Wunter Under Meijer the godfather

Respected German sports magazine Wunter Under Meijer’s correspondent Olaf Mungerlicker, a fan of Donal Macintyre so much so he’s taken to living out a fantasy life in which he’s recruited some help to infiltrate the infamous Chelsea headhunter group, here’s what happened next.

Mungerlicker loved stakeouts like Collymore loved long dog walks. He hunched over his monitor that displayed a live feed from the headhunters HQ whilst trying to look inconspicuous in a beat up VW beetle he’d bought from that pennypincher Herr Klinsmann so many year ago when he first came to these shores.
Was it worth it? Taking such a risk to penetrate the very bowels of the worst gang in the premiership just for a story? Olaf certainly thought so but it was his mole that was taking the risks and those risks were literally huge.

The feed was grainy but the inner sanctum of the ringleader was clear enough for mungerlicker to make out the luxurious surroundings, the ill gotten spoils of greed and corruption. The gold leaf curtains were drawn and lights were low, a sweating obese fellow bent over to kiss the ring of someone sitting just out of view. Olaf held his breath as for the first time in literally months the Godfather was caught on camera

Terry gestured toward a deep leather chair and our hopeful agent sat. Terry nodded and Lampard waddled over to the drinks cabinet to pour a drink for his guest. It was hard frankly to understand what the hell Terry was saying seeing he’d wedged a gobstopper in each cheek but our man needed no second invitation to speak to the Don.

“God father, I believed in Liverpool. she made my fortune. And I raised my club in the scouse fashion. I gave her trophies but I taught her never to dishonor her family. She found a "new owner," not an scouse. She went to the champion’s league with him. She lost early on. I didn't protest. Four years ago he took her for a ride, with another owner. They made her take on debt and then they tried to take advantage of her. She resisted. She kept her honor. So they beat her. Like an animal. When I went to the club her spirit was broken. Her bank balance was shattered, held together by dodgy loans. She couldn't even weep because of the pain. But I wept. Why did I weep? She was the light of my life. A beautiful club. Now she will never be beautiful again." He broke down at this point, and the Don gestured to his fat hanger on to give him his drink.
Benitez apologized, taking the tea, a rare Australian blend of eucalyptus.. He sipped, then regained his composure and carried on.
“I went to Inter, like a good manager. These two boys were brought to trial. The judge sentenced them to bankruptcy, and they ran to a court in Texas. TEXAS! They went free that very day! I stood in the courtroom like a fool Then I said to my wife, "For justice, we must go to Don Terry."
Terry asked “Why did you go to the italians? Why didn't you come to me first?"
Beneitez sighs “What do you want of me? Tell me anything. But do what I beg you to do."
The don mutters through his gobstoppers “What is that?"
Rafa gets up from his seat and whispers in the Don's ear; for a long moment the Don is silent.
Don Terry remarked “That I cannot do."
Rafa exclaims “I will give you anything you ask!"

Don Terry calls over the waddler “I want reliable people, people who aren’t going to be carried away. After all we’re not going to sell Torres to Liverpool in spite of what this waiter thinks" the Don muttered to Lamps. “Sell him to Real Madrid instead, this is fair"

The Don turned back to Rafa “I told Boas he had to answer for Anelka, he sold anelka out. he got scared, begged me, told me it was the russians." Terry laughed “the Russians work for me!"
Rafa did not know what to say to that, an admission that the headhunters were running the football club, but what did they want with him?
“Don't tell me that you're innocent. Because it insults my intelligence and it makes me very angry. Now, who approached you first? Abramovich?" Terry asked
“it was the Russian"
“Good, good perhaps we can work together. I need a good assistant; my last few didn’t work out. Grant? a man who doesn’t spend time with his family can never be a real man.... too busy getting massages to do my bidding. Then the Italian, I thought we had an understanding butwe could not forgive the betrayal of Drogba"

Suddenly it all became clear, to Mungerlicker. His mole was being welcomed into the inner workings of the headhunters, a job at the very heart of the evil empire, Terry was living in a world of his own isolated in his plush apartment as no team mate ever left their wives at home alone any more, the darkened room and stuffed cheeks all indicated a grip on reality as tenuous as Chelsea’s grip on financial stability.

Could benetiz work as terry's assistant long enough to finish the work started by agent torres?