Port Vale: Norman Smurthwaite's Conquest

When Norman Smurthwaite arrived at a Port Vale match dressed as a Smurf, it cemented a fan-friendly reputation. Here was the man who, alongside Paul Wildes, had rescued the club from the wreckage of Keith Ryder’s failed takeover bid in 2012 and overseen an immediate promotion back to League One. Yet behind the costume and the nickname, the picture of his short tenure is becoming increasingly confused.

The fans at Vale Park have endured more than their share of boardroom turmoil, from the misadventures of the ‘Valiants 2001’ regime to the false dawn promised by Ryder. The arrival of Wildes and Smurthwaite seemed to offer stability. Wildes, a venture capitalist, was the public face, promising transparency and backing for manager Micky Adams. Smurthwaite, a retired ‘finance expert’, was presented as the silent partner providing the financial muscle. Together, they delivered success on the pitch.

But the partnership unravelled with surprising speed. Just after promotion was secured in May 2013, Wildes was gone.

The Town Ain't Big Enough

The official line was a gentle difference of opinion. Smurthwaite insisted there was no falling out, describing Wildes as his “baby brother”. The reality appears to have been a power struggle. Smurthwaite later revealed that after a defeat to Bristol Rovers in March, Micky Adams had been close to the sack, implying Wildes was the one ready to pull the trigger. Unhappy with Wildes’ ambition relative to his financial input, Smurthwaite issued an ultimatum: buy in for 50% of what he had invested, buy him out completely, or leave. Wildes chose to walk away.

Smurthwaite claimed surprise that his partner could so easily discard his involvement after building such a public profile. Yet his own story soon shifted. The man he initially called a “baby brother” became the source of all the club’s problems. A new ticketing system was dismissed as a “brainwave which unfortunately will be with us for four-and-a-half years now”. Smurthwaite made it clear to the local Sentinel newspaper that the supposed £1.25m takeover was entirely funded by “all the clown Smurf’s money”. The goodwill of the promotion party had well and truly evaporated.

An Abyss of Surprises

For a time, Smurthwaite and the Sentinel enjoyed a productive relationship. An August piece celebrated the shiny, refurbished Vale Park, with the owner declaring his desire to end the days of fans settling for “second best”. By October, the paper was banned from the press box over what seemed an innocuous story about a late delivery of replica shirts.

The real issue was deeper. Smurthwaite claimed to have confided in a Sentinel journalist during the period Wildes was considering his exit, only for the paper’s sports editor to approach him with that same confidential information. This, he felt, was being used “against me and the club”. When the ban was eventually lifted, he spoke to BBC Radio Stoke not of shirt deliveries but of staring into an “abyss” upon taking sole control, discovering things that could have wiped the club “off the face of Football League existence”. What these things were, he would not say.

Financial concerns have become more public since. In December, he confirmed the club was losing “vast amounts of money”, projecting his own input would reach £1.2m by the end of the season. This was a surprise, given the budget was supposedly built on a “conservative but realistic” average gate of 6,500, a figure the club was exceeding. It transpired his definition of the gate included an ambitious 1,000 away fans for every match. He blamed the previous accounts department for building a budget based on his own competitive aspirations.

Funny Business

Last month, Smurthwaite confirmed to agents via email that Port Vale could not pay fees owed, again blaming the previous regime for contracts he was not “party to”. This defence is complicated by the most significant revelation of all: Port Vale Football Club does not own Vale Park.

Smurthwaite recently told a fans’ forum that upon buying the club, he and Wildes split the business. The stadium is owned by one company, Alchemy Land, and the club is a separate operating company, PVFC Ltd. He presented this as a positive, a way for him to “pick up the pieces” if the club went bust. But such arrangements are seldom seen as beneficial for a club. It means Smurthwaite is both owner and landlord.

He assured fans there is “no rent being charged, no funny business going on”, but the arrangement was kept quiet for fifteen months. He also admitted that four stand sponsors pay £87,500 directly to him, though it is not clear if this money goes to the stadium company or the football club. This took on a sinister edge when he told agents that “PVFC Ltd has no assets, so any attempt to wind-up the company will result in no payment made to any of its creditors.” The implication is that all assets, perhaps even player contracts, are held by the stadium company, insulating them from the club’s debts.

Smurthwaite often meets scrutiny with emotional deflections, asking fans if they think he has “lost the plot” and reminding them that “I am the bank. If I drop dead you are shafted.” For a fanbase that craves stability, this is hardly reassuring. On the pitch, Micky Adams’ team is pushing for the play-offs and an FA Cup run is boosting the coffers. But the next set of accounts to be filed will require very close inspection indeed.