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    Want to Lose a Lot of Money, Fast? Buy a Small Soccer Team in England.

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    The country’s lower leagues offer a tempting entry to ownership. But the sport’s economics mean even multimillionaires can struggle to compete.Geoff Thompson knows there are plenty of people who want to buy what he has to sell. The phone calls and emails over the last few weeks have left no doubt. And really, that is no surprise. Few industries are quite as appealing or as prestigious as English soccer, and Mr. Thompson has a piece of it.It is, admittedly, a comparatively small piece: South Shields F.C., the team he has owned for almost a decade, operates in English soccer’s sixth tier, several levels below, and a number of worlds away, from the dazzling light and international allure of the Premier League. But while his team might be small, Mr. Thompson is of the view that it is, at least, as perfectly formed as any minor-league English soccer club could hope to be.South Shields has earned four promotions to higher leagues in his nine years as chairman. The team owns its stadium. Mr. Thompson has spent considerable sums of money modernizing the bathrooms, the club shop and the private boxes. There is a thriving youth academy and an active charitable foundation. “We have done most of the hard yards,” Mr. Thompson said.After a cancer scare last year led him to reassess his priorities, Mr. Thompson has, reluctantly, decided that he has to “hand the baton” to someone else.That is where things becomes complicated. There are plenty of very wealthy people who want to buy their way into English soccer. It is, as Mr. Thompson said, “fun.” Owning a team offers the chance to “be a hero” to a place. It is a pitch sufficiently compelling that, in a matter of weeks, at least four suitors — two British, two American — have inquired about taking South Shields off his hands.That is the upside. The downside is that — as the Premier League has become a playground for private equity firms and sovereign wealth funds, and as the “Welcome to Wrexham” success has focused Hollywood’s searchlight on the romance of the game’s backwaters — England’s minor leagues have become a place where even the very rich can feel poor.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      in Basket

      Red McCombs, Car Salesman Turned Media Mogul, Dies at 95

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      A Texas entrepreneur, he co-founded the media giant Clear Channel, owned pro sports teams and created more than 400 businesses in a variety of industries.Red McCombs, a former Texas used car dealer who became a billionaire entrepreneur by venturing into an array of successful businesses, including the media giant Clear Channel Communications and several professional sports teams, died on Sunday at his home in San Antonio. He was 95.His family announced his death but did not state the cause.Mr. McCombs was a flamboyant wheeler-dealer who created more than 400 businesses across an array of industries, including oil, real estate, cattle, insurance, movies and racehorses, often selling them at a substantial profit. At various times he owned a pro football team, the Minnesota Vikings, and two pro basketball teams, the San Antonio Spurs and Denver Nuggets.But his heart was in the automobile business, where he began as a standout car salesman in Corpus Christi, Texas, in 1950. He went on to start his own dealership, and then expanded it into a network that at its peak in 1998 included more than 100 outlets, making it the largest car dealership in Texas and sixth largest in the United States.“I was an entrepreneur before I knew what the word was and certainly before I could spell it,” Mr. McCombs said in a 2006 radio interview. “New deals, new opportunities, new ventures are always a part of my life.”A University of Texas alumnus and a passionate Longhorns football fan, Mr. McCombs parlayed his love of sports into ownership of a minor-league baseball team in Corpus Christi in the 1950s.Then he bought the Dallas Chaparrals of the old American Basketball Association in 1973, relocated the team to San Antonio for the 1973-74 season and changed its name to the Spurs.When the A.B.A. and N.B.A. merged in 1976, he played a key role in having the Spurs included in the merger. He sold the team in 1982 and acquired the Nuggets, only to sell that franchise in 1985 for $19 million, nearly twice what he’d paid for it. He then repurchased the Spurs for $47 million before selling it in 1993 for $75 million (about $157 million in today’s money).In a statement on Monday, the N.B.A. commissioner, Adam Silver, called Mr. McCombs “a driving force in creating the modern N.B.A.”In 1998, Mr. McCombs purchased the N.F.L.’s Minnesota Vikings for $246 million, but grew impatient with futile attempts to build a new stadium for the team in the Minneapolis area. He sold the Vikings for $600 million in 2005.He also played a key role in bringing Formula One racing to Austin