Bill Kenwright was on his way to a pre-season friendly at Birmingham City when his phone rang. His hosts were expecting a supporters' demonstration. The Everton chairman sympathised.
'The assets are frozen, the owner's under arrest, the club's been relegated, the best players are being sold, obviously it's going to be difficult for them,' he said.
'So we get in and, sure enough, it's tense. But the Birmingham fans around the directors' box are shaking my hand and being really friendly. They were saying, "Wish you were here, Bill" and "Come to our club".
'Then the game started and it was pretty even, so Birmingham's fans were buoyed by that and, in the end, it all went off without a fuss. Nothing. I felt pleased for them. And then I looked at our end and there is a big banner: KENWRIGHT OUT. It was a good banner, too, nothing tatty.
'So somebody had spent proper time making it and packing it up and taking it all the way to Birmingham, for a friendly. And I looked at it, and I thought, "OK, Kenwright out, I see that. But who in? Who does better deals? I take nothing out of this club, so who can take less than that?"
'If I left on Monday, would we have a penny more to our name on Tuesday? And that's what I don't understand. Where is this coming from? It used to be that every fan I met would say what a smashing club Everton was and what a great job David Moyes was doing.
'Now they ask, "What the hell's going on at your place?" And I have to say I don't know, because nothing's really changed. We've never had money. I read a big letter in the local paper. "Where's it all gone?" And I thought, "It's in the accounts. It's there. There' s no conspiracy".
'You know, I've sat with people who wanted to invest in the club and there was one guy, a very nice man, a businessman in Liverpool, and he listened for an hour and a half and finally, he said, "Bill, I don't want to be you. I want to be able to take my kids to school in the morning".'
There will be a protest march at Goodison Park on Saturday before the match against Aston Villa. All through the summer a head of steam has been building against Kenwright, and a recent meeting of disaffected supporters groups attracted 300 dissenters.
Hardly a revolution when the first home league gate of the season was 35,008, but enough to make a noise and create a platform. In these days of Twitter storms and flash mobs, it really does not take much of a crowd.
'Andrew Lloyd Webber wrote a follow up to Phantom of the Opera called Love Never Dies,' says Kenwright, 'and before it even opened there was a campaign on the internet. They called it Love Should Die. They said it was betrayal to write a sequel to his masterpiece. And by the time the show came out it was already known as Paint Never Dries.
'That was the first show in history to be killed by the internet. It was the biggest protest campaign the theatre has known, and it was started by a husband and wife in Canada, who had never seen the show but were fans of Phantom of the Opera. They actually got married dressed as the Phantom and Christine. So that's where we are.
'Our season ended in May with us beating Chelsea 1-0 and Jermaine Beckford scored the kind of goal that makes you do a double take, open mouthed.
'David Moyes had done it again. We finished seventh which would usually get us into Europe, but it was a strange year, so we missed out, but we had roughly the same squad that Evertonians were telling me was our best ever 12 months ago.
'The next week I went to our Player of the Year dinner and on my way up I got a call to warn me there would be a demonstration outside. I said, "About what?" And they said, "About you". So that's another double take.
'I was walking in with David Moyes and two guys came up and handed me a leaflet. I said to them, "Are you the demo, lads, is it you?" And I looked at the leaflet and it said: Evertonians for Change. I said, "Fantastic, fellas. What do you want to change?" They said, "We want more money". "Great," I said, "I'll be your president if you want. Change is what we need". But it started from there.'
It is a campaign that veers from asking legitimate questions about the direction of Everton to some truly vile internet postings that do not bear repetition. It is not just the chairman's background in the arts - he has 16 theatrical productions currently playing around the world - that makes him sensitive. Club employees have been moved to offer resignations under the stress of some attacks and Kenwright is not immune to the pressure himself.
'Do I regret buying Everton? Of course, at times. It's horrible,' he admits. 'My mum is 93, she listens to the radio, reads the papers, she's worried sick. I've had wreaths sent to my office. So what do you think? I do wonder how long I can take it, at times.
