Chapter 8 – The Exceptional Talent Clause

Chapter 8 – The Exceptional Talent Clause

Even though League Two didn't have a fiercely competitive transfer market, Yang Cheng's time was still incredibly limited.

He had just taken over the club, and there was a mountain of work waiting for him.

So once he returned to London, he temporarily set aside the Tom Huddlestone situation.

The transfer process between Dinamo Zagreb and Bayswater Chinese FC had been completed. The next step was to submit all relevant documents to both countries' football associations and FIFA.

That's the headache of international transfers.

As expected, Bayswater Chinese FC's application for Modrić's work permit was rejected.

The reason was simple: Modrić didn't meet the eligibility criteria.

This didn't surprise Yang Cheng at all.

Which was why he had already begun preparing to apply for the "Exceptional Talent Clause".

Contrary to what some believe, work permits aren't handled by the FA—they're under the control of the UK Home Office.

Anyone from a non-EU country wanting to work in the UK needs a permit, with different industries having different requirements.

It's a way to protect domestic employment.

But there were exceptions.

For example, the Home Office had long operated an "elite talent" pathway—a special fast-track route for global elite professionals.

Back in 1999, concerns were raised in British football about foreign players taking over and squeezing out local talent. The infamous example of Chelsea fielding eleven foreign players in one match was the trigger.

As a result, the UK began tightening its work permit policies for footballers.

But at the same time, top Premier League clubs lobbied for a version of the elite talent policy to be applied in football.

Finally, in 2002, the policy was implemented.

Each professional club was allowed to apply once per season for a player under what became known as the Exceptional Talent Clause.

Of course, officially, these applications still had to go through a hearing, complete a process, and weren't guaranteed to be approved.

But everyone knew—it was mostly a formality.

The policy officially took effect on January 1st, 2003.

As for the widespread fan rumor that Manchester United missed out on Kaká, which supposedly prompted the rule's creation—that was a misunderstanding. A coincidence at best.

Kaká's failed move to United was partly about the work permit, but mostly because United didn't rate him highly at the time.

Let's not forget, few Brazilian players had succeeded in the Premier League by then.

So why would United waste time and effort applying for the Exceptional Talent Clause?

But Yang Cheng was determined to apply it for Modrić.

Which meant a lot of prep work.

…

Knock knock.

While Yang Cheng was buried in paperwork, the door to his office—already open—was lightly knocked.

"Uncle Lin."

Yang Cheng glanced up at Lin Zhongqiu, then immediately returned to his work.

He had way too much to do.

"What is it?"

Though it was just a glance, Yang Cheng noticed Lin's face was clouded with worry.

Lin stepped into the office and sat across from Yang Cheng, staring at the young man he had watched grow up.

Conflicted, a bit proud—but deeply concerned.

"Ah Cheng, I know you've probably already thought about this, but I still need to say it."

"Go ahead," Yang Cheng replied without looking up.

"That £2 million—we've already burned through a good chunk of it. If you really go ahead and sign Huddlestone or Leon Andreasen, there won't be much left."

Money. Always money.

As club accountant, this was Lin Zhongqiu's biggest headache.

"I know. I've done the math. We should have enough for the first installment."

Yang Cheng planned to pay both Huddlestone and Andreasen in installments.

Even if the total was only around a million pounds, he'd still need to split it up over time.

The longer, the better.

"And what about wages after that?" Lin asked anxiously.

For League Two clubs, transfer fees weren't the main burden.

Salaries were.

But Yang Cheng?

As soon as the £2 million came in, he began splashing it in the transfer market.

Most of the players he signed weren't even well-known.

Huddlestone, from England's U17 national team, was the biggest name—and the most expensive.

And he might not even come.

"Ah Cheng, our ticket revenue isn't great," Lin reminded him.

That had a lot to do with the club's history.

Before being bought by Yang Jianguo and renamed Bayswater Chinese FC, the club was just an obscure amateur side based near London's Chinatown.

They never had many fans to begin with.

And even though they had managed to climb up to League Two over the past few years, without a strong local fanbase, they still struggled to fill seats.

The new stadium, still unfinished, was originally designed to hold 10,000.

Currently, with temporary seating, it could handle a maximum of 5,000.

But over the past two seasons, average attendance hadn't even reached 2,000.

Forget comparing them to Arsenal or Chelsea—even fellow League Two club QPR had over 10,000 fans per game.

That's the difference money makes.

The lower the league level, the more clubs depend on matchday revenue—which meant local fans were essential.

Why had Bayswater Chinese FC been so hard to sustain these past few years?

Ultimately, it came down to no income.

With no revenue, the club was like a bottomless pit.