by investing in the Circuit of the Americas, the Austin track where the annual U.S. Grand Prix race has been held since 2012.In a statement on Monday, the Dallas Cowboys owner, Jerry Jones, called Mr. McCombs “a true Texas titan across sports, media, business and philanthropy” who had “followed his dreams.”Mr. McCombs’s most lucrative venture was Clear Channel, which he co-founded with Lowry Mays in 1972, when they purchased a local radio station in San Antonio, KEEZ-FM, for $125,000. (Mr. Mays died in September at 87.)The two men continued to acquire radio stations, then television stations and billboards around the country. Aided by the 1996 Federal Telecommunications Act, which allowed media conglomerates to own an unlimited number of stations, they built the company into the world’s largest owner of radio stations; by 2000, Clear Channel owned more than 1,200.The company eventually expanded into event promotion, live music and sports management. Mr. Lowry oversaw the business, but Mr. McCombs was instrumental in seizing opportunities to expand, according to John Hogan, the company’s former chairman and chief executive.“He was steadfast in support of the notion that when the telecommunications regulations changed in 1996, we had to move quickly and aggressively, and that those who were slow and hesitant would get left behind,” Mr. Hogan said in an interview for this obituary.Though the company was often criticized for homogenizing radio programming in a way that eliminated much of the local flavor of independent radio stations, the formula was extremely profitable. When Mr. Lowry began to see signs that the internet would disrupt its well-oiled strategy, he and Mr. McCombs sold the company in 2006 for $17.9 billion to a private equity group led by Bain Capital Partners and Thomas H. Lee Partners. As part of the deal, the group agreed to take on more than $8 billion in the company’s debt.The timing was perfect for selling. Clear Channel’s fortunes plunged almost immediately. In 2014, the company split into Clear Channel Outdoor, for the billboard business, and iHeartMedia, for the radio stations and other media properties.Red McCombs, left, arrived in Denver in 1983 after buying the Denver Nuggets basketball team. At right was Carl Scheer, the team’s president and general manager.Duane Howell/The Denver Post, via Getty ImagesBilly Joe McCombs was born in the tiny West Texas town of Spur on Oct. 19, 1927. His father, Willie Nathan McCombs, was a sharecropper and later an auto mechanic. His mother, Gladys McCombs, came from a family of farmers.Billy, whose shock of red hair earned him the lifelong nickname “Red,” showed an entrepreneurial bent as early as age 9, when he began selling bags of peanuts to migrant cotton pickers. He was 15 when his family moved to Corpus Christi, where he became a standout high school football player, eventually winning a scholarship to Southwestern University in Georgetown, Texas. He left college to serve in the Army for two years before returning and enrolling at the University of Texas in 1948 on the G.I. Bill.But he dropped out to start a business career. He landed a job at the local Ford dealership in Corpus Christi and realized that he had found his calling. Just 22, he set a goal of selling a car a day and, by his account, managed to accomplish that feat for three years straight.In 1950, he married Charline Hamblin, who died in 2019 at 91. He is survived by their three daughters, Lynda McCombs, Marsha Shields and Connie McNab; eight grandchildren; and 11 great-grandchildren.After selling new cars for several years, Mr. McCombs realized that he could make more money selling used cars, he wrote in his autobiography, “Big Red: Memoirs of a Texas Entrepreneur and Philanthropist” (2010). New cars, he thought, were all alike, but “every used car is unique” and had a story to tell.“People like stories about the things they might be interested in buying,” he wrote.In 1957, at 29, he opened his first new car dealership, in Corpus Christi. But it sold Edsels, a Ford brand that would become synonymous with automotive failure. Though he sold many cars, he said, he knew that the brand would not survive. (The Edsel was discontinued in 1959.)“I was selling it myself and I could see the resistance,” he said. “We had to shoehorn everyone into it, and after I’d sold them to all my friends, I had nowhere to go. It was time to move on.”He moved to San Antonio in 1958 and there befriended Mr. Mays. The two soon began buying up radio stations, ultimately turning Clear Channel Communications into a behemoth. Mr. McCombs knew the power of radio and outdoor advertising from his experience with auto dealerships.He did his own radio and television commercials for 25 years, becoming a Texas celebrity along the way. He struggled for years with alcoholism and nearly died at age 48 after a serious case of hepatitis. He gave up alcohol then, and often spoke candidly about his addiction.In 2000, Mr. McCombs and his wife gave a gift of $50 million to the University of Texas business school — the single largest donation in the school’s history at the time. It was renamed the McCombs School of Business. He and his wife also donated $30 million to the university’s MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston.Mr. McCombs was a major donor to Republican politicians, including Senator Ted Cruz of Texas and President Donald J. Trump.Of all of his business achievements, Clear Channel was his most significant, Mr. McCombs declared in his autobiography. “I would never have thought I could ever have had a chance to do something like Clear Channel,” he wrote. “That’s why I don’t really believe in long-term plans. There was no way I could have ever planned Clear Channel.” More

