At school, everyone knew the rich kid. He or she usually had a bad speech impediment and a worse attitude. Strange then, when you recollect how many friends they had following them around. With a personality that could offend Jose Mourinho, you could be forgiven for wondering why their flock of friends was so inflated. The raison d'etre can be evidenced in one day - the last day of term. That day when you brought your finest toys to school to show off - Look at my shiny Ecto-1 - but the rich kid brought in an arcade game. Cue a queue - excuse the pun - that snaked around the classroom furniture in order to get a turn. The rich kid, no matter what odious trait they possessed, always had the adulation of their peers. Was it the cash that earned the adoring looks and faux respect? No. It was the kick-ass toys that warranted the two-faced friendship. I wanted a go of Pac-Man just like the rest of my mates. 

Financial Fair Play - when it was first formulated and circulated amongst the sport - was much needed. The worry that first started to bloom amongst anxious rival fans like a toxic weed spread fast to the heirarchy of the game. For good reason as well.