It’s English football’s greatest miracle and he made it possible. The man in the helicopter
It WAS one of the most evocative, yet strangely incongruous, sights in football. the bright blue helicopter, landing in the centre circle. It told of money, of power, of what the game in England had become.
the spectacle would begin normally. the final whistle blew, the match finished and, first, Leicester’s ground staff would enter the field with their mowers. the stadium had emptied by then, save the odd media presence and revellers in the executive boxes, as a dozen of them marched up and down, making the surface ready for the next game.
then a signal would be given and they would move aside, standing patiently along the bylines at each end, waiting. And you would hear it, somewhere in the blackness, the unmistakable whirr of approaching machinery. It always sounded strangely ominous, alien, like an echo of Close
Encounters; the way the visitors’ spacecraft set off electrical equipment and made rail signals sing.
Lights would appear in the dark sky, loose paper and other light debris would start to blow. And it would be here. Maybe it was just the foreignness of it all that was so captivating. A flying machine landing in the heart of a football stadium. It took up the centre circle, but seemed much bigger, the way a dragonfly might in a summerhouse.
And that’s all it was, really. Just a very rich guy, taking the shortest route home.
travel by helicopters, by light aircraft, has grown much more commonplace as football’s wealth has increased. Yet here was the most tangible symbol of what the Premier League had become, and where it was going. Owners from thailand, resident in Berkshire, landing their helicopter on the pitch at their East Midlands football club.
this was a 21st- century image, a 21st-century journey, a 21st-century club.
And out they would come, across the pitch. Leicester’s wealthy custodians.
Often carrying light luggage, not suitcases, but boxes, probably paperwork, maybe gifts — on one occasion what looked like the Premier League trophy, or certainly its replica. And then the rotor blades would spin — an unmistakable, unnerving noise, again — and the wind would kick up and the giant machine would lift and hover for a second or two, as helicopters always do disconcertingly, and then up and away, over the stadium roof and south, to home.
It was not the easiest take-off or landing, said those familiar with flight. the stadium walls made for wicked cross-winds and swells and it took a very skilled pilot to get the family in and out safely, each week.
Except on Saturday, when that did not happen; when on the way to Luton Airport to meet a private plane to thailand, there was a technical failure, a rapid descent and an explosion near car park E which claimed the lives of all on board. From here, can anything ever be the same again at Leicester?
the full extent of the tragedy was still emerging yesterday, but what is believed is that five are dead and one of them is Vichai Srivaddhanaprabha, Leicester’s owner and, as such, the man who made English football’s greatest miracle happen.
It is not just his own family who will feel bereaved by this terrible accident. the sorrow in the streets around Leicester on Saturday as news of the tragedy broke, the flowers that have since overwhelmed the space between gates 54 and 57 at the stadium, spoke for what Srivaddhanaprabha has done for the city, and its community.
they are not Ly-sess-ta any more, because of him. Nobody wonders where Leicester is on a map. their sporting triumph, becoming the English league’s most surprising winners in 2016, captured imaginations worldwide and brought visitors from across the globe just to be there on the day the trophy was presented. the magic will endure even with such a tragic conclusion.
Leicester will remain the byword for the impossible dreams held by fans of any small club; it will stay an inspiration through decades, maybe centuries. And he made it possible. the man in the helicopter. His landing in Leicester was the greatest thing that happened to the city; and for those lucky enough to watch it unfold, probably the greatest thing to happen to English football too.
Yet his influence spread wider. Srivaddhanaprabha was a resident of the Home Counties, a 100-acre site in Berkshire home to 80 polo ponies, but he embraced Leicester, the city, as well as Leicester City, the club.
He donated £2million to the building of a new children’s hospital, £100,000 to the fund to rebury Richard III. He gave £23,000 to a Leicester supporter who was raising money for research into MECP2 duplication syndrome, his son’s rare genetic disorder, affecting neurodevelopment.
His generosity was maverick: 60 free season tickets to mark his 60th birthday, cake and free beers for the whole stadium on special occasions. He would treat the players to lavish dinners, gave them a fleet of sporty BMWs when they won the league, a £10,000 chip each to gamble at a private club on winning promotion.
Srivaddhanaprabha was a name bestowed on Vichai by King Bhumibol Adulyadej of thailand, in recognition of his business work and charitable deeds. It means ‘light of progressive glory’ — and that is what Khun Vichai, as he was known in thailand, has been to his football club.
When, in a battle against relegation, the fans responded positively and noisily to having 30,000 free cardboard clappers placed on every seat, Srivaddhanaprabha ensured it was done for every home game, at a cost of £12,000 each time.
the expense, for a year’s supply, grew to £ 280,000, but it gave the King Power Stadium a unique energy and feel. It takes a special owner to note the importance of such minor details, to recognise the club’s
culture as equal to his own. So, yes, Buddhist monks would perform blessings and the victory parade after Leicester’s title win saw banners of Thailand’s king being given equal billing to the trophy, but Leicester remained the Foxes, stayed blue, ran out to the Post Horn
Gallop as they had always done. They were resolutely Leicester, and rooted, no matter the heights to which Srivaddhanaprabha’s largesse took them.
This — and the miracle of 2015-16, of course — is why the supporters were so protective of Khun Vichai, even when his decisions were controversial.
Dismissing Claudio Ranieri, the manager in that epic title-winning season, less than 12 months after it had been achieved, may be the most polarising call of any owner in the Premier League era. Yet Srivaddhanaprabha’s local popularity stayed undiminished.
It is too soon to consider Leicester’s future. Yet there will be a time when Srivaddhanaprabha’s family must address what Leicester means to them, and whether the association is to continue as before. Son Aiyawatt, known as Top, is the vice-chairman and could take the club on, in his father’s name.
Equally, there will be pain, an unavoidable emotional imprint around what happened at the King Power Stadium on October 27, 2018, and the terrible personal cost. Can the family set that heartbreak aside, and carry on?
At the end of last season, Khun Vichai wrote of ‘ the unique spirit of togetherness that defines this club’. Leicester will need this more than ever in the months ahead, as they come to terms with what was lost in that fateful, final flight.