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      in Tennis

      The Billionaire Trying to Turn Kazakhstan Into a Tennis Nation

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      Bulat Utemuratov decided in 2007 to create a tennis culture for the masses in a former Soviet Republic known for combat sports and weight lifting. Casual tennis fans likely got their first glimpse of perhaps the most surprising rising power player in the sport at Wimbledon in July, when a dark-haired, superfan in a Panama hat and blue blazer embraced Elena Rybakina, the native Russian turned Kazakh who won the women’s singles title.“Unbelievable support,” Rybakina said of the effusiveness of Bulat Utemuratov, the billionaire who invested in her game and changed her life, as she thanked him during the Wimbledon trophy presentation.Utemuratov’s sporting indulgences are back at the center of the sport this week. Because of him, the center of the tennis universe has shifted to a medium-sized city in Kazakhstan, a country that was only nominally on the tennis map a decade ago but now has the wherewithal to lure many of the biggest stars of the game.Novak Djokovic, Carlos Alcaraz, Daniil Medvedev, Stefanos Tsitsipas and a handful of other top players competed this week in Astana, the capital of a vast Central Asian republic, because Utemuratov, a Kazakh diplomat and industrialist decided 15 years ago to use his largess to turn his country into an emerging tennis force.“I liked it from the beginning,” Utemuratov, 64, said of tennis during a recent interview, though that beginning didn’t arrive until he was in his 30s.Rybakina’s run to the Wimbledon championship caused a major dust-up. Players from Russia and Belarus were barred from participating in this year’s tournament because of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Rybakina, 23, was born and raised in Moscow, where her family still lives. She became a citizen of Kazakhstan five years ago in exchange for financial support from Utemuratov and the country’s tennis federation. It was just one part of Utemuratov’s strategy for turning the former Soviet republic into a legitimate tennis nation, as odd as that sounded when he launched it in the ‘aughts.His multipronged approach could serve as a blueprint for other nations that want to get better at tennis, or really any sport, as long as they have one key ingredient — a billionaire willing to spend whatever it takes. The sports world is filled with billionaires who buy teams and use them as fancy toys. Utemuratov chose to essentially buy an entire sport, for now, in his own country, though he is becoming increasingly influential internationally.Utemuratov boxed and played soccer and table tennis in his youth. He did not start playing tennis until Kazakhstan’s post-Soviet business community embraced it in the 1990s. During the Soviet era, tennis was frowned upon as a sport of the elite. There were only a handful of tennis courts in the entire country, and playing on them was extremely expensive.To Utemuratov, tennis was a revelation — a physical version of chess, requiring versatility, intellectual wherewithal, maximum concentration and constant athletic improvement.Utemuratov’s tennis prowess rose with his political and financial prominence. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, he served as both an economic envoy for Kazakhstan to Europe and the United Nations, the leader of one of top financial institutions and a special aide to then-President Nursultan Nazarbayev. Nazarbayev ruled the country essentially as a dictator for three decades as it worked to modernize and take advantage of its vast oil reserves.An aerial view of Nur-Sultan (Astana) where the Astana Open is taking place.Alexander Zemlianichenko/Associated PressIn a country where soccer and combat sports ruled and its most prominent athlete is Gennady Golovkin, the middleweight boxing champion known as Triple G, tennis barely registered. By 2007, the country’s tennis federation was nearly bankrupt. Utemuratov and other business leaders discussed what they could do to save the national federation. Utemuratov, who had become a big fan of Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer, offered his services.It was, he said, a special challenge, “like starting from scratch,” and doing so in a poor, sprawling country, with just 20 million