'I remember Howard Kendall saying to me, "Never read the fanzines". That became, "Never read the letters page in the Echo", then, "Never listen to the phoneins", now, "Never read the internet". And I don't. I daren't, actually.
'Sometimes I think the problem is that I am a fan. Philip Green (the retail magnate) calls me the Romantic Evertonian, and that's me. I am what I am. I jump up when we score, I jump up when we don't score, I jump up for corners sometimes. I'm the most nervous chairman in history. I can't even eat lunch before a game and I haven't enjoyed watching us in 10 years.
'I wish I could be like some of the other guys and take it in my stride, but my days are governed by Everton. It is there all the time. I call it The Pain, and it is permanent. But so is the pride.
'At every AGM, EGM and shareholders' meeting, I say, "Guys, I don't want to be here this time next year. I don't want to be in this situation where you are asking me about money again". And I don't.
'When the time comes and we sell this club, if the new owners don't want me, I will buy my ticket and sit in the stand as I always did. But people talk as if the club is dying and we're not dying. The extreme language makes no sense, it seems so out of kilter. It's illogical.
'I've never taken expenses, salary, petrol money. If you work out what I could have drawn, if you work out the interest on the money I've paid, even if you look at something as simple as my phone calls, I'd be a richer man.
'I've got the most prolific theatre production company in the world and I'd be the wealthiest producer living if it wasn't for one thing: Everton. I didn't do an hour's work on my productions for two and a half months when the transfer window was open. They didn't even come upstairs to talk to me, my people. And still I hear that I put all Everton's money into my shows.
'Michael Crawford (the actor) said to me that he overheard an Everton fan saying that on a phonein. He was incensed, so imagine how I feel. I've had all sorts of accusations. I put transfer money in my back pocket. I tell them: I don't need it, thanks.'
Kenwright is adamant that our dialogue is not to become a sob story, but it is obvious the criticism has an effect.
There is a siege mentality around Everton now and Kenwright feels wounded. His dream was of the club as one happy family, with him at the heart. The thought that even a minority doubt his intentions, are sceptical of his efforts to sell and believe he wishes to keep control for personal gain, is greatly troubling to him.
'I don't think you can break into the Champions League without money, either,' he says. 'But you'll never get the perfect world: the fans won't, I won't, the manager won't. But we're supposed to be in this together. Why boo one of our players? Why shout, "Sack the board"?
'We live in a world that doesn't trust any more. The fans want someone, anyone, as long as he's got more money. If people think I don't want to let go, that means I'm being dishonest and it simply isn't true. I've been desperate to find a buyer for four years and I would never do anything to hur t this club.
'I had a meeting before you arrived, I've got another tomorrow, another the next day. I'm great at selling Everton, honest to God I am. People sit and I give them two hours of the greatest football club in the world. You could eat a meal off our accounts, they're so clean.
'I remember the day I bought the club. It was December 24 and, at 9.25pm, the bank said to make the offer. It went in two minutes later and was accepted.
'I was sitting here in my office and I ran down four flights of stairs and out into the street with pure joy. And I promise you: when that call comes to say the club is sold, I will do exactly the same. I don't care whether they want me as chairman. I'll have done my job. Anyone who doesn't think I'll go doesn't know me.
'We thought we had a buyer in 2010. There were two guys, a major inventor and the youngest executive at ICI, based in Thailand. They had a letter from a Swiss bank guaranteeing funds in the hundreds of millions. The plan was buy the club, erase the debt, money for transfers and a new stadium. I was truly happy, delirious to be honest. I was ready to go.
'They knew the small details of the club, the move to Stanley Park, the move to Kirkby. They had instructed a serious legal firm, they did due diligence, their costs alone must have been £150,000. We were six months down the line and the guy from Thailand was coming over to sign it all off.
'Then he was delayed due to the ash cloud, and it dragged on. Finally he said he was flying in Saturday, so I asked where he was staying and he said the Dorchester. But there was a small pause before he said it, a catch in his voice as if he had to think of a name, and I froze.
