WE COUNTED THE MONEY. WE WERE NORMAL, ASPIRING, LOWER-LEVEL FOOTBALLERS, AND THIS WAS MORE IN ONE NIGHT THAN MOST OF US EARNED IN A YEAR. IT STARTED THAT NIGHT.
Moses Swaibu was attracting Premier League clubs’ attention when he first collided with the murky world of match-fixing. The ex-Lincoln defender recalls why he came to be in the grip of organised crime and how a spell in jail turned his life around, to help others avoid a similar fate efore I even turned professional, I knew Crystal Palace was a special place: the home and heart of south London football. As a teenager, I shared changing rooms with some of their most successful players, including Victor Moses and Nathaniel Clyne – one was a future Premier League and Europa League winner, the other went on to be a Champions League runner-up. After matches, I’d walk into the canteen and see Iain and Bob Dowie, or former England Under-21s manager Peter Taylor. Yet, at 24, I ended up in prison. How? Explaining that takes a bit of work. For the papers, mine is a story of match-fixing, corruption and being one of the first UK footballers convicted of bribery charges. For me, there is no glorification. It is about how gambling and organised crime groups are able to prey on young people with dreams.
Interview Ben Mountain
Everything started in my childhood. Growing up in south London meant I was accustomed to hearing bad news, as people around me fell into gangs or prison or, worse, lost their lives. But I was very independent. Dad would give me £5 to travel to and from school or borough-level football, and I knew the London Underground by the age of 10.
I spent a lot of time on my own, always deep in thought, deciding what I wanted to be while alone on the buses and trains that filled my early years. Seeing my brother bring home trophies or medals every week made me determined to become a footballer. Thornton Heath, where I went to school, was down the road from Selhurst Park, the home of Crystal Palace. I used to walk behind the Holmesdale Road Stand and feel inspired. I loved that club.
By the time I was in secondary school, a friend of mine got a job as a Palace steward and we often snuck inside. I can still picture myself watching Manchester United’s Roy Keane from the top of the stand, and Palace’s blue stripes with the Churchill sponsor. Little did I know that in a few years’ time I’d be on that pitch.
But trouble soon followed me, particularly one day at school when I intervened in a fight and someone pulled a knife, cutting my rucksack as I ran in the opposite direction. My father found out and grounded me for six weeks, with no chance to explain m