people spread across a territory nearly 2,000 miles wide and 1,000 miles from top to bottom. Kazakhstan stretches from close to Mongolia to within a few hundred miles of Ukraine’s eastern border. It’s brutally cold for much of the year, too, and there were still barely any tennis courts.Using almost entirely Utemuratov’s money, the Kazakhstan Tennis Federation went on a building spree, investing roughly $200 million — nearly a tenth of his estimated fortune — to construct 38 tennis centers in all 17 regions of the country. It trained hundreds of coaches and instructors and imported some from Europe. It subsidized lessons for young children and adolescents who can train six days a week for $40-$120 per month. The best juniors receive as much as $50,000 to pay for training and travel.Utemuratov said making the sport affordable was essential to changing the perception of tennis to a game for all people from one of just the elite. There are now 33,000 registered players at all levels in Kazakhstan. In 2007, there were just 1,800. A staff of 32 at the federation’s headquarters is in constant contact with 70 other coaches and employees at the tennis centers tracking the progress of promising juniors.Dave Miley, an Irishman who led player development at the International Tennis Federation, arrived two years ago to serve as the executive director of the K.T.F. Miley said money alone will not produce high-level players.As interest and participation grew and the quality of play improved, the federation partnered with academies in Spain, Italy, and other established tennis countries to send its best junior players there to train. It held international tournaments from young juniors to the professional ranks.“You only produce players if you have a systematic approach,” he said.That is only partly true.Utemuratov knew that people in his country would truly embrace the sport only if Kazakhstan had top professionals. And he didn’t want to wait a generation to see if the country might produce one organically.So instead of waiting, he adopted a strategy that lots of other countries have used to pursue excellence in other sports — he began to look abroad, specifically to Russia, in search of players who had talent but were not successful enough to garner support from the tennis federation there. His offer was simple: Play for Kazakhstan, which shares a language and a history with Russia, and the country will fund your career.He found early takers in Yuri Schukin and Yaroslava Shvedova. Schukin never cracked the top 100 but Shvedova reached a career-high ranking of No. 25 in 2012. She made the quarterfinals in singles of three Grand Slam tournaments and won doubles titles at Wimbledon and the U.S. Open. Schukin is now one of the country’s leading coaches.More recently, Rybakina and Alexander Bublik another native Russian, signed on to represent Kazakhstan. Russia’s tennis federation had essentially discarded both players, leaving them and their families to find coaching and court access on their own.Bublik said he first met Utemuratov when he was a young teenager playing in Monte Carlo, Monaco. Utemuratov had reserved a court for several hours to play with his daughter. They finished early and Utemuratov told Bublik to use the rest of his court time.Robert Perry/Press Association, via Associated PressBublik, 25, decided to make Kazakhstan his second home in 2016 after he made the quarterfinals of a second-tier tournament, but with little help from Russia’s tennis federation. With Kazakhstan funding his travel and coaching, he cracked the top 100 a little more than a year later.A lot of players receive funding when they are young from an individual sponsor who is only in it to get paid back and take his share of the winnings when a player becomes successful, Bublik said last week from his third home, in Monte Carlo.“For him it’s his passion,” said Bublik, who is now ranked 43rd. “It’s a big love from his side.”Utemuratov, who is now a close friend, confidant and mentor of Bublik’s, speaks with Bublik often, though Bublik said the one topic he rarely follows Utemuratov’s advice on is tennis strategy.Despite Rybakina’s recent success, Utemuratov said Kazakhstan no longer actively looks for Russian prospects.Instead, it is more focused on the development of players like Zangar Nurlanuly, who has held the top ranking in his age group in Europe and this year led his teammates to the semifinals of the I.T.F. under-14 World Junior Tennis Finals, a kind of Davis Cup for small fries. Utemuratov joined the team’s courtside celebration after it got through the preliminary round.Utemuratov’s investment is paying off for him outside Kazakhstan’s tennis circles. He is now a vice president of the I.T.F., the sport’s world governing body.The next big step happens this week, as Kazakhstan hosts a Masters 500 tournament, just below the top-level tour events, for the first time, after years of hosting lower-tier competitions. In another first, Utemuratov said the tennis federation did not have to give away tickets to fill the stands. More