Celebrity Power Struggle
O--I-- from the People's Forum takes a light-hearted view of the current boardroom upheaval

This week: Bill Kenwright vs Paul Gregg

Meet the contestants:

Who are you, and what are you doing here?

BK: My name’s Bill and, basically, I’m a chilled-out entertainer. I’m just in 7/11 at the moment, to pick up the Boost that David Moyes tells me he so badly needs. Otherwise, I’d be working round a clock, trying to attract investment. I’m told this is what I should be doing but, between you and me, I don’t see how it helps. Just seems like a silly superstition, really.

You are clearly a devoted Evertonian…

BK: Oh, I had no choice in the matter! How was I not meant to fall in love with the sweet right-foot of Preki? The dynamic haircut of Mikael Madar? The sleek, feminine thighs of Mike Pejic? How was I meant to know that riding auntie’s bike into that lamp-post would cause irreparable brain damage? You know, I’ve always said that supporting Everton is very much like a wet dream – it can be a glorious thing, but you have to accept that there will be sticky patches.

(The man in front of Bill picks up the last Boost and waves it in front of the cashier, who mutters “that will be forty pence” in a morose fashion.)

BK: [Scoffing] Pfff…you don’t need 40p to buy a 40p chocolate bar. I say, shopkeep! I offer 28p - to be paid in monthly instalments of 4p - and a couple of old batteries for that fine Boost of yours.

Shopkeeper: I’m sorry, sir, but the gentleman in front of you has already completed the purchase of the item in question. Might I suggest you peruse our wide selection of remaining confections?

BK: Hmmm…how much for this Double Decker?

Shopkeeper: That is also forty pence.

BK: I’ll give you 10p up front, 15p in 5 annual payments, and the rest dependant on Everton’s Premiership survival until the year 2087 inclusive.

Shopkeeper: I’m sorry, sir.

BK: Ok, well, what about these Twanger candy laces? 5p down, the remainder to be paid if giant bug-men from space colonise the Earth and enslave us all as gladiators for their intergalactic sparring olympics…

Shopkeeper: …Look, just take the bloody Twangers and get out of my shop. You’re dripping blue-rinse everywhere.

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Who are you, and what are you doing here?

PG: My name is Paul, or ‘Greggsy’ to my mates, and I’m a leisure tycoon. I’m here because my erstwhile friend and business associate Bill Kenwright is sending this club spiralling down the tubes and, with it, the £7m I was saving up for that set of solid-gold shoehorns I had my eye on.

How do you respond to Kenwright’s suggestion that you have been waging a ‘personal vendetta’ against him via the media?

PG: Everton is a great club with a proud tradition, and we must take quick and decisive action to get it back on the right track – this is no time for hanging around. Now, Bill is a shining example of the loyal support which continues to be Everton’s greatest asset…but the man is clueless! When he’s not in London, sitting by Big Ben, scoffing pastries from Pret A Manger, he’s running about the place clenching his fists and spouting Latin – I am convinced that his skull is caving under the weight of his own haircut. “Bill, you can’t run a club on passion alone,” I always tell him.

Can you cite any other examples of this alleged incompetence?

PG: Well, there was the time he took training when David Moyes was off with the flu. It was lashing it down, muddy as hell, and Bill had to attend a premier that night. So he took all the players indoors and stuck on an old Macauley Culkin movie. I said, “Bill, you can’t run a training session on Home Alone”.

Then there was the time he started writing a musical based on the career of Ted Danson, focusing mainly on his role in the legendary sitcom ‘Cheers’. I said, “Bill, you can’t run a West End production on Sam Malone”.

And how could I forget the time when he took charge of the catering for that AGM one year? The ‘fresh fruit salad’, as was promised, in fact turned out to consist solely of passion fruit. I said, “Bill, f—k off you c—t”.

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THE BIG STRUGGLE…LIVE!!

