Jarrod Black: Chasing Pack

Chapter 4

BetShedJarrod had not been back long from his loan spell at Newcastle. His dream of playing at St James’ Park for the club he had loved all his life had been fulfilled. Sure, it wasn’t in the Premier League, and of course it was a very short loan term, and his place was filled by some very expensive and experienced imports. But it had included a glamour game against Barcelona, and it had involved a dramatic comeback. Nothing would take that night away from him.

The drama that surrounded that game, Jarrod’s involvement in the bust of a multi-million-pound betting syndicate, was almost a distant memory. If it wasn’t for the almost daily contact with D.I. Allison of the Met Police with updates on the trials of the parties involved, he could have forgotten it completely. The trial of the main offender and foot soldier, Yannick Lefevre, appeared to be going nowhere and the detective inspector was concerned that he might get away scot-free.

The footballing public weren’t going to forget it quickly though. He was recognised even more now wherever he went, especially in Newcastle. There had been requests for TV interviews about the betting scandal, but the standard response email sent on Jarrod’s behalf by the police was enough to put off any media outlet looking for an exclusive.

One by-product of all the drama was Jarrod’s link to betting and money. Advertising and PR companies were all over him. Jarrod’s agent, Duddy Freiberg, who had masterminded the loan deal at Newcastle, was still managing Jarrod’s affairs in a somewhat unofficial capacity. He provided Jarrod with constant feedback as to the sort of wheeling and dealing that was happening behind the scenes. He had knocked back offers to be brand ambassador for at least two betting companies, and also one from a payday loan company of ill-repute.

Two weeks ago, though, an offer from BetShed—a new player in the crowded online betting marketplace—was deemed too good to turn down. Jarrod had been asked to spend a day at a film studio near London. It was an enormous day. Jarrod had caught a train from Darlington after training on the Sunday afternoon and was met at Stevenage by a car that drove him to the studio nearby. There he had a briefing with the producer and a run-through of what he would need to do and say.

After he had eventually gone to bed at midnight, he was picked up from his accommodation at 6:30 a.m. for a whole day of shooting. The previous six weeks had given Jarrod so many new experiences, so this was water off a duck’s back. The one thing that he had found intriguing was the amount of kit and the number of people needed just to shoot an advert. It was like all the gear from the whole of the Arena on game day, shoehorned into a space as big as a village church hall. People stepped carefully around and over mysterious black boxes. Jarrod stood on a small stage with blinding lights shining at him from all angles.

The idea behind the advert was pretty clever—Jarrod was on a stool in front of what he had assumed to be a green screen. He was dressed in a good suit, a Gibson and Brookes—he recognised the name—and it fit him perfectly. He was instructed to type something into the mobile phone he was holding, stumble off the stool as if surprised, and then start walking. He then did multiple shots of him walking at an increasing pace, then jogging. His jacket came off between shots, and his shirt then unbuttoned to reveal a generic football shirt. He eventually ended up in full football gear. The last shot was of Jarrod celebrating a goal, both fists in the air, head back and roaring at the sky.

Jarrod had been told what was meant to be playing behind him on the screen but had been unable to really follow what the director had been telling him. It had all sounded a little contrived, but he had no reason to doubt that it would be very impressive. He was told that he would get a preview of it anyway before it went to air.

Jarrod felt as if he’d made a few friends during the course of that long, long day, and remembered being exhausted when he arrived back home after midnight after a late train journey back up north.

He was given a preview of the ad, about a week ago. There were in fact a series of four different ads, all using the same footage, but all with totally different backgrounds. The idea was that a user of the BetShed app had placed a bet and that had prompted Jarrod to get off to his game, as if given instructions to score the winning goal. The user was in a different country and a different scene each time, but the result was the same: the winning goal. The ads all ended with Jarrod back on his stool as if he were ready for the next user of the app to place their bet.

Jarrod wasn’t convinced it was that good. He didn’t quite get the message, but the finished product looked slick and the background looked convincing. He was pretty happy with his own acting skills too. The ads were about twelve seconds long—long enough that Jarrod was sure he wouldn’t see them at prime time in the ad breaks in Coronation Street.

When the ads came out, they were everywhere, especially online. Every time he looked at any website or ventured into social media, he saw his own face. It had kind of grown on Jarrod and after two days of being bombarded with the same ads, he was able to look at it and say that it was a pretty good piece of work. The money that had been offered for the shoot was amazing too—eighty thousand pounds for a day’s work, and they’d even paid for everything while he was there.

After the payments had hit his bank account from the spell at Newcastle, this added to make an enormous amount of money sitting waiting to be put to work. Jarrod’s wife Marianne had been discussing investing in another house, maybe in Newcastle. Jarrod had always thought he should invest into something back in Sydney but was too afraid of the outrageous prices. Or it could just stay in the bank, and they could live quite comfortably off that for a while when Jarrod hung up his boots. They’d be able to do some travelling when he finally had the time; Jarrod had never been to South America and Marianne had visions of a Kombi van tour.

That feeling of accomplishment was immediately nipped in the bud the following day at training. No one had said anything about the ads until Dec Hines scored a cheeky goal in the small-sided game at the end, and raced into the corner of the field, raised his fists to the sky and roared. Everyone burst out laughing, Jarrod included. A chant of “BetShed, BetShed”, just like at the end of the ads, went up and all the players converged on Jarrod, jumping around him. It was as though they had just won the FA Cup.

Jarrod loved this bunch of players. They were all on equal footing; there was no grandstanding by anyone in the squad, or if there was a hint of it, the player in question would quickly be shot down to size. Jarrod was the club captain but there were more confident and over-the-top individuals than himself. He felt as though there was a trust between the players on the field that was there off the field too. Jarrod had enjoyed his time in the spotlight at Newcastle and was enjoying some airtime now, but he knew that his teammates would keep him well and truly grounded.

A video session to watch highlights of their opponents Shrewsbury included a link to an online clip of their last game of last season. Before the game started to play, it cut abruptly to an ad. It was Jarrod’s BetShed ad. He put his hand over his eyes as the rest of the squad cat-called and booed at the screen, a shout of “bor-ing!” getting everyone laughing. Keeper Wes Kellehar got angry the next day at his phone and shouted “b****y Jarrod Black, you’ve taken over my phone …” as a pop-up played the ad for the umpteenth time. There was a lot of laughter in the changing room. Jarrod hoped that Wes wasn’t being serious.