6th October, 2013The following day I was surprised to discover that I had been invited round to Bombinho’s place where we were to have coffee. I had hoped to spend a day with some of the players in their homes and get to know them better and see what made them tick. Money, I had guessed.
I pulled into the entrance of Bombinho’s gated mansion, gave my name to the security guard then drove up to a mansion that could’ve been mistaken for the White House.
One of Bombinho’s man servants was there to greet us, and ushered us into a lounge that was bigger than my pad, my old pad and the pad I first got upon leaving home – combined. Marble, granite and the finest craftsmanship were everywhere. Unfortunately, we came on a day Bombinho and his wife were having a right old barney.
Dressed in a whi