Announcer: Welcome to Saaahhhh-lebrity Power Struggle! He may be Ken-wright, but his opponent insists he’s Ken-wrong! Can the tycoon topple the impresario? Or when pushy comes to shovey, will it be all about the Luvvy? Ladies and gentlemen, they used to be Blood Brothers, but now they’re Blood Thirsty…please welcome Bill Kenwright and Paul Gregg!!

(First down the aisle is Kenwright, to the strains of the classic standard ‘Stand By Me’, but he is met by a somewhat muted response from the audience. However, the crowd go wild when he removes his shirt to reveal a wart which has been specially sculpted into a Dixie Dean statuette.)

Kenwright: (Beating his chest) Bring it ooooorrrrrrrrrn!!!!

(The opening riff of The Animals’ ‘We Gotta Get Out Of This Place’ signals the emergence of Gregg, who backflips over the ropes and into the ring with a hitherto unnoticed grace. He too strips down to his Y-fronts, and immediately grabs the mic.)

Gregg: Good people of Everton – the future of your club rides on the outcome of tonight’s bout! I have been contacted by many wealthy figures who would happily donate millions of pounds to see me administer a sound beating to one of this country’s leading exponents of musical theatre. I hereby pledge…

(Kenwright grabs Gregg’s nipples and twists them until he squeals like a pig on a stick.)

Referee: Stop that now! I want a good, clean fight. No gouging, no biting, no smear campaigns in the gutter press, and no wittering ceaselessly and embarrassingly about pretty old things that bear little relevance to your actual responsibilities. Fight!

(After a good 5 minutes of infuriating circling and eyeing up, Gregg throws the first punch and lands it straight on Bill’s jaw, sending gold teeth flying off in disparate directions. David Moyes scoops up the teeth and stuffs them inside a small stuffed cat, labelled ‘the Transfer Kitty’.)

Kenwright: Uggg!! Right, you asked for it, punk-ass.

(Bill begins to bellow his self-penned paean to Everton, ‘No Other Team’, which sends Gregg hurtling to the ground, screaming loudly. There is blood pouring from his ears as his opponent closes in on him, chanting ever louder with each passing verse. Attracting a fresh investment of adrenaline with the thought of his much-coveted golden shoehorns, Gregg musters just enough strength to get back on his feet and brandish a small, wooden crucifix. Kenwright lets out an anguished roar and visibly starts to melt.)

Kenwright: Quick, Woodsy! The in-tray!

(Vociferous Kenwright cohort Jon Woods hastens to the ring with a wheelbarrow containing an unspeakably vast pile of papers, which he proceeds to tip all over the crucifix-wielding Gregg. Gregg’s determined battle cries turn to muffled hollering, as a hand reaches desperately out of the rubble in a vain attempt to struggle free. Eventually, the hand goes limp and there is an eerie silence.)

Woods: Pheeewwww!! That was a close call, eh Bill? Bill?

(The space that Bill was standing in just a minute before is now occupied by a sodden silver wig floating atop an oozing, bubbling puddle of blue slime. The slime begins to slide slowly towards the adjacent pile of papers and, upon reaching it, appears to precipitate some kind of chemical reaction. The audience gasp as a violent rumbling causes documents, envelopes and cheques to fly all over the place before a huge, foul beast emerges from the debris and howls at the sky.)

Punter #1: This can’t be good.

Punter #2: It’s ok – as long as it signs Earnshaw and Van Bommel, we’ll be fine.

(The great beast picks up a petrified David Moyes, clutching his dear Transfer Kitty, and swallows them whole. It then sends the wall crashing down with one swing of its mighty tail and stomps off into the distance leaving a trail of distruction in its wake.)

Punter #1: It's heading for the old Rooneys' house!

Punter #2: This is less encouraging.

Punter #3: Poor kitty. Can I say ‘c--t’?

Inverdale: No you f—king can’t. Get to the back.

Posted July 28,2004. © O--I--