sign over there. The standard of football was dreadful but what made a possible move there impossible in my eyes was the horrifying living conditions and lifestyle there.
Before I finish my piece this week, let me leave you with this thought. I remember on my final day there one of the foreign players pulled up to the training ground in a brand new black BMW 630i convertible. He stepped out dressed from top to bottom in Giorgio Armani. He told me that he was going home to Turkey for a month as the season over there took a winter break. I asked him why he would ever come back to Azerbaijan. He simply answered by unfolding his “man-bag” and showing me thousands of Euros in cash and said, “That’s why I’ll be back”. It’s a case of different strokes for different folks, not for me though.
Coincidentally, I picked up one of the daily newspapers last Friday that publish a weekly 8 page pull-out on the Airtricity League of Ireland. On the front of it read the headline, “JOE’S LIVING HELL”. The headline referred to a rather interesting insight into one of my former team-mates at Drogheda, Joe Kendrick, and his time in Azerbaijan. Some of the things that he said he experienced over there were frightening to say the least. Receiving threatening phone calls, his house phone apparently bugged, punched in the head by his captain at training, told his safety was at risk if he stayed in the country and denied wages for months. A horrifying experience for anyone, especially someone with a young family.
What made the piece even more interesting, personal and to be honest, a little scary, was the startling realization that the headline could so easily have read “EAMON’S LIVING HELL”. Let me explain why.
In my column last week, I touched on the fact that when I left Drogheda United at the end of 2008, I received a few phone calls from a various agents offering the opportunity to go on trials abroad. One call I received was from a Dutch agent. He had actually got my phone number from Joe Kendrick, John Tambouras, Adam Hughes and Fahrudin Kudozivic. All four of them, who I played with at Drogheda, were sent over by this Dutch agent, for a week’s trial at a club in Azerbaijan. Apparently, the club who they were training with, Neftchi Baku were on the look-out for a striker and my name was brought up.
After talking with the agent, he told me that the oil-rich club based in the country’s capital city, Baku, were willing to take me over on trial for 5 days, all expenses paid for. He also explained that if the trial went well, and both parties were happy, I would have a contract offer of €18,500 cash in hand every month, along with €800 towards living expenses. Win bonuses were in the range of anything over €1,000 per game and the length of contracts between 1 and 3 years. He also mentioned the possibility of a wage increase after a few months. €18,500 a month, cash in hand, do the maths; that’s €222,000 a year before bonus’s, a healthy sum for anyone and a large part of a mortgage paid off in just 1 year.
I thought, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained” and decided that I would go. If nothing came of it, I was sure the footballing insight into a relatively unknown country would be an experience in itself. I was right, an experience it was.
Firstly, Azerbaijan has to be the poorest and dirtiest country I’ve ever set foot in. You have to see it to believe. Despite an abundance of expensive resources such as oil and natural gas (most of the football clubs there are funded by these wealthy oil tycoons), the standard of living there is so low with poverty and destitution increasing. Sometimes, you can only appreciate what you have until you see actual poverty with your own eyes. I remember going to training every day and seeing the heads off dead sheep hanging up on clotheslines. It was a complete wake up call for me.
Anyway, back to the football side of things. The club put me up in a relatively okay hotel. It was meant to be a 5 star hotel, but to be honest; it was a 2 star at best. I trained every day with the team whilst I was there. The training facilities were tolerable, not great as there wasn’t a lot of grass on the training pitch but perhaps that was because of the time of year. The team consisted mostly of players from Azerbaijan but there were also a few foreigners on the team and the coach at the time was German.
The Azerbaijani players were not very welcoming to say the least but there were a couple of guys, one from Estonia and the other from Turkey that I chatted to. The reoccurring theme that I got from both players was that living in Azerbaijan was a nightmare but they put up with it because the money was so too good to refuse.
I think I’m being too generous here when I say the standard of football I witnessed over there was terrible. Any premier division team here in Ireland would beat them quite easily. They couldn’t string two passes together. They were tactically inept, technically they were clumsy and their attitude as professional footballers was embarrassing.
I was over there for 5 days altogether; 5 days too long. No amount of money would make me sign over there. The standard of football was dreadful but what made a possible move there impossible in my eyes was the horrifying living conditions and lifestyle there.
Before I finish my piece this week, let me leave you with this thought. I remember on my final day there one of the foreign players pulled up to the training ground in a brand new black BMW 630i convertible. He stepped out dressed from top to bottom in Giorgio Armani. He told me that he was going home to Turkey for a month as the season over there took a winter break. I asked him why he would ever come back to Azerbaijan. He simply answered by unfolding his “man-bag” and showing me thousands of Euros in cash and said, “That’s why I’ll be back”. It’s a case of different strokes for different folks, not for me though.