'I asked how he would get to my office and he said on the Tube. And that was it. We were doing a big deal for a film and I had a team of investigators on hand for that, so I asked them to run a check on these two. And on Friday a brown envelope arrived. And I turned the page, and turned another page, and with each one it got worse.
'The offices were rented, the Far East link lived in a one-bedroom flat in the worst part of the city, the Manchester guy was a small-time inventor, no more. They never arrived. And I have no idea why they did it, or how they did it. Maybe they thought they could secure the deal, then raise the funds. The problem was I wanted to believe. And I'll meet anyone if they sound straight.
'The deal's always going to be done in a week, isn't it? We had one guy who wanted to take over the club tied to marketing Everton in China. He gave us a Power Point presentation and I noticed all the players had Burnley shirts. I asked why. He said they had got really close to doing a deal for Burnley. So that was another one gone. I mean, if they couldn't get it done with Burnley...'
Kenwright trails off. 'People don't understand,' he adds, softly. 'I didn't. I've had to learn. In the days when I could go to matches on the train, our fans would stand around me and ask me why we couldn't buy this player or that player, so I'd say, "Right, lads, it's like this", and I'd start telling them what I knew about money from season tickets, money from placings, how television revenue is paid and when you get it all in.
'And within 30 seconds their eyes would glaze over and it would go quiet and a voice would say, "Yeah, but are we buying him?"' The irony being that in these times of detached foreign owners, Kenwright is the real deal, the last fan standing at a major club in England.
Every supporter would like a chairman as passionately connected, providing he has the wealth of a sheik or an oligarch to boot. Sadly, it doesn't work like that. Yet when Kenwright talks about Everton it is in a language that is simply beyond the new wave of imported billionaire benefactors.
'When I was a kid I was very timid, very shy, we didn't have much money, but I found Everton,' he recalled. 'I'd get two buses and a tram and I'd watch Dave Hickson, my all-time hero, and I was safe. I thought if he's there and my team are there, I could be all on my own, but I'm safe.
'I stood behind the goal and at half-time the fans would go up to the back wall for a wee, and it would be running down the terrace and I'd be thinking, "Oh, I wish I didn't have holes in these shoes". So when people ask me if I dreamed of buying Everton, my dream was to sit up in the stand and not paddle in wee.
'I've never felt as if I owned Everton. Someone's gran owns Everton, the community owns Everton, my uncle who took me on the crossbar of his bike. I'm the custodian, no more. I'll tell you what Everton is to me. It's about your mates. It's about that moment when we score and you look around at all the people, from the old boy in the back row to the guys in the dug-out. It's about them. It's not about sitting in the Royal Box. It's about hearing our lot sing Z Cars at Wembley.
'If I didn't think I could make this club successful I wouldn't still be here. I'm not downbeat. I'm 66 but I still think the best is to come. Maybe it's not realistic to keep dreaming, but how can I have a manager like David Moyes and not believe we can win?
'I do want fans to have a voice. When we sold Dave Hickson to Aston Villa in 1955, I was a kid and I wrote every director a letter saying I'd never support them again. I wrote Dave a letter, too, saying they don't know what they're doing. He kept it. When I was on This Is Your Life he came on and showed it to me.
'Several times I've queued through the night to get a ticket for a big game, a cup tie or a derby match. The queue snaked all around Stanley Park. And if that gate closed and you missed out, you walked away with a tear in your eye and that was it. Now it has changed.
'People complain, they write to the club, write to the Echo, go on the radio and say it's all our fault. And that's what I find bewildering. When I got here, on the day the fixtures came out, every Evertonian I know looked at the last day of the season first. Who have we got to beat if we need to stay up? Now we look at the opening games. Can we get off to a flyer and have a go at winning something? So the club is going forward.
'And it makes me proud because, you see, whatever happens, I'm still watching lads who wear a blue shirt and when that ball goes in the net there is nothing like it. Not a first night, not a Tony award, nothing.'
This afternoon there is a protest march against the man who spoke those words. Two o'clock, Spellow Lane, if you remain interested.