Yang Jianguo and Lin's original plan had been to climb to the Championship or Premier League—higher divisions attract more fans.

But they'd stalled out in League Two.

Hence the financial crisis.

Now, Lin was worried that Yang Cheng might fall into the same trap.

"Ah Cheng, beyond the players, we've also got that performance coach from the U.S., and the fitness coach from Germany. They're each costing us around £100,000 a year."

"Not to mention—you're still chasing Brian Kidd, and he'll want even more."

Lin looked at Yang Cheng with pure frustration.

They'd just secured £2 million—and now it was nearly gone.

How would they survive the year ahead?

As the club's veteran financial officer, Lin wanted to cry.

Yang Cheng, of course, had already done the math.

This was the mess his father and Uncle Lin had left behind.

Bayswater Chinese FC was like a water lily with no roots. The lack of a fanbase had strangled the club's income.

Just look at neighboring QPR.

Over 10,000 fans per match. On some occasions, 15,000.

Their cheapest matchday package was £40, including a ticket, a matchday guide, food, and a drink.

That was the bare minimum for an English fan attending a game.

So—at a minimum—QPR earned £400,000 per match.

Add VIP seats and merchandise? Easily over £600,000.

Multiply by 23 home games (excluding cup matches), and you're looking at £13.8 million a season.

Now, Bayswater?

Their cheapest package was £30.

With low attendance and an unfinished stadium, they only offered that one price.

Tickets were easy to buy. No one needed to book in advance.

Average attendance: 2,000.

Matchday revenue: £60,000.

Across 23 home games, that's £1.38 million—only 1/10th of QPR's revenue.

And because there were so few fans, there were barely any merchandise sales.

So realistically, £1.5 million per season was the club's total income.

They were probably the lowest-earning club in England's professional football system.

Possibly without exception.

Yet Yang Cheng still had no immediate fix.

Income was what it was.

The team still had to travel, train, eat, and maintain equipment.

And there were dozens of salaries to pay.

No wonder Lin was losing sleep.

People always said London fans had strong spending power—but getting them to open their wallets was another matter entirely.

"We'll take it one step at a time."

That was all Yang Cheng could say to calm Lin down.

"We can't be stuck in a dead end. We need to find ways to increase revenue—and the fastest way to do that is by winning games and getting promoted. That means we need signings."

A weak fanbase couldn't be fixed overnight, so Yang Cheng had to look elsewhere.

"You're really confident?" Lin asked, full of concern.

He could feel it—Yang Cheng was all-in, gambling everything.

"Let's take the risk." Yang Cheng smiled, calm and full of belief.

"You know how important players are."

"Top coaches bring top training. That improves player performance—and results."

"Seth Forsett graduated in physical therapy from Washington State, and earned a master's in biomechanics and sports theory from the University of Tennessee."

"He started working at the U.S. Olympic Training Center in 1999 and served as fitness coach for the U.S. Women's National Team."

"Oliver Bartlett is British but studied in Australia. In 1991 he joined the German Sport University in Cologne and graduated in 1996."

"He ran a gym in Australia for four years, then returned to Germany in 2000 for physiotherapy training. He's worked as a fitness coach across multiple sports."

"I've spoken with both. They're top professionals."

Yang Cheng didn't spell it out.

But he had known them in his past life—and knew exactly what they could do.

Forsett helped Germany win a World Cup. Later, he joined Arsenal.

His biggest contribution? Introducing a whole new model of American-style physical training into European football—turning traditional fitness work into elite performance management.

Yet the U.S. Women's National Team paid poorly—just $50–60k a year.

So when Yang Cheng contacted him through Mark Verstegen, who ran Athlete's Performance in Arizona, Forsett said yes without hesitation.

£100,000 a year was too tempting to resist.

Bartlett's case was similar.

The only hire that hadn't been finalized yet was Brian Kidd, Sir Alex Ferguson's former assistant and the mentor behind the Class of '92.

He was currently with the England national team.

In Yang Cheng's past life, Kidd had been his right-hand man at Manchester City. They were completely in sync.

But Bayswater was still a League Two club, so Kidd might say no.

That's why Yang Cheng had a Plan B:

Steve Round, currently working under Steve McClaren at Middlesbrough.

Round was someone Yang Cheng had handpicked during his Arsenal days—an incredibly capable coach, only 32 years old.

Even though Yang Cheng was the club owner, he understood that a great team needed both great players and great coaches.

That's why he was building an exceptional backroom staff.

"Wait…"

Lin Zhongqiu was starting to feel more convinced—but also a bit confused.

"You've said all this… so who's actually going to be the head coach?"

In Lin's mind, that was the most important position of all.

Who was qualified?

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