One of the perks of being a journalist is that you sometimes get to see places you wouldn’t otherwise go to.

I’ve just come back from a fascinating trip to what experts say could become the newest planet in our Solar System – the quaintly named 2003 UB-313.

While I was there, I took a keen interest in one of its football teams.

Port South are generally referred to as a sleeping giant. Apparently, they once won the league twice in a row, but that was before many of its inhabitants were born, and also won the cup – but that was even longer ago.

Despite little success since, by all accounts they have a very loyal and vociferous following.

They say that when Port South are playing at home, you can hear the noise on Pluto.

I watched them at a pretty tricky time in their history – although they’re in the top division, they’ve had a bit of a rough time of things in the past year or so.

Something to do with a big falling out between their owner, Rome Richman, and their star manager, Barry Greencap, a well-known face with an ego the size of a football pitch.

Greencap walked out on them, which the locals thought was bad enough. But then he ended up at their biggest rivals, Mouthampton.

Apparently, even though he’d been in the area for years, he said he’d had no idea that the two teams’ fans were bitter rivals and he couldn’t see what all the fuss was about when after all, he was only going “up the road”.

What’s more, he took his coach – Wordismy Bond – and assistant – Slim Vermouth – with him after telling them how much nicer and flashier the facilities were at St Dairy’s under their posh chairman, Roo Pitts.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, Richman and Greencap kissed and made up after he’d helped get the Mouth relegated and the next thing anyone knew, the ego was back at Flattened Park.

However, Port South were in big trouble by then. No stability, managers and players in and out like an inter-galactic docking station.

Fairy Godmother

Apparently, the previous manager had a penchant for playing just one up front. But given that the team scored only a handful of goals in nearly half a season, it wasn’t a resounding success.

So back came Barry, and – would you believe it – suddenly there was a new joint owner. A sort of fairy godmother, with millions of UB pounds to spend.

Barry was like a kid in a toyshop – he bought everything in sight, including enough forwards to field an entire team of them.

And then guess what? He played only one of them at a time.

Funny thing is, while I was there, he twice changed his mind halfway through matches and brought on an extra striker for the second half of games against two high-riding teams.

The transformation was clear for everyone to see, so it may (or may not) come as a surprise to you to hear that for their next fixture – against a once-mighty side that was now in disarray and was there for the taking, with a particularly dodgy defence – he played… yep, a solitary striker.

But his idiosyncrasies didn’t stop there – while you can understand his eagerness to persist with his new star striker that he had signed for a record fee, he suddenly discarded players that had served the club – and him – well when the going had been tougher.

There was this diminutive striker, Danny Gold, a livewire figure who, despite his size, could outjump the biggest defender, and who chased and harried defences all day. Suddenly, he couldn’t get a look-in.

And their young midfielder, Larry Toenail, who had virtually carried the team all season, suddenly found himself out of position on the wing, where his effectiveness was blunted.

Although he’d stocked up on midfield players and strikers during the transfer window, Barry appeared to overlook the area where the team had been really vulnerable – the defence.

First he played Andy Huffing – an honest, but inadequate right-back – at left-back. Then he switched him back to the right, where his limitations were exposed in virtually every game, even though there was a far more competent, elegant alternative available.

For some reason, Barry Greencap just would not play Ryan Frisky – or indeed, one or two others whom he had not signed (not that things had been that rosy under the previous managers). And all the while Port South fell deeper and deeper into relegation trouble.

Transparency

The biggest frustration of all was that the fans – so loyal for so long, and who loved the club more than Barry, Roman, Godmother Fairymak and all the players put together (and always would) – were never told what was going on.

The club would rarely confirm the size of a transfer fee, so half the time, they had little chance of judging a player in any sort of context.

I know you’ll find it hard to believe, but on occasion the club actually gave the impression they’d bought someone when they hadn’t. They hailed the arrival of a new record signing, only to reveal at the end of the season that they’d only borrowed him and they’d have to give him back.

Then they claimed they’d bought a flamboyant winger who had a bit of a reputation as a difficult character, but that they’d agreed they wouldn’t play him against his old club. It took the other club to reveal that in fact he was only on loan – probably a wise move as it turned out.

But the point was, the fans just didn’t know what was going on or what to think. For all they knew, Barry might have had good reason not to play Frisky, Gold, etc.

Perhaps they were giving their boss a bit of trouble. Maybe they weren’t fit. Maybe they would cost the club extra transfer cash if they appeared again.

But in the absence of any transparency, what were they supposed to think? As far as they were concerned, Barry’s ego had grown so much it wouldn’t allow him to countenance playing someone else’s signings.

It seemed his blinkered outlook was clouding his judgment and threatening the team’s future in the top league, even though he’d clearly attracted some excellent players to the club.

Anyway, I digress.

Eventually, someone wrote an article about it on a local website; Barry realised the error of his ways; he started picking players on merit, explaining his decisions through the media – and Port South avoided relegation.

Sounds out of this world, doesn’t it?

Neville Dalton is a journalist with the BBC News website and a Portsmouth fan of nearly 40 years. His expressed views are his and not necessarily those of the BBC.