Harry Redknapp's book, 'Always Managing: My Autobiography', was serialised in The Daily Mail upon it's release, and one of the extracts revealed how he kept £30,000 in cash down his trousers during one game while managing Portsmouth.
The money belonged to Paul Merson, who asked 'Arry to mind it for him as he owed money to a bookmaker, described as "an Irish mob", and was meeting them after the game.
One day at Millwall he came into the dressing room with a big, brown bag full of readies. ‘Would you look after this for me, gaffer?’ he asked.
‘It’s 30 grand. It’s for a bookmaker, an Irish mob. They’re after me and I’ve got to meet them after the game. Will you look after it for me until then?
I couldn’t leave it in the changing room, but I almost always wear a suit on the touchline. That day I changed. I put a tracksuit on so there was more room to conceal these readies.
It was OK until I sprung out of my seat on the touchline. As I did, I felt something move.
As I was trying to get a message to the players I could feel Merson’s 30 grand making its way south along my trouser leg.
I looked down and the notes were coming out the bottom of my trousers.
In another extract, he opened up on how he was conned by an Irish man purporting to be a jockey named Lee Topliss.
There was an actual jockey named Lee Topliss but it was not the man Harry believed to be him. It was only when Redknapp and a football agent, Willie McKay, who was also being conned, met the actual Lee Topliss that it was discovered what was going on.
Harry had given 'Lee' tickets to games, money for taxis, nights out in restaurants and even £500 for him to travel to Dubai for a race.
And then I got a phone call from Willie McKay, a football agent. ‘Do you still speak to Lee Topliss, Harry?’ asked Willie. ‘Yeah, I do,’ I said. ‘He’s always calling me, more losers than winners, mind you.’
‘Right,’ Willie continued. ‘Well, I think I know why his information isn’t so clever.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s not Lee Topliss. He’s a potman at a boozer in Newmarket. He picks up glasses - he’s not a f****** jockey.’
Three years he’d had me.
The best seat in the house, good restaurants, lifts here, there and everywhere - and heaven knows what in hand-outs.
